Always in the Light, My Love

by Vanserreneity

Summary:

After Nesta is rescued from her Death Hike with Cassian, she finds solace and healing among unexpected friends. Gwyn defects from the Night Court to support Nesta and they explore their draw towards each other. Azriel struggles with his loyalties, torn between Eris and his court, while Beron plots against Prythian. Azriel, Eris, and Lucien work to uncover his schemes and bring down his centuries of tyranny, and hopefully save Prythian in the process.

Notes:

HI! I've had this story bopping around in my head for weeks driving me bonkers. I've never written fan fic before but I figured I would at least give it a try and maybe get some relief from this obsession... I've planned most of it out but I've never written a multi-part story like this so go easy on me if you choose to follow along. Mostly this is just a personal indulgence because I want everyone to be gay... Also I always felt like Azriel's stringent sense of justice and need to protect people he loves would have not allowed him, in canon, to just watch Nesta's treatment by the IC.

This story assumes an established Azris relationship for several centuries that the IC does not know about. It also assumes, correctly, that Nesta is a raging lesbian who falls in love with her best friend and must suffer long-distance yearning as the lesbian gods intended. It is our birthright as lesbians to yearn, okay. Also there are way too few lesbians in ACOTAR/fantasy in general so I'm just scratching that itch for myself. Mor doesn't count, I'm mad at Mor.

Chapter 1

Nesta

Scattering the nearby pebbles and rocks with her unstable steps, she dropped to her knees with exhaustion. Attempting to observe her surroundings and keep herself awake, she listed the things she could see: one Illyrian with his back turned, evergreen trees like sentinels above her, the rivulets of dried sweat and dirt caked on her hands coming in and out of focus as she attempted to maintain consciousness, the ground growing closer and closer and closer as she half-heartedly fought to keep herself upright.

How many days had she been dragged up and along these relentless inclines? Her head was heavy as she strained to remain aware of herself, consciousness slipping through and around and away from her. The fog in her mind bore down against her like a stake, pinning her frayed edges to the mountain beneath her. She felt her body lurching forward, unable to gather the strength to reach her arms out to catch her fall.

Gravity pulled them uselessly downwards as she tipped forward and the backs of her hands hit the dirt seconds before the rest of her crashed into it with a dull thud. Distantly, she could hear someone yelling, she could not pull their words into an order that formed any meaning. She could only squint wearily into the dry earth against her face and quietly consider the relief she felt at the thought that this was well and truly her end.

There was a time when she had felt fierce. She had protected her sisters, then. When Elain withdrew to the corners of their small cabin and Feyre fled to the woods as often as possible, Nesta had remained. Chopping wood until the skin of her fingers cracked and bled, dragging pelts into town to sell, simmering the anger she felt against her father to carry on her tasks.

She had followed Tomas to this end, believing that his position and humble wealth would protect her sisters. She remembered when Feyre would storm out of their small cabin in a flurry of discontent, throwing herself into the woods to hunt for food or animals that could be skinned and sold at the market. She had been grateful Elain and Feyre did not remember the days when Nesta would stand firm and strong in their grandmother's doorway, refusing to allow her mother or grandmother to drag her sisters into their schemes.

Nesta would seduce a wealthy lord, Nesta would marry well, Nesta would have her fingers snapped for any misstep, Nesta would be well-mannered and perfect, Nesta would find and track and marry wealth somehow, and Nesta would reach her hand back to pull her sisters up with her. That was her role and she had accepted it.

Now, it was only another way she failed them. She was not fierce or firey. She was not intended to a wealthy lord. She had no resources or claims. She had barely survived the war then spent the months after shivering alone and damaged in her apartment unable to be anything but a burden on her youngest sister. An embarrassment to her sister's mate and his court.

She was alone in the darkened corridors of her failings, pressed endlessly by her sister's friends reminding her of her weakness. Ignored by Elain, who she had spent her life protecting. Utterly and miserably alone. So, in the end, it was not difficult to allow the darkness into her, to ask it to release her from the chokehold of her failures, failing Cassian, failing her father...

In the distant synapses of her mind she saw herself drawn up from her stupor and pushed impossibly higher into the steppes that had promised and then reneged the end of this torment. Her lungs fought to expand around too thin air. Cautiously, she considered her position: alone in the mountains of a court that despises her, not ideal. Herded through these lands by the general of their armies, not ideal. The General will touch her, feel her, envelop her... But only for brief moments, only when no one else can see him, not ideal.

Cataloguing the moments they had shared, desperate for a warmth to hold onto, she comes up short. She deserved it, she thinks. She heaved her body against a nearby boulder, attempting any distance from the crackling fire that roasts Cassian’s hastily hunted dinner behind her. In the flickering light of his fire she pulls into herself.

Does he remember when she trembled with fear as she was ushered into her room at The House of The Wind for the first time after being Made? Elain was pliant and blank as Mor pulled them into a desperate winnow, drawing them away from the King of Hybern and the Cauldron. But Nesta had been alive, she was lit like a candle, her every surface alight and burning her, singing her skin with the icy grip of the Cauldron.

She was pulled and pushed and clawed against, her bones and skin tearing into each other, forming and reforming endlessly, the heat of renewal boiling her alive. She wanted to feel herself again; to feel like herself. Lost in her mind was the work of training, the fight she had felt within her, her friends holding her.

Unable to support herself, she slumped back against the hard ground and allowed her mind to drift to a pair of painfully wide bright blue eyes holding her suspended in the air. Her, her warmth, her hands over Nesta’s. She faded in and out of awareness as dusk dragged the sun down into evening and then finally the suffocating expanse of night. She felt the quiet rise and fall of Cassian’s chest behind her as his breathing eased into sleep across the landing he had settled them in.

Her bones ached and her muscles screamed as she attempted to turn her body to survey where she slept. A nearly silent groan escaped her as she tried fruitlessly to tilt her body towards the waning fire. Fine, she thought to herself, it is better that I suffer here, alone, servant to this punishment. Unforgivable. Rotten.

Spying a cold plate of rations left near her head but unable to summon the strength to roll towards it, she stared at it blankly then let herself step into the darkness of her mind and lose herself in its quiet torment.

She relented her consciousness.

Minutes, hours, maybe days passed in the darkness before she was jolted awake by the crunch of heavy boots walking in and around their makeshift camp. She opened her cracked lips, maybe to cry out for Cassian, maybe to beg refuge. The ache of her throat was raw and grating.

She wanted desperately to call out and beg for mercy and relief. Opening and closing her mouth, she could produce no sound. As she considered the likely outcome of her discovery, she held her bleeding blushing heart tightly against her chest with one good hand. She did not feel any fear, only acceptance and resolve when death knelt beside her and took her hand gently in its own.

She felt Death wrap its hardened fingers around hers and breathe deep heaving breaths at her side that she could not decipher. Death lifted her with painful tenderness and pulled her hands to its heart and held them there, cradled gently in its own. Death has a heart she thought mindlessly as she felt its unsteady beats soft against her fingertips.

She thought she heard her name but she could not move toward its call. “Nesta, Nesta, love, can you hear me? Can you hear my voice?” This must be the voice of the Mother that the fae worship, she thought. Unexpectedly, the Mother’s voice was a deep growl that vibrated through her chest, surprising her with its timbre and depth.

She supplicated easily to its call, her head lolling uselessly to one side and attempting to peer up at what held her. She let herself float away from this camp, the memory of this march through Illyria, away from the broken body she left behind in what should could only trust was the finality of dying.

As she settled into this final hold, she eased into the memory of a bright autumn sun lighting soft red curls, deep wells of blue coaxing her into contentment, pale slender fingers twined carefully around her own and smiled distantly before darkness settled against her and finally she could rest.

Azriel

Returning to the river house after several days of solitude at The House, he settled into a low-back chair in the corner of the parlor to wait for Feyre or Rhys to join him.

Just a few days ago he’d packed a camping bag for Cass and Nesta. Flying up above The House, Cass had scooped it from his hands and he’d watched them fly away, envious of the way Cassian held her tightly in his arms without fear, the way he did not have to hide. Still, he had enjoyed the quiet, and he was happy for his brother to have this time away with his mate. Too quickly, he became restless and unnerved by the silence from Rhys and Feyre as he drifted around The House.

When it came, he was grateful for the invitation to the River House, if nothing else it would be a distraction from the incessant yearning to let his shadows pull him through the fabric of the world and into the arms of his forbidden love.

As he waited for his family to arrive, he thought contentedly about his upcoming trip to Autumn. His ability to create innocuous reasons to visit the Autumn Court was a well developed muscle and he had long ago released any lingering guilt about his deception. He cared little to linger on how he would get there; he knew that he would and he relished the anticipation of the peace he would feel when he fell into the warmth and safety of those arms he so deeply craved.

Pulling him from his wandering thoughts, Rhys, Feyre, and Amren slowly and silently filed into the receiving room. He stood to greet them, leaning down to press a kiss to Feyre’s cheek before grasping Rhys’s hand between his own and squeezing tightly. After a quick nod to Amern, he turned to the door waiting to receive Cassian and maybe Nesta. He expected Cass and his mate would be on their way home by now and likely would have been summoned here, begrudgingly stopping at the River House at Rhy’s request before flying back up to the House.

He wondered absently if Cass would’ve stopped to drop Nesta off before flying down to meet Rhys. After a few beats, he turned to Rhys, the question obvious in the tilt of his head as he furrowed his brow. Rhys sighed heavily, glancing at his mate who wrapped both her arms around his bicep and placed a kiss on his shoulder before straightening to meet Azriel’s gaze. Azriel observed them curiously before asking “are Cass and Nesta coming?” Rhys met Azriel's stare with unnerving stillness, deep violet eyes unwavering from his own hazel ones. Azriel steadied himself, knowing that whatever came next would be unpleasant. Tightening his muscles and straightening his spine, he waited.

“Nesta told Feyre,” Rhys said solemnly. Drawing his brows together in confusion, Azriel watched his brother’s lips purse into an uncomfortable line. Glancing between the three nearly silent fae in front of him, realization hit Azriel in the chest with a thump. Relief flooded his veins as the weight of secrecy was lifted. He exhaled slowly, “Feyre,” he whispered, one hand raising slowly from his side to reach for her, “are you alright?” She tipped her head up to look at him, wrapping an arm around her middle protectively. “I– I don’t know. Yes, yes, Az, thank you.”

She glanced up at Rhys who pointedly refused to meet her gaze, his eyes fixed on Azriel, not really seeing him but using his gaze as an anchor. “Feyre, we are going to fix this. Together, we’re going to fix this. I promise that, okay?” Azriel reached for his High Lady’s hand but she pulled away, stepping out of Rhys’ grasp in the same motion. Azriel paused at her hesitance, quickly pulling his hand back.

He took in the scene before him, sensing the tension in the room. He was missing something. The spymaster did not like to be caught unaware. “What’s going on?” he asked, shooting an accusing look at Rhys. Rhys shifted uncomfortably on his feet but maintained that stoic composure, his face betraying nothing as he held Azriel's gaze. Azriel watched Rhys look to Amren, a pleading expression on his face. Amren scoffed loudly, rolling her eyes. Turning to Azriel, she spoke for Rhys.

She explained that in an argument about her restrictions in The House, Nesta had fled down the 10,000 stairs, the only exit for anyone without wings. Amren described Nesta showing up at her apartment, fit with rage, apparently trying to start a fight. Sensing how this confrontation could escalate, Varian had rushed from Amren's apartment to find someone, anyone, to calm the storm Amren and Nesta would surely whip themselves into in their stubborn fury.

When Feyre burst into Amren’s apartment moments later, Nesta had exploded in her anger for herself, for her sister whose choice had been removed by secrecy, for her sister whose choice had been removed by the Cauldron, for the unfairness of it all. In her rage towards the Inner Circle for their secretive nature and the way they played games with other’s lives, Nesta had told Feyre the truth Rhys had been hiding from her about the baby. The truth Rhys had demanded they all hide from her.

As Nesta stood in Amren's apartment, defying any of them to challenge her, Amren had relayed the conversation to Rhys mind-to-mind. Standing together in Amren's home, they felt Rhys' power ripple out of him, shaking the foundation of Amren's home, of Velaris, with its hunger to punish, its oppressive need to claim retribution.

Reeling slightly, Azriel steadied himself with a hand on the back of the couch in front of him, bracing as he considered the information. He had been on his way back from the Hewn City when he received word that Cassian was taking Nesta away from a few days, he had been tasked with locating Cass's travel bag and bringing it up to the roof for him to collect.

At the time, he had not thought much of it, had not sensed the strained look in Cassian's eye or seen the despondent slump of Nesta's body against Cass's own. Looking up, he caught Feyre’s eye and saw the anguish there. How it hurt her to have been excluded from conversations about her own pregnancy, discussed by others and shielded from knowledge about her health and her body.

Azriel’s cheeks heated with shame and regret. He recalled Eris urging him sincerely to go against Rhys’s command and tell Feyre about Madja’s concerns, gently encouraging him to analyze why Rhys would want to keep this from his mate, why Madja would agree to his demands. But the dominance in a command from his High Lord would not make space for his dissent. He had not been able to bring himself to disobey Rhysand’s command.

In the sharp light of revelation, held in Feyre's vulnerable stare, he was ashamed of his cowardice. Amren went on, explaining that when Rhys was alerted that Nesta had thrown this information at Feyre during a fight he had been blind with rage. He demanded that Cassian remove Nesta from Velaris before he fucking killed her for exposing his deception.

Still spinning from these realizations, Azriel distantly conceded “I guess it’s good that Cass and Nesta decided to take some time away, then…” The three fae in the room stared at him, unblinking. Feyre turned away but Azriel was frozen in the gaze of his High Lord. Without breaking eye contact, and with unsettling calm, Rhys said “Nesta is where she needs to be. She is learning what she needs to learn. When I deem her ready, she can return to this city.”

Azriel narrowed his eyes at his High Lord, attempting to interpret his words. Slowly, with great care and effort, Azriel took a step towards Rhys. “Rhys, where is she?” Feyre stared into the lit fire, her arms wrapped delicately around her stomach, silent and unmoving. Amren, unbothered as ever, laid her head back against her chair and stared at the ceiling, bored look on her face. Rhys raised a brow at Azriel but said nothing.

Azriel asked again, “Rhys, where the fuck is Nesta?” Rhys' composure flickered briefly before he quickly schooled his face into that insufferably self-assured expression he had perfected as High Lord. It was almost enough to fade that mischievous glint his eyes had held as a boy from Azriel's memory. So different from that charming beguiling boy was this version of his brother. That Rhys had held Azriel as a child when he cried for his mother, had whispered promises to keep them safe. That Rhys, Azriel thought, would tear down a mountain before allowing harm to come to anyone in his family.

Calling his attention back to the room, this Rhys casually pocketed his hands and stated “She’s learning the consequences of her actions and her place in this court,” he paused here but then continued as if Azriel wasn’t leveling him with a violent glare, “when she is ready to behave and keep her fucking mouth shut, she can return. Until then, Cass is keeping her in check.” Azriel’s vision blurred.

Sensing the dangerous shift in Azriel's eyes, Feyre rushed “Az, it’s fine, they’re fine, I talked to Cass and he’s just going to hike through the mountains with her for a bit until she’s ready to apologize, really it is fine.” Nearly doubled over with how terribly Feyre had misunderstood his anger, he forced himself to meet her gaze. As their eyes locked he saw a flash of his mother shoved into the dirt when she tried to ask for more time with him, Nesta flung over his brother on the battlefield prepared to die covering his body with her own, Gwyn’s bright blue eyes squeezed shut as a Hybern soldier pressed against her, Eris gritting his teeth and refusing to give an inch as a fire-lit whip slashed across the skin of his back in a dark room.

Nesta hadn't been happily spirited away for a holiday with her mate. She had been threatened with death then delivered somewhere unknown to her and was now trapped somewhere in the wilderness with his brother as punishment for her honesty. Azriel did not have time to reconcile these males with the ones he grew up with, the males who swore an oath to make their court a safe place, swore to hold each other up. With more composure than he felt, he found himself able to ground out one demand, “tell me where he took her.”
___________________________________________

Azriel watched with horror as her head tipped left and then right, attempting to hold still and peer up at him but without the strength to hold herself in place. After several hours of flight, searching the steppes where Feyre believed Cassian had taken her sister, he had found them in a small clearing halfway up a brutal and jagged mountain pass.

As he descended, he had taken in the filthy battered body of his friend as she curled against a rock on the ground. He was thankful Cassian was asleep when he finally found their campsite, he did not have the strength to behave in a brotherly way towards the other male. Knelt on the ground beside her, his arm holding her up from the ground by her shoulders, his body stilled completely as he watched Nesta’s eyes roll back into her head as her long eyelashes fluttered rapidly.

He reached carefully for one of her hands, murmuring his name and hers to her again and again, attempting to orient her. He choked back a sob as he felt her hand loose in his as he grasped it to his chest, attempting to show her he was there and she was safe. How had his brothers allowed this to happen? Encouraged it, joked about it with each other mind-to-mind? Laying her hand carefully back across her chest he lifted her gently off the ground and gathered her into his arms.

She was dead weight against him and he was nearly sick with grief and anger witnessing her state at his brothers’ hands. He did not dare look towards his sleeping brother across the clearing, afraid he would not be able to complete his task if he laid eyes on the male who had driven this female, his sister by every measure that mattered, to this ledge. Breathing deeply against the growing rage in his chest, he whispered as gently as he could, “Nesta, Nesta, love, can you hear me?” No response.

Panic tightened across his skin as he again breathed deeply to settle the fear gripping him. Nesta needed him present and aware, the insufferable itch of his anger could wait. He tried again, “can you hear my voice?” Her eyes opened to slits, her head tilting awkwardly against his arm, he watched her pupils expand and shrink as they attempted to bring him into focus.

Encouraged by this confirmation of life, he lifted her higher against his chest, pulling her body away from the sharpness of the stones she was rested on. “Nesta, love, I am so sorry... I can take you somewhere safe, somewhere outside the Night Court, if you want.” Her eyes remained unfocused as she struggled to recognize his voice.

Eventually, she looked into his eyes and nodded her head, the movement barely perceptible if he hadn’t been looking for it. With her permission granted, he pulled her close against him and allowed his shadows to sweep them into the cool embrace of their strange darkness.

Seconds later, they were deposited gently on the plush rug of a well kept living room, warmed by a soft and silent fire in the fireplace. Azriel grunted as he stood from his kneeling position and lifted Nesta, laying her carefully onto a large settee near the fireplace. He pulled a soft wool blanket over her and carefully tucked her hands into its warmth.

Standing, he turned towards the arched entrance to the room, smiling quietly despite himself as he anticipated what would happen next. As expected, the rumble of quick steps thundering down the adjacent stairway drew Azriel's satisfied glance as Lucien burst through the door, dagger held securely in his right hand. Bright red hair pulled into a quick plait that left several strands rising and falling against the quick inhale and exhale of his breath, he quickly surveyed his living room.

Azriel observed his defensive stance and nodded to the other male with satisfaction, as if this were simply a test of Lucien's reaction time. Immediately registering the intruder as his friend, he relaxed slightly. "so you don't knock anymore, then" Lucien scolded as he lowered his hands and knife against his side, exhaling deeply. Turning back to the stairway, he grabbed the shirt he'd left there the night before.

Tugging it over his head he peered around Azriel's hulking frame to take in the female he stood protectively in front of. “Fuck,” he breathed out. “Okay, what does she need?” Azriel beamed proudly at Lucien who rolled his eyes and threw himself into an armchair across from Nesta's still form. “Az, spare me, please. What does she need?”

Chapter 2

Summary:

Azriel and Lucien argue about a plan. Nesta is delivered to the Autumn Court. Feat. Azriel and Lucien being secret besties, Nesta checked tf out, and Eris being a considerate baddie.

Okay yall, I don't like Rhys. That might be clear already. But I've always felt like Feyre is more a victim of her circumstances than a calculated or cruel enforcer. Like, she's literally 20 years old, married to a 500 year old war lord... That's gonna cause some shit, right? I don't agree with her actions in SF, but I think the argument can be made that she is trying her best with very limited life experience to fit into this ancient world among old ass fae who act like children much of the time... I'm just sayin.

Anyways this is my bid to normalize age-appropriate relationships in Prythian. Obv this is a fantasy world and real-world ethics don't ALWAYS directly translate... But let's have some accountability, right?

Notes:

Hello to anyone who read chapter one and decided to keep going, I appreciate you! I enjoyed writing this chapter. I'm kinda worried the pacing is too slow, but it will pick up soon once Nesta is settled. Bless our little queer queen, she will be safe here yall.

CHAPTER TWO

Azriel

Azriel sighed, his expression turning somber.

“First, a drink,” he mumbled, reaching out to ruffle Lucien’s hair as he passed through the room towards the bar cart kept in the corner.

Lucien swatted his hand away noncommittally, watching him dump two generous pours into his own glass, then another. Walking back across the room to take a seat in the remaining chair next to Lucien, he placed both glasses on the low coffee table and sat back heavily. Sinking into the soft leather, Azriel paused, for the first time since leaving the River House, and considered his predicament.

Rhys was currently furious, Cassian would soon be furious, as soon as he woke up to an empty camp. Feyre had barely been able to watch as the two brothers had stared each other down, unspoken anger crackling wildly between them. Rhys had refused to give an inch, meeting Azriel’s demands for information with that eerie silence of his. Feyre had offered what little she knew of Cass and Nestas' location solely in an attempt to break through the heated tension in the room.

As soon as an estimate of their travel path was out of her mouth, Azriel had clenched his jaw in his brother’s direction and turned from the room, stalking towards the door with a singular focus. He had ignored Rhys’ demand that he stand down and let him handle Nesta’s punishment as he saw fit. Amren's careless sigh had only deepened his anger towards his family. Feyre, for her part, sat quietly near the fire, her hands rubbing soothing circles around her swollen belly, to comfort herself or the growing babe he did not know.

Reflecting on his abrupt departure now, he felt the guilt of his haste creep in. He regretted leaving Feyre there without consolation or kind words. He had wanted to offer her comfort, to hold her hands in his and promise her they would find a way, that she and the babe would be alright. But his mind had been too crowded by the raging disappointment he felt towards his brothers. He had been spun out completely by their cruelty, racked with concern for Nesta knowing how relentless Cassian could be when he set his mind to something.

He had gaped openly when Feyre eventually relayed her conversation with Cassian to him mind-to-mind. Cassian had chosen to drag Nesta out into the dangerous wilderness of Illyria, to punish her at his High Lord’s command? His mate? Cassian had chosen Rhys over his mate and then laughed about it with Rhys and Feyre. Azriel was gobsmacked, absolutely floored by this.

He considered his own love, likely resting in his Autumn chambers, surrounded by the hounds he so dearly loved. He considered the many times over their relationship that he had been forced to make difficult choices between his love and his court, how it tore at him deep in the night when he was kept awake by his obsessive inspection of the past. Even in the times he had chosen his court allegiance over his relationship, he had never endangered Eris at Rhys’s command.

The thought of following an order that would bring harm to Eris curdled in his stomach, so repugnant he could barely hold the thought in his head before expelling it with disgust. He had made difficult decisions, yes. He had made decisions he later regretted, certainly. But he would throw himself into the churning depths of the Sidra before he would bring harm to his mate.

Refocusing on the clink of Lucien’s glass on the table between them, he turned to the Autumn male.

“Just tell me what happened, let’s start there” Lucien offered. “Start by explaining how an unconscious, and frankly filthy, Archeron ended up in my living room in the middle of the night.”

Azriel filled his cheeks with air before blowing it out slowly as he returned to the immediate task.

“It’s a long story,” he sighed.

“Well, it’s not a long story actually, it’s a really fucking short story.”

Frowning deeply, he relayed the night's revelations and events to a stunned Lucien.

The redhead fell back against his own chair, “by the fucking cauldron,” he muttered quietly.

“He was going to kill her, Luce. You think she looks bad now, you should’ve seen her out there on the rocks."

Lucien considered this carefully, smiling slightly to himself at the casual use the nickname only his family used for him, “yes, it certainly seems that way. And she does look pretty fucking bad now” he agreed.

“This whole thing is bad. I never should have gone along with this, Rhys’ fucking scheme to ‘heal’ her like that.”

Breathing deeply, he continued “I just… When I saw her start to train, really train, the way she brought the priestesses out of the library, how she made friends for the first time since coming to Prythian…” he trailed off, emptying his glass before setting it down with a thunk and dropping his head into his hands.

Lucien peered at him thoughtfully, “you thought you were helping. Now you know that was fucking stupid. Moving on from your embarrassing lack of perspective, let’s focus on what’s in front of us, Az.”

Ignoring his commentary completely, both males turned their attention to the unconscious female across from them, considering her with cautious eyes.

Steeling himself for rebuttal, Azriel finally spoke.

“She needs to go to Beyrih, Lucien. She’ll be safe there.”

Lucien’s gaze snapped to Azriel’s, “ oh, absolutely not. Out of the question. It’s not safe. Pick somewhere else, pick anywhere else,” he shook his head vehemently.

“Lucien,” Azriel said imploringly, “it is safe. They can protect her.”

They stared at each other for another silent moment before Lucien said slowly, as if to a willful child, “Yes, Azriel, I know it’s safe for her… It’s not safe for them. It’s a secret for a reason. Gods Az, you know this.”

Azriel bristled at his tone, as if he was not fully aware of the risk, as if he had not bled and sweat and cried for Beyrih, fought to keep it safe and protected.

“We’ll ask Eris,” he stated definitively, as if this resolved the matter.

Lucien braided his fingers together behind his head and groaned, throwing himself back into his chair.

After a moment of shaking his head he spoke, “you’re only saying that because you know Eris will side with you. You’ll risk everyone there being exposed to the Night Court if your little Inner Circle finds out where she is, Az. Think about this, really think about it.”

Azriel made a show of considering his words, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at the assumption that Eris would side with him. Azriel could recall with vivid clarity the many, many, moments in their relationship where Eris not only did not side with him, but even sided against him simply to be antagonistic.

“Look,” he offered playcatingly, “it’s Eris’ charge. He should be the one to decide.”

Rising to his feet, Azriel scanned Lucien’s living room, his eyes landing on his desk beneath the shuddered window against the far wall. With long easy steps, he crossed to it and began rifling through the drawers as if it were his own.

“Please,” Lucien grumbled, “by all means.”

Azriel smiled but did not stop his search, finally pulling out a blank parchment and a pen. Lucien approached him from behind, watching over his shoulder as Azriel’s long sloping handwriting filled the page. Taking in the message, Lucien scoffed, throwing his hands up in annoyance as he turned to pace away from the Illyrian.

“Right, so you show up in the middle of the night, rouse me from my beauty sleep, I graciously host you and your nearly-dead guest, you insist on taking her to the one place left in Prythian that Rhysand does not have his claws in, and now you expect me to deliver this hostage and your message to Eris?”

Glancing back at him Azriel observed the exasperated look on Lucien’s face before offering casually, “Yes.”

He handed the note to Lucien, looked back at Nesta’s fragile form one more time, then stepped into his shadows without another word, leaving Lucien to gape at the empty space he’d left behind.

Nesta

 

Nesta soaked in the darkness around her. She bled into it, grazed and dozed in it, floated high above herself in its soothing cloud. She was no longer on the mountain with Cassian, of that she was certain. The rest was blurred at the edge of her exhausted mind. She struggled to open her eyes, some muffled instinct telling her she should care about her surroundings. Finding the task of consciousness too heavy for her weary eyes, she dismissed the instinct and let herself drift through this empty space she had carved out within her.

Wherever she was, it was warm and it was soft and it was quiet. She could hear voices distantly, though she could not place what they said. They sounded friendly, that would have to be enough. Time passed without measure and she felt no draw to attend it. In the far reaches of her mind, those caverns inaccessible in a fully awake state, she wandered through her memories. Content to remain in this timeless place she browsed the images stored there with amused interest.

She saw herself as a child, dancing fiercely, her mother stern-faced behind her. She watched Feyre’s tiny hands squeeze around her own fingers as they walked through a garden together, Elain laughing somewhere behind them. She winced at the flashing image of her cheeks hollowed out and tight around her bones as her arms thrashed wildly inside the Cauldron’s waters.

Stepping into a nearby memory, she felt herself within the ancient walls of the library. She watched with interest as her beautiful redheaded friend poked her head around a shelf and leveled Nesta with a conspiratorial grin, beckoning her forward with crooked fingers. Helpless against this summons, she drifted along behind herself as she and Gwyn crept down to the lower levels of the library, whispering and giggling into each other’s ears excitedly. She watched her own smile, the real one, the one she rarely felt, as she listened to Gwyn’s harmless little scheme, knowing she would indulge her friend because she could not bear to deny Gwyn any happiness. She grinned to herself as she watched them fade from view, hand in hand.

Nesta drifted contentedly from memory to memory. Some happy memories of times before being Made, some after with her friends surrounding her, embracing her. Many are not, many fall around her neck like weights, forcing her to carry heavy feet through their murky drag before she can pull herself away from their grasp. It is in her escape from one of these memories, the kelpie’s frigid fingers bruising her with its grip, the fear as she scrambled to find purchase anywhere beneath the water of The Bog, that she feels a presence nearing her physical body.

Her awareness is a slippery thing though, and she cannot grasp onto it. She startles at the sensation of being lifted, feeling her head land against a warm, firm chest, its spiced cinnamon aroma embracing her gently. Whispered promises of safety flood her senses and she leans into the warmth, trusting it with surprising ease. Strong and sure arms lift her up, she feels how careful those arms are with her, how they touch only where necessary, their sturdiness against the wavering fluidity of her mind. Somewhat grounded by the touch, she feels herself settling back into her body, though still cannot find the will to invite full awareness. The air shifts around her and a cool breeze brushes gently against her cheeks, rested easily against this strange body that holds her.

More voices reach her inside her cocoon. Different somehow, but similar to the voices before. Unable to steady her focus enough to follow the conversation happening around her, she settles for the pieces she can easily reach.

The crinkling of parchment and a heavy sigh

“Listen, I’m just the messenger, this was all Az.”

More rustling and murmured conversation slips by her

“It’s certainly a risk…”

“-- told him it was a bad idea!”

She feels herself shifted higher in those cinnamon arms and leans into it, trusting and sure

“-- stop, Luce, just stop.”

“Okay, okay. You’re right Eris. Of course you’re right, she needs safe shelter. I just--”

“I know, little brother. Me too.”

Eris? Her mind tries to place this name but it slides from her like water through clenched fingers

Another shift. Startled, she realizes she’s being handed away from this warm and inviting hold. She wants to struggle against it, fearful of what might exist beyond this safety she’s found. Panic rises within her as she tries to force herself back into her body, to fight back against this loss of warmth. As the arms around her shift her into another’s grasp, she feels new hands lifting her gingerly, as if worried she will shatter like splintered glass.

This new smell, she reflects distantly, it’s… Different, but it’s also the same. She cannot keep her mind still enough to understand it, does she know this voice? Does she know this scent? Nesta tries to put her thoughts in a tangible order but can do little aside from melt warily into this new set of arms. Did she hear Azriel’s name before? Az is her friend, Az would not let strangers hurt her.

Unable to summon the will to do anything else, she allows herself to be transferred gently and feels the weight of her body pressed now against a new form. She feels a gentle pressure, a warmth, against her as the air shifts once more before settling around her. More voices she struggles to follow…

“-- found her and then my brother brought her to me. Aurie, she has nowhere else to go.” the voice pleads on her behalf.

“Yes, my lord, of course” cut off by a rumbling chuckle that puts her somewhat at ease

“Aurie please, how many times–” she loses the thread, again, drifting back into that precious void

After some shuffling, and feeling herself adjusted in these new arms several times, always with caution and care, she feels herself lowered into a soft nest of something that smells strangely foreign but feels inexplicably safe. Though her body remains limp and helpless in this warmth, she manages to curl her fingers around the soft edges of a blanket being pulled gently over her.

Jolted from this reverie by the startling crackle of a fire being lit, her eyes fly open, wide and fearful. Her overwhelmed senses cannot take in the full scene but she narrows in on a small brick fire place where a slight female with iridescent blue skin and delicate dragonfly wings shuffles kindling around, coaxing the fire to grow.

“Please!” she hears herself beg, “please, no fire.” she half-sobs, unable to generate the strength required for decorum.

A tall broad shouldered male she vaguely recognizes looks at her for a moment before turning back to the female by the fire. Aurie, she supposes. He holds up a hand to Aurie, pausing her work, and kneels by the bed Nesta occupies.

“Nesta, you are safe here. Azriel sent you here to be safe, do you remember?”

She tries desperately to blink her eyes open, to ask where Azriel is, where Cassian is, where she is, but she cannot find the strength. Nodding weakly, she forces her left hand open, stretching her index finger towards to fireplace.

“Please,” she begs quietly, “no fire, please.” She does find herself able to conjure the strength to be annoyed with at how pitiful she sounds, but the male in front of her simply nods with understanding. Angling his body slightly, he reaches an upturned hand out towards the fire and draws his fingers together into a loose fist. The fire dims at his command before fading completely. In this silence, again she rests.

Notes:

ETA I'm reformatting the earlier chapters so if you're going back through and it looks different, that's why.

Thanks again to Litnerdwrites for the feedback and advice!!

Chapter 3

Summary:

Eris is summoned from a council meeting to meet Lucien. Lucien tries to explain Nesta's state. Eris takes her to his most trusted healer.

Feat. Eris being a long-time rebel and super into his mate, Lucien being an ally, and me hating Beron.

I set this at 25 chapters because I *think* it's possible, but if we go over we go over, right? There are no rules, we exist in the chaotic perfection of Gay Nesta and Pining Azris, so.

Eris

Eris nearly jumps as he feels the parchment materialize in his pocket. Centuries of practice maintaining a neutral expression in his father’s company keeps his outward appearance calm and collected. It can only be Azriel or Lucien and he is not expecting communication from either at this point in his day. Quieting the anxiety in his mind as his fingers trace the outline of this note in his pocket, his eyes subtly take in the lords and advisors around the table.

His father’s most loyal are gathered here to discuss a breach along the Autumn and Spring border. Having spoken with Tamlin only two days ago, he knows this incursion is a response to Autumn soldiers prowling the boundary, attempting to elicit a response at his father’s command. Beron is testing the Spring Lord, to what end Eris has not uncovered. He suspects Beron is probing for weakness as his mysterious relationships on the continent strengthen.

Heated chatter continues around him as he schools his movements into something innocuous, wanting desperately to pull the letter from his pocket and ensure his most beloved are safe. A sharp eye on the faces around him confirm their immersion in their plotting and offers Eris a brief reprieve. Confirming his father’s attention is settled on a lesser lord at the end of the long table, Eris pulls the missive from his pocket without lowering his gaze. He should wait until he is alone, he knows he should wait. But the fear of not knowing if his mate and his littlest brother are safe compels him.

For centuries, he and Azriel played this silent secret game, never so much as hinting at anything other than contempt between them. It had been their safeguard, how they protect each other. It pulls at Eris’ deepest reserves to keep his dearest love so hidden, buried beneath layers of feigned malice and hatred. He ensures it only to keep his love safe from his own court and his mate’s.

As he deftly unfolds the letter with one hand under the table, he recalls the first time Azriel came to him in the Autumn Court. Arriving unbidden and unexpected in his chambers, Azriel had slid from his shadows into a flurry of confused hounds. Eris works to suppress his smile at the memory of Azriel’s widened eyes, arms lifted high, taking in the blurred mass of smoke and shadows flitting around him. They were young then, barely in their hundreds. Eris had seen Azriel paraded around by the Night Court’s High Lord at court functions, then later at war councils.

He was drawn to those hazel eyes, pulled deep into Azriel’s sphere by his alluring scent and the careful way he moved, the deep maroon of his elegant wings held aloft behind him. These memories only increase Eris’ growing concern as he attempts to flatten the note against his thigh beneath the table. Risking a glance, he lowers his gaze to the paper spread across his leg. Taking in Azriel’s lovely elongated letters, transcribed the way only his mate can master, he scans the letter quickly. Azriel is requesting that Eris meet Lucien at one of their hidden places near the border. No explanation except a scrawled request that Eris hurry. Taking a deep breath, knowing he will go wherever Azriel asks him to go, he looks up at the council before him. Bringing a manicured hand up to his brow he sighs loudly, drawing Beron’s attention, for better or worse.

Holding up a hand to pause the council, his father shifts his attention, “are we keeping you from something more pressing, my son,” Beron croons.

Eris braces his spine, keeping himself as still as possible under this scrutiny, knowing any misstep ends with his body flayed against the floor of an Autumn dungeon.

“Apologies, my lord. The drabble of this council fails to inspire.”

Heart pounding against his chest, he waits to see if his father will take the bait or send him tumbling into another session. Beron cocks a brow and smirks narrowly at his eldest son.

“And where would your attentions be, child.”

Easing his frayed nerves, hopeful he has hooked his prey, he glances noncommittally around the table, forcing a bemused smirk. Making a show of his perusal, he looks to his father “I do not trust these hasty accounts, my lord. I request leave to inspect the Spring borders, that I may bring you an accurate," here, he pauses to narrow his eyes at several nearby lords, “account. Let me inspect our stations in your stead, my lord.”

Beron waves a hand his direction, dismissing him without another word. Eris stifles the urge to leap from his seat, slowly rising as if bored by the entire event. He slinks from the room with a smirk, shooting a meaningless wink at the lord nearest his exit before disappearing through the council room door.

Dropping his smirk in the hallway, he darts quickly through the Forest House corridors towards his personal study, his hand worrying the missive in his pocket as he rushes. His mind is reeling, why is Azriel writing to him in the middle of the day? Why is Azriel writing to send him to meet Lucien at the border? Somewhere in his mind he registers the serendipity of being granted permission to assess the borders exactly where Azriel has requested him.

Throwing open the sturdy oak door of his study, he glances around quickly before settling his gaze on the pack leader of his hounds. Straightening his left arm, he pinches the sleeve of his left shirt sleeve between the fingers of his right hand and gives it a shake, hoping to dislodge the shadow Azriel does not know he knows about. It curls around his forearm with delicate pressure but declines to show itself or participate. fine he thinks to himself, let us all struggle then.

“Missy,” he snaps, signaling with his hand for her to follow.

Her solid form melts into an intangible mist as her smoke curls around and up his left leg and dissipates before him. Knowing she is already waiting for him at the meeting point, he shuts the door firmly behind him and winnows directly.

Stepping into the clearing he remains on high alert. Assessing the area quickly, he walks forward quickly when Lucien’s tall frame fades into view, holding a recognizable and dangerous female in his arms.

“Lucien,” he breathes into the space between them.

“Brother,” Lucien replies with a characteristic grin.

Eris continues his review of the space, his wretched heart wanting to see the beautiful warm glow of his mate walking towards him.

Sensing the direction of his thoughts, Lucien continues, “Azriel had to return. He sent me, and the eldest Archeron. Things are a bit disjointed in the Night Court, brother… We need your help.”

Set on edge by this admission, Eris glares at his younger brother as he steps closer, “explain,” he demands.

Resettling the seemingly unconscious female in his arms, Lucien sighs largely, clearly unhappy with his task.

“Eris, I can’t explain it all, you have to ask Az. All I can tell you is that Feyre’s eldest sister upset Rhys and the general, she was sent off on a death march of some kind, Azriel found out and, of course, swooped in to rescue her, and then demanded that I bring her to you to take to Beyrih.”

Lucien exhales slowly, monitoring Eris’ reaction. “Listen, I’m just the messenger, this was all Az,” he gestures towards the silent female with his chin.

Eris frowns at the scene in front of him, considering his options. He certainly can’t deny this female access to safety, that is not an option. Working through the implications of allowing a Night Court citizen into Beyrih, he rubs his chin absently with his left hand.

“It’s certainly a risk” he thinks aloud.

Lucien scans his brother’s face with an agreeable nod, “I told him it was a bad idea…”

Eris thinks back to the first family he settled in Beyrih. They’d fled one of Beron’s raids, terrified and desperate, they’d thrown themselves at Eris’ feet when he appeared at the edge of their ruined lands. Sure that he was there to continue and expand their suffering, the three young females had fallen to their knees before him, shaking mercilessly beneath his gaze.

The eldest of the three shot to her feet, hands drawn together, “my lord,” she’d begged, “please show mercy, my sisters, they have nothing… Please, take what you need from me, please spare them.”

Eris had blanched at the offer, his already pale skin sallowing further at her words. She recoiled in fear as he reached a hand towards her. Disgusted by the fear wrought within his court he stilled his hand and steadied his voice. He'd been working to combat these raids subtly and was frustrated with the slow progress. Looking at these females before him, having just lost their home and possibly their livelihoods, Eris made a decision. His court maneuverings were having no impact, so he would take direct action to protect his people.

“My lady, there is a cabin near here, it is safe, I can take you there. No one will bother you, not my father, not me, nor my brothers.”

They looked at him warily.

Sensing their trepidation, he tried again, “please, my lady. My name is Eris. My mother, Rora, maintains the cabin. I can take you to her, I will not return to it unless you ask for me.”

It wasn't strictly true, his mother had never been to the cabin, did not know it existed. But in this desperate moment he trusted her support would be easily rallied.

He fought to remain upright as his body begged to sag against the rotten legacy of his father and his court. The female had tilted her head as she inspected him. He peered over her shoulders at her sisters, their skin aglow in the distant flames, fragile wings shaking at their backs.

“My name is Aurie,” she’d said boldly, “I am a trained healer, I can work for lodging and rations, for me and my family.”

Taking in her protective stance, seeing so much of himself reflected in her, feeling the memory of his mate’s precious wings safeguarded in his reverent hands, he nodded with understanding, “Aurie, my lady, please allow me to escort you somewhere safe.”

After another wary pause, she had relented, taking his hand cautiously and reaching back to clutch her sisters’ before nodding her consent. He'd winnowed them directly to his hunting cabin deep in the Autumn woods, hidden from everyone but himself and his mate. He deposited the family there, returning to the Forest House to beg his mother’s help. She agreed without question and he'd winnowed them both back to the cabin and left the four females there with instructions to summon him through magical parchment should any needs arise.

Over time, he had slowly grown closer to Aurie and her sisters until they felt like family. She was, it turns out, a very skilled healer, gifted in her craft. Over the years as Beron’s ambitions grew wilder and more fervent, his paranoia and bias about ‘lesser fae’ grew. Raids became more and more common and whenever he could he would bring survivors to Aurie.

His lone hunting cabin grew into a small cluster of cabins, which grew into a larger community of shared space, which over the centuries became a small but bright village that Aurie steadfastly maintained. He secreted gold away from his father to fund it, helping to keep the village fed, and under Aurie’s careful watch it thrived. His love had kept close, lending his capable hands to build homes and shops, offering his time to teach the residents basic first aid and self-defense, more direct training for those who asked. They grew into the community until they were woven into its fabric, allowed and accepted by the residents of this hidden sparkling gem within his court.

As he looked over his littlest brother now, gently holding this tired and abused female, he knew she belonged to the heart of Beyrih. Pausing Lucien’s monologue with a single hand held up in front of him, he relented.

“Stop, Luce, just stop.”

They looked at each other for a single moment before Eris stepped towards him, arms out to receive this strange female. Lucien moved to pass her to him gently, hurrying to explain his fears and concerns. Eris knew them already, felt them in his own bones, the weight of his own failings that led to the need for this community to begin with.

“I know, little brother. Me too,” he said simply as he received Nesta in the soft cradle of his arms.

At that, Lucien nodded and reached out to rest a broad tanned hand on Eris’ shoulder. Squeezing lightly, he turned and winnowed in a wisp of light that cast a brief shimmer across the clearing before disappearing.

Pausing only long enough to adjust the female in his arms comfortably, Eris winnowed them both through his carefully placed wards and directly into Aurie’s living room. She startled when he alighted into view, leaping from her chair by the fire with arms raised protectively. Settling quickly, she eyed him with curiosity, scanning the worn body in his arms. She cocked an eyebrow at him in question.

He began quickly, “Azriel found her passed out somewhere…”

He was wary of sharing too much about who this female was and who she was related to. He trusted Aurie but did not want to endanger her by saying too much.

“I don't know the whole story, he found her and then my brother brought her to me. Aurie, she has nowhere else to go.”

He moved slowly into the room as Aurie watched. She nodded, “yes my lord, of course."

Their eyes meeting, they both laughed at the honorific and Eris felt himself relax.

“Aurie, how many times,” he chuckled, eyes twinkling.

She smiled warmly and gripped his arm, “come, my lord, let’s get her warm.”

He followed her deeper into the house and into one of the rooms she had set aside for newcomers and guests. Aurie moved some pillows around the bed and pulled a soft quilt back, motioning for Eris to lay Nesta down in the cubby she’d created. He watched Nesta’s shaking fingers grip the edge of the blanket, his heart nearly breaking at her fragile grasp. His eyes on Nesta, he motioned for Aurie to start a fire, hoping to warm their guest quickly.

As the fire struck, Nesta’s eyes blew wide, swiveling rapidly to find purchase in the room.

“Please” she gasped out, “please, no fire,” he studied her curiously, feeling Aurie do the same behind him as she slowed her hands at the hearth.

Despite his attempted comfort, she repeated herself, pleading for the fire to be put out. Knelt beside her, he observed the fear in her fluttering eyes. Reaching behind himself he effortlessly dimmed and then extinguished the fire with a single smooth motion. As her eyes drifted shut once more, he turned to Aurie who met his gaze.

“Alright,” she said smoothly, “no fires then..”

They share another glance before looking back at Nesta’s form on the bed. Eris lifted a fur from a nearby chair and placed it over the points of her feet. Nodding in synch, they step away from the room together. With one last glance over his shoulder, Eris feels an ache in his heart for her, for his mate, as he watches her fall into rest.

 

AZRIEL

Warm air from the Night Court’s late summer evening gently flows through his dark curls as he holds himself suspended above the River House with quiet wings. After leaving Lucien’s townhouse, trusting his mate’s brother to deliver Nesta safely to his love, he had flown in and around Velaris for the last hour, his thoughts twining and restless. He heard his High Lord’s voice in his mind several times since storming out of the River House, demanding his return, questioning his motives and intentions, nearly outright accusing him of misdeeds.

He was able to surmise that Cassian had not yet woken from his sleep in the Illyrian mountains, certain that Rhys would have shouted into his mind about it if he had. Surely Cassian would fly immediately to Rhys when he discovered Nesta was missing from the site of his punishment. Hovering above the River House’s wide roof, a platform designed for fae with wings, he tucked his wings in tight and allowed his body to drop like onto the space below, bending his knees into the landing to soften the sound. Before he could straighten fully, he felt Rhys winnow ahead of him.

“Rhys,” he sighed with fatigue, “is Cass back yet?”

Rhys ignored him, walking to the edge of the roof, wrapping his fingers around the thin iron rail gaiting the space and leaning against it. Dragging his gaze across the flourishing garden below, his High Lord said nothing.

He tried again, “Rhys, have you talked to Cass?”

Eyes fixed on the stretch of iron between his hands, Rhys smiled to himself, a humorless expression.

“Shadowsinger,” he said finally, lifting his head towards Azriel, “where is she?” he asked without emotion.

Azriel stilled at his tone. He had expected anger, disappointment, frustration, maybe even rage. This quiet and empty question sent a chill down his spine, the use of his title unsettling.

“Rhys, brother, where is Cassian?” Something uncomfortable itched at his skin as he watched his brother drop the weight of his head between his shoulders.

Shoulder blades prominent against the Velaris skyline, Rhys shook his head where it fell.

“Where is Cassian?” he parroted back to Azriel, “brother where is Nesta?”

Azriel fluttered his wings out behind him, attempting to shake the strangeness of this exchange. This was his brother, his closest friend, his family…

“take me to her” Rhys demanded quietly, his eyes roving over Azriel’s form accusingly.

Considering, Azriel took a risk and feigned innocence.

“Rhys, I don’t know where she is. I know I was upset earlier. I didn't mean to alarm you.”

Rhys lifted his head, chuckling darkly, “don’t worry about Cassian, brother. Tell me, did you know? Did you know that she would tell Feyre? Did you have an escape route planned for her?”

Rhys turned from where he had braced his arms on the railing and lowered himself to the ground until he was seated, his arms balanced loosely on his knees. Azriel saw it then.

"You’re drunk, Rhys.”

Rhys tilted his head up to where Azriel towered above him, “Well spotted, spymaster,” his head fell back slightly, thudding against the wall behind him.

The tightness in his chest loosening, he reached for his brother, “come on, Rhys, let’s get you inside.”

Before Azriel could make contact, Rhys shot up from his seated position, his glare unfocused but smoldering, “I always fought for you, Az. I found you in the fucking dirt, you couldn’t even flap your wings yet,” he hissed.

Rhys was drunk and angry and Azriel had some measure of grace for that, but it was not infinite.

“I made you my spymaster, right?” Rhys lurched away from Azriel’s reach, stumbling as he righted himself with a hand against the rail beside him.

Azriel watched him quietly, trusting as a brother that this ramble was meaningless but knowing as a spy that something unseen by daylight was being shared here. Rhys laughed darkly to himself, adjusting his grip on the railing, losing his balance when he threw his head back to laugh fully into the sky. Stumbling backwards he shot a hand out to grab Azriel’s wrist.

“I’ll have her back in my court, Shadowsinger. You will bring her back to me.”

This command seemed drained him and the High Lord of Night slumped heavily against Azriel. Dutifully, if disconcerted, Azriel wrapped an arm around hi brother's shoulder and ushered him inside. Pushing him into the nearest room, he left Rhys sprawled across a guest bed several floors above Feyre. Stepping away, he felt the zing of Autumn magic around him and sighed with relief, knowing his love’s message was safe in his pocket and waiting for his reply.

Notes:

ETA I'm reformatting earlier chapters to flow better so if you're reading a second time (first of all, bless your sweet soul and know that I love you deeply) and it looks different that's why!

Chapter 4

Summary:

Nesta tries to rally, Autumn welcomes her. Eris follows through with the task he promised Beron and is concerned to find the Autumn and Spring borders have been tamped with.

Feat. Nesta doing her goddamn best, Aurie being a kind sweet precious blessing, Eris squinting at things he does not understand.

Beron stays plotting yall, we do not trust him....

Notes:

Shout out LitNerdWrites who left some formatting advice for me!! Let me know if I did it right, if it worked. If it does work, I think I'll go back to the first three chapters and re-format them as well?

Thanks to everyone who has commented and read and left kudos, please don't stop!

Okay, let's get through this next chapter so we can settle Nesta into her love arc <3

Nesta

Nesta blinks slowly against sunlight warming her cheeks and eyes. Squinting towards its point of origin, she attempts to rally her muddled brain into the present. you were with Cassian she thinks slowly to herself, shutting her eyes against the brightening light. You were with Cassian and now you are not she confirms, studying the deep red hues of light filtering through her eyelids. Weakly, she lets her head flop to the side, attempting to raise an arm against the sun’s cheerful beams and assess where she’d let herself be ferried in the night. The unfamiliar scene comes into focus around her and she takes in the small but cozy bedroom she’s found herself in. The bed is soft around her, lush pillows support her heavy head and a thick quilt of deep reds and golds is tucked neatly around her form, decadent furs cover the blanket around her feet as an extra measure of warmth. The exposed wood of the four walls surrounding her confirm she is in a cabin of some sort, the small fireplace across from her mercifully quiet and dark. Peering around without moving her aching head, she observes framed portraits along the walls of what appear to be dogs the size of small horses, their regal poses captured in vibrant scenes of colorful forests and vast green meadows under cerulean skies. A home, she thinks, I’m in someone’s home.

Glancing towards the rounded wooden door across from her she listens intently to the shuffling and clattering of life moving about outside her haze. Whose home, she does not know. Momentarily halted by the vulnerability of her position, and the growing awareness of her reeking and torn clothes, she inspects the hand held above her. Noting the scrapes along her palms and wrists have been cleaned but the rest of her remains in the condition she suspects she arrived in: bedraggled. It appears that nothing below the safety of the quilt that covers her has been attended. Promising she assures herself quietly.

She tries, without success, to lift herself onto her elbows, working to bring her mind up to speed with what’s happened. Too weak to hold herself up, dizzied by the effect of trying, she sinks back into the plush comfort of the bed. She recalls trudging silently behind a furious Cassian through unfamiliar landscape, Illyria if her clouded memory is trustworthy. Why had she been taken there? Why was Cassian taut with anger ahead of her? “Feyre,” she whispers to herself, the memory of her youngest sister’s pained and paint smeared face in Amern’s apartment slamming into her. Dropping her arm to cover her face shamefully, she sifts through her recollection. She had fought with Cassian at The House before rushing down the 10,000 steps to Velaris in a mad fury. She quickly recalls the pressing weight of her anger, how helpless she’d felt at the lack of control she had over her life, the desperate need to lash her trapped feelings out into the world like a whip.

Her memory choosing this moment to solidify, she remembers shouting with Amren, who had scolded her like a naughty dog caught off its lead. Feyre, inserting herself between them, attempting to identify and soothe the source of Nesta’s rage. Nesta had whirled on her sister with a frightening grimace, unable to stop the momentum of her distress seething out of her every seam, demanding to be released from the chokehold she’d held it in for months. And then she’d let it break her. The image of her sister, flushed from her sprint to Amern’s apartment to contain her, those wide innocent eyes observing Nesta’s desperate brokenness, her collapse into everything they believed about her, rushed Nesta’s vision. She felt the sting of hot tears spilling trails of salt across her flushed cheeks.

Squeezing her eyes shut against the onslaught of this relentless remembering, she turned her head back against the pillow and quietly wept, her narrow shoulders shaking gently beneath the carefully crafted quilt she knew she did not deserve. They should have left me on the mountain, she thought miserably before allowing darkness to reclaim her broken body and release her into the oblivion of exhaustion.

_________________________________________

When she woke next, the back of a soft hand rested against her forehead. Forcing her eyes open, she was met with large oval eyes, irises sparkling with glittering shades of deep green. Lost for a moment in the soft mossy stare of this stranger, she blinked blankly.

“Nesta,” the eyes spoke.

No, the mouth belonging to the eyes spoke. Drawing her gaze to the plush pink lips of her captor, she watched silently as those lips opened again to continue.

“Nesta, my name is Aurie. I’m a healer and I’m here to help you, is that alright?”

Blinking again, Nesta refocused her gaze on the face of the female hovering above her. Aurie, her mind supplied.

“Nesta,” the glowing female repeated, “do you know where you are?” Her voice was gentle, kind. It settled into her with warmth as she felt her head shake slightly in reply.

“That’s alright, dear, you’ve been through something very difficult. It’s perfectly normal to feel confused,” the eyes, Aurie, assured her.

“Nesta, you are in the Autumn Court. In a village called Beyrih. Azriel sent you here to keep you safe. That’s what we do here, we keep people safe.”

Azriel, that name she knew. Watching the recognition dawn, Aurie nodded her head encouragingly. Nesta opened her mouth to speak but felt only dry sand against her throat as she croaked something incoherent. Unbothered, Aurie settled lightly on the bed beside her and raised a glass of water off the nearby table, cocking a brow in question. Nesta felt herself nod before Aurie slipped long delicate fingers behind her head, lifting her slightly as her other hand brought the water to her lips. The cool water slipped down her throat easily and she closed her eyes at the sensation of it soothing her throat and chest. She cleared her throat, opening her eyes to meet Aurie’s once more.

“I know Azriel,” she offered pitifully.

Aurie smiled, nodding generously again. “Yes, dear, you do,” she confirmed.

Allowing Nesta to pull more of the refreshing water into her mouth, she lowered the glass back onto the bedside table beside her. Pausing to confirm Nesta was still following, she continued.

“Azriel helped us build Beyrih. He helps protect us. And he sent you to us so that we could protect you.”

Nesta glanced absently around, begging her mind to keep up and still itself. Built? she thought silently before setting her gaze back on Aurie.

“Azriel brought me here?” she asked weakly. If Aurie knew Azriel, if Azriel had brought her here, then it must be safe, she rationalized. Azriel would not lead her into danger. When had she last seen Azriel? Had he been on the mountain? Was he there with Cassian? The thought of Cassian and Azriel working together made sense, but Az had not been there for the hike… Right? Coaxing her from this spiral, Aurie held her gaze and gently shook her head.

“No, dear, Azriel did not bring you here. He sent Lucien to bring you to Eris, it was Lord Eris who brought you to Beyrih. He knew you would be safe with us.”

Nesta struggled to pull this information into anything resembling sense. Eris? No, that could not be right. Azriel hates Eris, right? She was misunderstanding. She cursed silently to herself, willing her sluggish brain to please keep up. “Vanserra?” she ventured, hoping to generate some understanding of her predicament. If she was with the Vanserra’s, she was not safe. The thought sent a shudder of panic through her as she looked to Aurie for confirmation.

“Yes dear, Eris Vanserra. Azriel arranged for him to bring you here to us, so we could take care of you.” Aurie nodded steadfastly, as if this made any sense at all, as if the implication that she was captive in the Autumn Court under Eris’ command was remotely comforting. Why would Azriel bring her here? Groaning to herself she shook her head too forcefully, bright points of light skittered across her vision as her brain resisted the jarring movement.

“Dearest, can you tell me your name and where you are?” Aurie watched carefully, the look in her eye telling Nesta that she worried Nesta was not retaining any of this information, that she was not oriented or present.

“My name is Nesta Archeron,” she replied dutifully. “I am in the Autumn Court, in village called Beyrih. Azriel brought me here.” She shook her head, “No, Azriel asked Eris Vanserra to bring me here.”

Aurie relaxed slightly at this and smiled her warm smile, “yes, that’s right. Nesta, I believe it’s been several days since you’ve eaten anything. I’ve brought some stew up from the kitchens, it’s Jay’s specialty,” she said hopefully, as if that name or endorsement would mean anything to Nesta. Tilting her head once more, she saw the bowl of stew Aurie referenced sitting beside her water glass, the thin handle of a silver spoon poking out from the steaming vegetables and broth. Setting her reservations aside for the moment, Nesta nodded again, vaguely aware that she would need sustenance before she could parse out this mess. Aurie leaned forward to adjust Nesta’s pillows, pausing with a glance to Nesta, a request. Nesta dipped her chin in confirmation and Aurie lifted her with surprising strength as she settled more pillows behind her and gently lowered her back down. Seated more fully now, Nesta’s shaking hands accepted the bowl Aurie offered her. Lifting the spoon to her cracked lips, Nesta felt the warm savory broth across her tongue and let her eyes roll back into her head at the comfort of it.

Wary as she was of her position and this strange place with this strange female, she felt her eyes well with tears at the deeply nostalgic comfort of this homemade stew offered to her with such gentle kindness. It tasted like a home, like someone had cared enough to chop these vegetables into bite sizes for her, softening them in a savory medicinal broth until they were easy for her to chew and swallow, seasoning and spicing them carefully and purposefully.

She felt a tear slip down her cheek as she cradled the bowl in her hands, looking back up into Aurie’s soft green eyes, crinkled at the edges with kindness as she watched Nesta settle into her first meal in days. Her first lovingly prepared meal in… She could not remember how long. Aurie was not put off by her display, she simply reached a delicate hand up to Nesta’s cheek, wiping her errant tear with a soft thumb across her cheek, and said solemnly “Lord Eris is not what you think, dearest. You are safe. I promise, you are safe here.” holding her gaze, Nesta felt somewhere in her bones that it was true, that she was safe in Aurie's care.

Eris

After settling Nesta into bed, tucking extra furs around her to account for lost heat from the fire, he had followed Aurie back out to the living room of her home. It had once been his personal cabin but after several centuries it was now fully Aurie’s. He felt no claim to it, needed none. He had settled heavily across from her and their eyes met in the dim light of her stoked fire.

“I can’t stay,” he lamented lamely, the fingers of his right hand dragging lightly up and down his left forearm where Azriel’s shadow nearly purred beneath his sleeve. He smiled to himself at the contact, the comfort of his love’s presence even when he could not be there himself.

Azriel had always taken care of Eris in these quiet secret ways. His thoughtful attentions always two steps ahead, ensuring Eris had a fresh pitcher of water by his bed before he slipped away into the early morning shadows; warm socks slid carefully onto his cold feet as he slept, as if unable to stomach Eris in any discomfort; a napkin near his own plate at supper, wet with herbs he pulled from Eris’ food so Eris did not have to pick around them; a sweet note folded into the pocket of his trousers, snuck into his armoire for Eris to discover when he pulled them out for dressing.

Azriel was kind, fiercely loyal, and protective of those he loved. And he loved Eris. If Azriel trusted him to take care of Nesta, Eris would not disappoint him. He knew how Azriel felt about the fiery female, knew that he loved her as he would a sister. He saw Azriel in his mind grinning with pride as he waved his arms around excitedly, regaling Eris with Nesta’s successes in training and the way she inspired the priestesses of their hidden library to join her on the roof. No, he would not let his mate down. He had been trusted with something, someone, precious to Azriel and he would see that she was well and safe under his protection.

“I know dear, I know” Aurie confirmed. “I will look after her, Eris. You have my word.”

Eris did, and he trusted her word implicitly. Nodding to her, he reached into his pocket he pulled out a small scrap of parchment. Resisting the urge to write his love a sappy but filthy note expressing his affections and explicit intent, distracted only briefly by the memory of their last kiss, he penned a brief message to Azriel in his neat and tidy handwriting. Relaying only the necessary, he folded it into his open palm and watched it disappear into a puff of flame and smoke, grinning at the knowledge that it would be settled into his mate’s pocket momentarily.

He stood and crossed to Aurie in long, graceful strides, leaning down to kiss her cheeks, smiling softly at her blush. After all these centuries, she remained as bold in action as she was bashful in affection. Reaching for her hands, he squeezed them between his once, twice, then lowered them to her lap with a smile and turned to the door.

“Contact me immediately if anything comes up, Aurie. I’ll leave Missy here with Nesta, to be safe.” He motioned for Missy to join him. Padding to his side, she sat as instructed and looked up at him with knowing eyes. Reaching towards her, he let her nuzzle against his hand before lowering it further to cup her jaw and tilt her face towards him. He narrowed his eyes at Azriel’s shadow darting from his sleeve to twirl around Missy’s smokey fur, silently admonishing it for this display after its blatant refusal to acknowledge him earlier. “Yes, yes,” he drawled at them indulgently, “you are very good girls and I am only here to facilitate this friendship.” His tone was accusing but the tilt of his lips betrayed his affection. Chuckling to himself as Azriel’s shadow slipped back into his sleeve, he turned his attention back to Aurie who was eyeing him with amusement.

The thin female smiled back at him, “of course, my lord.”

He rolled his eyes, shooting her rakish wink before winnowing away in a flourish. He landed gracefully on the Autumn side of the Spring border, sighing wearily as he began his hike down the dividing line. While his request to inspect the border was borne from the need to distract Beron from his absence, he had a genuine interest in keeping a close eye on the movements here. Revelations at the council meeting had been alarming. He knew Beron was moving behind his back, that much was clear. He knew Beron was consorting with at least Brialynn, and suspected he was courting allyship with Kochei. He had no concrete evidence, but the state of his soldiers in The Middle was tacit confirmation. He knew of the Dread Troves, only vaguely. Little was known about them but he suspected that if Brialynn and the Night Court were after them, Beron would have eagerly tangled himself up with the force more amenable to his cause: the once human queen. From Lucien, he knew some about the other human queen, Vassa, and her curse. It was all connected somehow. But how it connected, and what Beron’s stake in it could be, remained a mystery to him.

After centuries of safeguarding Autumn and working as general to its armies, even trusted to enter Beron’s own inner circle, he was deeply familiar with the borders of his court. He had inspected, assessed, and monitored them many times over. Trusting his feet to keep his path, he let his mind wander. Not much was known about Kochei, less still about his curse. While he knew that Azriel was not always able to share the full breadth of his knowledge, a mutual agreement they had come to hundreds of years ago, he trusted that Azriel would not keep information from him that might cause harm to his court or put him in any danger. Knowing that to be true, he believed that Azriel knew about as much about Kochei and his relationship to the mortals as he did.

He knew that Brialynn held Nesta responsible for her own plight after entering the cauldron. Eris had no sympathy for the once human queen whose power grab had so spectacularly backfired, but he could not deny his concern about housing the object of her rage within the carefully crafted and secret walls of Beyrih. If Beron learned that Nesta was residing in his court, Eris was not sure he could shield her from his ambitions. Shuddering at the thought, and frustrated by his inability to piece this puzzle together, he slowed his gait, stopping to lean against the trunk of a nearby tree. He dragged his fingers down his face, pulling his eyelids down in frustration as he groaned his discontent into the forest.

Roused slightly from his despair by a cool breeze, he straightened his stance and looked around. Expecting to see the damp forest floor of Autumn and its ever-falling leaves meeting the eternal green of Spring’s bloom, he started as he spun around the expanse of clear Autumn foliage. Had he gotten too lost in his thoughts and wandered the wrong direction? That was not like him... Cautiously, he began walking forward instead of following a parallel path. Ducking under low branches, his keen eyes taking in his surroundings, he marked a trail into the forest with light fingertip-wide scorches on passing trees. Not enough to harm the living forest, but enough to track his progress.

Estimating he had traveled approximately 30 paces, he finally felt his boots sink into the soft and fertile soil of Spring. Brows drawn together in consideration, he glanced around. He had crossed into Spring, certainly, but he should have crossed into spring several paces ago. Adjusting the collar of his jacket absently, scanning the forest, he considered his options. There were no signs of Autumn soldiers here, or anywhere on his trek so far. This land was not taken by military force, something else was playing with these long-established boundaries. He wandered deeper into the Spring wilderness, hoping his intrusion would alert Tamlin and he would show up to defend his border against Eris. Nearly two hours later Eris had witnessed no sign of Tamlin or any indication of Autumn tampering. Without any method of direct contact, he winnowed himself back to the Forest House, feeling defeated.

Moments later, returned to his chambers, he braced over the marble counter of his washroom squinting at himself in the mirror. Chewing the inside of his cheek uncharacteristically, he watches the frustration in his expression as he considers the day's many revelations. He has heard nothing from Aurie since leaving Nesta in her care. He trusts that means Nesta has not woken up yet. He also has not heard back from his mate, a more concerning silence. From the note Lucien delivered on his behalf earlier, when Nesta was deposited into his protection, he surmised that Azriel had not gotten any permissions from his family to remove the female from the Night Court. Not knowing if his subsequent silence is his love being reprimanded somewhere in his secret city, or simply his love being cautious, concerned him.

Checking his pockets thoroughly and coming up empty, he grumbles to himself as he plaits his hair for bed and changes into soft sleep clothes. Eris works with meticulous care to keep himself apprised of movements in and around his court, and those pertaining to his mate's safety. He is deeply discomfited by the growing list of things he does not know. He considers sending another parchment to his love, wanting desperately to know that he is alright. Aside from his concerns about Azriel's safety having moved secretly against his High Lord and brothers' wishes, he knows that the events of the day would have worn on Azriel. His mate's cold and stoic exterior rarely betrayed it, but he knew Azriel's true self to be easily shaken by cruelty towards vulnerable people. Seeing Nesta in such a state, knowing the brothers he loved so fiercely had put her there, would have been difficult for Azriel to reconcile. He did not want his mate taking on any responsibility or blaming himself for the actions of others. He did not want his love suffering this confusion alone.

Seated on the edge of his enormous bed, fit for more wings than it would ever see, he groused to himself about his current helplessness. Deciding to trust his mate to reach out when it was safe, he releases the idea of writing another note simply to appease his own worries. Sliding backwards into the welcome embrace of his bed, he throws his body into the blankets, arms spread dramatically. He stares at the ceiling in irritation for several long minutes before sighing loudly into his empty room. Climbing under the covers, he attempts to settle into a restless night of tossing and turning. Dimming the fae lights with a thought, he forces his eyes closed, carefully softens the scowl on his face, and tries to put himself to sleep.

Notes:

Are these chapters too short? Idk.

Chapter 5

Summary:

Azriel leaves the River House and tries to piece together a plan. Gwyn shows up demanding answers. Cassian arrives in a fury, forcing Azriel to make some tough choices.

feat. Cassian losing his shit, Gwyn not giving af about anything except Nesta, Azriel in his feels.

CHAPTER FIVE

Azriel

After all but shoving a drunk, incredibly rude, Rhys into the first open bed he could find, Azriel jogs back up the stairs of the River House to the roof. When the cool evening settles across him he takes a moment to shake out his wings, bouncing on the balls of his feet to expel his nervous energy.

What the fuck, he thinks to himself, replaying Rhys’ drunk words in his mind.

“I’ll have her back in my court” he repeats incredulously.

“I found you in the fucking dirt” he mimics to the sky.

He shakes his head slowly, attempting to piece together how an evening that started with a dinner invitation from Rhys and Feyre, a welcome break from the quiet halls of The House, had taken so many sharp turns and ended here– with Azriel pacing his brother’s roof top, his mind a whirlwind he cannot calm, thoughts clamoring for attention. What could only have been a few hours weighs on him like many days.

He needed to get his thoughts in order. This relentless night had brought up, and created, several pressing issues. He had stormed out of his brother’s house immediately after learning where Cass and Nesta might be and then lied to, albeit drunk, Rhys about it. He was not confident that lie would hold in the light of sobriety. This brought up the issue of Cassian, who would awaken at any moment, and perhaps already had, to an empty camp and a missing Nesta. That would draw questions. Then there was the issue of Nesta, who he presumed had made it to Beyrih. No raging Vanserras had appeared to him suggesting otherwise. The thought of his mate, angry or otherwise, calmed his panic and reminded him of the unread letter nestled into his pocket. Eris’ pocket, his affectionate name for the pocket his mate’s letters always dropped into. Breathing deeply, he slipped his hand into ‘Eris’ pocket’ and pulled out the small parchment.

My Own,

She is safe. I will await further detail, send word when you are able.

miss you madly,

E

 

Smiling at the paper he folds it back into his pocket and peers over the River House rooftop. Looking over Elain’s vast gardens, grown and tended by her careful hands, he makes a decision. Exhausted and wanting nothing more than to fall into bed and wrap himself around his love, there are loose ends and unanswered questions that need his attention first. With another sigh, he gathers his shadows around him and steps into their embrace. Choosing at the last minute not to press his luck, he directs them to Lucien’s doorstep. He’d already woken the male once with intrusion, he could stand to knock this time. Lucien swings the door open with an exasperated look, Azriel’s hand suspended in the air before him.

“All the gods, Az, what more could I possibly do for you?” Lucien has returned to his sleep clothes, his tan chest bare in the Velaris moonlight as he blocks his open door.

Somewhat chastised, Azriel gives him an apologetic smile, “I made a mess, Luce…”

With a sigh more affectionate than angry, Lucien gestures begrudgingly for Azriel to enter. “Come on then. I’ll put on some tea.”

Azriel crosses the threshold gratefully, a quick pat to Lucien’s shoulder as he passes. The two males have known each other since Lucien was just a babe in arms. Azriel remembers meeting him the first time: the wispy sweep of bright red baby-thin curls dusting his tiny head, the cheery glow of his soft skin as his limbs wiggled and twitched as babies do, Eris’ panicked look as he held the babe out for Azriel’s inspection, demanding confirmation of his fears– that Lucien would be recognized as a child not born of the Vanserra line. Eris had been taken by the young fireling right away, fussing over him in that way of his, refusing to admit he was enamored by the little one. He was always working to shield him from the horrors of the Forest House, not wanting him to endure what Eris and his brothers had their whole lives.

Lucien had grown up in and around Beyrih, following Eris and Azriel around as they worked to manage and upkeep the small village. Azriel still remembers the crunch of his little footsteps as he snuck around behind Azriel, trailing him with barely muffled giggles. Lucien would shriek with delight when Azriel would spin around with a grin and scoop the young redhead into his arms, shooting into the skies without warning. The little one would laugh wildly, his arms spread wide as Azriel held him securely by the waist and let the young male flap his arms, pretending he too could fly in the safety of Azriel's arms. Eris had hated this game of theirs, always glaring up at Azriel with a worried frown, huffing when Az would shoot him a cheeky wink. Azriel kept them near the ground, close enough that it would've hurt if he fell but wouldn't cause any real injury. Ever the worrier, Eris disapproved and made it known.

While a roughly 200 year age gap seemed like a lot then, by now they were closer to peers. Still, Azriel couldn't help the protectiveness he felt towards his mate's littlest brother.

Seating himself in the chair he had occupied just hours before, Azriel watched that once small boy slump down in the adjacent chair and blow one of those still bright red curls out of his face with a sigh.

“You’re not wrong, Az. This could get very, very messy.”

Azriel glanced down at his empty glass from earlier in the evening, still sat on the coffee table at their feet. With a snap of Lucien's fingers, his high-fae magic replaced both glasses with mugs of steaming tea. Grumbling, Azriel reached for his and took a generous sip, grimacing at the unexpected sharpness of whiskey mixed with dark tea.

“Best of both,” Lucien winked.

Azriel shook his head fondly before his expression turned serious again. “What happened with Nesta? Eris sent word that she was safe but no details.”

“That’s about what I know. Eris agreed to take her to Beyrih, as far as I know she’s with Aurie.”

“Good, that’s good,” Azriel blew out a breath. From his reclined position, he peered at Lucien, “I lied to Rhys. He asked where Nesta was and I said I didn’t know.”

Lucien leveled him with a bemused look, “why would you lie to the high fucking lord, who could very very easily guess the truth? You’re lost, brother. Absolutely lost,” he chuckled.

Azriel scowled at him, receding slightly into his shadows, he did not want to admit the truth of those words. He did feel lost. For centuries he had maintained a careful balance between his life in the Night Court and his life with Eris, never allowing any overlap or anything that would hint at a split allegiance. He loved his family, and protecting the Night Court was his greatest honor, his responsibility. But lately he had been questioning their choices, reconsidering some of the truths he'd always held as immutable. It made his skin sting with the betrayal. And now he'd gone and overlapped those two worlds about as much as any two things could be overlapped. He did not need Lucien's perceptive eyes inspecting his motives any closer, it gnawed at him already.

“Cass will notice she’s missing any minute. I need to go back to The House and…” he trails off, uncertain what he needs to do.

Azriel is not familiar with the uncertainty of not having a plan. He is calculated to a fault and he's beginning to worry he acted rashly. She was in danger, right? But these are his brothers, they raised each other, they have always trusted one another. Was he wrong to act so quickly, without talking to Rhys or Cass? What if he missed something crucial and his actions put Beyrih, and Nesta, in more danger?

Feeling uncertain, he glances up and Lucien with drawn brows, “Luce, did I do the wrong thing? You saw her, right?”

Lucien sits up straight and looks directly at Azriel, all amusement gone from his usually mirthful eyes. With grave sincerity he replies, “if you had brought Elain here in that condition," he points to the couch where Nesta had lain before, "I would have fucking killed them all.”

Lucien had a look in his eye that indicated he was close to considering it on Nesta’s behalf.

Not sure if this settles or unsettles him, he nods anyway, appeased for the moment that his choice to rescue Nesta had not been completely misguided. Draining his teacup with a pinched face he drops it back onto the coffee table and stands abruptly.

“I better get back to The House. Eris knows how to contact me but Nesta doesn’t. If you talk to Eris, tell him to give her papers to write to me. I want her to know I will pick her up and bring her back to the Night Court immediately if that’s what she wants. She is not trapped there.”

Lucien nods knowingly and stands from his chair, “it will be done, my friend.”

Azriel smiles, small but appreciative, and clasps Lucien’s extended hand in his own. “Get some sleep, little one. Why are you even up this late?”

Smirking at Lucien’s exaggerated eye roll, Azriel steps once more into his shadows with a final wink.

_____________________________________

Materializing high above The House, he spreads his wings to slow the descent before dropping nimbly into the center of the training ring. Stretching his wings fully before pulling them tight to his back, he turns towards the door. His Shadows, always several steps ahead, swirl excitedly around his wings and arms with whispers of a friend. Slowing his gait, unsure who awaits his arrival, he lets his shadows flare out ahead of him.

light they chitter in their bodiless chorus.

light, light, light

Unable to sort their tittering voices, he approaches with caution, wary of who might be hidden in the darkness.

“Shadowsinger” an airy voice, one he quickly places.

“Gwyneth,” he breathes out, relieved to prolong a brotherly confrontation but still concerned, “are you alright?”

The hood of her robe lightens into view as he walks carefully towards her, mindful of his imposing size next to the slight female.

“You tell me,” she shoots back, her voice firm. “No one has seen Nesta in days,” the accusation clear, “have you?”

He glances around the ring, unsure how much to share. He was dishonest with his High Lord, he went behind his brother’s back. But this is Nesta’s dearest friend, she only wants information because she cares about her friend. Azriel had watched their friendship grow with fondness. It was lovely to witness the young females find solace in each other. Gwyn brought out a lighter side of Nesta that no one else seemed to manage, she laughed freely with the priestess, and often. And Nesta by her side seemed to embolden Gwyn, the young priestess feeling safe to push outside her protective shell. They always kept a close eye on each other, Azriel had seen the way they kept a constant awareness of each other's presence in the training ring. Gwyn always ensuring Nesta had a refilled waterskin, Nesta snapping pointedly at Cassian when he pushed her to hard. It was sweet and Azriel felt a pang of guilt for causing Gwyn to worry.

He settles on a middle ground. “She is safe, my lady. That is all I know.”

Gwyn steps away from the doorway, her face grim. “Try again, Azriel.”

Azriel considers his position. Gwyn is right, he knows more than he is saying. He does not know her intentions, but he believes that she would not have left the safety of the library to wait for him in the middle of the night if her concern was not genuine. Attempting to stand his ground but knowing his footing is loose, he turns his head to the side, scrunching his nose. This female before him had not left the library since he brought her here. Not until Nesta built and created enough safety for her to do so. Azriel wants desperately to honor the significance of her boldness to sneak up to the roof and confront him.

Looking back into her eyes, he cannot find deception within him.

“She is alive, Gywneth.”

The redhead before him scoffs, unimpressed. “Great, Az, that’s great. She’s not dead. How special for her.”

Azriel’s attention snaps to her. He wants to be gracious, he really does. But he's exhausted, he has no idea what his brothers will do next, and he's tired of trying to explain himself to others when he really cannot even explain the situation to himself. Opening his mouth to politely send Gwyn back to bed with a promise to share more when he can, he's cut short by a thunderous boom behind him as the whole House seems to quake. Gwyn immediately shrinks back and Azriel does not miss the shake of her hands as she grips the doorframe tightly. He spins quickly, wings flared out to shield her. can nothing go smoothly today?

Shadows whip around him with messages of anguish and raw fear as his eyes meet Cassian's across the ring. Bracing for confrontation, Azriel inclines his head at his brother in question.

"Az, thank the gods. Az, she's gone." his brother sobs out. Cassian looks wrecked. His mussed hair haloed wildly around his head, eyes red around the rims, he wrings his hands together nervously as he rushes toward Azriel.

"I don't know what happened, I woke up and she was gone. I've been searching for hours Az. I've got to tell Rhys," he's half talking to Azriel and half muttering madly to himself, "fuck I've got to tell Rhys. He's going to fucking lose it Az. And Feyre, oh gods Feyre" he chants miserably to himself.

Taking in his brother's state and lack of focus, he turns slightly behind him towards Gwyn "Gwyn--" he starts in a whisper.

"already ahead of you, Shadowsinger," she nods her head subtly as she turns to rush back to the library. Before stepping away she tilts her head back at him, "but I will find you tomorrow and you will answer my questions. Understood?"

Slightly taken aback by her tone, Azriel nods mutely and watches her robes flurry behind her down the stairs and out of sight. Turning his attention back to Cassian, he knows he only has moments, maybe less, to pick a direction. Cassian is already pushing past him towards the stairs into The House.

"Where are you going?"

"to check her room, or mine, I don't know. Maybe she winnowed?" He stops to brace both hands on his head, "can she do that, can she winnow? Fuck!" he groans, throwing himself down the stairs.

His legs are a blur of lightening fast steps as Azriel attempts to follow him down into the house. He tracks a nearly incoherent Cassian to Nesta's bedroom door where he watches his brother nearly rip it off its hinges in his haste to get it open. Glancing around the empty room quickly he steps into the adjoining washroom, also empty. Rushing back into the room with a string of curses, shoving Azriel out of the doorway, he darts back off down the hall towards his own bedroom, his frantic narration continuing in his rush.

Azriel sighs, following him at a slower pace now. It's clear Cassian has not spoken to Rhys and is unaware of the evenings earlier events. The panic in his voice and actions are clear and Azriel considers for a moment that perhaps Cassian truly did not know how dangerous Nesta's state had been. Cassian is a soldier, a warrior by birth and training, perhaps he was simply too rash in his assessment, having seen warriors carry on through exhaustion and injury many times over. Hell, Azriel had seen Cassian himself keep fighting through easily fatal injuries. He could not endorse this line of thinking, but he could at least understand it as misguided rather than intentionally cruel.

Walking down the hall towards Cassian's bedroom, where he hears Cassian tearing through the chambers, he knows he has about 15 paces before he has to make a solid choice about what to tell Cassian. Even if Cassian had not intended to cause Nesta harm, Azriel was still quietly simmering about how he should have known better. Nesta was not a centuries old trained warrior. She was fierce in her own right, downright terrifying at times, but she was still a 25 year old girl who had less than a year of training under her belt. Azriel knew she was by no means fragile, but it was wrong of Cassian to treat her like one of his wayward grunt soldiers, pushing her to the point he had. Still, he rationalized, Cassian's reaction to her disappearance from their camp did seem to indicate genuine concern for her safety. Perhaps he could explain what had happened, help Cassian understand he had been wrong. But, he weighed, he also had to consider the safety of Beyrih. A furious Cassian tearing through Prythian to find his mate could be catastrophic. Making a decision, he steps into Cassian's bedroom.

"Cass, we'll find her, alright?"

Cassian barely registers Azriel's presence, focused on searching every potential hiding spot in his bedroom as if Nesta had rushed home magically to squeeze into his weapons trunk.

He tries again, firmer this time, "Cassian stop, look at me."

He approaches his brother slowly, arms out in a show of goodwill. "Cass, can you look at me?"

Whirling around on him, eyes crazed as they attempt to settle on Azriel, he grunts towards him.

Eye contact maintained, Azriel continues, "Cassian, we'll find her. Come, sit." He attempts to sooth his brother.

Cassian looks at him, pleading, "Rhys was going to kill her Az..." Cassian's composure slips further as his adrenaline drains, Azriel's heart lurches for him.

"I know Cass, Feyre showed me what happened." Keeping his arms raised, he slowly herds Cassian towards the small seating area in his chambers.

"Gods," he cries as he throws his enormous body onto a plush sofa, "how could she have been so stupid, Az?"

Azriel pauses at this, trying to predict where this is going but not wanting to interrupt.

"if she would just listen to me for one godsdamn minute we could have avoided this whole fiasco."

His empathy beginning to fade, he narrows his eyes at his brother. Cassian has thrown both arms over his face and is groaning loudly into them.

"what do you mean, Cass?"

Cassian lowers his arms, glancing over at his brother, still stood at the end of the couch. "She just gets so fucking angry. She was pissed at me, wouldn't stop to let me fucking explain, and then she just lost it and took off down the stairs."

Cassian shakes his head, continuing, "I was trying to explain why we have these rules, you know? To keep her safe. To keep her fucking safe. She wouldn't listen and decided to throw a fucking tantrum instead. By the time I got to Rhys' she'd already exploded all over Feyre. Rhys was pissed, Az, I've never seen him like that. I had to get to her before he did so I bolted and flew around until I saw her stomping around by Amren's place. Rhys told me to get her out of Velaris so I did."

The waning embers of Azriel's sympathy towards his brother were nearly extinguished fully by this tirade. "and you took her..." Azriel prompted.

Those dark hazel eyes he'd grown up trusting implicitly looked up at him, "to Illyria," he offered, as if it was the most evident choice in the world.

Leaning over and placing his arms on the arm of the couch Cassian occupied, he ground his jaw. "Why would you take her to Illyria, Cass?"

Cassian looked genuinely confused which only spurred Azriel's anger. "She wanted to have a fit and break all her little toys so I took her somewhere she could without hurting anyone else," he stated plainly.

His grip on the sofa tightening, he looked toward the tall window beside Cassian. He watched the stars of Velaris twinkling and shimmering along the surface of the Sidra's winding path below. He had always found water soothing, it felt safe and cool running through his scarred hands. The sounds of it like a balm when his thoughts spun too quickly to keep up. He let the lazy flow of the river ground him.

Without turning back to Cassian, eyes locked on the river outside, he inquired slowly "so it wasn't to protect her from Rhys. You took her there to punish her." In the end, it was not a question. Just a simple statement of fact.

Letting his head fall back from where he'd held it up to watch Azriel, Cassian groaned again "what does it matter, Az? She fucking bolted in the night somehow and now she's gone and Rhys is going to kill me."

"somehow? She bolted somehow?" Azriel asked.

Looking back at him, still no indication in his expression or tone that he saw anything problematic about his behavior, Cass confirmed, "yeah, earlier, er, yesterday I guess, she passed out on me. I practically had to drag her to the campsite. I don't think she'd had any water or food, I don't know how the fuck she went from lying motionless on the ground refusing food or water to somehow running far enough into the woods that even I couldn't find her."

This was too much for Azriel. Gaping openly now, he stared down at his brother. This male who had taught him how to fly, how to fight, had made sure no one bothered him at the camps when he was a boy. They'd all but died for each other several times over through the centuries. He had seen Cassian train Feyre when she first came to Prythian, letting her fall apart when she needed to and always holding out a hand to her. He had watched his brother fight to get Illyrian females into the training rings, watched his firm but gentle instruction with the priestesses at The House. That Cassian and this Cassian did not align and Azriel could not stomach it, not after the day he'd already had.

"Get some sleep, Cass. Or go talk to Rhys. Or fly around a little more, I don't know." Azriel turned from Cassian's confused look and began to walk out.

"Az what the fuck, what about Nesta?" he shouted at Azriel's back.

Not turning around, Az replied "I'll ask my contacts, send the shadows out. We have training in the morning." He heard something heavy slam against Cassian's door as he closed it, thrown angrily across the room. And with that, he crossed back into the hallway and marched wearily back to his own bedroom.

_____________________________________________

Azriel had crashed into his bed and buried himself in his mate's scent, still lingering from the last time he'd snuck him in through the window. It was risky, having Eris at The House, but they'd grown bold after a few hundred years. Azriel's reputation for being eerie and reclusive kept most of his family from visiting his bedroom anyways. Despite the risk, he was immeasurably grateful for the comfort of Eris's soft loamy scent across his pillows now. He nuzzled into it with a soft sigh and let the exhaustion of the day drag him away into a fitful sleep.

He was the first to reach the training ring the next morning, Cassian no where in sight. He hadn't seen Cass at breakfast either and wondered whether he had returned to Illyria to continue his search or if he would seek Rhys out for help. The thought of Rhys sharing their conversations the day before with Cassian left an uneasy feeling in his stomach. This had gotten complicated quickly, too many people in his life knew too many different things. Master of deception he may be, but in his personal life he tried to keep things simple and easy to follow. He did not like having to keep up with all these different versions of things, hated being dishonest with his family.

Glancing around the empty ring he tried to get himself to focus on today's tasks. The priestesses would arrive momentarily for training and he was not one to shirk a commitment. He owed it to them to be present and focused when they arrived. He absently wondered if Rhys would remember to bring Emerie after last night. Interrupting this mindless consideration, Azriel heard sharp and sure steps bounding up the stairs to the ring. He knew who it would be before they appeared at the top. Sure enough, Gwyn all but lept through the door and made straight for Azriel with a determined look on her face.

"well?" she opened, no preamble.

He watched her but said nothing.

She tried again, somehow angrier "well" she repeated.

Azriel wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, regarding her warily. "Well what, Gwyn?"

This was the wrong thing to say. She leveled him with a steely glare and crossed her arms over her chest. She was practically vibrating with anger, it was coming off of her in wispy waves of barely-there crackles of light. Taken aback, he watched her closely but before he could say anything more she held up an accusing finger to silence him.

"some of the priestesses heard shouting from upstairs, the last day Nesta or Cass were at training. She doesn't come to work, neither her nor Cassian come to training, and then you show up wound tight as a maypole in the middle of the night acting strange right before Cassian shows up shouting about someone being missing. You tell me, 'well what' Azriel."

She's drawn reasonable conclusions, he can't deny that. Rubbing the back of his neck once before dropping his hand back to his side he sighs. Glancing behind her to confirm they're alone, he finally meets her sky blue eyes. They're wide as saucers, the only indication of the fear underneath this anger.

"She's safe Gwyn, I don't know how much I can say without endangering her and others. There's a place like the library, not in Velaris. She's there and she's safe, I promise." Looking worriedly behind her again, he shifts on his feet. The usually composed Spymaster feels like he's unraveling quickly in the whirlwind of events he set off.

Gwyn narrows her eyes, not quite appeased but less openly hostile than before. She reaches into her robe and pulls out a neatly folded parchment with the library's wax seal stamped across it.

Hesitating, she reaches it towards him, "can you get this to her?" she asks, the vulnerability in her teal eyes plucking at Azriel's heart.

"I will try. That's all I can promise."

Surveying him once more, she nods with resolve before turning towards the wrack of training swords as several more priestesses step onto the roof.

Azriel tucks the letter into his leathers and begins a head count. Everyone but Nesta, Emerie, and Cassian are here. Knowing Cass to be punctual to a fault, he takes this to mean his brother will not be attending training this morning. Calling the session to order, he begins walking the priestesses through their warm-ups, offering advice and corrections where needed and encouragement where necessary.

He feels Gwyn tracking his movements relentlessly but does not let on that he is unnerved by the attention. There's something desperate in her eye, a wildness to her fear. This is more than how friends worry about each other, he thinks to himself. Unable to place where he's seen that desperate glint before, he returns his focus to the priestesses in front of him and instructs them to select their practice swords and break into pairs. The afternoon passes quickly after that as he lets himself fall into the easy routine. Training, he gets. There is no lying or scheming or stealing of other's mates in the night in training. He understands it, was built for it, and he lets the meditation of the rote movements soothe him, allowing at least this brief moment of peace before whatever comes next.

Notes:

Did anyone else like Cassian up until SF?I always felt like the way he behaves towards Nesta in the later books doesn't really match up with the way he's treated other characters, ahem Feyre, in previous books. Idk, it doesn't sit well with me. After SF I was very anti-Nessian/Anti-Cass. I couldn't forgive him after the Kelpie, man...

Anyways, I also feel like where Rhysand really is manipulative and cold, Cassian is just an idiot. So my take is that the Death Hike was him being an idiot with Rhys' approval because Rhys is cruel. He does not deserve our girl Nesta IMO

Chapter 6

Summary:

Gay pining feat. Eris being obsessed with Azriel + that homoerotic friendship every lesbian has at some point that's like "what, you don't write Shakespearean sonnets to your platonic friends that you're definitely not in love with?"

 

Anyways, enjoy some gay pining and Azris smut/fluff! I've never written smut before so GENTLE COMMENTS ONLY PLEASE *sweating*

CHAPTER SIX

Nesta

After finishing what she could of the stew Aurie offered her, Nesta had fallen back into a thankfully dreamless sleep. She felt wary about leaving herself so vulnerable in this unfamiliar place but the demands of her body had won out and she had let herself drift again into that welcoming darkness. When she opened her eyes again, the sun had cast a deep orange glow across the wall, dusk.

Whether it was her fae healing or the food and water she had been offered, she felt a new strength in her bones as she sat herself upright. Looking around the room, she spotted a door slightly smaller than the one Aurie had brought her soup through earlier. She wanted very badly to clean her body and change into fresh clothes. You don't have any fresh clothes she thought glumly. Still, she hoped that this door led to a washroom where she could at least rinse herself off. She glanced around the room again, lips pursed, before lifting the heavy quilt across her. Folding it back into a neat triangle, she turned her body gently and let her feet swing down to the worn wooden floor. Pausing to listen, she heard no sounds or indications that anyone was nearby.

Pushing herself to stand, Nesta wavered as blood rushed her. She reached an arm out to brace against the bedside table. A fresh water glass was present but her last meal had been cleared. She sways for a moment, allowing the headrush to settle and pass. One eye squeezed shut as she remains bent over the table, her other looks about the space trying to remember her path. Righting herself carefully, she crosses the room to that slightly smaller door and presses her palm against it. It opens at her command and as it swings wide she pokes her head across the threshold to assess the space. As she suspected, a washroom. A long and deep tub takes up the wall directly across from her, a window cracked open above it framing a cluster of bright red and yellow leaved trees. Her heart sinks for a moment, the idea of submerging her body abhorrent. Stalling, she continues her scan of the space.

Unconsciously raising a curious brow, she observes a small enclosed chamber to her right. Long dark roots twine in and out of the dark wood wall, tracing a path up to the ceiling where a broad flattened branch reaches across the top of the chamber, small pinpricks dotting its surface. Pushing only her head deeper into the room curiously, it seems to respond to her presence. She watches as water begins to flow gently up and around the roots before pooling in the reservoir of the flattened branch. The water falls gently through those pinpricks and onto a very slightly slanted floor with a small grated drain at its center.

Her feet still in the bedroom as her body has leaned forward to watch with rapture, she hears a tinkling voice behind her. She recognizes the voice and as she turns towards it she knows those soft mossy eyes, Aurie.

“Ah good, you’re up! I was just bringing you some fresh clothes,” Aurie’s voice is cheerful behind her, as if Nesta’s whole fragile world has not crumbled and she is not alone in a strange place. Her hands still holding the door frame, she turns her head.

“What is this?” She asks cautiously, gesturing through the washroom door.

A curious tilt of her head, Aurie asks carefully “The… washroom?”

Nesta stands now, facing her fully.

“No,” she nearly chuckles but keeps her face solemn, “this… water from the ceiling” she asks with a blush.

“Ah,” Aurie notes with understanding, “it’s a standing wash, dear. Lord Eris used his magic to make it. You know, so you can” her outstretched arm moves up and down in a gesture towards the chamber in question, “you know… stand.”

Nodding along, Nesta looks back into the washroom. Aurie approaches carefully and drops a change of clothes on the bed.

“When you are ready.” She folds her hands in front of her chest and bows slightly before backing out of the room, leaving Nesta alone.

_______________________________

Nesta stands in front of the Standing Wash Room, watching the water pour down like a light rain. She attempts to track its source, following those exposed roots with her eyes. Magic she thinks with annoyance. She hates it when fae magic has uses. But, she hates submerging her body into a pool of water even more. Unable to find an immediate fault with this particular magic, she drops the remaining scraps of her ruined leathers against the cool stone floor and steps into the water.

She lets the water simply flow onto her head and shoulders for a moment. It feels divine. The water is warm as it trickles down her naked body, washing away the many days and nights she endured before arriving here. Turning her head down to watch the water flow around her toes, she feels it peppering her back and neck with its drops. Reaching into a small cubby carved into the wall, she selects what she hopes is soap and begins lathering herself, pulling her fingers through the knots of her hair gently. Her gaze fixed on the stone beneath her feet, she watches the swirl of blood and dirt and filth wash away.

Watching intently as the water cleansing her body eventually runs clear, she steps back out into the bathing chamber. could Feyre have do this, she thinks, does Rhysand have this magic too?

Walking back into the bedroom, she dresses in the soft draping clothes Aurie has left for her. The long tunic covers her hands and arms easily, the embroidered point reaching to her knuckles. The bottoms are fitted soft pants narrowing down to her to her ankles. Soft gauzy fabric falls down around her waist, opening to low slits exposing only her covered ankles and calves. She carefully braids her hair up off her neck as she thinks about her position.

As far as she knows, Azriel facilitated her arrival here but is not actually here himself. She has not seen anyone she recognizes as Night Court. In fact, she has not seen anyone but Aurie. Aurie mentioned Lucien and Eris when they first talked. She knew Lucien as her sister's unaccepted mate but had little to say about him otherwise. She recalled him reaching for Elain as Nesta’s body was dumped from the cauldron. Examining this memory, she saw the fear written plainly across his face as he knelt beside Elain to wrap his coat around her shivering shoulders, covering her exposed body. Perhaps he was a good male. Clearly Azriel had trusted him to bring her here...

Azriel and Lucien at least serve the same court, the same High Lord. Their connection was still unclear to her but the logic of it was within reach. Eris was a conundrum all his own. How did he fit into this? Nesta knew that he was allied with the Night Court, she remembered that Cassian had met with him several times to share information. But she was not in the Night Court, she was in Autumn. In Eris' court. That's what Aurie had told her. Confounded and irritated at her inability to tie these threads together, she looses a long breath and pins the final tail of her braid into place.

Shaking her head, she turns to the door of her room. The rumbling of her stomach as her guide, she pulls the door open and steps into the hallway. Following her stomach through the hall and down a small flight of stairs, she holds tightly to the banister as she leans down to peer around the corner. She sees Aurie, tipped back on two legs of a chair, her eyes closed as she laughs loudly at something Nesta cannot hear. Aurie’s crinkled eyes open and they make contact with Nesta’s own.

“Nesta!” she says brightly, a broad smile across her face, “come, come, come!”

She waves her hands in a welcoming gesture towards Nesta.

Nesta pauses before climbing down the last of the stairs and walking into Aurie’s kitchen with more courage than she feels. She settles herself onto a low-backed stool and looks around with wide, observant eyes.

“Nesta, this is my friend Jay,” she gestures towards the large female seated beside her, "she made the soup" she adds helpfully. Nesta's eyes observe Jay’s form. This female is tall.

“Pleased to meet you,” Nesta says with a small nod, her face neutral.

After a moment of silence, Nesta raises a brow at Aurie then looks back to Jay. Jay glares at her with narrowed eyes, one hand set on Aurie’s kitchen table, the other propped on her knee. Nesta glares back at her, not one to be intimidated. Leaning forward to brace her weight against Aurie’s table, Jay pushes herself to a standing position. “Nesta,” she nods her head in a brief dip. Dragging her eyes away from Nesta, Jay looks back at Aurie, her hand still stationed like a pillar on the table. “See you next time, Aur.” Jay gives Nesta one last disapproving glance before spinning towards the door and stalking away.

Nesta blinks at the hostility from this female she's never met before.This cannot be the same female that made Aurie laugh like that...

Clearing her throat loudly, Aurie looks at Nesta. “Don’t mind her, she’s just our grump.”

She laughs her quiet lilting laugh as she finally rights her chair to all fours and stands, turning towards the stove.

“Hungry?” She asks, her head tilted hopefully towards Nesta.

“Yes,” she replies simply, and she's glad that it's true.

Aurie portions out another bowl of stew for her, setting it in front of her with a steaming slice of bread.

Savoring the first bite slowly, Nesta is grateful that a female as rude as Jay at least has some uses. Pouring herself a helping, Aurie sits across from Nesta and they eat in a comfortable silence.

Eventually, Nesta sets her spoon in the empty bowl before her and looks across the table with resolve.

“Aurie, I need to speak to… someone. My sister's are probably worried, I don't think they know where I am.”

Aurie smiles gently, “of course, dear. You have correspondence. I only wanted to wait until you were awake.”

With a blush, she pulls three letters from her apron and hands them to Nesta.

Accepting them with a thankful nod to, Nesta places her bowl and spoon in the sink behind her and turns to walk quickly back to the room she had awoken in. She wants to read these messages privately.

___________________________________________

Crossing her legs on the soft bed of her guest room, Nesta lays the three letters out in front of her. She considers who might have written her, who knows that she is here. She does not think she could stomach a letter from Cassian or Rhysand, even Feyre. She suspects that if Cassian or Rhysand knew where she was, they would not react with something so civil as a letter.

Picking up the first letter, she eyes the handwriting. She can’t place it. Small concise letters in razor straight lines peer up at her. Gathering herself, she reads.

Lady Nesta,

I do hope you are finding Beyrih to your liking. Please keep it to yourself if not. I will be back within the fortnight.

If needs arise, alert Aurie.

Until Next Time,

Eris Vanserra

She frowns. Why was he writing her? She opens the second letter.

 

Nesta,

You surely have questions. Aurie can explain everything but Azriel asked me to bring you to my brother so he could get you to Beyrih. Beyrih is safe, Nesta. There is nowhere safer. However, If you wish to return to the Night Court, you need only to ask. You can be winnowed home at any time, it is your decision.

Azriel asked that I include these blank pages, see within. They are spelled to deliver directly to Azriel, write with haste should you need anything at all.

Your ally,

Lucien

Her frown deepened. At least his tone was friendlier than his brother's. Squeezing the envelope to open it further, she peered inside. Reaching in, she pulled out three squares of parchment, the faintest shimmer around their edges. Turning them over in her hands a few times, she set them on the bed beside her, not at all convinced they would serve her. Peeling the wax seal off the third letter, she narrowed her eyes intently.

Nes Dear,

Nesta felt her eyes well with tears at the familiar slant of handwriting and the name only one would use for her. She crinkled the letter in her hands as she forced her eyes away for a moment to collect herself. Finally, after several minutes, she blinked away the tears and opened the letter further, starting again.

Nes Dear,

Oh how I so terribly miss you in training, Nes. No one will tell me anything. I do not know where you are, I do not know if you are safe. I think of nothing but you, I cannot sleep or eat or think without knowing where you are, if you are alright. I hope Azriel is able to get this letter to you.

Nes Dear, my vast sky, please tell me you are alright. Please will you tell me how I can speak to you or where you are? Are you coming home? I cannot stand it here without you. Write to me, please, my dearest Nesta.

Yours Always,

Gwyneth

Nesta watches her tears drop onto the paper in her hands. Her dearest friend had written to her. She had noticed that Nesta was gone and had found a way to reach her. She had worried about her. The memory of Gwyn’s blue eyes, the softness of her slender willowy fingers, the way the air around her smells like lavender and mint, the memories of this lovely female overwhelmed Nesta as she clung to her letter. She sat back against the headboard, clutching Gwyn's words tightly to her chest. Composing herself, barely, after several minutes she picked up a piece of Azriel's enchanted papers.

With nothing in her mind except soothing the worries of her loveliest friend, she spread the parchment smooth across the blankets in her lap. Turning to the bedside table, she reached out to open the drawer within. Picking through its contents, she spots an inked quill. Letting her fingers anxiously smooth and press the paper, she finally began writing.

Bluest Eyes,

I am safe. I am in Autumn. I believe Eris brought me here at Azriel’s direction. There is so much I do not know... Azriel said this parchment would be delivered to him. I will try to get it to you, love.

Gwyn, I do not know what happened. I am scared for Feyre. I was stranded me in Illyria, Cassian took me there, I don't know how many days ago. If it was not for Azriel I would still be there I think. I suspect it was on Rhysand’s orders. My lovely moon, please be careful. I do not know if you can trust the Night Court.

Trust Azriel, I think Lucien as well. Do not talk to anyone else about me, please dearest.

Yours,

Nes Dear

After completing her letter Nesta folded it. Knowing she had no way to get it to Gwyn directly, she penned a note to the folded edge asking Azriel to deliver it on her behalf. For a moment, she stared at it, unsure how to compel it to deliver to Azriel. After barely a blink, a faint glimmer curled around her wrist and slid up her palm towards the folded letter. It swirled gently around the note several times before shooting up into wisp of smoke and disappearing. Only able to trust that her letter was, at least, delivered to Azriel, Nesta laid herself back down on the bed, hands crossed gently over her heart.

Eris

Eris spent the day trouncing from meeting to meeting, doing what he could to mitigate Beron's insatiable greed and ever-present paranoia. It amused Eris to reflect on how Beron trusted him to essentially run the court independently, but thought he could exclude him from his grander scheming. Though it did rankle him a bit that Beron had been successful recently in hiding away his mysterious plans for Autumn's future.

For years, Eris had quietly worked to stay one step ahead of Beron. Working from the shadows and dealing in secrets, he deftly maneuvered around Beron, quietly unraveling the worst of his machinations with little fanfare. He wondered if the people of Autumn, those he worked constantly to protect from his father, knew what he sacrificed. It often concerned him that perhaps he had played his public persona too well, that his people would not accept him as their High Lord when the time came.

But that time was not today. There was no use speculating what might happen when he had yet to solidify his plans. He had developed cautious alliances throughout the courts, even within Autumn itself, over the years. Of course he had the Rhysand's commitment but that held little weight. Other courts held more strategic value to his bid for High Lord anyway.

Beron's relationship with the Night Court was already tenuous. He was wary of them and did not trust their concentration of power. Beron had been incensed when it was revealed that at least one of the Made sisters carried unknown but vast powers. Because Beron already expected secrecy and deceit from the Night Court's Inner Circle, any move against Autumn at their hand could more easily be sniffed out. Particularly given Beron's heightened paranoia in recent years. His grip on his crown had only tightened as Eris tiptoed the line of courting the Hewn City at Beron's behest while trading secrets with the Inner Circle. Beron wanted the Night Court close, yes, but he did not trust them.

Knowing he was abetting a Night Court runaway, and a powerful one at that, in his secret refuge did nothing to soothe his worries about securing their support when he needed it. He knew Rhysand would not react well, was likely already coming up with a plan to wrest Nesta, and her power, back under his control. Eris had no intention of using the young female for any political gain, but Rhys was too preoccupied with his own grip on power to consider that others might have different motivations. No, he would not need the Night Court to complete his plan, he simply needed them to back his claim to the other courts afterwards. The more support he had on the backend, the easier his transition would be.

He had spent considerable time attempting to woo influential lords and political actors from more neutral courts, ones Beron would be less likely to suspect of involvement. Beron's dismissal of courts with less bloody legacies than Autumn or Night also allowed Eris more freedom of movement to build relationships.

Winter was notoriously closed and private but he had made headway through his military contacts. He had worked with their generals to develop training protocols for Winter's small armies that mimicked the Autumn style. Autumn armies were known across Prythian for their discipline and synchronicity in battle. Having personally built the Autumn armies into a formidable force through his tutelage and leadership, his expertise was coveted among courts with less military might. It had served him well in both Winter and Summer.

But his moves were centuries in the making, he would not rush them and risk failure just because Beron was unstable. Beron had always been unstable. He shook the worry from his shoulders and made his way from the dining room to his chambers. Dinner had been eventful, as usual. His brothers clamoring hopelessly for more power without any additional responsibilities. It wore on Eris the way they were always proposing plots they thought Beron would approve of, attempting to curry his favor. Eris knew their schemes would become one more thing he had to undo at some point. He had a tentative alliance with most of his remaining brothers, but their history was so soaked in bloodshed and deception, there was little genuine trust between them. More impossible problems that needed his unique attention.

Reaching the door of his chambers he slipped inside, warding the door behind him as he clicked it gently shut. His only solace from Beron's relentless court games and constant spying was the tightly woven wards his clever brother had shown him how to weave. Trusting he was well and truly alone, he flicked a fire into the hearth and settled into his favorite chair. Leaning back against it, he closed his eyes and let the day's errands slip away.

After a few moments, he smiled gently, eyes still closed, when he felt that welcome tug in his chest: his mate was nearby. As if on cue, warmth spread across his back as strong broad hands slid around his neck and down his chest, a deep voice rumbling in his ear.

"My love," the voice soothed as Azriel placed slow kisses on his neck from behind.

That voice rushed over him, its timbre instantly soothing his every ache.

"My heart," he replied softly, intimately.

Reaching his arms up, Eris slipped his fingers into the silky mop of hair behind him. He breathed deeply, feeling the scent of his mate curling around him. Cracking one eye slightly open he watched the soothing patterns of Azriel's shadows dancing around him happily. His mate's shadows were always excitable in his presence. Eris had enjoyed their silent support since before Azriel had even accepted the bond. Back then, it had been a source of enormous irritation to Azriel that his shadows were so eager to please and impress Eris. Even now, he preened shamelessly at their excited attention.

Circling his fingertips in a gentle massage, he tipped his head towards where Azriel's was propped on his shoulder. Eris let his cheek rest against Azriel's before the other male turned his own head to leave more feather-soft kisses across his freckles. After a moment of holding each other and whispering small sweet kisses back and forth, Azriel stood from where he knelt behind Eris' chair and circled around to stand in front of him. Slotting himself between Eris' legs, Azriel leaned down to collect Eris' hands. Placing a kiss on each knuckle as Eris gazed up at him contentedly, Azriel gave a gentle tug to pull Eris up.

Eris stood, their eyes meeting as they tilted their foreheads together, both luxuriating in the gratitude of being returned to each other. Eris smoothed his hands around Azriel's waist and leaned into him. Tucking his head into Azriel's neck Eris, as usual, broke the silence.

"Gods, I've missed you. It's been torture, Az, absolute torture," he bemoaned, kissing his mate's soft skin before opening his mouth to bite his neck with sharp teeth.

Azriel chuckled into Eris' hair as his hands rubbed soft lines up and down his back, he loved his mate's theatrics.

"I'm here now, my love."

Pulling apart, Eris took Azriel's hand and led him to a sofa where they could sit together. Following obediently, as he always would at Eris' request, Azriel sat next to his love and let himself be pulled into Eris' side and held in the embrace of those arms he thought of so constantly. Eris soaked in this quiet moment, his arms wrapped tightly around the other male. He laid his head to rest on top of Azriel's and smiled softly to himself at the easy intimacy. He enjoyed the familiarity of it, the way he knew Azriel's body, his likes and his tells. He had spent centuries uncovering his mate's every expanse, the places he was smooth and the places he was rough, and cataloguing the lovely breathless noises he made only under Eris' hand, only for his ears. He would spend his remaining centuries in continued devotion, devouring each moment the gods allowed him to worship in his mate's steady presence.

He tilted his head back down to where Azriel rested against his shoulder. He adored seeing his mate this way. He knew how the rest of Prythian, even the male's own family, saw his mate. Fearsome, strange, cold... And while Azriel could certainly be all those things, he could also be this: soft and pliant in Eris' arms, warm smiles and gentle words. It filled Eris with a heady rush to know that Azriel trusted him enough to be soft with him. That this powerful male would allow Eris into these vulnerable moments. These moments were precious to him, and he hated to end one so soon, when he had missed his mate so terribly. But even Eris, devoted as he was to this male in his arms, could not stop the spinning of the courts and there were, unfortunately, matters to discuss.

"Alright," Eris sighed eventually, focusing his attention outward. "Let's get the housekeeping out of the way, then."

Azriel sighed right back at him, peering up at Eris through his long dark lashes, "alright," he agreed, "you start. Nesta?" He was wasting no time, then.

"with Aurie," Eris confirmed, "I left her a note informing her I would return when I was able. Aurie wrote this morning that she had woken up and eaten some then went back to sleep, I have not heard from her since."

Azriel nodded at this information. "I sent her a note also, with some of your enchanted papers so she could reach me easily."

At this Eris scoffed, "those were for you, Azriel. To write to me, your mate, remember?"

Where Azriel's magic was brash and all brute strength, Eris' was more malleable. No less powerful, but more easily bent and molded. Many years ago, Eris had started leaving rolls of spelled parchments with Azriel. He'd been frustrated at how difficult it was to reach his mate whenever he wanted, and he so often wanted. Eris was not accustomed to not getting the things he wanted from Azriel, as reliably doting as his mate was, so he had designed this system for them to communicate when they had to be apart. It was a miniscule amount of his magic to spell the paper, he could very easily create more before Azriel left, so it was more on principle that he felt spurned by this admission.

Laughing at his insolent tone Azriel nodded dutifully, "yes, my love, but these circumstances required quick thinking with limited resources" he defended.

Tilting his head back against the couch, Eris conceded the logic with a scowl. Even he could admit that he could be a bit of a brat when it came to Azriel.

They went back and forth for several minutes catching each other up. Beron's suspected movements on the continent, how Lucien fared in the Night Court, what he'd uncovered but still not been able to explain at the Autumn border. Filling Eris in on the events after Nesta had been delivered to him, Azriel had barely been able to stop him from winnowing directly to Velaris with two blazing fists of fire when he'd learned what Rhys had said to him. Azriel had calmed him somewhat, but he was still pacing the room rapidly with a murderous look on his face.

"They don't appreciate you, Azriel. I cant stand the way they treat you. Like someone to be commanded at Rhysand's will."

sputtering further, he continued, "he's supposed to be your brother," Eris laughed icily at this.

He was fuming, waves of heat pouring off him, casting a shimmer in the air around him. For all his poise and courtly control, Eris struggled to maintain himself when Azriel was even remotely mistreated, much less outright insulted. He would be soft for Azriel, with Azriel, but he was sharp as a blade when it came to protecting and defending him. In these moments he was glad for his ruthless reputation if it could provide any shield to Azriel.

He had watched for years as the Night Court's Inner Circle slowly closed its ranks, becoming more and more insular and isolated until they lost all perspective. The Archerons had shaken the dynamic slightly, and Eris had been hopeful that their youthful influence would ease some of the infuriating dependence they'd developed. But it seemed now that only the Archerons who willingly supplicated to the Inner Circle's whims were allowed any influence. Those who pushed back were, apparently, dragged across frigid mountain tops and left for dead as punishment for daring an original thought.

He could not share all of these thoughts with his mate, of course. Azriel was deeply loyal to his family. His brothers being occupied with the Archeron sisters had pushed him a little further to the edges of their group, but he knew Azriel still saw them as a unit. Still, he would not sit silently while his mate was talked down to without damn well reminding him that he was a fucking gift and those idiots should be thanking the godsdamn mother herself that he deigned to share his precious love with them. Calm down, Eris. he thought as he forced himself to take several steadying breaths.

"I'm sorry, Az," he said sheepishly. "I know they're important to you. It's just important to me that you know it's not right, when Rhys treats you like that it's not right."

Azriel just nodded knowingly from his place on the couch where he'd sat silently, letting Eris wear himself out. Eris knew that was his strategy and it irritated him how effective it was.

Rolling his eyes at Azriel quiet demeanor in the face of Eris' raging wildfires, he pulled him up from the couch with both hands.

"Enough of this. Can you stay?" he bit his lip hopefully and Azriel squeezed his hands.

"I have to be back before sunrise, they don't know I've left."

Taking what he could get, and knowing better than to argue, Eris took his hand and led Azriel silently towards his bedroom.

________________________________________

Eris led them past his bed and through to the adjoining washroom. The inlaid tub was already steaming and fragrant. Reaching its edge, he turned to Azriel and cupped his face between two pale hands. He pressed a kiss to Azriel's lips, slowly deepening the contact as his hands slid down Azriel's chest to attend the many laces of his staple leathers. Azriel parted his lips and Eris slid his tongue in against his mate's. With practiced hands, without breaking their kiss, he undid his laces one by one and reached up to slide the outer layer off Azriel's shoulders. Now in a simple tunic, Eris let his mouth wander slowly down Azriel's neck as he continued his work on Azriel's buttons. Azriel kept his hands moving steadily up and down Eris' back as he worked, occasionally dipping low to cup the round cheeks of his ass. He kneaded the firm muscles there gently, breathing in Eris' responsive moans. Reaching the final button of his tunic, Eris slid his hands under the thin fabric and let his fingers trace languidly along Azriel's abdomen, feeling the sharp muscles shift and contract under his fingers. Eris spent several minutes painting gentle landscapes across Azriel's chest with his lips and tongue.

Azriel sighed, already somewhat breathless, and let his head fall back as he soaked up his mates attention. Dropping his shoulders slightly to let his tunic fall to the ground, Azriel took Eris' shoulders and gently turned him around. He pressed Eris' back against his now-bare chest and reached his arms around to repeat Eris' movements on his own tunic. As though he could not bear to part his lips from Eris' smooth skin, he dragged his nose and lips up and down the side of his throat, breathing him in deeply as he worked his shirt open.

Eris tipped his head back against Azriel's shoulder and Azriel leaned down to trail kisses down his face and neck as far as he could reach. His shirt undone, Azriel pulled it down his arms and tossed it into the growing pile at their feet. Pulling his mate back against him once more, Azriel growled at the contact of their bare skin. Nuzzling Eris' hair with his nose, he slid his tongue around the fine tip of Eris' ear while skimming his hands down Eris chest and stomach and slipping just beneath the band of his trousers. Eris' breath hitched as he ran soft finger tips up and down Azriel's arm, encouraging him onward.

Smiling into his neck as he began to work on Eris's laces, he nipped gently at the skin of Eris' throat, earning more breathy moans from his mate.

"I've been thinking about this for days," he whispered hoarsely, pulling the final lace of Eris' trousers loose and sliding his hand inside to grip the hard member.

Stroking slowly, he sucked Eris' ear lobe into his mouth and held it between his teeth, flicking lightly with his tongue.

Eris gasped, his nails digging into Azriel's arms. Removing Azriel's hand and turning in his grasp, Eris wrapped his arms around Azriel's neck and pulled him in for a searing kiss, pushing his hips against his mate's and sliding his erection against Azriel's. They both moaned and the contact lit a spark between them. No longer lavishing slow sweet kisses and savoring gentle strokes and touches, their hands became needy, desperately pulling at each other's remaining clothes as their lips met passionately. All tongue and teeth and fire. They tangled together gracelessly as they shed pants and boots, stroking each other's skin feverishly. Clothing removed and fully bared to each other, they broke away gasping for air.

Azriel eyed his mate hungrily and stepped towards him again, closing what little space remained. He ran his hands down the sleek muscles of Eris' sides and down to his thighs. Azriel gripped his hands around those strong thighs and lifted his mate easily, coaxing his legs around his waist. Eris responded eagerly, rejoining their lips in a desperate kiss as he folded his legs around Azriel. He rocked his hips against Azriel, desperate to hear his mate call out his name in pleasure. Azriel obliged, the grip on his thighs tightening painfully as Azriel repeated his name breathlessly between urgent kisses.

Hands a blur, trying to touch as much of him at once as he could, Azriel walked them towards the bathtub and lowed them down into the water. Wading across waist-high water slowly, never pulling his lips from Eris', Azriel turned and sat himself on a low bench within the tub. His wings folded in behind him, he cradled Eris in his lap. Eris settled into him quickly and continued rolling his hips into Azriel's slowly, picking up speed when he felt Azriel's cock twitch against his stomach in response. Nearing a frenzy, Eris pulled Azriel impossibly closer and captured his mouth in a long, heated kiss that left them both shaking with desire.

Azriel, ever sensible and conscientious, slowed his kisses gradually.

"We have time, my love" Azriel whispered to Eris with a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Let me wash your hair. Please?"

Eris nodded his agreement, he would deny his mate nothing. Leaning in for one more lingering kiss and relishing the feeling of Azriel's slow wandering hands, he turned himself on Azriel's lap. Feeling the solid warmth of his mates cock behind him, he ground his hips backwards against it, unable to resist the contact. Azriel dropped his head into Eris' shoulder with a shuddered moan, his arms tightening where he'd wrapped them around his waist.

"Gods Eris, the way you feel," he mumbled into Eris' neck. After a moment, He left another kiss on Eris' neck and leaned back up and began untangling his long braids, somewhat mussed from a full day of court and then his own ministrations.

Eris practically whimpered at the gentle tug of his mate's hands, so careful not to pull or cause even the slightest pain or discomfort. Eris' body was aflame with desire and mad affection, his blood singing wildly through his veins in response to Azriel's strong hands on his body. He craved these moments of intimacy with his love, the only moments he allowed himself to be taken care of.

Azriel brushed his fingers through Eris' hair with wholly focused devotion. He lathered sweet-smelling oils in his hands before running them gently along the copper strands, darkened from the water and soaps. Letting the many worries of the day wash away, Eris settled into his mate's attentions. He whispered sweet words of his love and devotion to Azriel as he worked the oil through his hair. Azriel's broad hands massaged his scalp gently, his fingers moving down to apply light pressure to the tired muscles of his neck and back. Eris felt his muscles relax into Azriel's capable hands and he sagged at the relief of it.

Azriel followed the path of his hands with smooth kisses before coaxing Eris back against him once more. Settled against Azriel, his back to the male's chest, he let his head be guided back against Azriel's shoulder once more, gentles praises kissed into his neck as he moved. There was no hurry, no rush. Just Eris and Azriel pouring their love for each other into each moment, recognizing the gift of this time together and refusing to waste it in haste. Azriel took a moment to run his textured hands up and down Eris' arms slowly, squeezing gently around the muscles there. His fingers glided down Eris' slick skin to his hands, looping their fingers together. He pulled both their arms together in front of Eris' chest and wrapped him in a tight embrace.

"That's it, my love," he murmured as Eris melted into his arms.

"That's it, just relax. Let me take care of you."

Barely composed at all, he vaguely registered Azriel slowly slide his hips away from the bench until he was knelt in the water with Eris in front of him. From his haze, he felt an arm stretched under his back, holding him slightly afloat. With his other arm, Azriel cradled Eris' head to his shoulders and lowered them both slowly, letting the water rinse away the soaps and oils from his hair as his shoulder held Eris' face above the water. Azriel slowly massaged his hair and scalp beneath the water, smoothing out the soap with his fingers. He continued leaving long wet kisses along Eris' throat, up his ears, and back down to his collar bone.

Eris felt tears press against his eyelids at the way Azriel loved him with such reverent care. It shattered and healed and remade something deep inside him that he had always known such love, almost all his life, from this male. Azriel loved him as if nothing else mattered. As if it was his only job in the world to make Eris feel cherished.

Reaching an arm back to pull Azriel's forehead down to his own, he whispered into the shared space, "I love you," and if Azriel heard his voice crack, he said nothing of it.

Smiling, Azriel lowered his head further to capture Eris' lips in a soft upside down kiss. They stayed this way, licking softly into each other's mouths, not caring about the awkward angle, only aware of each other. One hand still under his back to hold him in place, Azriel pulled his other hand from Eris' hair and slid it down his chest. He paused to lightly flick Eris' nipple, smiling into Eris' mouth at his gasp, then pushed his hand further.

Unhurriedly, he wrapped his hand around Eris' hardness and pumped him slowly under the water. Eris was panting into his mouth after several moments of Azriel's lazy strokes.

"Azriel..." he breathed heavily, feeling pleasure curling and coiling through him, desperate for release.

"just like that, my love," Azriel cooed softly, "feel the way I love you, Eris."

His breath picked up further as Azriel continued his smooth motions, his lips only leaving his skin to whisper soft secrets into his ear. Eris ran one hand along Azriel's forearm and felt the muscles there clenching and releasing as Azriel worked him with such painfully lovely care. Feeling his panting become frantic, erratic, as he neared the edge of his release, Azriel quickened his pace.

"come for me, Eris. Let me feel you, my love."

With a final command and a delicate twist of his wrist around Eris's cock, Eris release poured through him as he gripped Azriel's arm painfully tight. He cried out for his mate as Azriel held him tighter as he worked him gently through his orgasm, only releasing him when Eris coaxed his hand back up his chest to hold over his pounding heart.

Lifing his hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss to Azriel's palm and cupped it against his own cheek, holding it in place with both hands. Slowly, he turned until they faced each other again and ran his fingertips down Azriel's face.

He stared at this face he loved, a face he had memorized long ago but thrilled each time he saw it anyway. He would happily melt himself down into nothing but smoke if it meant he could stay wrapped in his mate's shadows, caressing his beautiful face, forever.

"You're beautiful," he spoke gently, brushing a thumb across his cheek.

He took Azriel's hand once more and turned to lead him from the tub.

When they reached the bed, naked and dripping, Eris gently pushed Azriel back and stepped between his legs. He took in his mate's muscled form, eyes landing on his sizable cock, straining against his lower belly. As he lowered to his knees, Azriel immediately slid his hands back into Eris' now-clean hair, a soft gasp escaping him as Eris' warm breath ghosted over his flushed cock. Taking Azriel into his mouth, his lips stretched around him. Eris took his time, stopping to hold Azriel in his hand an kiss gently down his shaft before enveloping him again. Pulling away to blow warm air over the sensitive skin, licking and sucking and tasting his mate indulgently.

He wanted his love to feel how adored he was, how loved and cherished he was. Eris worked him slowly, steadily, until Azriel was shaking beneath him. Hands roaming, soft in some places, hard and demanding in others, he pulled Azriel almost completely from his mouth, flattening his tongue against the taut flesh before plunging it back in.

He felt Azriel's tip against the back of his throat and preened wickedly at the sounds it elicited from his writhing mate. Azriel's hands were a vice around his head as they stilled his movements. Looking down at him with adoration in his eyes he looked at Eris intently. He slid a hand out of Eris' hair and cupped his cheek, running his thumb around Eris bright red lips where they were stretched around him. Looking into his eyes again, he paused, seeking permission. Smiling around his mate, Eris managed a gentle nod.

Laying his head back against the bed, Azriel braced his feet on the ground beside Eris. Pulling his hair tighter in his hands, Azriel held Eris in place as he begin thrusting up into his mouth. He groaned loudly at the sensation of his mate's cock sliding in and out of his glistening lips. The rumble that vibrated from his throat seemed to set Azriel on fire. He cried out in pleasure, tightening his grip on Eris' head, fucking into him at a relentless pace.

Eris, already close to coming apart, was nearly undone completely when Azriel ground out from above him, "touch yourself"

Eyes rolling in back in overwhelming pleasure at the heated command, Eris reached down between his own legs and began fisting his cock in time with Azriel's thrusts into his pliant mouth. Both of them were tight as bow strings with the pleasure waiting to crash through them. Unable to hold on any longer, Eris squeezed his eyes shut as he came a second time in hot spurts across his own hand, the release pouring across his skin in little shockwaves like heat lightening.

His skin warmed as the sharp insistence of his orgasm ebbed, drawing frantic breaths through his nose as Azriel stuttered his pace. Eris was mindless with pleasure, apart at the seams with the feeling of his mate using his mouth this way.

"Fuck, fuck Eris, gods..." Azriel's voice raising as he neared that ledge.

With a final push into his heated and wanting lips, Azriel thrust upward and held them both in place, legs shaking as his pleasure poured down Eris' throat. Azriel gasped wildly, gulping for breath as Eris drank down his seed with a filthy moan, continuing to drain his mate through his pleasure even as Azriel's hands fell back onto the bed in boneless contentment.

After the frenzy of their coupling slowed, he pulled Azriel's spent member from his mouth gingerly. Still kneeling between his legs, he kissed gently across Azriel's hip bones before leaning back on his heels and resting his head lightly against Azriel's thigh. Still motionless and panting from release, Azriel's hand found it's way back to Eris's head and he stoked the deep red strands gently. They stayed like this, basking in their afterglow, until Eris felt Azriel shift above him.

"Come, my love" Azriel beckoned, pulling his mate gently towards him.

Eris crawled up his mate's overheated body, dragging more kisses across his abdomen and chest as he went. Azriel cradled him in his arms, holding him tightly as if afraid he might be taken away. Eris rubbed soothing circles across his chest. Whispering sweetness into his skin, telling him how good he felt, how he made Eris feel, how loved he was.

Eventually their breathing slowed and Azriel pulled them both up to the top of the bed. Not yet releasing Eris from his arms he reached over to the night stand and picked up a glass of water, bringing it to Eris' lips first. He tilted it back slowly, allowing Eris to drink deeply from it before taking several gulps himself and returning it to the table. Eris had cleaned their spend with barely a thought and they sat, sated and in love, in each other's arms.

They did not need to share words as Azriel turned their bodies so Eris was tucked against him, his arm around his mate's waist. They did not need words to know that this love was a warmth over both of them, a safety unlike any either male had experienced in their often cruel lives. Even knowing these truths were unspoken, Eris spoke them anyways. Unable to resist sharing his heart with this male that held him so close.

"I love you," he whispered into the dark as he faded the remaining fae lights.

"always, my love" came the quiet reply, Azriel pulling the blankets up gently to cover Eris' shoulders.

With that, they fell into a peaceful sleep.

Notes:

Everyone's getting clean in this chapter yall. Autumn court is ITCHING to wash the Night Court off of everyone who crosses its borders lol

Okay so this chapter also features some assumptions I've made about the IC... For example, that other courts could clearly see them becoming more and more hostile/incestuous over time. I know they have their whole "it was a mask" thing going, but I suspect that Feyre's narration is very deeply swayed by her personal feelings about the members of the IC and she is not able to analyze their dynamic from the perspective of other courts. Who I feel like would be looking around the lunch table at each other being like "do they know we can see them" while the IC makes out aggressively in the cafeteria.

Also there are several indications throughout canon that Eris is extremely powerful and influential, well known across courts. Seems like classic NC self-obsession for them to not consider that Eris would have other alliances throughout Prythian.

Hope you enjoyed :-)

Chapter 7

Summary:

Last Week: Nesta settled in a bit at Aurie's and got letters from Eris, Lucien and Gwyn. Eris spent some time contemplating his work in his father's court and Azriel surprised him in his chambers to comfort him NSFW style.

This week: Azriel drags himself away from Eris to face his family, IC is in a full tizzy, Nesta learns about Beyrih and makes some decisions.

Feat. Azriel's obsession with Eris, Feyre being a liability and a nuisance, Cassian's downward spiral gaining speed, Nesta trying to wrap her head around some shit, Lucien just existing and being lovely.

Notes:

I'm setting up a posting schedule to be less erratic so the plan for now is that I will post new chapters on Wednesdays, excluding obv today which is Saturday.

Thank you to my new friend Strangeredlantern for offering to beta read and giving me some very helpful insights into the Fanfic Writing World! And also for being super cool and very chill about my fangirling, all my appreciation!! Prob won't stop fangirling but prob will become more chill and suave about it, no promises.

Azriel

They had woken in the night and made love once more, moving slowly against each other with soft friction and shared breaths. They came together in welcome hands, curled around each other. Azriel had pulled Eris back against him and used his fingers to draw meaningless patterns across his mate’s chest, relishing the tiny sighs Eris released, until they fell asleep together in a silky embrace.

Much too soon, Azriel watches over Eris’ shoulder as the dark night sky of Autumn fades ever slightly into the deep blue of approaching twilight. He looks down at his mate nestled safely against his bare chest. Eris’ expression has softened with sleep as he nuzzles against Azriel, his long pale fingers folded together and tucked between them. It is unbearably endearing and Azriel is aware of nothing else.

Azriel would stay here for the rest of his life. He would let it all pass him by and he would never move from this station, quietly protecting Eris in his strong and ready arms. In sleep, there is a vulnerability to Eris that Azriel feels privileged to witness. So much of his mate’s waking life is spent navigating the cruelty of Beron's court, masking his exhaustion with that cutting smirk that Azriel wants terribly to lick away with his tongue.

They are long accustomed to the secrets they keep for and about each other. It had been difficult in the beginning, when the bond was new and their passion frenzied. For decades they went back and forth, dragging each other back from the edge in turn whenever either was endangered by their courts or families.

Azriel is protective by nature, he feels certain in his bones that he was made by the mother to safeguard what he loves; his court, his family, his lovely enchanting mate. Those instincts had been torturous to quell and he’d nearly torn his way out of his own skin many times through the years as he'd learned to gently tend Eris’ lashes and wounds.

The first time Eris had returned to him with open wounds inflicted by his father, Azriel's despair had been a living pulsing need within him. That killing magic in his blood had swarmed his veins with vicious, demanding intent. The restraint it had taken to contain it was overwhelming and had sent splinters across his siphons.

He and Eris had stared down at the stones’ jagged shards when it happened, momentarily stunned. Azriel hadn't even known that could happen. It had only been his soul-deep desire to comfort Eris that had kept him from storming the Forest House in a demanding fury.

That Beron was still alive, breathing Eris’ air, was testament solely to Azriel’s immeasurable devotion. Azriel was an arrow, notched in Eris’ bow, and he would strike only where Eris aimed. His mate was not ready to kill his father yet and Azriel would not take from him in anger the death that was Eris’ by right.

That commitment had not slowed his fantasies. He thought often about how he might drag Beron down into a hopeless Hewn City chamber and drain him, taking payment in blood for each strike against Eris. Azriel had carved his bloody reputation out of many skins and he desperately wanted to release that wicked beast within him, to claim Beron’s punishment.

These urges were especially strong in moments like this one. When his sharp and cunning mate was curled against him, his sleepy face open and adoring. Azriel pulled him closer and kissed his eyelids softly, willing his lips to tuck pleasant dreams into that clever mind.

Over the years as the bond had settled, their passion had not waned but control over their instincts strengthened. They recognized that the only way to protect the bond they shared was to keep it secret until both their courts were safe for each other. Autumn was as likely to open its arms to Azriel as Night was to accept Eris. There was bad blood on both sides and Azriel and Eris would do anything to protect this peace they had found in each other.

Even after so many years of goodbyes, Azriel hated mornings when he had to sneak away. He wanted to wake his love slowly and lavish him with painstaking care, anticipating his needs and quickly meeting them. There were rare mornings when they would wake together lazily in treasured secret moments, but this would not be one of them.

Loathe as he was to leave his love, he also knew he was stalling. He did not care to return to the Night Court and face whatever he had unleashed by his secreting away of Nesta then disappearing himself. With an anguished sigh, he slid carefully away from Eris’ warmth, regretting every inch of separation as the space between them widened.

Easing into standing, he pulled the displaced blankets back over Eris’ shoulders, stopping to watch him mutter quietly in his sleep in that annoyed tone. Even in sleep, Eris was sharp tongued and easily irritated and Azriel adored it. Gathering all the strength within him he reached down to brush the hair from Eris’ face, placed a light-as-air kiss on his forehead, and stepped away from the male he loved above all others.

Turning reluctantly, he crossed towards the washroom to collect his discarded clothes from the night before. He changed silently into his leathers, running his hands down his chest and thighs to ensure his many knives and daggers were accounted for. He did not know if he would need to be armed for this reunion with his brothers. Unable to stand the distance, he moved back towards Eris and settled on the padded bench capping his bed, leaning down to lace his heavy boots. He tried not to think about what this day might hold.

Az where are you? I need you back at the River House immediately.

Rhys.

His voice sounded strained but not outright furious, a good sign.

give me an hour

make it half

Pursing his lips he braced his hands on his knees and pushed himself up into a languid stretch. He shook his wings out behind him, waking the delicate muscles, before blowing out a breath and righting himself to gather his shadows. Glancing down at Eris one last time, he startled to find the male gazing up at him through sleepy squinted eyes.

“My love,” he whispered, “it’s early, go back to sleep.”

He walked around the bed in quiet strides. Reaching Eris' side, he lowered a hand to brush his thumb across the frown creasing his mate’s brow, smiling at the way Eris blinked up at him. He needed to leave, he really did. Rhys wanted him at the River House in half an hour and he still needed to stop at The House to bathe. He knew he smelled strongly of Autumn, and his mate.

But the little pout on Eris’ pretty red lips just demanded to be kissed away. Those lips were a moon song in the sea and Azriel was an obedient tide. Bracing his hands on either side of Eris’ head he lowered himself down until their faces were only inches apart.

“When will I see you?” Eris asked in a painfully pitiful sleepy voice that shook Azriel’s resolve violently.

“Soon, my love. I will write,” he promised, closing the distance to pull that delicious bottom lip into his own mouth and sucking at it gently.

Eris moaned against his lips and reached his arms up to wrap around Azriel’s neck, more awake now and kissing him back properly. Azriel felt those impossibly soft lips curve into a grin seconds before he felt a sneaky finger trace down the outer edge of his wing.

Azriel stuttered immediately, all thoughts blown right out of his head.

“Fuck, Eris,” he breathed, dipping his forehead to rest on Eris'.

Eris was not ready to relent. His strategic mind paving a path to victory, he reached over Azriel’s shoulder to wrap a fire-warmed hand around the talon of his mate’s wing. Azriel convulsed at the sensation, dropping his head further to growl nonsensically into Eris’ neck.

“Eris,” he warned, his breath hot and quick against Eris’ skin.

Eris looked at him with wide innocent eyes, batting those long auburn lashes coyly, “yes?” He smiled sweetly.

He trailed a nail lightly down that same wing, tracing a path towards where the supple leathery skin met the honed muscles of Azriel’s back. The places he knew would test Azriel.

White hot desire tore down his spine, blood already rushing to his cock. He dug his face into Eris' shoulder with a deep moan. Wanting nothing more than to indulge his mate and let him work Azriel into a wet simpering mess with those wicked fingers, he knew he had let this go on too long.

Reaching behind him he took Eris’s hand, stilling his movements gently with a light kiss to the delicate skin of his wrist.

“Worth a try,” Eris sighed, rolling his eyes at Azriel’s chuckle.

His face turning serious, he cupped Azriel’s cheek in his hand, his head rested against the mound of pillows Azriel had fluffed and propped around him as he’d slept.

“Be safe, Az. Be careful and be safe.”

“Always, my love.” Azriel sealed his promise with a soft kiss to each of Eris’ cheeks and a warmer, longer one to his lips.

Brushing his thumb across his lips one last time, he stood from where he’d held himself over Eris on the bed. He tapped his nose twice with his index finger, cementing his promise, and stepped backwards into his waiting shadows. He let the image of his love watching him intently, one hand draped thoughtlessly across his heart, steady him for what would come next.

________________________________

Seconds after disappearing from the Autumn Court, Azriel fell into the sky above The House and snapped his wings open. Gliding down with ease he dropped lightly onto the balcony of his bedroom and rushed inside. He quickly undressed, bathing unceremoniously in a cold tub. The memory of last night’s bath with Eris pulling a hungry smile from his lips.

He would never get enough of the way Eris trusted him with his body and his pleasure. His lovely mate, so unrelenting with others, melted easily in his hands. It was addicting, consuming. Grateful for the cold water, Azriel shakes the memory of his love’s teeth biting down on his skin from his mind. Standing, he quickly redresses and, again, confirms all his weapons are where they belong on his body.

His shadows dart up and down his arms and he feels their displeasure against his skin. They are always unsettled when they leave Eris and the many unknowns of Rhys’ summons are doing nothing to calm them. Nodding his agreement, he lets them swirl around and through his fingers. They sooth each other quietly for a moment until he shakes his hand out to disperse them. Rolling his neck with finality, Azriel pushes back onto the balcony and takes off into the sky towards the River House.

It's quiet when he arrives. Nuala and Cerridwen are characteristically silent as they lead him up to Rhys’ study. He gives them both a respectful nod before they melt away into the darkened hallway. Taking a breath, he quickly recites what he knows: He had not spoken to either of his brothers since the night he'd taken Nesta from Illyria. He had lied to them both about it. His last interactions with both had been argumentative. He had not seen Feyre or Amren since before even then, had no idea what their disposition would be. Adjusting his posture to his full height, he pushes the door open and enters the room.

“Az,” Rhys does not look up from his task.

Azriel shuts the door softly behind him and takes in the room. Rhys, Cassian, and Lucien are leaned over a map of Illyria with serious expressions. Feyre sits in the large plush chair behind Rhys’ desk watching them closely, one hand across her belly and the other resting on the arm of the chair. Amren sits by a low fire across the room, her sharp red nails tapping impatiently on the steaming mug in her hand.

Rhys has just barely held onto his characteristic composure. To a casual observer, he is the cruel and clever High Lord of Night. It is only through Azriel’s knowing eyes that the set of his jaw and the narrowing of his eyes betray him.

Cassian is somehow more wrecked than last time. His eyes are bloodshot and red around the rims, deep purple bruising beneath them. He’s tugged his hair into a loose tail at the nape of his neck but most of it has been pulled from the leather tie by Cassian's restless fidgets. Loose strands jut out around his head and odd angles, framing his face in a mane. Indeed, he watches from the door as Cassian runs anxious fingers through his hair, dislodging more strands.

Lucien, for his part, is fitted impeccably in his Autumn style finery. His hair braided intricately back from his face, not one strand out of place. One finger stationed on the map in Nesta’s last known location, the other hand slipped into his pocket. Azriel’s traitorous mind can’t help but note the similarities between the eldest Vanserra and the one before him.

Turning his attention to Feyre, she meets his eyes from across the room. He bows respectfully to his High Lady, his eyes flicking to hers with concern. He suspects she struggles with her position more than she lets on. This young tenacious girl thrust into their ancient world, suddenly responsible for rivalries and traditions older than her by centuries. Azriel recalls when she first came to Velaris and Rhys was teaching her to read and write. She’d had the weight of Prythian on her shoulders before she was even out of adolescence, his family and court her only guides.

He held no loyalties to Tamlin, but he could put himself in the male’s position. This young, fragile, mortal girl in your care. She seeks you out in the most miserable and dangerous court in Prythian: Amarantha’s court. Your dearest friend nearly dies several times to protect her while you are helpless to intervene. You watch her neck snapped and then she’s suddenly resurrected, gifted mysterious and immeasurable power. The whole of Prythian is sending out their spies, tracking her every move.

He feels for High Lady, his friend, but wonders at the lengths he might go to if he thought it would keep Eris safe. He'd certainly enraged his mate before with his plotting, and those plots were to protect a centuries old, highly trained, and powerful fae of an ancient royal line. Not a newly made female with limited understanding of their world.

The intentions of Tamlin's ill-devised attempts to keep Feyre safe were not wholly foreign to him. His execution had raised legitimate concerns, but looking across at Feyre now he sees in her eyes the same uncertainty and innocence he suspects Tamlin wanted to protect from the scheming of Prythian's courts.

She looks small behind Rhys’ desk, her eyes brimmed with tears. She now carries a risky pregnancy with no clear outcome and the disappearance of her sister. It fills Azriel with guilt for his part in her distress and he steps unconsciously towards her.

Perceptive at the best and worst of times, Lucien narrows in on the turmoil building within Azriel and clears his throat loudly.

“Shadowsinger,” he greets.

Closing his mouth, not realizing he'd opened it, Azriel turns his attention to the table they are gathered around.

“Lucien,” Azriel returns with a nod.

Lucien raises his brows at Azriel in an expression he recognizes as a warning. Whatever they’d been doing here, it was not going well. If Azriel was summoned at dawn, and they were already here when he arrived, had they been here all night?

Approaching the table, Cassian seems to register his presence. He rushes Azriel, nearly lifting him off the ground in his embrace. Azriel subtly extracts himself from this hold, still fuming at Cassian and Rhys. Cassian barely notices Azriel pulling away as he turns back towards the map table with a hand, again, tugging through his hair.

“We’ve gone over it again and again, Az,” Azriel can hear the exhaustion in the shake of his voice.

“How the fuck could she just disappear?” Cass has braced both hands on the table and dropped the weight of his head between his shoulders, those loose strands of hair drooping down around his face.

Looking up suddenly he gasps, “oh gods," he shakes his head violently, just now realizing something.

“what if she was taken? Who could have have gotten to Illyria? Rhys?"

Azriel looks around the table quizzically. By the looks of it, they had in fact been here all night. It had been days since they’d seen Nesta. That they were just now considering that she had been taken from the camp reignited some of the anger Azriel had let ebb in his absence. Their working theory had, apparently, been that Nesta had tricked and deceived them with ill intent and somehow executed her misdeed while barely conscious. That flew all over Azriel, who had seen the recklessly dangerous state this court had pushed her to.

Knowing he was responsible for her taking, he stifled this observation and continued his silent assessment of the room.

Beside him, Cassian was breathing heavily, his eyes darting around the map in front of them. Azriel knows Cass’s moods, almost as well as his own, and he was close to fucking losing it.

Cassian turns abruptly to Rhys, his voice rough, "Rhys she barely knows anything about her magic. She could, oh gods Rhys, someone could..." He trails off into incoherence, clawing at his face in despair.

Azriel watches in his stony silence, letting his shadows calm him with their soft wisps against his skin. He glances down at the markers they’ve laid across the map. They note the villages and camps closest to the campsite Azriel had taken Nesta from. None are a reasonable distance, it was easy to piece together that she would not have been able to reach any of them on her own. He feels Rhys’ calculating eyes on him but does not react. He wants so badly to release Cassian from this turmoil and anguish. It hurts him to see his brother so distraught.

When Azriel was first brought to Windhaven, Cassian had not been kind to him. Cass saw him as competition, someone he had to fight for resources. As they had changed and grown, both eventually accepted into Rhys’ circle, Cassian became his fiercest protector.

Cassian was fearless and absolute in his love. He loved with a drenching and consuming intensity, as was his way in most things. As younglings, Cass would not think twice about starting a fight if he thought someone had treated Azriel poorly. After several bloody incidents, it had spread quickly across the camps that an ill word against Azriel meant a visit from Cassian. Even as Azriel grew into his strength, eventually becoming a formidable fighter in his own right, Cassian was always there, always had his back.

Cassian taught him how to fight, eagerly showing him everything he knew. He would practice with Azriel after long days of training. He would quietly pour some of his own rations onto Azriel’s plate to help him build muscle after so many years of captivity. That boisterous impossible boy had held him through dark nights when he would shake helplessly, always understanding, always softly encouraging. Cassian had been the center of his world, the first person in that strange new place to show him love and loyalty.

Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys had slowly grown closer and formed their own unit together. But Cassian had remained Azriel’s closest ally, his protector, his dearest friend. The connection they shared had been untouchable for centuries. There was no relationship, save his mate, more important to Azriel. It shook his very foundations, tore them into rocky dust, to see Cassian pacing before him in fear not for his mate but fear of how her disappearance might shift the power balance of Prythian.

He was glowering down at the map when Rhys shook him from his contemplation.

“Az,” he asked carefully, “Have your shadows heard anything?”

Rhys did not remember their conversation, then. Or if he did, he was choosing not to acknowledge it. Azriel could not blame him for that, if he had spoken to either of his brothers way Rhys had, he would be wracked with shame. The memory of Rhys’ words had not left him though, and that growing divide between them remained.

Refusing to look at Lucien, keeping his expression unchanged, he perused the map with a finger.

“No, I haven’t heard anything,” and with that lie, he drew his line.

He had drawn a line and stepped away from his family's side. There was no turning back now, not without divulging too many closely held secrets. At this, he did look up at Lucien. Lucien was eyeing him carefully, no judgement in his expression. Azriel raised a brow slightly at the younger male who dipped his chin briefly in reply. At least, he supposed glumly, they had each other in this deception.

Saving him from his spiral, Cassian snarled viciously before raising a fist and slamming it into the shelf behind Rhys. The shelf shattered easily, splintered wood exploding outward and books tumbling to the floor, but Cassian barely seemed to notice. As soon as his fist made contact, he had snapped it back and spun around to face the room again, jaw clenched painfully tight. Now, Azriel notes grimly, he had fucking lost it.

Feyre’s expression was pained as she looked between Rhys and Cassian. Rhys had moved himself between the two even before Cassian had struck, anticipating his loss of control. Silky dark tendrils pulsated around Rhys, planted firmly between Cassian and Feyre. Things were well and truly escalated, and devolving quickly for this over wrought group of fae.

In his chaos, Cassian’s eyes shot around the room with a wild expression, looking for someone to have an answer. He seemed to take in Rhys’ protective stance in front of Feyre, who had pushed herself backwards in Rhys’ chair. His rage unabated and control slipping quickly away from him, he looked at Azriel who had flared his wings out in front of Amren, not trusting either in this heated moment. Amren had tilted her head to peer idly around Azriel at the commotion, unaffected but apparently willing to accept his protection.

Only Lucien remained steady, unmoved from his position at Rhys’ table as he observed, quietly assessing the growing conflict. Azriel’s attention was split between his brothers. This clashing of mates was dangerous. Rhys would level Velaris with a snap of his fingers to protect his pregnant mate. Cassian had not slept in at least two days and was a blustering wall of anger and fear, nearly cracked fully open. Between Nesta's disappearance and the still-looming threat of Feyre's pregnancy, tensions were ready to snap. Azriel glanced at Lucien. Their eyes met briefly in a private nod before taking on their respective wards.

Azriel crossed the room slowly and looked to Feyre, ignoring the growl from his High Lord.

“Feyre, can we check on Elain?”

Feyre stared blankly at Rhy's back, his shoulders tight as he held her behind the barrier of his magic.

Azriel had seen Feyre fight before. He knew she was no stranger to conflict. He suspected she would want to stay and mediate. But Azriel knew that two exhausted males with mates in danger would not be plied with diplomacy and Feyre was in no state to dissuade anyone. Rhys and Cassian were too powerful, they could easily flatten whole cities in a confrontation. Rhys' magic might be immeasurably more powerful than Cassian's, but Cassian was a legendary warrior and strategist with almost unmatched physical prowess. Rhys’ victory in an altercation may be a near certainty, but Cassian had earned his seven siphons and no victory would be without a cost. If the tenuous hold of the room tipped even slightly, it could be devastating.

Azriel continued, low and steady, “Feyre, it is not safe here right now. Can I take you somewhere safe?”

Rhys and Cassian had not moved from their positions. Azriel wasn't sure they were even aware of the others in the room anymore. Cassian was panting heavily, his chest heaving as he continued working himself into a fit. Rhys was still as a statue, arms raised slightly, wings now out and spread wide to block his mate, eyes locked on Cassian.

From the corner of his eye he saw Lucien extending a hand to Amren. The redheaded male was whispering something he could not hear as he leaned towards Amren in a shallow bow. To his surprise, the fearsome female reached up and took Lucien’s hand and they winnowed away together in a quick flare of light.

Shifting his focus back to Feyre, he held his hand out toward her. He felt his shadows twisting uncomfortably around him, absorbing the tension in the room with agitation. He watched Feyre's eyes move slowly from her mate’s back, postured in front of them, to Azriel. No real recognition in her eyes, he watched his High Lady struggle, one hand unmoving from her stomach where she protected what grew within her. This was taking too long. He placed a firm hand on her shoulder, forcing her to look up. Seeming to finally see him in front of her, she nodded.

She placed her hand in his and without another thought he pulled them both into his shadows, just as Cassian took a step forward towards Rhys. Fuck, he thought, and the darkness swept him and Feyre away.

 

Nesta

Nesta and Aurie had found an easy rhythm with each other. Nesta found the cheery female to be good company, happy to talk or remain silent and pleased equally by both. As another day passed, Nesta grew restless, anxious about not having heard back from Azriel or Gwyn. She had not yet left Aurie's cabin so when the bright female offered to show her around Beyrih, Nesta agreed. If nothing else, it would be a respite from her spiraling fears.

Aurie offered Nesta a warm fur-lined cloak before stepping through the door and she was grateful for it as the brisk Autumn air flurried around her. Beyrih was a small village but busy, bustling. It was quaint in a way, well loved and cared for. She saw fae of all kinds walking the wide paths of the village together. They all seemed at ease, happy even. Aurie pointed out different shops and notable locations, filling the silence with happy chatter about this memory or that. She rattled off names that meant nothing to Nesta when she pointed animatedly at the homes they passed. Aurie was proud of Beyrih, excited to have someone to show it off to.

As they walk, Nesta lets her mind wander, lulled by the steady hum of Aurie’s voice. She thinks back to those last few hours on the Mountain with Cassian. It hurt her deeply how quickly he could withdraw his affection, as if it was a finite thing and she had been slowly draining its reserve. She struggled to reconcile how loving and easy and kind he could be with Feyre and Mor with how much he seemed to prickle and prod at Nesta. They had always been argumentative, but she had genuinely tried to earn his friendship and respect.

Had she not done as he asked? She had trained diligently. She had worked dutifully in the library, never missing an afternoon. She had scried even when it scared her. She had nearly been swallowed up by the Bog, brutally attacked by the kelpie, to retrieve the crown for him, for his family. She had let him into her bed only to be left cold and dejected each time. She had been desperate to prove herself to him, tried to give him everything she thought he wanted. In the end, it had not been enough. She, apparently, had not been enough.

She had taken other males to bed before she was relocated to The House of the Wind. Quick, drunk, encounters she tried to forget the next day. Watching Cassian scramble away from her after he'd fucked her for the first time had felt the same as watching those strange males leave her apartment without so much as a glance in her direction.

She’d been raw, terrified, after the kelpie attack and had been grateful when he sought her out. She had tried to reach for his comfort the only way she knew how. She'd wanted his warmth and protection, someone to hold her and make her feel safe again. But he’d left her there, naked and spent and reeling, with nothing but a quick jab and a slammed door. She always found herself horribly alone, compelled somehow to continue seeking out some comfort, some warmth.

It had not been until a bold, bright, blue eyed priestess had argued amenably with her in the library that she began to feel she could be at home in Prythian, in her new body. Someone wanted her around, cared what she thought and wanted to know more. Gwyn had seen her sharpness and delighted in it because it belonged to Nesta. She did need Nesta to be more agreeable, her blade dulled or her tongue quieted.

Gwyn was undeniably warm and as they grew closer Nesta found herself eagerly warming her lonely hands over the generous fire of Gwyn's kindness. Nesta had been struck by Gwyn's astonishing beauty from their first encounter. Her creamy ivory skin, those devastating eyes, her rosy red lips, the soft blush across her cheeks... She was nearly impossible to look away from and Nesta struggled immensely to do so.

She found herself lost in conversations with the clever female, happily afloat in her enchanted gaze, nodding along uselessly when prompted. As Aurie walked them past a small bakery, she drew in the sweet smell of it and wondered if Gwyn would ever leave the library to come visit her here. She could not imagine staying somewhere Gwyn did not feel safe to visit. She would bow to her brother-in-law's crown if it was the only way to keep her beautiful friend.

Her feet following the distant sound of Aurie's voice, her mind wandered back to where Cassian was now. Surely by now he knew she was gone, would he be angry at her for finding a way out? Would he be relieved to be rid of her, no longer burdened with her care?

Over her months at the house she had formed a tentative friendship with Azriel. She had been grateful for his steadying presence in training, a balance to Cassian's eager and animated energy. Azriel was quiet and guarded where Cassian was loud and brash and open in a way Nesta found both alluring and difficult to be around. Azriel had always shown her kindness, never joined in when his family poked at her. It was a quiet easy thing, their delicate friendship. It was not long intimate talks or open joyful laughter. It was just a peaceful understanding, a knowing. It asked nothing of her, accepted what she offered it, and returned it with kind grace.

She supposed it was Azriel's knowing attention she had to thank for being pulled from the rubble of her disastrous hike with Cassian. She found she was glad to be here, in Beyrih, with Aurie. She wondered if someone like her could build a life here, like these other fae had. Aurie had explained that Beyrih was home to displaced fae within the Autumn Court. Beron ruled his territories with an iron fist that he brought down hard on 'lesser fae,' thwarting their commerce and draining their communities, using outright violence at times.

According to Aurie, Eris had hoped to repair some of the damage of his father's cruelty by offering this secret sanctuary to those who wished to remain in Autumn but no longer had homes to return to. Autumn fae, Aurie had patiently explained, were insular and proud. Though their High Lord was cruel and despotic, they were loyal to the lands themselves. Many did not want to move to other courts, live away from the magic of their homelands. Beyrih was a way for those fae to stay in Autumn, protected from Beron's reign.

She had been surprised to learn of Azriel's role in Beyrih's past and present. Everything she’d heard from the Inner Circle indicated that Autumn and, particularly, Eris were not well respected. She knew vaguely that Eris had a history with Mor and the female did not like him. Nesta did not trust or like Mor, found her to be unkind and dismissive, openly hateful at times. Mor's poor opinion of anyone meant little to Nesta but to hear about Eris from Aurie had been enlightening.

The fae here respected Eris, cared for and trusted him. He was someone who fought for them, who took a twisted legacy and used it to the advantage of his people. They seemed to hold Azriel in similar regard. Nesta struggled to put the pieces together, sensing she was missing something. Aurie told her that Beyrih had started accidentally when Eris gifted his hunting cabin to Aurie and her sisters. He brought more survivors to her over the years until their small collective had outgrown Eris' cabin.

This, apparently, is when Aurie first met Azriel. Eris had brought him to help build a second cabin to make space for additional fae. Nesta smiled at the image of Eris and Azriel laboring side by side, grumpy expression on Azriel’s stern face, delighted mischief on Eris’. When Nesta asked Aurie how Eris and Azriel had become friends, close enough that Eris would bring him to this secret place, Aurie had blushed and told Nesta she ought to talk to Azriel.

As the centuries passed, whenever their community grew beyond its capacity Azriel would arrive to help expand it. Eventually they built shops and community centers and slowly became a vibrant, hidden, community somewhere in Autumn's expansive wilderness.

Nesta learned that Beyrih was self-governed by a rotating council of fae chosen by the community. Eris, though heavily involved in its care and upkeep, apparently held no particular rights in the council or the town. From the way she spoke, it was clear that the residents here respected Eris and would seek his guidance, but decision making was restricted to those who lived here. The village and its resources belonged to those who lived in and maintained it. They were unknown to Beron and thus untouched by his laws and decrees. Without his oppressive policies, fae of all kinds could thrive openly and happily here, living and partnering as they chose.

Nesta was stunned by what Eris and Aurie had accomplished. She knew very little of the courts outside Night. The more she thought about it, she barely knew anything about Night and how it functioned. She thought back to her brief times in Illyria and the females there, her own friend Emerie and her clipped wings. This community was a refuge for Autumn's fae and Eris and Aurie had allowed her inside its gates. Someone from a rival court, with ties to powerful fae. The implication and trust was staggering.

Eventually Nesta registered that Aurie had stopped talking and was looking at her imploringly. Reorienting herself, she looked around. They were in a dining hall of some kind. The large airy space lined with long wooden tables and benches for communal eating. To the side, a smaller dining room of tables where she supposed fae could eat more privately or intimately. She heard the clattering sounds of a busy kitchen from behind the far wall and realized she was hungry

"Nesta, dear, did you hear me? Would you like to eat here, or back at home?"

Aurie was patient, so horribly and wonderfully patient. This small consideration, this choice she offered Nesta, pushed her near to tears. When was the last time someone had asked what she wanted? Even something as simple as where she wanted to eat. Embarrassed by her emotional reaction to this innocuous question and the lump forming in her throat, she simply nodded to Aurie who smiled pleasantly back at her.

Aurie glided gracefully back behind the dividing wall to the kitchen and emerged moments later with two heaping plates. She sat down at one of the long tables and motioned for Nesta to join her. The steaming piles of roasted meats and soft savory vegetables smelled divine and Nesta wanted to cry all over again about it. Pulling herself together, she sat opposite Aurie and they ate together quietly.

After a few moments of silence, Aurie spoke, "We're a bit early, but others might start showing up soon."

Nesta recognized this as her politely asking if Nesta wanted to leave. She found that she did not, she wanted to stay. It had been so long since she had been in any sort of gathering, her company restricted to Feyre and Rhysand's inner circle or the small group of priestesses she trained with. She realized that she missed it and was pleased by the memory of the overlapping chatter and stray laughter of a group sharing space together. Nesta nodded but did not reply. Aurie seemed to understand all the same and smiled down at her plate happily.

"Aurie," Nesta edged, "what happens now? Can I-- can I stay here or will Azriel come back to get me?"

Nesta had not spoken to anyone in her family. She suspected they did not know where she was, indeed it seemed no one knew where this was. She did not know if they were angry or scared or relieved. Did they want her back? They'd been insistent about keeping tabs on her location and activities before, even placing her in a house she could not leave without their knowledge. She suspected this meant they had an interest in her whereabouts but did not know how far that would extend. Aurie appeared confused by this question.

"Well, Nesta, that's really up to you. Do you want to stay here in Beyrih?"

Unaccustomed to making decisions about her life in recent months, she frowned. Did she want to stay? Did she want to return to the Night Court and beg her sisters forgiveness? To return to those early morning trainings and wandering around The House alone? She wanted to be near Gwyn, yes. But she did not think she was ready to return just yet. She needed more time to figure out what she wanted. Turning her gaze back to Aurie, she nodded.

"Yes, I think I would like to stay. At least, for a little while."

Aurie nodded agreeably, a sparkle lighting her eyes as she held Nesta's gaze, "we'll need to get you some new clothes," she said conspiratorially.

Grinning back despite herself, Nesta agreed with another nod of her head.

____________________________

They spent the rest of the afternoon looking over fabrics and designs with a seamstress Aurie knew. She waved a hand dismissively when Nesta had asked about payment and Nesta resolved to ask Aurie about it later. Returning to Aurie’s cabin and excusing herself to her room, she was pleasantly surprised to find that she had enjoyed her day.

After their lunch in the dining hall, she had barely thought about the Night Court and what she had left behind. If she could, or wanted to, return to it. Back in her room, she went straight to the washroom to take down her tight braids and change into her nightgown. Returning to the main room, she spotted a small folded parchment laying on her bed.

Rushing to inspect it, she snatched it up and turned it over in her hand. She sucked in a sharp breath when she saw that familiar sloping handwriting staring lovingly back up at her once again. Gwyn had written her back. She slid her finger under edges to fold it open gently. Kneeling in the center of the bed, holding the parchment like it was her greatest treasure, she took in the message slowly.

Nes Dear,

Thank the Mother you’re alright, Nes. Things are strange here and after your letter I feel even more certain something is very wrong. I’m scared for you, my sky, I wish we were together. I have been a mess since you disappeared, I am sick with worry. Nes dear, I don’t know the whole story and I don’t know what they did to you but I can’t stay here any longer, not without you. Not if they hurt you.

Please, tell me where you are. I will beg Azriel to bring me to you, I don’t care about the library or the Night Court or anything here at all unless you are here too. There are rumors reaching the library that something is happening on the continent, Nes. I don’t understand much of it but if something happens I do not want to be parted from you.

Tell me how to find you or I will find you myself.

Azriel promised he would get this letter to you quickly. I do not know when I will see him again to receive your reply, we have not been training. Write when you can, love.

Yours,

Gwyneth

Nesta stared down at the letter. Gwyn would leave the night court? For her? Sweet, bold, brilliant Gwyn who had made a safe home for herself with the priestesses would leave that safety for her? Nesta’s sharp mind began calculating different possibilities and outcomes. Would Eris and Aurie allow her to come here, to Beyrih? Another outsider, another from the Night Court. If Gwyn came here, where would she stay? Here with Nesta and Aurie? Would Nesta stay here with Aurie?

Her letter brought up another issue Nesta had not considered. Gwyn’s report that she’d heard rumors about activity on the continent was concerning. In the whirlwind of the last few days, she had not thought once about The Troves or Queen Brialynn. They posed as much of a threat to Nesta as the Night Court did and without them, she had no allies.

She suddenly felt even more vulnerable than when she’d first arrived. Selfish, she scolded, selfish, selfish, selfish. She had not even considered that her presence might put Beyrih at risk; she was minimally known to several powerful beings, all of whom carried violent agendas. And there was the matter of her own power, caged deep within her, using her quietest moments to roar and rage against her ribs.

She knew she still had her magic, whatever cursed wicked thrumming power she’d torn away from the Cauldron. She’d felt it stirring against her and had built walls high and strong around it, forcing it down and down and down. She did not trust herself with it, did not want it or understand it. She worried now that her feral untamable power might also be a risk to Beyrih, to Gwyn.

But if Gwyn would come here, come to her, maybe she could help Nesta. Help her figure out what she was meant to do, where she was meant to be. If Gwyn would come here to Beyrih Nesta would make sure it was safe. She would train her magic, do whatever it took to make her world safe for Gwyn.

As if sensing her thoughts beginning to cloud her, Aurie knocked gently on the door and pushed it open. She poked her head and one arm inside, holding a steaming mug in her hand.

“Tea?” She asked.

Nesta looked up at her from where was was still knelt on the bed, Gwyn’s letter open in her hands. She nodded her head. Aurie knocked the door open wider with her foot, revealing a small tray of sweet smelling treats in her other hand. Grinning knowingly at the way Nesta’s brows perked up at the sight, she made her way over to the bed and sat down delicately.

Nesta accepted the offered mug and took a calming sip. Before she could talk her self out of it, before she could come up with more reasons she did not deserve to be here, she let her sharp eyes land on Aurie.

“Aurie, can I ask you something? A favor, really.”

Aurie grinned delightedly and urged Nesta on with a nod.

Notes:

Yall come check out my Tumblr, same user name and pic, that I have not used since I made it. I'm going to try and post updates there and would love to meet yall!

Just know that when you open it up it will look like a fake profile but that's only because I am using it for the first time just now sooooo come give me stuff to post and talk about!

Chapter 8

Summary:

Last week: things got dicey with the IC and Azriel decided to keep some things to himself, Nesta decided she wants to stay in Autumn and worked up the courage to ask Aurie if Gwyn could come stay.

This week: fall out of the IC meeting, Azriel trying to piece things together, Nesta and Gwyn REUNITE and I *cry in gay* about it for several paragraphs.

Feat. Cassian needs to calm down, Rhys sucks, Lucien is precious, Nesta and Gwyn being the queer slow burn of my lesbian dreams

Notes:

Please hear these words as though I am shouting them through cupped hands off a mountain top: THANK YOU Strangeredlantern for such a wildly beautiful beta read with incredible edits and impactful suggestions. Dear Reader... If your favorite passages from this chapter are the same as mine, Strangeredlantern had a hand in them.

I've mentioned this before but I am new to the writing side of fanfic and I literally cannot overstate how lovely it has been to have such a brilliant, patient, and kind guide through all the many MANY behind-the-scenes aspects of fic writing that I did not know existed.

On that note, shout out to the writers out there-- I DID NOT KNOW EVEN HALF OF WHAT YALL WERE DOING. Truly @me having no idea how beautiful and connective and scary this process would be. I really, really, really appreciate every comment and kudos, you are all collectively my best friend and I would actually die for you.

Azriel

Azriel gripped Feyre’s hand tightly when his shadows deposited them on the lawn of the River House. When she’d reached out to Rhysand as they disappeared, Azriel quickly grabbed her hand and held it to his chest, worried she would try to bolt from his shadows. He was not sure what would happen if he lost contact with someone while moving through the shadows, but he would not risk his High Lady finding out. 

“Fuck,” he said, mostly to himself, as he looked around.

With the chaos of the room and Feyre’s disoriented attempt to abscond, he had not given his shadows any instruction. Sensing his intention, they had removed him from the house but had not known what to do beyond that. The symbiosis of their shared magic was mysterious, even to him, but he knew they could only infer so much without his direction. 

Feyre was a silent, unmoving spectator to his deliberation. If she had an opinion about their predicament, she did not share it. He faced her fully, attempting to catch her gaze. 

“Feyre,” he called gently, his voice soft, “Feyre, stay here, I’m going to go back for Elain.”

He watched her for any sign of understanding, but her eyes were fixed on the windows of the River House, as if she could see through the walls into Rhys’ study. Azriel weighed his options. 

A shock of power radiating from the house had him quickly deciding to trust whatever state of shock or confusion she was in to keep her immobilized for the few minutes he needed to find the middle Archeron. 

Seconds later, he was scouring the garden paths to find Elain, his shadows shooting out ahead of him as little guides. He found her walking towards him and gave her a hurried explanation, offering his arm. She said nothing as she tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and allowed herself to be carried away.

 Alighting back in the front yard, Azriel blew out a relieved breath to see Feyre unmoved from her courtyard vigil. Glancing at both, he removed the hand he’d held over Elain’s and wound it gently around Feyre’s waist, walking them back into the shadows. 

Correctly assuming Lucien would have taken Amren home, he nodded to the Autumn male as they landed heavily on the street in front of her apartment, breathless from his rapid transport. Leaned against Amren’s building, waiting for them, Lucien stood with a polite bow when they arrived. Taking in the two Archerons and their states, he frowned at Azriel. Surprising both males, Elain was the first to move, taking her hand back from Azriel and crossing quickly to her sister. 

She took Feyre’s hand and walked them both forward with confident strides. Stopping in front of Lucien, Azriel watched the male’s eyes widen noticeably when Elain tilted her head up to look at him, his mouth popping open in surprise. 

“Which one is it again?” Elain asked Lucien, her tone suggesting they had planned this, not at all indicating that they had only spoken a few times since their first meeting. 

Composed and poised Lucien, effortless and quick-witted Lucien, stared down at her mutely, his mouth now fully open. The barely acquainted mates were inches apart. Azriel cleared his throat. Lucien did not, could not, tear his gaze from the female before him. 

Azriel’s jaw nearly dropped, brows shooting up in shock, when Elain lifted her arm to place a slender hand on Lucien’s cheek and rested her palm there, tapping gently three times with her fingertips to get his attention. 

“Lucien,” her voice warm, coaxing, “which apartment is Amren’s?”

The violent blush on Lucien’s cheeks shot up to the tips of his ears. Closing his mouth, he swallowed hard, his body angling down towards her. He stared for another moment, appearing disoriented. Azriel looked on with squinted eyes as he reached a hand up, painfully slow, to cover the one she’d left resting on his cheek. Lucien was entranced, but Azriel did not have time for it. 

“Amren is on the top floor, it’s the only door there. She will let you in,” Azriel stated plainly as he moved towards a dumbfounded Lucien. 

Azriel knew this feeling Lucien was experiencing, and it pained him to drag him from this moment, but his brothers were on the verge of blows, and they needed to get back to the River House quickly. Elain pulled her hand back and nodded at Azriel, placing Feyre’s hand on her elbow and leading her inside the building without another word. 

Azriel gave Lucien a moment to collect himself, but the overwhelmed Autumn fae would clearly need assistance. With a sigh, Azriel snapped his fingers in front of Lucien’s face. Lucien’s hand still held the place Elain had tapped him; he had not stood from his bent position towards her, his eyes wide open. 

“She touched me,” he said softly to no one, staring at the ground where she’d stood moments ago. 

Azriel reached a hand behind Lucien and tugged sharply at the braid down his back, like he used to when Lucien was a child. 

“Lucien, you’ve got to snap out of it,” he said, sympathetic but hurried. 

Between Feyre and Lucien, he was beginning to lose patience. The situation could very well have escalated further while he was gathering and directing these useless fae like lost lambs. Pursing his lips in consideration, Azriel placed a hand on Lucien’s other cheek and mimicked Elain’s taps, much less gently. Not hard, but enough to jar the bespelled male. Lucien’s eyes looked up at this,

He raised his other hand to cup the cheek Azriel had tapped. 

Azriel nearly laughed at the sight, Lucien standing stock still in the streets of Velaris, red as a robin, holding his face between both hands. He did not have time to enjoy the moment now, but somewhere in his mind, he knew Eris would enjoy his retelling later. 

“Luce, we’ve got to go, we need to get back now,” he said, tone firm and commanding. 

Finally, Lucien shook his head and lowered his hands, looking at Azriel again, his eyes still foggy but some focus returning. 

“Right. Of course, lead the way.”

Azriel braced his hand on the male’s shoulder, walking them back through the darkness of the world and onto the lawn of the River House. They stepped out of the shadows in sync and, without pause, stalked forward, step for step, their faces grim. 

Curiosity winning out, Azriel chanced a look at Lucien, “What did you say to get Amren to leave?”

Lucien raised a sly brow in amusement, glancing sideways at Azriel without breaking stride.

“Nothing,” he grinned, “she said she was bored.”

________________________________

Azriel and Lucien slipped through the halls of the River House on silent feet, listening for any disturbance and finding the home eerily quiet. Approaching the door to Rhys’ study, Lucien nodded to Azriel, who eased it open and stepped inside ahead of Lucien. Assessing the space quickly, it looked largely the same as when he’d left it a few moments ago. The only notable change was that Rhys had Cassian pinned against the far wall with an arm across the Illyrian’s throat. 

Rhys's head tilted slightly towards Cassian’s ear, whispering something as Cassian attempted to loosen his hold. Cassian spotted him first from his vantage point facing the door. The air rang as Cassian’s siphon power struggled against Rhys’s magic. Azriel moved forward slowly, not wanting to startle either of the volatile males. 

“Rhys,” he said, his deep, gravelly tone soothing, “let him go, brother.”

Cassian was snarling again, clawing at Rhys’ tight hold to free himself, but Rhys was unrelenting in his grasp. Azriel felt Lucien approach behind him and held out a hand, directing his path. Lucien slid gracefully to Rhys’ right, keeping a generous distance, as Azriel moved to his left. Flanking the two males and holding position, Azriel tried again.

“Rhys, let him go,” he implored, wary of using too commanding a tone with his High Lord in this state. 

Rhys turned to look behind him and set his eyes on Azriel. Cocking half a smile and a brow he chuckled, low and uncomfortable. 

“Spymaster, good of you to join us,” his voice smooth, tone unbothered. 

Refusing to loosen his grip on a flailing and snarling Cassian, he continued, “I’ll receive your reports now. 24 hours, full verbal, if you please.”

There was a challenge in his eye that unsettled Azriel. He saw Lucien inch barely forward but made no acknowledgement as he held Rhys’ steady gaze. Cassian seemed oblivious to all of them, more feral fury than fae. Rhys held him back easily, barely rustled by the jerking movements under his grip, ignoring Cassian’s wild shouting in his ear. Azriel was not surprised that this shot Cassian’s anger to new heights; he’d always thought Rhys was showy with his power, and even in their youth, these displays had riled him. 

Azriel tilted into a shallow nod, “Yeah, Rhys, why don’t w–,”

“Don’t,” Rhys snapped. 

Lucien took another cautious step, staying just outside Rhys's line of sight. Azriel stayed on Rhys, keeping his attention. Azriel was one of the few who knew the true extent of Lucien’s power, the legacy he carried in his blood. His Autumn magic ran deep and incredibly strong, borne from his mother’s powerful line and his centuries of training and mastery. But his Day powers, while less extensively trained, were staggering. Azriel had seen him employ the bright heat of that magic on several occasions and knew that if Lucien could catch him unaware, his power would rival even Rhysand’s. 

Lucien, cocky bastard,  knew this too and continued forward with a serene expression. Lucien was discreet with his power. He used it sparingly and only when necessary, never tapping into its full might. Because of this practicality, he’d enjoyed many years of being quietly underestimated, allowed access to spaces he might otherwise have been denied or seen as a threat. But Azriel knew that Lucien held Rhys in particularly low regard and worried he would savor the occasion. Still, it was the only plan, so Azriel played his part.

“Alright, Rhys, alright. This time yesterday, I was in training with the priestesses,” he launched into a verbose description of the techniques and exercises they were learning, who was advancing well, and who required additional attention. 

He kept his tone even, as though he genuinely believed this was the report Rhys was after. He moved on to describe a visit to Hewn City to receive reports from his spies in the Court of Nightmares. He was starting on a synopsis, sensing Rhys’ patience flickering, when Lucien stepped into position. Azriel opened his mouth to continue when Cassian, never one for mindful timing, chose this moment to orient to the scene fully. 

Azriel watched in helpless horror as several things happened in such rapid succession that they almost appeared simultaneous. Cassian roared abruptly, drawing Rhys’ attention away from Azriel. Rhys whipped his head around to find the source of Cassian’s outburst. A heartbeat before landing on Lucien, Lucien snapped both hands out, palms out towards Cassian and Rhys. Golden slivers of pure light shot from his open hands and wrapped around Rhys and Cassian in a flash, glowing with ornate designs that shimmered along their clothes and skin. 

Azriel watched in stunned silence for the brief seconds it took for the symbols Lucien had conjured to flash quickly and disappear. Drawing his gaze up to his brothers, he looked on with a mixture of fascination and dread. Lucien froze them— Cassian’s face pinched together, mouth open in that final roar, fingers digging mercilessly into Rhysand’s arm. Even his escaped hairs were suspended in time around his face. Rhys, with his head stopped mid-turn, looked directly at Cassian. Blinking, he slid his gaze further to look at Lucien. 

Lucien dusted his hands together before tucking them behind his back. Appraising the two males before him, he nodded with satisfaction and turned to Azriel. 

“I’ve never used that one before,” he said, giddy at his success and grinning boyishly. 

Azriel just stared. He had seen Lucien use his power, sure, but this was something else entirely. He had immobilized a high lord as easily as drawing a breath, frozen a powerful Illyrian general— astonishing and confusing. Sensing some distress, Lucien stepped forward and reached out gently.

“Hey, Az, they’re just frozen, they’re not hurt. It’s just a spell, okay?”

Azriel was not taking this in. Too many things had happened in too short a time. Cassian and Rhys nearly breaking into a brawl during their meeting, whisking Feyre and Elain to Amren’s, returning to find them locked in a deadly power struggle, and now Lucien casually using ancient and unfamiliar magic on a high lord like it was nothing.

“How long will it hold?” He asked with a miraculous calm.

Lucien considered him for a moment, “Until I break it,” he replied. 

Nodding, unable to speak further in this state, he turned mechanically and crossed the room. Pouring several servings of crisp Night liquor into a glass, he downed it in one gulp. He let the spiced liquor scorch down his throat with a shiver. Rolling out his shoulders, he turned back to Lucien. 

“Now what, Lucien? Now fucking what?”

Lucien did look sheepish at this, and he turned back to Rhysand and Cassian. 

“They were too heated, Az, Rhys was close to pushing Cass straight through that wall into a full-out brawl in the streets.”

Azriel could not disagree; he’d made a similar assessment as he and Lucien had moved synchronously to contain the two. Eyes still drawn back to the deeply discomforting sight of his inanimate brothers, he leaned back against Rhys's desk. They could break the spell and let the scene continue, but that was too risky. They could move them apart before breaking the spell, but that would not ease the existing tension, and they would still be within striking distance of each other. Lucien carried on his train of thought out loud.

“We could separate them. Take Cassian one place and Rhys another.”

Azriel narrowed his eyes in thought, “How would we explain that one minute they were at each other’s throats and the next they weren’t even in the same house?

Lucien ceded this point with a nod. He perked up, “Your shadows,” he offered. “I’ll hold Rhys back, you take Cass to The House or Illyria or wherever, we don’t mention my involvement or this little planning session. Rhys was about to spot me anyway, call it a misdirection.”

Azriel was exhausted. Coming up with and tracking all these deceptions. But Lucien was right, they needed to be separated. They could get everyone safe and then reassess the situation. He nodded unhappily, approaching Cassian. 

They agreed that Lucien would pull Rhys away from Cassian, and as he unwove his spell, there would be just a blink for Azriel, already gripping Cassian, to shadow them away as Lucien yanked Rhysand backwards. Azriel would fly Cass up the House, hopeful the distance and the flight would calm his brother. 

“Drop him in the Sidra,” Lucien joked when Azriel worried aloud about the merits of flying or shadow walking. 

Azriel glared at him but stepped into position, ready to get this over with. 

They both took a deep breath. Before motioning for Lucien to begin, he leveled an admonishing glare at the younger male.

“We will be discussing this,” he jerks his chin towards his frozen brothers, “with Eris.”

Lucien rolled his eyes at the reprimand but nodded in response. Azriel grumbled something about the godsdamn heirs in his life before tightening his grip on Cassian. He nodded curtly to Lucien and pulled his shadows in tight. 

Lucien wrapped one arm around Rhysand’s chest from behind, bracing his legs securely. Azriel watched as he raised his other hand, blinked once at Azriel, and snapped his fingers firmly. That old, strange magic flared to life, and the woven threads of the spell lit like embers before snapping back out of existence. The room erupted as Azriel dragged Cassian backwards into the dark. 

_______________________________

Cassian was already fighting as they reappeared above Velaris. He was attempting to use his wings to break free from Azriel, but it sent them spinning and tumbling dizzily through the sky. Cassian was bellowing at an absurd volume, his words unintelligible. Azriel struggled around Cassian’s wings, attempting to keep Cass’s back against his chest in a firm hold, but Cassian was strong and enraged.  

They stuttered through the air, dipping and recovering, until they reached the Sidra. Azriel eyed it but clung to his brother as they swirled through the sky. Almost there, he thought desperately, his wings aching from the strain of keeping Cassian’s giant thrashing body in the air. Realizing they’d never make it this way, he sent a command out to his shadows. Cassian’s wild movements became even more erratic as he watched the shadows pull in around them before darkening their vision. 

Reentering the air above the training ground, Azriel hurled Cassian towards the ring, but even in this fanatic state, Cass was quick. Before hitting the ground, he threw out his wings and dipped sharply, angling his body upwards with a mighty flap. Azriel pulled his wings in close and aimed his body like a spear towards where Cassian was struggling to get his balance above the ring. He shot down with incredible speed and barreled violently into Cassian’s chest, sending them both tumbling to the ground in a stupefying crash. 

Azriel regained his bearings first and threw his body over Cassian’s, pinning the stunned male to the ground with a growl. 

“Cassian shut the fuck up,” the words ripped from his lungs. 

His brother looked up at him, mouth open, but said nothing. He jerked his shoulders to throw Azriel’s weight, but Azriel was exhausted and drained and done with patience. He slammed Cassian back to the ground with a force that he was sure would be felt two floors down. 

“You’re done, Cass. You’re done,” his voice a cooling menace that seemed to still Cassian. 

Azriel felt the fight go out of the other male’s body as he slumped back pitifully into the dirt of the training ring. Through with niceties and hand-holding, Azriel dragged a limp Cassian up with him and shoved him across the ring and through the door without a word. Cassian complied silently, head hung, and allowed himself to be marched through the hallways of The House. With a rough shove into the kitchen, Azriel pointed at a stool near the island, and Cassian again obeyed in silence. 

Azriel rummaged through the icebox and uncovered a block of cheese and some sliced bread. He threw the items down in front of Cassian, arching a brow in command. He ate in dutiful silence as Azriel glared at him across the island, arms crossed and shadows darting rapidly around him. When he finished, Azriel grabbed him by his leathers and dragged him once more through the dark halls until they reached Cassian’s room. Throwing the door open, he shook his head. 

“By the Mother Cass,” he sighed at the explosion of clothes and furniture strewn about from Cassian’s mindless search for Nesta. 

He pushed Cassian through and stood in the doorway, staring at Cassian’s shoulders, slumped in defeated silence. 

“Sleep,” he commanded, pointing at the mess of blankets and quilts balled up on the bed.

Cassian wordlessly followed the order. He watched his brother drop into the bed, feet hanging off the end, and close his eyes. Azriel could summon no pity as he threw the door shut behind him and stormed back to the training ring, lamenting to himself the endless tasks of this tedious day. 

Arriving at Lucien’s without ceremony, he let his exhausted shadows dump him on the male’s stoop. Not bothering to knock, he shoved the door open and entered. Seeing or sensing no sign that Lucien was home yet, and deciding not enough time had passed to be worried, he threw himself onto Lucien’s sofa and stared into the fire. Its silent, magical glow hypnotized him into a quiet sleep.

“Well, well, what’s this?” A familiar voice roused him before footfalls across the carpet woke him fully. 

“Is this the feared spymaster of Night, caught unaware on my sofa?” Lucien continued with amusement as Azriel sat up and rubbed the accidental nap from his face. 

“No one would ever believe me,” he sighed, stopping halfway across the room to lean casually against a stuffed chair.  

Azriel looked up at him and took in the swollen lip and the disheveled state of his hair and clothes. In seconds, he was across the room with Lucien’s jaw between his thumb and index finger, inspecting the male’s bloody face with a displeased scowl. 

“Rhys?” He growled. 

Lucien batted his hand away, “I’m over three hundred years old, Az, I can handle a little scuffle.” 

“Scuffle,” Az repeated, incredulous, “he’s a high lord, Lucien, a powerful one.”

Lucien scoffed, dropping into his usual chair. 

“Yes, well, I suppose my blood is just as special as his then,” he crooned with irreverence.

Azriel grunted but took a seat next to him with a groan, “Eris is going to kill me.”

“He’ll probably kill us both. Together in death as we were in life, brother,” Lucien chirped.  

They both tipped their heads back and sat quietly for a moment, letting the day sink in. What had been questionable this morning had now slipped entirely from his control. Lucien filled Azriel in on his confrontation with Rhys, who had eventually been willing to see reason when Lucien, taking a calculated risk, all but dangled Feyre in front of him. Lucien had, in so many words, reminded Rhys that Feyre had left the river house because the situation was unstable. And if he wanted her to return, he needed to stabilize it. Azriel was grateful that the male’s silver tongue and knack for negotiation had spared him from worse injuries. 

As it stood, Cassian was passed out at the House of the Wind, likely to stay that way well into tomorrow. Rhys was drinking and sulking alone at the River House. Feyre and Elain were in Amren’s dubious care. Safe, if uncomfortable. Nesta was safe in Beyrih, and Eris was as safe as one could be in the Forest House. Nesta, he’d dropped her letter off with Clotho, right? Sometime between coming or going from Autumn, maybe, he couldn’t remember. 

“If you came here to worry about my safety, you’re free to go.” Lucien pulled him from his thoughts, “Go to bed, Az, you look like the dead.”

Grunting, Azriel stood. He patted Lucien’s hand as he passed by on his way to the door. 

“Thank you, Lucien. For everything. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you’re wrapped up in this.”

“Think nothing of it, Az. We’re family,” he gave Azriel a meaningful look before his mouth slid into a crooked grin. “Besides, my mate touched me today. This is the best day I’ve had in centuries. Elain Archeron touched my face!”

Azriel let Lucien’s excited grin soothe some of the exhaustion and guilt he felt. He offered a warm smile in return and nodded, “That she did.” 

He slipped away once more, returning to The House. He stopped at the Library and collected a letter from Gwyn for Nesta. He let it slip away into Eris' imbued magic, transported back to its source. A quick listen at Cass’s door confirmed he still slept, so Azriel crawled his weary bones to his room and stumbled into his bed. Within seconds, he was fast asleep. 

________________________________________________

In the weeks the followed, tension remained taut among Azriel's family. Feyre and Elain had left Amren's apartment the next day but chose not to return to the Riverouse, setting up in the unoccupied Townhouse instead. Feyre struggled to navigate her burdens while Elain fluttered around her, attending every need in her quiet way.

Rhys grew increasingly isolated as he threw himself into research, desperate to find something that would urge Feyre to return home. Though he barely spoke to Azriel, and said nothing of Nesta, his sharp eyes remained suspicious in their infrequent encounters. His careful avoidance of the topic unsettled Azriel. He felt like he was being led into a snare but could not yet see where it would snap.

Cassian ossilated between fits of anxious rage and disheartened moping. He stomped around the House as though Nesta might be around any corner with a trite apology on her lips. He rarely spoke outside of training, and there he was short and mechanical. His trips to Illyria became more frequent. Each time, he returned in a worse state.

Azriel kept his distance from both brothers, staying occupied with his attempts to uncover secrets on the continent, and checking in with Jurian and Vassa in the human lands. There was little to be discovered. It seemed the rest of Prythian had even less awareness than the Night Court about the growing threats across the sea. He received a handful of updates from Lucien that Nesta was slowly becoming more comfortable in Beyrih and had begun venturing out into the community with Aurie. This offered some solace as the distance between him and his family grew.

Lucien had taken over sole contact with Eris, both males concerned that the Inner Circle's instability posed too great a risk to Azriel. They worried Rhys would act rashly in his increasing paranoia. So, Azriel kept his routine as best he could, stayed focused on his work, and kept his contact with Eris painfully minimal.

Opening another day of disquieting worry, the Velaris sun was warming delicate morning beams of first light through his windows when he felt a zip of magic. Still partially dressed from the night before, he slid his hand into his Eris Pocket and fished out the parchment with closed eyes. He knew it wasn’t from Eris right away, the magical signature wasn’t correct. He made a note to ask Eris to spell papers for Nesta and Gwyn. He did not enjoy playing messenger amid the violent dissolution of his previously stable family loyalties. 

Easing out of bed, he let himself enjoy a warm bath, washing slowly and drying methodically. After dressing, he dropped whatever message Nesta had sent at Clotho’s desk and headed upstairs for breakfast. Cassian was still sleeping, and Azriel hoped he would stay that way. He enjoyed a quiet breakfast provided by the House, accompanied by a steaming cup of tea. His moment of solitude was interrupted when his shadows raced up his arms excitedly, ruffling his hair in their swirling. 

Light light light, they sang softly. 

Moments later, he saw four long fingers slide around the archway into the dining room, followed shortly by Gwyn’s wide eyes peering around them. Surprised to see her outside the library or the roof, he stood slowly, not wanting to startle her. 

“My lady,” he greeted with a slight bow, “is everything alright?” 

She glanced around the room, scanning every corner and shadow, before stepping in. 

“I need your help, Azriel,” she declared as she continued her careful assessment.

Azriel approached her, “Are you safe, my lady? Are you unwell?” 

She stepped away from the wall and met his gaze with a certainty her voice did not quite match, “Take me to her, Az.”

Azriel blinked down at her, noting the small bag on the ground beside her. She meant right now. 

“It’s not up to me, Gwyn. And what about Clotho, the priestesses?” 

She shook her head, “I already told them. They understand. And Nesta’s friend said I can stay with her. Aurie?” She said, uncertain. 

Azriel nodded, his face revealing nothing of his thoughts. Taking a priestess from the library, even at her request, would not go over well with Rhys. Of course, they were allowed to leave if they pleased, but taking Gwyn so shortly after Nesta disappeared would raise questions he could not answer. 

Rhys seemed to suspect his involvement in that disappearance already. But if Aurie had granted permission and she had Clotho’s blessing, there was no reason not to take her except for his concerns about Rhysand. That hardly seemed fair to the young priestess who had braved so much to seek him out and make this demand. 

“Give me an hour, my lady. I will come for you in the library, you have my word.”

She nodded, relieved, and collected her bag. The Shadowsinger watched the lovely priestess hurry down the hall towards the library, all the while wondering if he was making the right choice. 

The bond he shared with his brothers had once been a euphoric settling in his chest. It was certain and unbreakable, forged with care over centuries. They shared an unbearable loyalty, and they’d fought for it through their long years. They’d clasped their bloody hands together on Ramiel’s sacred peak and made an everlasting vow.

There was a time he could not have conceived of anything powerful enough to shake his confidence in his beloved brothers. Even in his secrets with Eris, he’d always held onto the trust that his brothers would eventually embrace his bond. That they would accept what filled him because their joy was shared, connected. He, Cassian, and Rhys were inevitable. They were written into each other; their story was like a binding, tethering them together.

This erosion had not occurred in a single moment. It had grown over them slowly like a midnight frost, making cold and breakable what was once warm and sure. He had betrayed his brothers. His brothers had betrayed him. His heart hollowed out as the realization settled over him. A distance formed over time, left unhealed in their neglect, was now forcing them to make a choice. It hit him with devastating force: for perhaps the first time in their long lives, they were not choosing each other.

Azriel was bereft in the ache of that sorrow. 

He would deliver Gwyn, as promised, to Nesta. And then, if the Mother were very kind, he would crumble into his mate. 

Nesta 

Nesta had agreed to go to Beyrih’s training ring with Aurie that morning. She did not feel ready to train again, but she was curious to see how training worked here. Beyrih, Autumn in general, seemed so different from what she’d experienced in Night. She wondered how their training methods would compare. She expected to find a smattering of fae working together in a series of stretches, which she did. She did not expect to see Jay, the sour female from a few weeks ago, leading them. 

Nesta and Aurie found a seat on one of the benches lining the ring. Nesta watched closely as Jay led a group of about 15 fae through warm-ups that were very similar to what she'd learned, surprisingly so. Similar enough that she would’ve been able to follow along quite easily— if she wanted to. Jay was a stern instructor but not unkind; she had a high bar but was patient and encouraging. The fae were friendly with her, familiar. Jay's instructional style almost reminded her of Azriel, with somehow less humor. 

She had not been happy to see Nesta arrive and had made her displeasure known, holding Nesta in a narrow-eyed glare for longer than necessary. Nesta still could not imagine what she’d done to have earned such ire, but she’d held the female's glare on principle. She shook it off when Aurie tapped her hand and leaned over to tap her head on Nesta’s shoulder. Nesta nodded to her gratefully, and they both righted to watch the session. They watched for about an hour before she heard a familiar smoky tone rumble through the ring. 

“Not bad for an amateur,” Azriel said to Jay.

Nesta whipped her head around to determine why he was antagonizing this easily angered female when every single thought she’d ever had was swept right out of her in a wave. Gwyn. There she stood— beautiful, lovely Gwyn. Effervescent morning light reflected gently off her robes, holding Nesta suspended in soft magic. Gwyn had both hands clutched tightly around Azriel’s arm and a small satchel over her shoulder. Her eyes were wide, the blue seas of them that Nesta chased in her dreams, darting around for something familiar. Gwyn had not left the library in years, and now here she was, out in the open, in a strange place. 

Nesta stood abruptly. She would not let Gwyn feel a moment of discomfort alone. Nesta dashed to the other side of the ring, dodging trainees who had stopped to look at Azriel and Gwyn. She stopped in front of them and stared at her friend, her friend who was here, her friend who was here for her. Azriel laid a hand lightly over Gwyn’s, lowering his voice to an almost tender tone. 

“Welcome to Beyrih, Lady.” He held his hand in place over hers, not appearing in any hurry to remove himself from her firm grip. 

Nesta could only see Gwyn. She raised a hand towards her, Gwyn’s eyes shooting down to the movement but struggling to stay focused on one thing. This is too much for her, Nesta thought. Why would he bring her here? She shot a frown up at Azriel. 

“Gwyn, can I take you somewhere quiet?” Nesta’s hand had made its way to where she gripped Azriel. “Can I take you home?”

She glared up at Azriel again, the demand clear in her eyes, unhappy with his choice to bring her here instead of Aurie’s. He nodded with a knowing smile and pulled his hand away, but did not move any further, content to remain a grounding pillar for Gwyn. Nesta laid her hand lightly where Azriel’s had been and slid her fingers around Gwyn’s, gently pulling her from Azriel’s leathers. Gwyn was looking at their hands now, tangled together as Nesta pried her away from Azriel. Gwyn let herself be removed until she stood in front of Nesta, hands held together between them. 

Whether Azriel backed away, she could not have said. Whether Beyrih remained inhabited or was completely abandoned or had disappeared entirely, she did not know. Her full awareness, every muscle, and her pounding heart were attuned only to Gwyn. Gwyn stepped forward first, letting her hands slide up Nesta’s forearms until she held her elbows. They were breaths apart and unmoving in their stare. 

Gwyn tore away from Nesta’s stare and glanced around hurriedly again before turning back to Nesta, registering her questions. 

“Yes,” she breathed, for only Nesta’s ears, “take me home.”

_______________________________________

Nesta walked her friend slowly back to Aurie’s cabin. Aurie stayed behind to give Gwyn time to settle in. The previous night, Nesta had explained that Gwyn lived in a secret library and had not left in many years— Gwyn might be overwhelmed at first. Aurie, gentle and lovely Aurie, had immediately told Nesta she had been meaning to spend some time with her sisters, and perhaps she would stay with them for a few days. 

Gwyn wrapped her hands around Nesta’s arm as she led them down quiet paths. She had taken Gwyn’s satchel and now held it over one arm while her other hand covered Gwyn’s. Nesta spoke softly to her friend, her hand rubbing gently against Gwyn’s. Nesta murmured to Gwyn about how beautiful it was here, how much Gwyn would love the bakery in the village, how the bright reds and deep oranges of the forest reminded her of Gwyn. She spoke quietly about how proud she was of her dearest moon, how grateful and overjoyed she was that Gwyn was here, how safe it would be for her here. It was Nesta’s steady assurances and sure feet that led them eventually home. 

Nesta walked Gwyn into the living room and sat her down in a soft, plush chair. She carefully lifted Gwyn’s hands from her arms and placed them delicately in her lap. Standing slightly, she held her hand against Gwyn’s cheek and brushed her thumb back and forth across her freckles. Nesta felt her heart spilling out into the rest of her, so full was she with this warmth her friend had brought her. She knelt before Gwyn, who followed her with her bright blue eyes, keeping her thumb moving steadily across her cheek. 

“Gwyn, would you like some tea?” she asked, smiling sweetly at her beautiful friend in that soft way she only knew with Gwyn.  

Gwyn nodded, a small smile on her lips in return. She placed her hand over Nesta’s and nodded more firmly. Nesta stood slowly and walked towards the kitchen on light feet, feeling weightless. She and Gwyn shared warm minty tea with some sweet biscuits Aurie had made that morning. They sat quietly next to each other, sipping tea and nibbling biscuits. 

Starting on her second cup, Nesta looked up when Gwyn made a small noise. 

She looked at Nesta, that beautiful rosy blush warming across her cheeks, “I’m sorry, Nes. It was just– it was harder than I thought it would be.”

Nesta shook her head firmly, “No, you do not apologize to me for anything. You were so brave to come here.”

Gwyn smiled at her, “I’m feeling a little better. Thank you for the tea.”

Nesta set both of their mugs on the table in front of them. She looped her arm through Gwyn’s and leaned them both back against the small sofa they’d settled on. When their backs reached the soft pillows there, Nesta used her free hand to pull Gwyn’s head gently to her shoulder. Once rested there, Nesta laid her head atop Gwyn's. There they sat, just like they’d always done at the library, with arms twisted together and heads tucked in close. They watched the steam from their mugs dance and swirl. 

“I missed you, starry sky.”

“I missed you, lovely moon.”

The silence settled in them, and they were content to share this quiet space, finally safe in each other’s arms. 

Notes:

Side Bar: the 'Eris Pocket' is a little anecdote from my own life-- my beautiful partner is very generous with her magic. She indulges me when I label everything in my life that she touches as Her's.

For example: on one of our first few dates we met somewhere that happened to be near where I work. She parked in a parking area I use frequently. She imbued her lovely magic into that parking spot and now it is Of Her and I park in that spot every single time it is available, that I may be blessed by the magic of her that lingers there.

I call it Beautiful Girl's Spot (except I use her real name). The magic of her is my very favorite thing so if you're reading this-- hello beautiful girl! I adore you!

Annnyway that's where Azriel's 'Eris Pocket' came from :-):-):-)

Chapter 9

Summary:

Last Week: Azriel and Lucien had to break up a fight and everyone had feelings about it, Azriel agreed to take Gwyn to Autumn where she was reunited and it feels so good with Nesta.

This Week: Azriel and Eris enjoy some domesticity before meeting up with Nesta and Gwyn, Nesta and Gwyn talk about their next steps, Nesta agrees to write a letter to her sister letting NC know she's safe.

Feat. Azriel and Eris in love, Nesta 100% sunk for Gwyn, some cathartic tears, more gay pining.

Thanks for following along, friends!

Notes:

Many many many thanks to Strangeredlantern who, a couple chapters in, has not yet tired of my very dubious relationship with comma placement. I go by vibes but she very diligently goes by grammatical accuracy and I love that for all of us. I appreciate you! Thanks for a wonderful beta read!!!

Azriel

Azriel watched Nesta and Gwyn walk away and smiled to himself. He felt a private joy in watching his friends find each other before they seemed to realize what they had found. He saw their affection as a thing of secret, lovely beauty. It compelled his protection, and he was glad to keep it safe. As they faded from view down the path, he turned to receive Jay’s hand in greeting. 

“Shadowsinger,” she said with a firm handshake, her expression serious but her embrace warm, “welcome back.”

Azriel nodded back to her, “The recruits look good, strong,” he assessed truthfully.

Jay gave him a small smile, but her eyes shone with pride. Azriel’s shadows skittered down his arms in silent praise, sensing Azriel’s approval. 

“Are you staying?” she asked. “Come to training tomorrow; let my students see a master.” Her smile turned sly. 

Azriel gave her a warm laugh, “Perhaps,” he offered without commitment. 

Jay drew her brows in and scanned his face. She’d dropped his hand but was still standing close enough to reach out and place one on his shoulder. Her grip was firm but kind as she watched his expression intently. Azriel kept his face blank, not enjoying the scrutiny of this perusal. 

“You’re tired,” she observed. 

Azriel had liked Jay from their first meeting. Jay was brought to Beyrih after Beron’s private forces destroyed the encampment she’d been working out of. Beron’s rule inspired rebellion, and at the time, Jay was known for being tied up with any resistance efforts. She had evaded capture for years by keeping to shadows and only moving in the anonymity of darkness, but as her tactics had gained notoriety, it became harder to hide. They suspected she had been the target of Beron’s attack that day, and she still carried guilt for the lives lost in the raid.

For years, she had been working, quiet and bloody, to undermine Beron’s movements against his people. She’d developed a robust network across the Autumn Court, her merciless campaign against Beron’s destructive prejudices earning easy support.  Many remained loyal patrons to her cause in Autumn. Her contacts had even delivered valuable information in the past when Beron became suspicious of his eldest son and sent spies to dig into his activities and suss out his loyalties. 

Jay was unyielding in her pursuits and had a seriousness to her presence that Azriel felt kinship with. They understood each other as people willing to do the unpleasant, even questionable, tasks to protect what was important. Azriel felt known in Jay’s presence; he did not have to explain or change himself to be palatable to her. She challenged him, like Eris did, to consider what he fought to protect and why.

In fighting and battle, Jay was largely self-taught, but her skill was impressive. She’d developed a reputation around the court for a unique fighting style that was rarely bested. She was scrappy, fearless in a fight, and a natural strategist. When she’d come to Beyrih, she had been as grateful to learn from Azriel as he’d been to understand the style she had developed. 

Azriel was precise, an elite warrior and highly trained; his every movement was calculated, designed to inflict the exact damage he intended. Jay was fluid, improvising and adapting to her opponent with ease. She honed her skill through survival and experience rather than formal training. Both were lethal, and both improved by the other’s influence. 

When Beyrih was still young, Azriel had started training residents who showed an interest in self-defense or basic fighting skills. Some wanted to learn to feel better prepared to protect themselves while others just enjoyed the camaraderie and routine. Jay had taken an immediate interest when she arrived, and over the years they’d developed more formal training practices. Jay now managed the project independently, but Azriel enjoyed participating when he was able.

He had been thrilled when Cassian asked him to help train the priestesses; so often Azriel used his skills to tear down and weaken, he felt honored to leverage his training into something that could uplift and strengthen. The priestesses reminded him of Beyrih, and training them helped him feel connected to the community he’d helped support here. 

“I’ve stayed busy,” Azriel hedged. 

Jay snorted, “Busy with whatever has brought two Night Court cast-offs to our home?” Displeasure colored her tone. 

Jay had spent her life fighting for her people, fighting for peace in Autumn, and was deeply committed to its safety. She shared Beyrih’s commitment to sanctuary, but was protective of its residents, worried that opening the doors too wide would leave them vulnerable to discovery. 

Azriel clasped her shoulder right back. “They’re not cast-offs, Jay. Be mindful.”

Jay narrowed her eyes, unconvinced. 

“Have you met Nesta yet? You’ll like her. She’s been training,” he offered. “She’s young, but she’s powerful, Jay, fierce.” Azriel twitched a smile. “Won’t be long before she can take you down.”

Jay scoffed at this, “I’ve met her.” 

She quickly turned serious again. “She’s been staying with Aur. I don’t like the look in her eye, Azriel. Like she’s always ready for a fight.”

“Exactly,” he grinned, “you’ll like her.” Azriel delighted in Jay’s affronted look before moving away. “If I’m here in the morning, I’ll come train.” And with that, he took off into the sky towards the cabin he and Eris shared just outside the village. 

_________________________________

Their small cabin was just outside the Beyrih wards. Lucien and Eris had constructed an intricate web of interdependent wards that allowed the cabin to remain outside Beyrih while still maintaining its security. At the time, Eris explained that he’d made Aurie a promise when he first brought her to his cabin that it would be hers alone and he would come only when summoned. He was clear that this was his way of honoring that commitment. Azriel knew his mate to be honorable and believed he was committed to that promise. Still, he also knew Eris felt more comfortable knowing his cabin was the first line of defense should Beron discover his secret. 

Not wanting to draw attention, he flew low over the Beyrih rooftops before slipping away into the dark as he approached the warded perimeter. He stepped gracefully into Eris’ study, his favorite room. He picked cheekily through the correspondence on Eris’ desk before growing bored and moving to the main room. He settled himself on a large sofa Eris had commissioned specifically for his wings and relaxed back into its familiar softness. 

He was unsure if Eris would be able to meet him here, but he was glad for this moment away, regardless. The last weeks had worn on him, and he could feel his reserves thinning. He had not spoken to his brother in several days, so he was not surprised to hear Rhys’ voice fill his mind the moment he relaxed, as if he intended to be disruptive. 

Hewn City, Dawn. Bring Cassian. 

Feeling obstinate, Azriel shot back a question about the purpose and agenda of an early morning Hewn City meeting. There was no real movement from the Hewn City as far as he was aware. 

Nesta, he replied simply, This has gone on too long. 

A bloated pause—

We will meet with Keir, after. He has requested an audience.

Rolling his eyes, he confirmed with Rhys. He had no interest in treating with Keir amid much larger and more pressing concerns. Eris, too familiar with Keir and the Hewn City for Azriel’s liking, had campaigned Azriel for years. Eris felt the Night Court’s performances in the underground city were garish and distasteful at best, disrespectful and dangerous at worst. He insisted that there was a thriving city of people there, just surviving the circumstances of their birth. 

When Azriel had pushed back that Eris, too, performed for the Court of Nightmares, Eris had outright laughed. 

“Azriel,” he’d said, almost mocking, “I am always performing, my heart. I perform to protect, not to punish.” 

As many do, Azriel had squirmed when confronted with an uncomfortable truth. He’d tried to insist that Eris did not understand, did not have the history with the Court of Nightmares that Azriel and his family did. Eris had given him an exaggerated nod and reminded him that he came from one of the most notoriously cruel families in Prythian. That he was very much familiar with what it meant to live with nightmares and learn their rules to survive. Azriel had not been able to argue that point, and the conversations stuck with him over the years. 

He would play his role though, even as his familiar mask wore and eroded with time. Not as sharp as it once was, but still present. 

Later that afternoon, as he idly opened and closed cabinet doors in the kitchen, he stopped to watch a familiar presence flourish into view. Eris stepped out of his pocket through the world with a grin and a bow. 

“My heart,” he greeted happily, “I felt you come through the wards earlier. I’m sorry I could not get away sooner.”

Tension in his body rushing out at the sight of him, Azriel crossed the room with a returning grin. He wrapped his arms around Eris and held him tightly, face tilted to breathe him in. Eris lifted his arms to hold Azriel’s neck and scratch little circles on his head with his nails. They stood there for a moment, Azriel taking deep breaths and Eris playing idly in his curls. 

“There’s no food,” Azriel complained into his mate's neck. 

Eris tugged the curl in his fingers lightly and pulled back to kiss him.

“Come,” he beckoned, pulling Azriel behind him to the kitchen. 

Eris crossed the room and pulled open the cabinet Azriel had just been examining. To Azriel’s delight, it was now full of ingredients and treats somehow transported here through Eris’ mysterious magic. 

They settled quickly into the domesticity of making a meal together. It was rare for them to have moments like this in their regular life. Neither led a very regular life; both were powerful and well-known figures in their courts. Azriel thought about what it might be like for other fae and wondered if he and Eris might have been happy in another life with different roles. 

Azriel enjoyed watching his mate in the kitchen. Eris had grown up with incredible wealth and had been very well taken care of. He did not need to learn to prepare his meals. Then, as general of Autumn's armies, he’d learned crude outdoor cooking methods meant for war camps. Though his haughty attitude and frequent sneering betrayed his privileged upbringing, above all else Eris was obscenely competitive. 

Azriel had poked fun at him years ago for his rudimentary understanding of meal preparation, and Eris had seen his chiding as a challenge. Fundamentally unable to back down from a challenge, he’d thrown himself into learning all he could about cooking and baking. He’d snuck away to follow Autumn's chefs around the kitchen with endless questions, watching over their shoulders intently and cataloging their every move, until Azriel had suggested he might be making the staff uncomfortable. After that, he’d taken to the libraries, scouring recipes and references, winnowing enormous carts of books to the cabin to practice what he was learning. As with all things, he was ferocious and obsessive in his focus until he had truly perfected the art. Azriel had significantly benefited from his stubborn nature. 

Sidling up behind Eris, he folded his arms around his mate’s waist and set his chin on his shoulder to watch his movements. His steady hands slicing and chopping with sharp precision. 

“Rhys is pretty upset, Eris,” he started, “Cassian’s nearly out of his mind.”

At a sideways glance from Eris, he continued, “I think it’s time to talk to Nesta. She doesn’t have to tell them where she is, but she can tell them she left of her own accord and she’s safe.”

Eris considered this as he continued his work, extracting himself from Azriel to bustle around. 

“It’s not a bad idea. From Lucien’s reports, things are in quite a state.” He eyed Azriel for a reaction. 

Azriel lifted himself onto the corner of the island behind Eris and sat thoughtfully for a moment, his wings falling on either side of the ledge.  

“What did Lucien tell you?” He wondered if Lucien had told his brother about whatever binding spell he’d used on Rhys. Azriel did not want to be the one to explain to him. Eris was terrified of anyone finding out about his little brother, worried about what it would mean for his mother if her affair was confirmed and Beron had evidence. 

Eris flicked his knee with a pointed look and Azriel slid back off the counter. 

“Same as you, Rhys is broody and unhelpful, Cassian is a domestic incident, Feyre is catatonic.”

Azriel let his hand be swatted away when he reached for a carrot. “he tells you too much,” he grumbled.

“Nothing I couldn’t have easily put together on my own,” Eris replied smoothly. 

He turned to Azriel with three fingers raised, “Cassian, mindless brute, spirals immediately into an inevitable crash.” 

He lowered a finger. 

“Rhysand’s unimaginative brooding intensifies as he alienates his family.” 

Another finger. 

“Feyre, Mother bless her, is brought to a full standstill when faced with court concerns greater than painting with children.” 

He held up his closed fist with a smug face. Azriel shot him a stern look. 

Eris shrugged. “Yes, yes, ‘be careful how you speak about my high lady’ and all that.” he turned back to his preparations, nearly complete now. “I certainly don’t blame her for Rhysand’s performative titling.” 

“You’re losing the moral ground here, Eris,” he admonished. They’d had this conversation many times over.

Eris was well educated in the ways of high fae and court magic. He insisted that Feyre’s title was hollow unless the lands of the court had chosen her, that the magic could not be transferred or imbued at will. Azriel found this dismissive of his High Lady, and they’d landed repeatedly in a stalemate. 

Eris ignored him. “You’re right, though. The Night Court cannot fall apart right now. Too much is at stake between my father and uncertainty on the continent. Can we trust Nesta to keep Beyrih protected?”

Azriel nodded firmly, “Without question.”

Eris turned to plant a kiss on his lips and shove a platter into his arms, about-facing him by his shoulders with a gentle push towards the table. 

After their shared meal, they sat quietly, fiddling with each other’s fingers across the table. 

“Tell me,” Eris said, sensing Azriel’s distress.

Azriel looked up thoughtfully, holding his gaze. “Something’s changing, Eris. With Rhys and Cass, maybe my whole family.” 

Eris nodded, encouraging Azriel to continue.

“This past week was bad. But I think it’s been bad for a while and we didn’t see it, or didn’t want to see it.”

Eris leaned forward, tucking Azriel’s hand inside both of his and soothing his wrist with a thumb. 

“Yesterday, with Rhys, something about it felt different. We have these secrets between us now, like we’re all on different sides.” 

Azriel looked up with a devastated expression. Eris stood immediately and crossed to him, kneeling beside his chair. He kissed Azriel’s shoulder and wrapped an arm around his back, pulling both of Azriel’s hands into his free one. Eris rested his lips on Azriel’s shoulder and ran his hand back and forth between his shoulders slowly, letting him take his time with what he needed to say. 

“What if there’s too much between us now? What if what we’ve always had is gone, and it can’t come back?” Azriel hated how small his voice sounded, hated even more how his lower lip began to wobble as he fought back tears of grief. 

Eris leaned up to tip their foreheads together, smoothing a thumb across Azriel’s traitorous lip. He said nothing, and Azriel supposed there was nothing to say. He let himself be comforted in his mate’s arms, closing his eyes and leaning further into Eris’ hold. 

“Rhys wants me and Cass in the Hewn City tomorrow, first thing. To discuss Nesta.”

Eris looked up now, “I’ll be there as well, meeting with Keir,” he informed Azriel.

“I’ll see you there. We’re meeting with Keir afterwards.” 

Azriel did not like it when he and Eris had to overlap in front of his family. Of course, Eris knew his true feelings, but even after all these years, he disliked having to pretend to hate the male he loved most. 

“Delightful,” Eris sighed, pulling himself and Azriel up from the table. 

Eris let Azriel rest his head on his shoulder and twist his fingers into his braids absently. He gently massaged Azriel’s neck and said nothing, giving Azriel a moment to gather himself. When Azriel pulled away, he looked decisive. The creamy, orange hues of dusk cast the forest around their cabin in a glowing, golden light outside their windows, and they knew it would be dark soon. 

“It’s getting late,” he said, “we should go find Nesta and Gwyn.”

Eris raised his brows. “And Gwyn?”

Azriel looked pleased. “Lucien didn’t say?”

Nesta

They’d taken the afternoon slowly as Gwyn got settled. After their tea, Nesta had shown Gwyn to the room she and Aurie had set up for her the day before. It was one door down from Nesta’s, and they both seemed relieved at the proximity. Nesta may have been here longer than Gwyn by a few days, but it was still a new and unfamiliar space to her. Nesta helped Gwyn put away the few robes and other clothes she’d brought from the Night Court before they sat side by side on her bed. 

Bouncing lightly, Gwyn grinned at her, “This should do just fine.”

Nesta smiled back widely, watching her friend wiggle around, testing the bounce of the bed and the fluff of the pillows. She declared them acceptable before settling herself back at Nesta’s side. 

“How long will you stay?” Nesta asked, glancing nervously at her. 

Gwyn met her eyes. “How long will you stay?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to go back at all,” she said cautiously, roving across Gwyn’s face for any displeasure. 

Gwyn only nodded, eyes twinkling, “Then I’m not going back at all either,” and she nearly bowled Nesta over and off the bed with her beaming, delighted smile at the declaration. 

“Oh. Okay then,” Nesta squeaked pitifully. 

“Okay then,” Gwyn repeated, settling the matter with her tone. “Will we stay here?”

Nesta stared at her friend. This magical, wonderful friend who would leave her home to be here with Nesta. Nesta would go wherever Gwyn wanted. In that moment, Gwyn held Nesta’s entire future in her long spindly fingers, there was nothing Nesta would not have agreed to. 

Clearing her throat roughly, she managed a reply, “Aurie said we can stay as long as we want. But there are open homes in the village, or we could find our own space and build something if we wanted, but that would take quite a bit of time.”

Gwyn tilted her head and pulled her soft lips into her mouth in thought. “I’d say we have quite a bit of time,” she winked.

Nesta existed only in the inviting glisten of Gwyn’s lips, wet from her tongue when she spoke. Nesta unconsciously pulled her lips into her mouth and licked across them, a mimic of Gwyn’s movement. She nodded distantly, agreeing to whatever Gwyn had said. 

“Sure.”

When she looked up, Gwyn was blushing prettily. She tucked her red hair behind her ears as she glanced away, bashful under Nesta’s attention. Nesta’s cheeks heated at her blatant display, and she darted her eyes around the room to find something safe to look at. Landing on a bookshelf across the room, she continued.

“Sure, yes, we do have time. Would you like to stay here while we look, or maybe we could find something for just the two of us?” It was surreal the way she was sitting here in Gwyn’s bed, planning a future with her, a home. Gwyn wanted to build and live in a house with her, and Nesta’s heart was nearly vibrating out of her chest at the thought of it. 

“Maybe we stay here for a few days, and you can show me around. And then we can decide what area we like most and see if something is available. Does that sound okay?’

Nesta nodded enthusiastically. “That sounds okay.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon perusing Aurie’s bookshelves. Her shelves were stocked with healers' manuals and history books. Nesta and Gwyn were sitting on the floor laughing at the voices they made up to read dry passages of Autumn’s history when there was a knock at the door. Lowering her arms from where she’d been making large emphatic gestures, Gwyn looked at the door then back to Nesta.

Nesta raised her shoulders. She did not know who would be knocking. Standing and brushing her skirts out, she crossed the room, looking back at Gwyn once before easing the door open slightly and peeking through the crack. 

“Oh!” She said when she recognized Azriel and Eris on the stoop. She pulled the door open and gestured for them to enter. “Aurie’s not here,” she informed them as they crossed the threshold. “She’s with her sisters.”

Eris nodded as he helped Azriel remove his coat around his wings, then shrugged off his own, hanging them on the hooks by the door. “Yes, we came to speak with you.” 

Nesta paused, unsure what she was seeing. “Of course,” she said absently and led them through the house. 

Gwyn was standing now in the living room when Nesta returned with their guests. Eris and Azriel, courtly as ever, bowed to Gwyn in greeting. Gwyn smiled, her eyes alight, as she curtsied back with a flare. 

“Can I get some tea?”

Azriel nodded, “Yes, thank you, Nesta.”

“I’ll help!” Gwyn piped up, and together they crossed to the kitchen. 

They speculated quietly about why Azriel and Eris would’ve arrived together, why they would want to talk to Nesta together. She told Gwyn that Aurie had been cagey when Nesta had asked about Azriel and Eris’ friendship and wouldn’t answer any questions about it. 

“She just said I should ask Az, but I can’t ask him now, when they’re both here.”

Gwyn nodded her agreement. “You’ll have to get him alone. Let’s see what they want first.”

They carried the tea set back to the living room and placed it on the table in front of Azriel and Eris, whom Nesta noted with a sidelong glance at Gwyn were sitting very close together, their knees touching, despite the length of the couch. Azriel’s shadows were drifting in and out of view around him, but Nesta spotted several small shades dart over to Eris and slither into the collar of his shirt. At that, Eris had shot Azriel a look that seemed…. Triumphant?

She shook her head. “You said you needed to speak with me?”

“Yes,” it was Eris who spoke, “Nesta, as you know, Beyrih is a refuge for fae from my court. You, and Gwyn, are both welcome here, but it is vitally important that you understand that we keep Beyrih safe by keeping it hidden. If anyone were to find out about it, it could be perilous for the people who live here.”

Nesta looked at him with a frown. “Yes, of course, my lord. I would never put anyone here in danger.”

“Just Eris, please.” The warmth of his smile surprised her as he continued, “And thank you, Lady Nesta, for your word in this matter.” At this, his face bore an expression she was more familiar with: suspicion. He was pushing her to swear to it. 

“Of course, you have my word,” she said, though a bit miffed by his execution. She knew she would not betray the people here, so she was happy to offer this commitment. Eris looked at her for an assessing moment then nodded, turning to Azriel. “Az,” he prompted. 

‘Az,’ Nesta thought, surprised again at the familiarity. 

“Nesta I’m going to ask a favor,” Azriel set down the teacup he’d been sipping from, “it is your choice and if you say no, nothing will change, you can still stay here in Beyrih. I will protect you from my brothers no matter what you decide.”

Cassian. Why would she need protection from him? Perhaps he was angry, then. Nesta tilted her head forward, prompting Azriel to continue. 

“Things in the Night Court are difficult right now. Cassian, your sisters, they’re worried about you and your safety.”

The thought of causing her sisters distress weighed heavily on her. Gwyn reached over and placed a hand gently over Nesta’s on her lap. Nesta smiled at her with appreciation and nodded for Azriel to continue, anxious to get to the favor. 

“I’d like you to write a letter to your sisters, without saying where you are, explaining that you’re safe and that you left the Night Court of your own will,” he watched her closely before continuing, “I meet with Rhysand and Cassian tomorrow, they’re trying to find you and I’d like to tell them that you’re safe.”

Nesta had braced for worse when he’d said a favor. She’d worried he would ask her to return to the Night Court with him, that she would be taken back to The House of the Wind and left there again, Cassian’s obedient toy, until Rhysand needed her magic. 

“Oh, yes, of course, Az. Let me get some parchment. I’ll write something now.”

Azriel opened his mouth as if prepared to argue his point against her refusal, but shut it quickly with a look to Eris. 

Eris spoke again, “Thank you, Lady Nesta. We apologize for any imposition.”

‘We,’ she wondered as she wandered out of the room to find paper and quill. In Aurie’s office, she found both and penned a brief letter to Elain and Feyre explaining that she had, indeed, chosen to leave the Night Court and was relocated somewhere safe. As she wrote, she wondered if she would be allowed to visit. She felt a pang in her chest as she thought about her youngest sister, pregnant and scared. She added a line to the end of the letter. 

I love you both with all of me. I hope I can visit you both soon.

With that, she signed the letter, folded it neatly, and carried it back out to the living room. Gwyn and Eris were politely discussing the weather patterns of Beyrih. Azriel was listening with that intent look of his, as if Beyrih’s seasonal cold snaps were fascinating. Nesta watched from the doorway as Eris glanced over at Azriel, taking in the intensity of his concentration. Eris’ face softened in a way Nesta had never seen, and he smiled adoringly as Azriel muttered something about the rainy season. What is going on? 

She crossed the room and held the letter out to Azriel, who tucked it into his leathers with a grateful nod. Both finishing their tea, Eris and Azriel stood in tandem and nodded to Nesta and Gwyn. 

“Thank you, again, Lady Nesta, Lady Gwyn. I hope you find Beyrih welcoming.” Eris said before they both turned and strode to the door. 

Nesta looked to Gwyn, who made a shooing motion with her hands, urging Nesta to follow them. Nesta shuffled down the hall. “Az, can I talk to you for a moment?” she rushed out. Eris and Azriel exchanged a look before Eris nodded to her once more, donned his coat, and stepped outside to wait for Azriel. Azriel looked down at Nesta curiously. 

“I–” she paused. What was she going to say?

She tried again, “I didn’t realize you and Eris were… Friends.” She tilted her head. 

“Ah, yes.” he looked as though he’d expected this. 

“Nesta, there are things my family does not know about me,” he paused, glancing back at the door that blocked Eris from view. 

“I do not want to ask you to keep more secrets, but if I tell you this, I will have to.” 

He looked at Nesta, letting her decide if she wanted to carry another secret. 

Unequivocally, she did, “You can trust me, Az.”

Azriel held her gaze for a moment, deciding something internally. “Nesta, Eris and I are mates.”

She stared at him dumbly, silent. 

He continued, “We have been for about 400 years.”

At this, her mouth dropped open. “400 years… You haven’t told anyone?”

Azriel nodded solemnly, “a few people know, everyone here, of course. Lucien, you now, I suppose Gwyn in a few moments. A few others you don’t know. But mostly, nobody knows,” he looked at her pointedly, “no one in my family.”

His face was pained as he continued, “I will tell them, when the time is right, but right now it’s not safe. It hasn’t been safe.” 

She continued her stare, blinking at him as he continued, “I do not keep my mate a secret out of shame. I am not ashamed of Eris or our bond, our love,” he said fiercely.

Nesta nodded blankly again. Azriel raised a hand to squeeze gently her shoulder before giving her another bow and excusing himself. As he opened the door and began to step through, she stepped forward quickly and grabbed his arm. “Wait! Az, is that– I mean, that’s okay here? In Beyrih?”

Azriel looked back at her kindly and nodded, “It’s safe here, Nesta, for all of us.” He tapped her hand lightly and turned back to Eris. 

“Thank you,” she offered weakly, “for telling me. I’m happy for you, Az.” Her voice felt small in her mouth, but her smile was genuine. 

Azriel looked back at her for a moment with an expression she could not decipher. He nodded again and turned away. She watched Eris smile back at his mate and they walked off into the evening side by side, slowly disappearing into the dark. Nesta stared after them, unable to move. She felt Gwyn approach her and place a worried hand on her elbow.

“Nes, are you alright?”

Nesta looked back at her with shiny eyes. “Yes,” she said as firmly as she could. She let Gwyn lead her back inside, and as she closed the door behind her, she felt another door within her glide open, a welcoming glow shining from within. 

_______________________________

After Azriel and Eris left, Nesta and Gwyn made their way back to the kitchen. As they looked through the cabinets, Nesta told Gwyn what Azriel had shared with her. 

“Mates?” Gwyn said, eyebrows raised in surprise as she shook her head in slow wonder. 

“Have you ever heard of that?” She asked Nesta, “Two males, I mean?”

Nesta shook her head back. “No, but I only know my sisters’ mates. Humans don’t have a mating bond. I don’t know much about it.”

Gwyn opened Aurie’s ice box and found a small tray with prepared sandwiches she’d left for her guests. She pulled it out carefully and turned to place it on the small table in the corner of the room as Nesta approached with two plates. 

“They’re sacred to the fae,” Gwyn told her, “it’s considered an honor if the Mother blesses you with a mate.”

Nesta watched her carefully as she set the table. 

“They’re incredibly rare. I’ve never heard of two males being mates,” she finished, “400 years?”

Nesta nodded again. “he said only the people here know. And Lucien.”

Gwyn leaned against the table, contemplative. “It’s sad. To have to hide your mate, it feels unnatural to have to keep such a bond hidden. It must be exhausting.”

“I’ve read about it, stories. Two males or two…” she blushed, “two females.”

Nesta served them both portions from the tray as Gwyn turned back to the icebox and pulled out a pitcher of what looked like a cold, fruity tea or juice. Returning to the table after retrieving two cups, she sat and poured them both a glass. They looked across at each other, both feeling suddenly shy about the topic. 

Poking at her food, Nesta changed the subject. “Do you think Cassian is upset with me?” She asked quietly. 

Gwyn bristled at the name, and Nesta realized she hadn’t told Gwyn the whole story of how she ended up in Beyrih. 

Gwyn shook her head again, “I don’t care what he thinks,” she said firmly, taking a savage bite out of her sandwich. 

Nesta suppressed a small smile at her friend’s protectiveness. Gwyn’s face read like an open book, her feelings clear as polished crystal. She could tell Gwyn was angry with Cassian on her behalf, despite not knowing what had transpired between them. She took a smaller bite of her sandwich. She felt an uncomfortable tug in her chest at the thought of Cassian, somewhere in the court she’d left behind, searching uselessly for her. 

Looking up, Gwyn was watching her carefully. 

“Nesta,” her voice was cautious, “do you want to talk about it? About what happened?”  

Nesta considered this. She was upset with Cassian, but she felt a compulsion to defend him that she could not explain. She shook this feeling from her head. If Gwyn was willing to give up her life to be here in Beyrih with Nesta, she deserved to know why they were here. 

She set her sandwich down and looked over at her lovely friend, her eyes wandering down the loose red waves of her soft hair. 

“It’s… complicated. Things between me and Cassian.”

Gwyn nodded, sipping her fruity tea. 

She continued, “We were together, kind of. But I think he wasn’t sure about it, about me.” She glanced at her lovely moon, who was staring back at her with a warm, encouraging expression. 

“He wanted me to be something different, I think. Something less, something easier,” she finished solemnly, a sadness in her chest at how disappointed he must be. 

Gwyn’s expression had darkened, but she said nothing, allowing Nesta to continue. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she sighed. “I found out they were keeping secrets from Feyre; all of them were. About the baby.”

She explained the complications that could arise from a non-winged fae delivering a child with wings. She told Gwyn about Rhysand’s command that Feyre not be told and how Cassian had confided his fears in Nesta. 

“We argued one day. I was so angry; I felt so stuck and trapped up there. I just wanted to be able to breathe.”

She sighed at the memory, her calves aching distantly at the memory of her climb down the stairs. Gwyn was staring at her with wide eyes, still silent. 

“I made it out to Velaris on my own, for the first time since I moved in. I went to confront Amren,” her eyes wistful at the memory of her once-friend. “I suppose we startled Amren’s lover, and he ran off to get Feyre. When she got to Amren’s apartment…” She trails off here, shame settling heavily on her shoulders at what she’d done next. 

“Amren warned me not to, but I was so angry. Gwyn, they keep so many secrets, and they make decisions for people without asking what they want. It isn’t fair.” Her voice wobbled and Gwyn scooted her chair around the table until they were seated next to each other.

She placed a hand over Nesta’s on the table and leaned her head against Nesta’s shoulder, but said nothing. 

Nesta pushed back the tears that wanted to escape and tried to still her voice before she continued, “I told Feyre everything. About the baby, about the risk, that Rhysand had demanded that no one tell her.”

She felt her lovely friend nod against her shoulder. “You did the right thing, Nesta. She deserved to know. It was wrong of them to keep that from her.”

Nesta laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “I just wanted her to feel what she’d made me feel. I wanted her to understand what it felt like to have others make your choices for you, not to be trusted.”

Gwyn squeezed her hand. “Even if it was said in anger, you were right to say it.” She lifted her head to meet Nesta’s eye. “And you deserve to be heard. It’s wrong what they did to you; you had every right to be angry.”

Nesta felt a lurch in her heart. She’d worried that Gwyn would think she was a monster, that she might pack her things and demand to be returned to the Night Court. But she did not balk or back away; she pulled Nesta closer and let her rest her head on her shoulder, and Nesta could’ve sworn she felt a kiss on the crown of her head. 

“Well,” she continued, “Rhysand disagreed. The whole building started shaking. Gwyn, I thought it might collapse. He was so angry when Amren let him hear the conversation. I ran. I didn’t know what else to do. So I just ran.”

Her hands were shaking slightly now, tears pooling along the rim of her eyes. She felt a swirl of emotions returning to her, her anger from that day, the way it had come alive inside her and pushed its way out through her words. Her deep aching loneliness when Cassian scooped her up from the streets and flew her far away from her sisters. The pain her body felt at being pushed and overexerted, the rotten hatred in her gut that told her she did not deserve food or water from Cassian’s pack. The deep-seated knowledge that she did not deserve any kindness from him, and the acceptance of realizing he would offer none. 

“I’m not sure what happened after that,” she went on, “Cassian found me and took me to Illyria. We walked for days.”

She felt Gwyn’s grip tighten but kept going, “I think I passed out at one point. I thought I had died, Gwyn. I thought I was dead,” unable to hold them any longer, tears slipped down her cheeks and into her lap as Gwyn pulled her into an embrace with an arm around her shoulder. 

“That bastard,” her sweet friend snarled, “that fucking bastard.” 

Nesta had never heard Gwyn speak in anger, but she was furious now as Nesta lifted her head to look into her eyes. The endless afternoon sky of her wide eyes were fixed across the table as she struggled to calm her rage on Nesta’s behalf.

Nesta felt a jolt of surprise. She had not considered that someone would be angered by her treatment. Azriel had been distraught enough to rescue her, but she had not seen anger in his eyes, just sadness and maybe fear. 

“I deserved what he did, Gwyn.” She furrowed her brows. “I wasn’t safe for Feyre.” Her chin wobbled at the thought of her sisters. “For Elain,” she choked. “He was protecting my sisters.”

“No,” Gwyn said forcefully, “it was wrong, Nesta. Never say that you deserved to be treated that way again. He could’ve killed you, because you told the truth to someone he had lied to. He was mad that you forced them to admit what they’d done, and he punished you for it.” Gwyn was tugging her in closer, her vehemence clear in her grip on Nesta’s shoulder. 

Nesta leaned into her, not believing a word but warmed all the same. In the safety of this hold, she let herself cry into Gwyn. She let the truth of what she’d done, what had been done to her, tumble out with every tear. Not just the last few weeks, but all of it.

She cried for the chill the Cauldon left in her bones that never truly faded, the spike of fear as she watched her father’s neck snap, the filthy sticky hands that had touched her body and soiled her bed, the late nights that bled into early morning headaches and shaking hands, all the snaps and scratches and tears at her sisters, her family.

She cried for her youth, the years of uncertainty in her home, for never knowing when it could be torn away and she’d be left hungry and alone once more. Those sweaty, endless hours where her joy in dance was twisted into something sharp and pointed at eligible suitors like a blade, how she seduced and tittered at groping men of wealth at her mother’s command. Her desperate desire to protect her sisters, to succeed at her mother’s tasks that they might find safety and comfort. 

She miserably cataloged all the ways she shamed her family, the pity in their eyes when they looked at her. The mistrust. Cassian’s gruff shoves into her, his rough hands and his quick getaway after. All the snipes from her sister’s family that she thought she deserved felt unjust through the lens of her lovely friend who held her like she belonged here. Like the gaping maw of her mistakes deserved this gentle touch. 

It poured out of her in a riptide of gasped breaths and choked attempts to muffle her tears. And gently it was held in the waiting hands of lovely Gwyn. 

Through all her life, from wealth to poverty and back to wealth, human to Fae, she had always been so wretchedly alone. She pushed and pushed at everyone until the wide berth she carved out for herself could no longer be bridged. But here in the embrace of this beautiful female who gently rocked her side to side as she cried and sniffled pitifully, she felt the warm hearth of home begin to ease the frigid chill within her.

Gwyn stayed with her, sometimes humming softly as Nesta held her sleeves. There was no rush or uncomfortable platitudes, just these generous moments passing between them unguarded. 

After spending all the tears she could produce, she sat back shyly, wiping her eyes with her sleeve and a final sniffle. She looked away from Gwyn, the intimacy of the moment too tender to bear. But Gwyn would have none of that as she reached forward and took Nesta’s chin in her long, thin fingers and turned her head back to face her, her round eyes bright and kind. 

“It is not fair what has happened to you, Nesta. What you’ve endured,” she dabbed away the remaining wetness from her cheeks with the sleeve of her robe, “of course you’re angry, of course you’re scared and lonely, you’ve had to protect yourself, rely on yourself, your whole life.”

She tilted Nesta’s face up slightly, her sad red eyes meeting Gwyn’s fierce blues. 

“You’re not alone anymore. You don’t have to be alone ever again if you don’t want to be. I’ll stay with you, always. We’ll protect each other.”

They looked into each other's eyes for a long moment before Nesta nodded weakly, wrapping her hand around Gwyn’s wrist and leaning into the hand that had moved up to cup her cheek. The moment was so peaceful despite the storm still lingering inside her. She trusted Gwyn’s words and felt a shudder through her shoulders at the newness of this acceptance. Overcome with gratitude for her friend, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms tightly around her neck. Gwyn held her back and whispered constellations of starry promises into her hair, soothing a hand down her back gently. 

After a few moments, they both pulled back, giggling lightly in the intensity of what they had shared. They sat back in their chairs and looked down at their half-eaten dinner. Nesta poked hers once before turning to Gwyn once more, feeling more collected. 

“Anyways,” she said shyly, returning to her story.

Gwyn laughed a shimmering laugh. “I almost forgot what we were in the middle of something,” she grinned warmly. She nodded her head for Nesta to continue, “Tell me, my warmest sky.”

Nesta smiled back, “Well, Az found me out in the mountains eventually. I was unconscious for most of it, but I woke up here, with Aurie. She’s been taking care of me.” 

Nesta glanced around the room, taking in the welcoming aged wood of the walls and the knick-knacks Aurie had scattered around the window sills and shelves. She felt a warmth at how kindly she’d been treated here. 

“I wasn’t sure if I would stay until I got your letter,” she looked back at Gwyn, who smiled sweetly. “Now that you’re here, I don’t want to leave.”

Gwyn nodded her head. “We don’t have to, Nes.”  

They smiled at each other before breaking away when their shared glance deepened uncomfortably. 

Nesta cleared her throat, looking apologetic. “I think I’m ready for bed,” she told her friend. 

“Me too,” she agreed. 

They cleared their dishes and put away the remaining food silently. Gwyn followed Nesta up the stairs to her room. In Gwyn’s room, Nesta walked her to the Standing Wash in her washroom and showed her how it worked. As she crossed back to the door towards her room, she glanced back at Gwyn once more. Gwyn, already watching her, tipped her face away to hide the blush blooming across her cheeks. 

Nesta smiled at her friend, “I’m glad you’re here, Gwyn.”

“Me too, Nes.”

Nesta left it at that, closing the door behind her. She walked down the hall to her room. In her washroom, she cleaned herself distractedly, feeling drained from the emotional release she had experienced in the kitchen. Toweling off and re-braiding her wet hair, she let herself enjoy the security of knowing Gwyn was one room away and would still be there when she woke. She climbed into bed with a soft smile warming her cheeks, settling under her blankets contentedly. 

She lay awake, moving through the busy day in her mind, when she heard a soft knock at her door. 

She sat up quickly. “Come in,” she called, pulling blankets around herself. 

Gwyn cracked the door open and peered through. “ I-I haven’t slept outside the library in so many years,” she said quietly as she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her, her hair unbound and flowing down her shoulders like glittery flames in the darkened room.

“Do you think…” 

She glanced away, “I’m just used to sharing a room with someone.” 

She had her nightgown twisted in her fingers as she refused to look at Nesta. 

Nesta didn’t say a word; she just pulled her blanket back and scooted over to make space for Gwyn. Letting out a breath, Gwyn nodded to her gratefully and crossed the room on quiet tip-toes. She climbed in next to Nesta, their legs inches apart but not quite touching. They silently scooted down into the bed, and Nesta pulled the heavy quilt up to cover them both. 

They lay there on their backs, staring at the ceiling with widened eyes. Nesta heard Gwyn inhale deeply right before she felt warm, slender fingers ghost down her wrist and wrap around her upturned palm, intertwining their fingers lightly. They both froze, unbreathing, before Nesta loosed her breath and gave Gwyn’s hand a gentle squeeze. Gwyn squeezed her hand right back and in the silence of their quivering nerves, they found the courage to sleep in this shared safety.

Hand in hand. 

Notes:

come on over to Tumblr and chit chat: Vanserreneity

:-)

Chapter 10

Summary:

Last week: Azriel and Eris got to hang out for a minute, Nesta and Gwyn bonded,

This week: shameless (shameful) Azris smut, things go terribly in the Night Court

Feat: my apologies for half of this being smut and then the other half being sad-- it got away from me yall.

I updated the tags but just CW-- there's biting and blood in this one.

Notes:

Another hip-hip-hooray for my friend Strangeredlantern who is very smart and very nice to me about my commas still— thank you for the edits and encouragement!

Also this week a HUGE GIANT ENORMOUS HUG to all of you for your kind words and support last week. For those who missed it— a nasty commenter came in to share their opinions in my comments section and the amazing STUNNING kind community here clapped back *immediately* and it was so appreciated and wonderful and warm so thank you to everyone who had my back!!!!

No one can stop my Lesbian Nesta Agenda.

Azriel

Azriel was quiet as they left Nesta and Gwyn to walk through the streets of Beyrih. It was late evening now, and most residents were tucked away safely in their homes. Those who were out greeted them warmly, stopping to ask after their health and welcome them home. Nearing the edge of town, where Eris would winnow them back to the cabin, Eris stopped and pulled Azriel to face him. 

“You’re smiling,” he said, carding his fingers through Azriel’s hair to push it off his forehead. 

“I told Nesta about us,” Azriel replied, smiling shyly at Eris.

Eris ran his hands down Azriel’s arm to squeeze. He tilted his head slightly before understanding lit his expression. Though Nesta was not part of Azriel’s Inner Circle, he still considered her family. Telling Nesta his secret was the first time in their centuries together that a member of his family knew about them. Azriel marveled at how she had seemed surprised, shocked even, but had not been angry or horrified. She’d asked him if it was safe and said she was happy for him. 

Azriel was elated, hope springing up in his chest that maybe the rest of his family would accept his mate as easily as Nesta had. He was smiling like a fool when Eris threw his arms around him and squeezed tight. Eris’ youngest brother had known about their relationship since he was born. While Eris had also kept secrets and hidden his love, he’d always had Lucien as a refuge. Now, Azriel thought, he had a sanctuary too. He had someone he did not have to pretend around. The sensation was dizzying as he held Eris back, laughing softly into his shoulder. 

“Az,” Eris said affectionately, bringing a hand up to the back of Azriel’s head and pulling him in closer. 

Pulling apart, Azriel’s wings shaking out happily behind him, they beamed at each other like little boys. Eris narrowed his eyes mischievously and grabbed Azriel’s hand, abruptly sprinting down the path leading out of Beyrih. Azriel darted after him with a grin, following wherever Eris would lead. They took turns pulling ahead and falling behind, neither willing to release the other’s hand. Closing in on the border, Eris shot a wink back at Azriel and he felt the smoky haze of Eris' magic winnow them back to the cabin in a flash. 

They landed in a jumble on the bed, already tangled and kissing each other furiously. After the tumult of his last week, the lightness of this feeling was euphoric. Azriel was enthusiastically responsive to Eris’ yanking and pulling to get his clothes off. Azriel tore at Eris’ shirt with equal vigor, buttons bouncing lightly onto the bed around them. He dove for Eris’ exposed chest, leaving sloppy open-mouthed kisses down to his navel and back up again. Eris was clawing at his hair, laughing breathlessly when Azriel used the tip of his tongue to flick ticklish little patterns along his skin, blowing against the wet skin softly with cool breaths. 

Eris slid up the bed, pulling Azriel with him. Eris was laughing lightly again as Azriel continued a wet trail up his throat and along his flushed face, his thigh planted between Eris’ legs. Azriel’s smile was just as wide as he pushed Eris’ hair back to taste his perfectly pointed ears. Breathing in deeply, Eris’ hands began wandering around Azriel’s shoulders and down his sides, nails digging into his skin and leaving small divots whenever Azriel bit down on his ears. Eris ground his hips up against Azriel’s thigh, moaning into Azriel’s ear. 

Azriel lifted himself slightly, braced over a squirming Eris who was now mindlessly rutting against his thigh, his brows pinched in pleasure. Azriel watched him with a feral glint in his eye, consuming the image of his dearest love so enraptured in heated excitement. He felt a growl vibrate through his chest as he dropped down to circle his lips around Eris’ nipple with a soft bite, shivering at Eris’ sharp yelp. 

“Azriel, please,” he begged shamelessly, “I need you.”

Azriel raised his head long enough to throw Eris a wicked grin, wild with passion at the way his mate begged only for him. Eris would plead for nothing, bow to no one. He was prideful and self-assured in all his pursuits. He was irritatingly, wonderfully, smug and aloof, entering every room with the arrogance of someone who had already achieved what he came for.

Only in these moments, boneless and pliant under Azriel’s hands and lips, would Eris beg. He would yield easily for Azriel, offer himself up freely, and follow his every command. It filled Azriel with a deeply affectionate lust that left his cock aching inside his leathers. 

“You have me,” he whispered into Eris’ chest, tongue lapping over his nipple. 

Eris whimpered in response, his hips lifting desperately against Azriel. Azriel moved his body down Eris, following a path set by his eager tongue. He gripped Eris’ sides as he licked a long wet stripe across his abdomen and bit down lightly on the soft skin below his ribs. Eris yelped again in pleasure above him, hips still rocking against Azriel’s body. Azriel lifted his head to inspect the bite, smirking with satisfaction at the outline of his teeth. 

He leaned down again to follow the curve of his teeth with his tongue and groaned into Eris' side at the salty and sweet taste of him. He continued his trail downwards until he folded over Eris, his head between Eris’ legs. Eris looked down at him with a stricken expression, eyes only half open as he watched. Azriel smiled back at him and set his hands on Eris’ hips, sliding his fingers below his mate and urging him to lift. Eris compiled quickly, allowing Azriel to glide his trousers down his hips. Pulling Eris' legs free, he ran large warm palms from his ankles to his thighs.

He paused, reaching the inside of his thighs and kneading the flesh and muscle there, bending to kiss around his fingers. He was delirious with lust when Eris’ pleas became louder and more demanding.

They knew each other’s bodies with intrinsic intimacy. For centuries, Azriel had plotted archipelagos of freckles and licked nautical paths across rippling oceans of skin. Azriel knew the landscape of Eris’ body better than his own. He knew the hard wanting peaks of him and the soft vibrant valleys; where the rivers of his desire ran deep and thunderous and where the softness of his affection was a slow, lazy brook. 

He’d treasured and marked and consumed all of Eris. Azriel had reached his hands into the soft soil of Eris and sewn himself in deeply, building forests and sweeping autumn canopies. He tended those groves with his hips and fingers and mouth. His body found peace within Eris’ body, and together they created a precious and sacred land between them. They honor and worship that flourishing garden together, every touch giving life to what blooms there. 

Azriel, slowing the gentle massage of his thighs, looked up at his mate. His eyes shone with tender affection. 

“My love,” he said softly into the space between them, “do you know how much I love you?”

Eris smiled up at him knowingly. Azriel could feel Eris’ skin already heating under his palms in anticipation. 

“Yes, my heart,” he replied, certainty in his voice, “I know how much you love me.”

“And, my love, you know that I would do anything to protect you, to shield you from harm?”

“Yes, my heart, I know that you would do anything to protect me and shield me from harm.”

Azriel nodded, his cock pressing mercilessly against his leathers, arousal crashing through him in distracting waves.

"You know that this love is precious to me?"

"Yes, I know our love is precious to you."

He continued his indulgent strokes along Eris’ legs, “and what will you say if you feel unwanted pain or wish to stop?”

Eris offered him another smile, “I will say ‘Winter’ if I feel unwanted pain or wish to stop.”

Azriel’s grin turned dangerous, and Eris writhed beneath him, his cock hard and heavy against his belly. Nodding in affirmation, Azriel stood silently and removed the rest of his clothing before settling himself back over Eris, cradled between his legs. He kissed Eris gently, lovingly, pressing the whole of his heart into those lips he so loved. Eris whimpered when Azriel broke the kiss and sat up between his legs, gazing down at his love. 

Raising a hand slightly, his shadows poured out from over his shoulders, highlighting the outline of his tattoos and whirling in a dark mass down his body to where Azriel propped Eris’ thighs against his own. He felt Eris shudder, watched his eyes roll back slightly, as his shadows slid in slow torturous patterns up his stomach and chest, swirling and twisting around his hardness. The dark shades quickened as they reached Eris’s throat, wrapping around him in smooth writhing loops. 

Azriel licked his lips as he leaned over, taking himself and Eris in one broad hand, a finger slipped between them. He stroked them together as he watched his shadows squeeze lightly against Eris' throat. 

His shadows kept their motion steady against the skin of his throat, light constant pressure wringing delicious moans from Eris. Azriel continued his motions on both their bodies, watching as his shadows completed a final swirl around the long column of Eris' throat and slid down his shoulders. Eris lifted his arms above his head as they breezed around his muscles. 

Azriel flicked his wrist, twisting his hand around Eris’ length in approval, “Yes, my love,” he growled, “well done.” 

Azriel watched his shadows wrap Eris in a tight hold, suspended above the bed. 

“Azriel,” he was panting now, “please." 

"My love,” Azriel shushed him gently. 

With a pained sigh, Azriel stopped his stroking. Eris let out a gasp. Azriel lowered himself on the bed. As he adjusted, he leaned down to kiss the inside of Eris’ thigh, sucking soft skin between his teeth. Eris pulled against the shadows restraining him, his hips bucking and searching.

Azriel pressed a hand against his hip, stifling his movements. He kissed down his leg and back up to the smooth skin of his thigh. Opening his mouth wide, he bit down on the delicate flesh, his canines sinking in savagely. Eris screamed above him, trying desperately to move his hips but clamped in place by Azriel’s hand. 

Pulling his mouth away, he watched tiny beads of blood swell up in the deepest rivets. An animalistic lust flooded his veins as he leaned back down to lick it away, the sharp coppery taste of it sliding over his tongue. Eris was writhing and moaning above him in torturous pleasure. 

Azriel kissed gently up to Eris’ hip and licked along the bone, reaching the base of his cock and licking up the shaft. Reaching his tip, he swallowed Eris down in one motion, raptured when Eris thrust into his mouth with a cry. 

He worked Eris slowly with his lips and tongue, wringing pained gasps and moans from his mate. He swallowed around Eris and pulled off abruptly when he felt his mate nearing completion. 

Eris hissed at the loss of warmth, and Azriel leaned down to kiss the crease of skin where his thigh met his torso. He stilled for a moment to admire his mate’s wicked beauty, the furious red flush of his wetted cock against the creamy white skin of his freckled belly. 

Licking around his hip to the soft flesh of Eris’ buttock, he opened his mouth and bit into him again, clamping down harder when Eris’ breaths became frantic and pleading. Azriel let his hands slide under Eris, pulling his mate's body toward him and sucking desperately against his skin. They gasped together as he pulled his lips free with a painful pop. 

Azriel eyed the beads of red where he had pierced skin with his sharp teeth. It was a rush to see his welcome damage on beloved skin. He licked it away with an acolyte’s care, pulling its salty wetness into his mouth in prayer. It was the tang of his most beloved, and the sensation was a heady glow.

He pressed soft kisses against the angry red marks his teeth had left, beside himself with possessive lust as he ran his tongue across what marked Eris as his. He repeated these movements several more times, edging Eris with his mouth ruthlessly between each marking he left scattered across his thighs and hips. 

Content that he had marked Eris thoroughly, Azriel moved up his body slowly, dragging his fingertips along ahead of him. He let his lips suck deep purple bruises into his abdomen and chest as Eris begged nonsensically, his words a blissful jumble. 

He moved until he was straddling Eris’ chest. Eris’ face pressed between his arms, his arms bracketed by Azriel’s thighs. He reached forward and squeezed Eris’ cheeks between his fingers, forcing his mouth open. 

Eris rolled his eyes back, his tongue sticking out for Azriel’s inspection. Azriel took his cock back in his hand and began fisting himself again. He watched Eris’ lovely pink tongue and bent over him. He let a spindly rope of his spit drop into Eris’ mouth. His cock was unbearably hard as Eris nearly came at the possessive claim.

With his other hand, Azriel slid two fingers into Eris’ mouth, feeling his tongue soften and firm under his fingertips. He thrust deeply into his hand, his tip sliding against Eris' jaw, as he pushed his fingers further in, watching with locked focus the way Eris closed his perfect lips around his fingers, sucking and licking them hungrily. 

“Fuck, Eris…”

Removing his hand, he shifted his body and tilted his hips until he was over Eris’s face, his hand braced on the headboard beside Eris’s bound hands. Eris eyed his cock intently, lifting his head towards it but restrained by the shadows and Azriel’s body. 

“Impatient, my love,” Azriel chuckled. 

Eris whimpered pitifully once more and Azriel nearly exploded at the sound, his cock throbbing in his hand. Azriel brought his tip to Eris's eager lips but did not linger. Panting down at his mate, he dragged his cock across his cheeks, his eyelids, his mouth. Smearing a trail of precome across his face and hissing with a jolt when Eris’ wet tongue darted out to lick his tip. 

“Open,” he commanded. 

Eris complied, opening his mouth wide and sticking his tongue out again. Growling his approval, Azriel rested the tip of his cock on Eris’s outstretched tongue. His shadows twisted around Eris’ body behind him, pulling and nipping and brushing cool air across his skin. Eris looked near hysterics at the stimulation as he slid his tongue around Azriel’s cock, more desperate noises escaping him. 

Azriel reached a hand behind Eris’ head and abruptly grabbed a handful of copper strands, pulling tight enough to sting. Eris hissed but continued lapping at the tip of Azriel’s cock, still just out of reach for him to close his lips around. 

“Don’t move,” he ground out. 

Eris looked up at him from his stilled position, pupils blown out, still making those small whimpering noises that drove Azriel mad. Positioning himself at the angle he wanted, he held himself suspended above Eris. With a shared look, Eris made his own impatient growl that slammed through Azriel. As Eris closed his eyes tightly, mouth open salaciously wide, Azriel used his grip on the other male’s hair to jerk his head forward, forcefully pulling Eris’ mouth around his length. Eris gagged around him, but Azriel did not slow, sensing through his shadows that Eris was painfully erect and thrusting into the air behind him with wanton desperation. 

Azriel gave his mate no time to adjust. When he felt Eris’ throat contract and then relax around him, he pulled Eris’ head back and glanced down at him before tugging it forward again with brutal force. He kept his own body still, muscles contracting and beads of sweat forming across his skin at the exertion. He kept Eris’ mouth moving up and down his cock with merciless pulls against his hair, gasping wildly at Eris' compliance.

He pulled Eris’s head to him until his nose was pressed against Azriel's body. The strangled moaning noises he was making sent Azriel into a frenzy. The only sounds in the room were the lewd wet sucking where Azriel forcefully maneuvered Eris’s head up and down his cock and Azriel's sounds of pleasure. 

Groaning, he released Eris’ head. His mate let his head fall back against the pillows, breathing heavily through his nose, his mouth still full of Azriel. 

Without pause, Azriel began thrusting his hips as Eris consumed him, hollowing his cheeks to increase the sensation to Azriel’s cock. Azriel grunted heavily as he continued his motion, rocking into Eris’ mouth with quick motions, thrusting deep into his throat. Azriel looked down at his mate’s depraved look, saliva dripping down his chin, eyes rolled back completely, his lips still perfectly plush and rosy around Azriel. 

The sight of his love so undone, wrecked so entirely by his body, pushed him over the edge. His release tore through him with disorienting strength as he poured himself into Eris with rhythmless convulsing hips. Even as he pulled out of Eris’ mouth, his mate was making greedy suckling noises, and Azriel was ravenous for his mate once more, insatiable in his desire to please and be pleased by this male. 

Giving them both a moment to breathe, he moved himself back down Eris’ body until they were, again, chest to chest. He leaned back down and licked a wide tongue across Eris’ face, cleaning the trail he’d left before. They paused to look at each other, both panting and slick with sweat. Eris was looking at him with open adoration, the love in his eyes buckling Azriel’s elbows as he held himself over his mate. Eris cried out softly as his painfully hard erection was pressed between their bodies. Azriel sucked in a breath when Eris pushed into the slick skin of their stomachs and hips. 

He dipped his head to capture those lips, another rumbling groan escaping him as he tasted his spend on Eris’ tongue. Eris met him eagerly, parting his lips and slipping his tongue inside Azriel’s mouth. 

“More,” Eris whispered as he pulled away slightly, “I want more.”

Azriel said nothing as he pulled his mate into another deep kiss, and he ran a hand down his chest to feel his smooth skin. With Eris, he could be truly present. He was here, with this lovely male whose strong body and sharp mind and clever hands drove him wild. He cherished the way Eris felt safe in his arms, that he knew Azriel would take care of him. He was nowhere else but in love with Eris. 

He knew what his love endured in his home court, how he maintained his vigilant composure. In their early years together, as Azriel had learned Eris' body, it had alarmed him that Eris was so eager to share pleasure with pain— Azriel had his own preferences and desires but above all he wanted Eris to feel loved. As their familiarity grew, he began taking great pleasure in offering his mate this release. He was grateful he could provide this spectrum of sensation while keeping Eris safe and treasured in his arms. Azriel knew it was deeply vulnerable for Eris to trust him with this desire and Azriel carried it like a precious gem.

Lowering his face to nudge Eris’ neck, he collected the beads of sweat along his jaw with his tongue. His love was savory and divine on his tongue, and he would give him everything. He kissed Eris softly as his hands caressed the heated skin of his chest. He let his tongue leave gentle missives along Eris’ lips, his mouth telling Eris of love and hope and desire. He pulled his shadows back, and Eris’ arms, released from their hold, fell around him immediately, pulling him in closer. 

He savored the feeling of his mate and covered him with kisses everywhere he could reach. He let one hand smooth down Eris’s side to his leg until he tucked his fingers into the crook of his mate's knee. He pulled lightly, bending Eris’ knee and folding it slowly to his chest. Eris’ breath hitched deeply as Azriel settled fully between his legs. Eris’s erection still untended and Azriel’s now renewed, they shifted their hips in sync against each other for a moment, breathing heavily. Azriel sat back and pulled Eris’ other leg over his shoulder, running his hand up and down with the rough skin of his fingers. 

“My love,” he breathed, “tell me what you need.”

Eris let his freed hands roam over Azriel’s thighs, reaching for his body. 

“Only you.”

Azriel reached one hand down to stroke Eris and held the other out with an open palm. He let his shadows swirl around his wrist and into his hand before dissipating, leaving behind a small bottle of oil.

Eris clutched Azriel. “Please, my heart,” he asked softly. 

Azriel turned to kiss the ankle resting on his shoulder and lowered it onto the bed in an open bend, baring his mate completely. Azriel slicked his fingers thoroughly and reached between them to caress that most intimate place on Eris’ body. He circled his mate slowly, sucking in every heated breath Eris released. He entered him gently, pushing inside with one finger, moving unhurriedly.  

Azriel’s other hand kept a steady rhythm on his erection as he murmured soft praise into his dearest love. He leaned over, pressing closer to his mate. 

“You are my heart, Eris.” he kissed his neck.

“You are everything, my love.” he licked a slow line across Eris’ collarbone as he pushed another finger inside his mate, curling towards the spot that quickened his breath against Azriel's neck. 

Eris ran his hands hungrily around Azriel’s neck and through his hair, and Azriel watched with rapture as his mouth opened into a silent moan, only quick, short breaths escaping his parted lips. These slow moments where he could unravel his mate were so rare. Azriel did not want to waste them. He kept a slow, steady rhythm with his fingers as he moved his body against Eris. He needed Eris to know how precious he was, how consuming this love was. 

"I am yours, my love,” he breathed against Eris as he covered his skin with his kiss.

He slowed his movement within Eris as he added a third finger. Eris exclaimed loudly, his eyes twisting shut as he clung to Azriel’s arms. Azriel continued, working Eris open with care. 

“Please, Azriel,” Eris gasped, his head thrown back, his hands sliding up to grip Azriel’s shoulders. 

Azriel removed his hand slowly from Eris’ heat, determined to show him how much he is loved. He wants him to know the joy he’s brought to Azriel’s life, how he’s soothed his aches and sorrows, made him feel wanted and cherished. Leaning back on his heels, pulling away from his mate’s neck with difficulty, Azriel folds both Eris’ knees up to his chest. He holds them in place as he lines himself up with Eris’ entrance. Azriel poured the remaining oil over himself, letting it bead down his cock to where his skin met Eris'.

He stroked himself a few times, ensuring their skin was slick and ready to give and receive. Eris opened his eyes and gave Azriel a look of such want and lust, it was all he could do to keep his movements gentle. Their first joining had been rough and lustful, needy. He would make this slow and reverential. 

Eris moaned as Azriel’s tip parted him. He pushed in, inch by inch, rocking out and back in deeper, never rushing. His rough, gravelly voice accompanied each push forward.

“My love,” thrust.

“You’re beautiful,”  thrust.

“Look how well you take me,” thrust.

“You don’t know how good you feel,” thrust.

“I am only yours,” he thrusts a final time, now held entirely within Eris. 

Eris, barely able to speak, his voice shattered and taken, breathes “Yours.”

Moving deep within him, Azriel feels tight as a pressed spring. He lifts Eris’ leg higher and pushes himself impossibly deeper, and they both gasp, Eris gripping him tightly, and his pleasure multiplies with each sharp nail that pierces the skin of his arm. He finds the strength to look down at his love and wants to collapse into what he sees. Eris is staring up at him, eyes like a smooth whiskey, his flaming red locks fanned around him, his brows pulled tightly together, and his mouth is open as he breathes heavily through Azriel’s every push. 

They reach out for each other, pressed tightly together in their consummation. Azriel can already feel his climax building through his bones, growing and thrashing inside him untamed. He sees his desperation reflected in Eris, and it spurs him forward as his hips quicken their pace, his rhythm breaking as his pleasure rises. 

Eris paws at him, clutching and scratching across his face and neck in the same motion. Eris reaches up, to pulling his fingers roughly through Azriel’s hair. 

“Azriel, gods, Azriel,” Eris pleads through ragged breaths, “you feel so—“another sharp gasp of pleasure cuts him off. 

He feels Eris’s center tighten, their arms around each other in a tight hold. Azriel is overcome with the sensations; his mate clenching around his cock as he continues to pump in and out of him, the way Eris’ arms pull him in, the way Eris uses his lips to cover Azriel’s skin with unabashed affection. 

Azriel pushes in and in and in as Eris tugs at him. They are wordless as they moan against each other; they are only the sounds they can pull from each other. As Azriel pulls Eris toward his release, Eris tugs his curls tightly, ecstatic, frantic groans releasing between them. He reaches between their bodies to wrap a hand around Eris, stroking him roughly. 

Their eyes meet as Azriel sinks into Eris’ wilderness, overtaken as he feels Eris’ body clench tight, so near. It is the soft openness of Eris’ amber gaze that pushes Azriel over the edge– his hand wrapped around Eris’ heated and flushed cock, gripping him as pleasure tumbles through him. Azriel’s hand tightens around his mate as his release surges into Eris’ body, hot streams filling him, with rolling gravelly shouts. 

“So fucking perfect, Eris, perfect,” he chants, his thrusts slowing, becoming more shallow as his orgasm subsides.

Eris appears lost in his pleasure. “Please,” he pants. “Tell me I am yours,” he breathes, his body tight as he holds Azriel. 

“You are mine, my love.” 

At his words, Eris finds his release, crying out as he arches off the bed. Azriel slips an arm beneath him, pulling him up. He holds their bodies close with one arm while his other hand fists Eris through his cries of pleasure. He mouths softly at Eris's neck and feels the muscles of his throat under his lips as swallows, gulping air into his lungs. Seated in his lap, Eris throws his arms around Azriel with a final shaky gasp and tucks his face between his neck and shoulder.

They breathe deeply into each other as they come down. Azriel runs his hands up and down Eris’ back, twisting his head to run his nose and mouth along Eris’ cheek. 

Azriel holds his love in this position, their hands roaming affectionately as they slow their panting breaths. They stay here, held together in this soft moment, until Azriel slides his hand up into Eris' hair and pulls lightly to tilt his face up. 

“I love you,” he whispers with a kiss. 

Eris is shaking slightly in his tight embrace, spent and exhausted. Knowing his mate needs these soft moments of care after such passion, Azriel covers each freckle across his cheeks with a light kiss, continuing to stroke gently down the warm skin of his back as Eris curls into him, legs loosening around Azriel's waist.

He gently lays Eris back on the bed. Eris lets out a low groan when Azriel finally pulls out of him, and Azriel soothes him with gentle words about how soft his body is, how they fit together so perfectly. He stays here covering Eris' body with the weight of his own. He strokes tangled red waves back from his face with gentle shushes and promises of safety and love. His shaking slowly subsides under grounding hands. Eris looks exhausted now, and Azriel wants to lull him into restful sleep. Azriel rises for a moment to cross to the washroom and wet a small cloth with warm water. 

Returning to Eris's side, he lies down next to him. He runs the cloth gently up and down Eris’ flushed skin, washing away his sweat and spend, soothing tired muscles. Eris does not move or speak; he simply watches Azriel take care of him. Azriel methodically washes his face and neck. He wipes his chest, his arms, his abdomen, his pulsing center. He moves gently, reaching the already fading marks of his earlier bites, cleaning each one with tender dabs of his cloth. 

When he’s finished, he sets aside the towel and picks up the glass on their bedside table, jostling Eris as little as possible in his reach. He lets Eris drink his fill and sets the glass aside, running his fingers through Eris's wrecked hair and smiling down at his sleepy mate. He kisses his forehead, each cheek, and the tip of his nose before turning him on his side. 

Sliding down the bed and lying to face him, he pulls Eris in close, pillowing Eris' head on an outstretched arm. With his other hand, his fingertips run lightly up and down his back and side. He murmurs affection between their bodies until he hears Eris’ breathing slow into a deep and sated sleep. He closes his own eyes, his shadows still and content around him, and falls asleep to the blossoming hope deep in his chest, a rare and dangerous bloom. 

---

Azriel was already dressed and moving around the kitchen the next morning when Eris woke. It was just before dawn when he first appeared. Eris shuffled into the kitchen wearing a pair of soft linen sleep pants, pulling his hair back into a lazy tie at the crown of his head. He was enamored by the private simplicity of Eris’s approach as he sidled up to drop his chin onto Azriel’s shoulder with a small yawn.

“Good morning,” Azriel said, turning his face to kiss the wrinkles of sleep on Eris’ cheek.  

“Mmn.” Eris slid his hand around Azriel’s side and wrapped his fingers around the mug he was preparing.

“Is this for me?” his lips curled innocently around the pilfered mug.

Azriel watched him swallow a sip of dark tea with two spoons of sugar and a dash of cream. He raised a triumphant brow as Eris’ expression shifted from mischief to surprise.

“Of course, my love,” he cooed at his mate.  

He had prepared it to Eris' liking, suspecting that Eris would play this game with him and pretend to steal Azriel’s mug. Grinning at his small victory, having tricked the trickster, he turned back to the work of preparing his cup with feigned nonchalance. 

“Tricky, tricky,” Eris smiled, leaning in to nip the skin of Az's neck teasingly before taking a seat behind him to enjoy his tea. 

Azriel fussed happily over his tea before turning to join Eris at the table. They sipped quietly together for a few lovely moments. 

“I have to leave soon,” Azriel sighed. “Rhys asked me to stop for Cass.”

Eris nodded, enjoying these last few moments together.

“I’ll be right behind you, I suppose. I’ll see you at the meeting with Keir.”

Azriel frowned, turning his face away from Eris. 

“Maybe it’s time, Eris. To tell my family the truth. Can you do this another four hundred years?” 

He sighed, returning his gaze to Eris, “I want them to know. They’re my family and you are my mate. I shouldn’t have to choose.”

Eris narrowed his eyes. “Who’s asking you to choose?”

Finishing his tea, Azriel stood and deposited the mug in the sink.

“No one, Eris. I just mean I’m tired of keeping everything separate.” He turned towards Eris and leaned back against the counter. “Look at Nesta; she wasn’t bothered at all. My brothers will be fine,” he argued.

Eris scoffed, throwing back the rest of his tea, “Yes, your brothers are known for their proportionate reactions to new information.” 

Eris ignored Azriel’s glare as he stood and reached around him to set his mug next to his

"It’s not just about them, Azriel." he placed a hand on Azriel's hip, his thumb circling over his shirt. "If Rhysand knows, he can use you against me. I walk a fine line with my father already.”

Azriel stalked away from Eris to collect his boots, his mood souring. They’d had this conversation many times over their centuries together. They’d both fallen on either side of the argument at different times, but in the end, they always agreed it wasn’t the right time. Azriel was tired of it. He kept so many secrets; he did not want this one. 

“I want you both, you and my brothers,” he said, annoyed at the petulance in his tone. 

"Yes, you want to have your cake and eat it too, but it is not so simple.”

“Yes, Eris, I do want to have my cake and eat it too. So does everyone with a fucking piece of cake in front of them,” he snapped.

Eris crossed the room and sat beside him, massaging his fingers through Azriel’s hair as he laced his boots. “I know, my heart. It’s hard for me too.”

Azriel sat back and sighed, feeling guilty now. “I know, love. I just don’t want it to always be like this.”

Eris continued tousling his hair with one hand and propped his chin in the other, elbow resting against his knee, head tilted toward Azriel, “It won’t be, Az. I promise. Let’s get through today, alright?”

Azriel nodded, grabbing Eris’ wrist and kissing his way up to the bend of his arm. “Okay,” he agreed, “today first. When will I see you next?”

It was Eris’ turn to sigh. “I was lucky to get away yesterday. I’m needed back at the Forest House later, then at the borders again to meet with Tamlin. I likely won’t be able to get away for a few days, maybe a week.”

Azriel nodded again, standing to leave. They had been parted for longer.

 “I’ll write,” he promised, having just stashed Eris’ spelled papers in his shadows this morning. 

Eris stood and pulled him into a kiss. Azriel drifted his hands down Eris’ bare back and kissed him back thoroughly. 

“I love you,” he said, brushing his lips against Eris’ cheek. 

“Always, my heart,” Eris replied, tilting their foreheads with a hand around Azriel’s head for a final peaceful moment. He squeezed his fingers in Azriel’s hair. “Don’t choke me in front of your brothers, dear,” he teased. “We’ll have time for all that later.”

With a lascivious wink, he pulled away and crossed into the bedroom to prepare for his own meetings. Azriel watched the muscles of Eris’ back shifting under his skin as he moved, contentment pooling in his chest once more. He laughed softly to himself as he gathered shadows and stepped into the open air of Velaris. 

---

Swooping down towards Cassian’s balcony, he thought about the last few weeks with his brother. They had barely spoken, and when they had, it had been tense. Azriel been furious and Cassian confused and anxious. But that delicate bloom in his chest pulled lightly and asked him quietly to keep trying. Perhaps he had been wrong, perhaps they could mend this, perhaps they could return to that sacred intimacy and shared language he treasured. 

He landed lightly on the balcony and threw open the door with a bang. He may be harboring hope that this rift was fixable, but that did not mean he couldn’t enjoy startling his brother into waking. 

He was surprised to find Cassian up and dressed, walking out of the washroom toweling off wet hair. 

“Az,” he acknowledged.

“Ready? Rhys should be meeting us there.” 

Cassian nodded, tossing the towel aside and combing his hair away from his face with his fingers, “he’s already there, we spoke earlier. Said he has something he wants to tell us.”

They eyed each other suspiciously before Azriel nodded, “See you in the sky.”

He turned back towards the balcony and hopped onto the rail. He let himself sway for a moment before falling forward, throwing out his wings to catch the breeze and gliding up into the sky. He flew towards the Sidra at a lazy pace until Cass caught up with him. They’d done this thousands of times, flown together, walked through the shadows together, attended meetings together. The familiarity of it allayed his anxiety somewhat. 

He drifted closer to Cassian and reached out his hand. Cassian took it with ease and together they flew into his shadows, emerging in flight over the mountain that housed the Court of Nightmares. They flew in practiced synchronicity before landing side by side on the roof of the Moonstone Palace. Shaking out their wings, stiff from the icy air of the mountain, they entered together and followed the familiar path to Rhys’ study. Azriel could sense Cassian’s tension building but said nothing. 

Cassian pushed the door open and they entered together. Rhys was seated on a low back chair near the fireplace, swirling a glass of dark liquid in the light grasp of his fingertips. He was dressed for a Hewn City appearance, the fine silk of his tailored suit an astonishing black. His hair combed back, every strand in place, one loose curl falling rakishly across his forehead. He looked up as they entered, placing his glass down and standing to greet them.

“Brothers,” he said, his tone neutral. 

He gestured for them to sit in the chairs across from his desk as he moved to take his seat. They settled without a word, all three sitting in rigid silence. Someone had cleared Rhys’ desk; a map now covered its surface. Azriel noted it was a map of Prythian, held in place by four small daggers plunged through the parchment and into the desk at each corner. Azriel took this in warily. It was dramatic, even for Rhys, and that did not sit well. Cassian seemed not to notice as he broke the silence with a huff.

“Is this about Nesta, Rhys? Is that what you wanted to tell us, something about Nesta?” 

Having apparently feigned his earlier composure, Azriel noted the emotion in his tone. Rhys was acting strange, and Cassian, while more rested than at their last meeting, still appeared barely held together. His quick tone shift was not promising. He glanced around, almost wishing Lucien would appear, needing an ally as his brothers’ moods prickled. He felt a distant tug on the bond and relaxed slightly: Eris had arrived somewhere in the city beneath them. His nearness smoothed Azriel’s nerves. 

Rhys held Cassian’s eye. “Yes, Cass, it is about Nesta.” his eyes slid to Azriel. 

Cassian glanced between them, frustrated. He stood and braced himself over the map, staring down and willing it to answer his questions somehow. Rhys stayed locked on Azriel for a moment longer before they both stood and leaned over the map with Cassian. Azriel’s sharp mind was whirring, searching for the puzzle piece he was missing, the one that would explain why Rhys’ behavior was so unsettling. Rhys behaved like this with others, and often, but rarely when it was just the three of them. It unnerved him that he could not place Rhys’ game and Nesta’s letter burned against him in his pocket as he tried to make quick decisions with minimal information. 

“Well?” Cassian didn’t look away from the map when he asked, his escalating scan unceasing. 

Rhys slid a hand across the map, settling a finger in the center of Ilyria. “We know she’s not here; the land scoured. No reports of her arriving at any villages or camps.”

He slid his finger to Velaris. “She’s not here. I would have sensed her entering the wards.”

Cassian pulled his dagger from its hold, slamming it into place over the Court of Nightmares. “You think she’s here? Is that why we’re here?” he was already frazzled; now he was reaching a panicked pitch, and it had not taken long. 

Rhys shook his head, his lips almost a smile, “I think she’s somewhere even farther, Cassian.”

Azriel looked up at his brother and found him already watching Azriel closely. He leaned forward, his hand moving closer to Azriel as he slid down the map towards Prythian’s southern courts. Azriel swallowed. This was going poorly. They both looked down at where Rhys had stopped his finger, right in the center of the Autumn Court. 

“Autumn,” Cassian breathed, “how–why would she be in Autumn?” 

Rhys ignored him, holding Azriel’s gaze with eerie composure, a sinister smile creeping across his lips. “A better question, brother, is why would Azriel be in Autumn?”

Azriel straightened; this, he had not expected. Cassian, confused and even more frustrated now, glanced between them again with furrowed brows. 

Pulling the question right from Azriel’s mouth, he growled, “Rhys just fucking say whatever it is you want to say– we don’t have time for these godsdamn shows if Nesta is somewhere in Autumn.”

Rhys straightened now as well, letting Azriel simmer in his gaze a moment longer before turning to Cassian. 

“Our brother here has been making unauthorized trips to the Autumn Court,” Rhys crooned. “Imagine my earnest surprise when I discovered he was there only days after Nesta disappeared from Ilyria.” he looks back at Azriel with a raised brow. "Indeed, he was there as recently as this morning."

Azriel’s brain suddenly felt loose inside his head, Nesta's letter momentarily forgotten as he realized what Rhys was saying. His eyes flew to Rhys' with a dangerous expression.

 “Who?” he demanded with a snarl, planting a hand on the desk heavily and leaning towards Rhys. 

Rhys raised his brow higher, in question, in challenge. 

“Who the fuck do you have following me?” Azriel was incensed. 

Not only was his brother having him tracked, he had not even known he was being trailed. 

Rhys continued, unbothered, “I thought to myself, surely if Azriel is in Autumn, there is a reason. He would not lie to his family for no reason.” he picked something off his sleeve casually, an irksome habit that raised Azriel’s temperature even higher. 

Cassian was looking at Azriel now too, “Az?” he asked, the burgeoning betrayal in his voice pulling at Azriel’s heart. Without knowing precisely what Rhys knew, he decided his only move was to let Rhys continue talking and hope he revealed something useful. Rhys could monologue extensively; eventually, he would let something slip.

"What could be even more interesting than Azriel attending secret meetings in Autumn without anyone else’s knowledge or direction?” he sat now, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands into his lap. 

“Well,” answering his own question, “perhaps how he can disappear entirely once he’s crossed the border,” he looked at Azriel again.

"He is completely untraceable once he crosses into Autumn, Cass. Isn’t that remarkable?” He addressed Cassian but stared only at Azriel. 

The warding around Beyrih kept everyone inside hidden from detection, but that was just a blip on the Autumn map. Shortly after they'd accepted the bond, Eris had become paranoid that Beron would catch Azriel in Autumn. He’d been in a fury about winged fae corrupting his court, and Eris was sick with worry about what he would do if Azriel were caught attempting to enter or leave. It had taken time and painstaking care, but bit by bit over several years, Eris had slowly and secretly tinkered with the Autumn wards until Azriel was hidden completely within court borders, warded within the wards. He was invisible within Autumn and, indeed, untraceable by any magic. 

Rhys was right, it was remarkable. It had taken powerful magic and a level of intellect and precision that few, aside from his mate, possessed. Rhys had never attempted to track Azriel’s movements before, so he was not aware of this magical anomaly until now. Terrified as he was of where this tirade was leading, he felt a little thrill of pride in his heart at his clever mate outsmarting two of Prythian's high lords. 

Azriel said nothing, keeping his expression blank. He pulled his shadows in close, urging them to settle as their agitation grew alongside his own. Cassian was still looking furiously between them, several steps behind even Azriel, who still could not place where this was going. Clearly, Rhys knew he’d been going to Autumn, but he didn’t know why. He knew he’d be there in the days following Nesta’s disappearance, but Lucien had brought her there, so perhaps he did not know of Lucien’s involvement. 

Evidence suggested that Rhys had sent someone to follow him after Nesta was taken, which confirmed that Rhys either suspected or knew of his involvement. Azriel had been sneaking off to Autumn for hundreds of years without detection. If Rhys was only bringing up his recent visits, then it also seemed likely he did not know about Eris. He definitely didn’t know about Beyrih. Azriel was scrambling to determine his next move; would Nesta's letter soothe or further anger at this point?

“What you don’t know, Cassian, is that the night Nesta disappeared, Azriel was with me and Feyre at the River house.” Rhys was goading Cassian now, and Azriel knew it would not be hard to push him over the edge. 

“Rhys,” he warned, but Rhys dismissed him, addressing Cassian. 

“When we explained what happened and where Nesta was, Azriel became enraged, you see.”

Azriel wanted to argue that enraged was strong, but had to concede that it was accurate. Still, he could see the picture Rhys was trying to paint for Cassian, and he did not like it. 

“He demanded to know where you were, and where Nesta was. When Feyre told him, he disappeared.” Rhys twirled his index finger in a circular motion, miming the motions of Azriel's shadows when he moved through them.

Cassian's breathing was deepening next to Azriel, who refused to meet his eye, staring at Rhys as he continued. Azriel slowly moved his hand up his leathers towards the letter housed there, still feeling uncertain.

“Of course, I thought that was strange.” Rhys tapped his fingers idly on the desk. 

“It didn’t sit well, Cassian.” he threw Cassian an exaggerated look of concern that had Azriel grinding his teeth. 

"I’ve always trusted you both, implicitly, of course,” Rhys keeps his eyes on Cassian, “but I had your safety, and Nesta’s, to consider.”

Rhys’ play was coming into focus, and it set Azriel on edge. He was trying to paint Azriel as deceitful and treacherous, to keep Cassian on his side. Azriel inferred this meant he intended to make an accusation, and he wanted to secure Cassian’s support when he did. He barely had time to notice the hurt growing inside him at his brother turning his scheming on him like this, intentionally driving a wedge between him and Cassian. It was working beautifully. Cassian’s fists were now clenched tightly at his side as he bore down on Azriel. 

"I didn’t know what Azriel would do, what with the state he was in, so I sent Nuala after him. Just to check on him, make sure he was alright. I was… worried about him.” Rhys' tone was a mockery of sympathy.

Rat bastard Azriel thought. His High Lord had turned his spies against their master. It stung, deep in his belly. The betrayal stung. He felt a sick irritation that he’d trained his spies well enough to spy on him. Cassian’s growing anger was radiating off of him in stifling waves. The hope he’d felt last night as he held Eris in his arms, the future he saw of his family’s warm embrace, was slipping away. 

"Fascinating how Nuala and Ceridwen communicate, isn’t it, Az? It’s like they have a direct connection, instantaneous!” He marveled, still watching Cassian. 

Fuck, Azriel thought, trying to get his bearings. Rhys knew a hell of a lot more than he expected if Nuala had fed Azriel's every move back to him as soon as he’d left Rhys’ house. He hadn’t gone to Autumn that night, but he did not know how he would explain his stops at Lucien’s townhouse. No one would suspect Lucien had any remaining connections in Autumn. His presence at Lucien’s house could be explained away, somehow…

His attempt to formulate an explanation ultimately did not matter. Rhys had loaded the arrow, he’d pulled the bow tight, and now he loosed it with lethal accuracy directly at the final thread holding Cassian together. 

"You can’t fathom my distress when we learned that Azriel had stalked you through Illyria and swept Nesta away from you as you slept.”

Before Azriel could make a move, it snapped. A wild cry tore out of Cassian as he threw himself at Azriel with five centuries' worth of speed and strength. Azriel felt his back slam into the hard stone wall behind him, his wings crushed awkwardly at his back.

He shoved his brother back forcefully, shadows darting out around him. "Cass, wait!" he implored. "I can explain!"

Cassian was beyond hearing.

Azriel tried to reach up to his pocket for the letter, open his mouth to attempt an explanation. Before he could blink,  Cassian had a hand around his throat and was choking him, unrestrained.

"So it's true, then?" Cassian's voice was furious as he spat his accusation, "You've been hiding her from me?" The tightening grip around his throat made clear he expected no satisfactory answer from Azriel.

White hot fear shot through him at his position. Cassian could well and truly kill him right here and now. "Are you fucking her too, brother?" His face was twisted in furious disgust.  

Blood rushed to his head as he fought to pull in a breath, digging his nails deeply into Cassian’s arms. He tried desperately to rationalize what was happening. Rhys had intentionally incited Cassian’s rage, prodded at his mating instincts, until he’d erupted. Rhys has wanted Cass consumed by a blind rage, wanted him to attack Azriel. 

The pressure building behind his eyes as Cassian pressed into his throat, cutting off his air, began to overwhelm him. His arms weakening as he scraped against his brother. He watched in horror as his brother opened his mouth, a vicious expression on his face. 

Before he could get a word out, a blinding flare lit the room behind Cassian as flame erupted across the space. Suddenly, Cass smacked backward against the shelving by the fire and sank to the ground in a crash. As blood and oxygen rushed back into him, Azriel stumbled, gasping and gulping as he attempted to regain his footing. He stood doubled over, one hand against the wall as he coughed and sputtered, one hand holding his chest just above Nesta's letter. 

“Am I interrupting something?” He heard that smooth whisky drawl and felt his body relax slightly as it washed over him, “fratricide, perhaps?”

Eris. Gathering himself, he stood and faced the room, still panting. Eris leaned against the door, one ankle crossed over the other in a casual pose, inspecting his perfectly manicured nails with great interest. Only Azriel, through the throbbing fury of the bond, knew exactly how dangerously the balance of the room had shifted.

Notes:

Visit me on tumblr— same name and pic :-)

Chapter 11

Summary:

I couldn’t wait until Wednesday

All the pumpkins are sad and I am so sorry

Eris

Eris felt Azriel's presence the moment he entered Hewn City. He did not like coming here, with its sonorous hallways full of secrets and hidden voices, and the people either downtrodden or openly vicious. Knowing his love was nearby soothed some of his angst; the proximity was a comfort. He’d been walking the streets towards Keir’s home when he felt a spike of hot fear and fury slice through his chest. Azriel, he thought, panic rising. He was with his brothers. Why would he be feeling so… terrified?

Eris reached for the bond and tugged at it, trying to discern what was his and what was Azriel’s. Something was not right. He felt pain down the bond, physical pain, and suddenly, he was struggling to breathe. He stumbled into the street, sending Hewn City citizens scattering around him. Clutching his throat as he gasped for a full breath, he realized Azriel wasn’t just scared; he was in danger. 

Without another thought, he’d let the bond guide him as he winnowed blindly and hoped he’d land in the right place. He shouldn’t have been able to reach the Moonstone Palace above the city. Rhys and the rest of the Night Court's dark ancestry heavily warded it, but he’d slipped through with ease. He didn’t stop to consider how, when his magic faded around him, and he saw where he was, what was happening. 

A carnal rage beset him, his body an inferno of heat aimed at the male whose fucking hands wrapped around Azriel's throat. Even in his panic, he knew it would be decades before the image of Azriel gasping for air, his face a terrifying shade of deep red, and clawing at Cassian’s hands and face would leave him. Unthinking and driven by pure instinct, he lashed out a rope of fire around Cassian and pulled, yanking him off his mate and throwing him bodily across the room. 

His rage was somewhat more manageable, with the immediate risk to Azriel’s life slightly removed, and he quickly pulled himself back. He put on a bored expression and managed to choke out something mocking as he worked to cool the fire in his veins. If he was going to pull this off, whatever this was, he needed to be sharp. 

He fought the need to grab Azriel and light this whole cauldron-cursed palace on fire. He fought the need to run to Azriel and hold him until he felt safe again. He fought the need to incinerate Cassian and Rhsyand. He suppressed his violent intent and forced himself into a nonchalant demeanor. Glancing up at Rhys, he cocked a brow. 

Cassian was rising from where he’d fallen, his face contorted in an ugly scowl, his hair askew and his cheeks bright red with anger. “You can’t be here, Eris,” he said, his voice laced with anger. 

Eris ignored him, he knew it would enrage him further but he couldn’t help wanting to knock him back down to his place after what he’d just witnessed. 

Rhys was standing behind his desk, glaring at him. He’d pulled himself together now, but Eris had felt a little trill of petty glee at the brief look of shock on Rhys’ face when he’d appeared unexpectedly. Now Rhys was looking at him with an assessing look, no doubt trying to suss out how and why Eris was here. 

“This is family business, Eris. Our meeting isn’t until later.” 

Cassian was still standing back from him slightly, looking between him and Rhysand. Neither of them looked at Azriel, tried to make sure he was okay, and that set an even higher pitch of outrage ringing through his ears. 

He dropped the hand he’d been examining into his pocket and stood from the door, trying not to make it obvious he was positioning himself closer to Azriel. 

He shrugged at Rhys, “I heard a commotion, you know how that excites me.”

Cassian approached again, and Eris almost snorted when Rhys held up a hand, stopping the male without a glance. The blind obedience would’ve held more humor if it did not currently pose such a risk to his mate. 

Rhys’ expression was calculating. “Why are you here, Eris?”

Eris had to concede it was a valid question, one he did not have an answer for. He had no reasonable pretense for being anywhere near this room. He wasn't even entirely sure how he'd gotten here. He certainly had no explanation for his violent defense of Azriel. In his periphery, he saw Azriel steady himself and bend his knees into a protective stance, shadows pooling around him, wings pulled in tight. 

“I was out for a stroll, Rhysand. Your underground prison—sorry, city—gets a bit balmy. I thought I’d go for some fresh air.”

Though he was not as bored as he appeared, he was wound more tightly than he’d been in decades. He did disdain Rhys exactly as much as his tone suggested. He had disliked Rhysand since they’d met as young heirs being shown around like trophies. After their first meeting dashed any hope he’d harbored of a friend or an ally, his disposition towards the male had ranged from ambivalence to annoyance. The unfortunate events of his betrothal to Morrigan had not warmed either male to the other.

It hadn’t been until Azriel had come into his life that his feelings towards Rhysand had truly soured. He did not like the way Rhysand treated Azriel like a wild animal he could unleash at his whim. The way he shoved Azriel back into the dungeons and forced him to do the filthy work he could easily do himself. What he despised most about Rhysand was that he was always willing to let someone else do the difficult work while framing the easy way out as the high road. Azriel had insisted he was sacrificial, that he loved his family, and that he was different from his father, caring about making his court a better place.

Eris could not recall a sacrifice that did not serve his interests, nor could he recall evidence of any particularly passionate love he held for his family. Eris had watched Ryhsand’s father rule before him and struggled to come up with meaningful deviations. Azriel’s people remained all but enslaved, neglected and ridiculed until Rhysand needed their numbers to wage his wars. The Hewn City was a disgraceful display of imbalanced magic and power. Aside from what Azriel told him of Velaris, Eris hardly knew anything about the other territories within Night, and it seemed to him that Rhysand knew just as little. 

Eris had toiled under constant threat of death to protect his court and his people from his father's tyranny. He held no respect for the male before him who allowed prejudice and violence to fester when he had the power to stop it. Eris saw him as weak-willed and self-congratulatory, surrounding himself only with those who did not question or challenge him. Content to live in luxury as the majority of his court struggled.

Eris found it all deeply embarrassing and ugly. It amused him how Rhysand and his inner circle talked about Autumn, and his father’s rule. Not because he respected that male or held loyalties to him, but because of their similarities. Both ruled with fear and the threat of punishment, isolating those they deemed unworthy from the abundance the rest enjoyed. The fae of both courts were vulnerable to the bloody whims of their lords. 

His mate felt he owed Rhysand a life debt for taking him in and raising him through the ranks, but one had been his mother and the other his father. Eris could not understand the loyalty his mate felt for this male, and they’d argued about it since the Cauldron first revealed their bond. Eris felt Rhysand had not earned a love as fierce and precious as Azriel’s, and it pained him to see his mate hurt over and over by him, bearing the injury of another's cruel agenda. 

But whether or not he understood it, he knew that Rhysand was Azriel's family, that he loved him in that deep and filling way only he could love. It broke Eris’ heart to be in this moment, bearing witness to the fracture of their brotherhood deepening, perhaps irrevocably.   

“You are not permitted to stroll within my home. Our agreement limits your access to Hewn City borders.”

Eris glanced at Rhys as he moved deeper into the room, closer to his mate.

“I suppose there’s been a misunderstanding then. You’re having a few of those today.” He threw Cassian an insolent wink, unable to help himself.

Cassian growled at this but made no move toward him. Eris was stalling. He needed a plan to get himself and Azriel out of this room. Azriel observed him, his anxiety streaming down the bond though his exterior remained stoic. Rhysand moved around the desk and propped his hip against it, his arms crossed. Eris cursed internally, he’d positioned himself between Eris and Azriel and now Cassian was closing in at his side.

“You’re pushing your luck, Eris. My hospitality has limits. Guards shall escort you back to the city, and I expect you’ll stay where you’re left this time.”

“Ah, of course, Rhysand. Perhaps your shadowsinger would do me the great honor, escort me back to the bowels of your court.”

It was heavy-handed and he knew it, but Cassian was attempting to close in behind him and Rhys was blocking his access to Azriel.  He glanced back at Cassian.

“Or perhaps your pet would like to deliver me to Keir.” he gave Cassian an appraising look before turning back to Rhysand. 

"I’ll take him Rh—“ Azriel started, his voice was weak and raw from the assault on his vocal cords and Eris clenched his jaw tightly at the sound. 

“You'll stay where you are,” Rhys snapped, cutting him off without turning around. 

Eris raised a brow, certain there were flames in his eyes now as he leveled a cutting glare at Rhysand. How dare he speak to Azriel like that, like he was scolding a child. He’d had centuries of practice controlling his mating instincts around Azriel’s family, but he’d never walked in on one of them attempting to kill him before. This was new territory, and Eris was not faring well. 

His lips curled into a tight smile. “Trouble, Rhysand?”

He wondered if he could prod Rhysand into moving away from Azriel. He could barely focus as his instincts roared within him to protect his mate. 

“Go, Eris. This matter is not your concern. You will not find me asking you again.” 

Eris lifted his hands in surrender, “apologies High Lord, shall I see myself out then?”

He took the opportunity to step to the side, opening a path to Azriel. He was about to step forward, to do what, he did not know. A meaty hand pressed down on his shoulder. Eris was tall, but Cassian was huge. He turned to look up at the male and did not have to feign his disgust when he shrugged violently out of his grasp. 

"You will not touch me again and keep that hand, General.” his tone was scathing, and he meant every word. 

Cassian glared down at him. “Let’s go. I’m taking you back.” 

“Won’t you tell me why you had our lovely shadowsinger pinned against the wall?” He said, righting the collar of his jacket. "No one knows brotherly discord like I do," he finished helpfully.

He was losing the room quickly and still had no real plan. He couldn’t bear to leave Azriel here, would not leave him alone in this wolves' den. He side-stepped when Cassian reached for him again, turning to him with a smirk. 

He felt Azriel’s fear down the bond and watched as he stepped forward toward his brother. His eyes were on Eris when he spoke, a pleading look in his eye. The deep blue of his siphons flashing.

"Rhys,” he said firmly, and even Eris turned at the command in his tone. 

Rhys whipped around to look at Azriel, then back to Eris. He crinkled his nose in distaste. “What the fuck is this?” 

Eris said nothing as he looked between them but felt his flames circling his fingertips. This was spinning out of control. Azriel took another step forward, bringing himself even with Rhys. The four of them stood on either side of the thick rug carpeting the study, Rhys and Azriel on one side, he and Cassian on the other. It seemed that no one in their odd circle had a complete understanding of the situation, and the resulting tension was creating a kindled energy, waiting for a spark to ignite. 

"Azriel,” Rhysand said quietly, clearly drawing some connections, “would you care to explain why just moments ago we were discussing your little secret trips to Autumn?”

Eris’ eyes shot to Azriel, who was watching Cassian closely, measuring the distance between his brother and Eris. 

“And then it's very heir inexplicably breaks through my wards and into my study at the very moment you could’ve been perceived as endangered?”

Eris had a strong palate for manipulation of facts, but this is too much even for him. 

He barked a cold laugh, “Perceived, Rhysand?” 

Rhysand kept his eye on Azriel, who was still watching Cassian next to Eris. His anxiety and fear and worry were pouring into Eris through the bond, the emotions so intense he could barely keep himself upright. 

Eris chances a glance beside him at Cassian and nearly jumps to find the male’s attention fixed fully on him, his body clenched tightly in anger, his eyes belying his confusion. Azriel takes another step forward, moving away from Rhysand and toward Eris. Cassian notes the movement and shoots him a look. Giving up any pretense of family privacy, Cassian makes his accusation. 

“Az, where the fuck did you take her? Is Eris in on it?” He looks close to popping at the thought. 

He steps towards Eris at the same time Azriel moves closer. 

“Eris, I swear to every forgotten god if you touched her—“

Eris gives him a disparaging look, holding up a finger, "I’ll stop you there, General.”

“Cass, look at me.” Azriel pulls his attention back. “Listen, I’ve got a letter that explains everything, okay? Nesta is safe, she’s okay.” 

Azriel slowly reaches into his leathers to retrieve the letter Nesta penned last night. The only thing Cassian seems to absorb is Azriel’s confirmation that not only did he help her escape, he's still in contact with her. 

Eris watches the expression on Cassian’s face turn molten in its fury and registers the exact moment he stopped listening to Azriel and made a decision. He’s barely twitched a muscle in Azriel’s direction when Eris throws a wall of fire between them with a deafening crack. The line barely separates him and Azriel from Rhys and Cassian, and he is pleased by his maneuvering to get him and Azriel on the side with the door. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to winnow a second time within the wards. 

At this, Rhys scowls, unflinching in the heat of Eris’ sudden flames, “Ah,” he says, “you’ve been keeping several secrets, shadowsinger.” 

Azriel looks at Eris, the helpless look on his face squeezing the air from his lungs. Eris looks back at him and tries to send his love and affection down the bond, but he knows that this moment is breaking his mate. Azriel has not asked him anything, but he dips his chin in a nod anyway, hoping Azriel understands it to mean Eris will follow his lead. A flash of gratitude in those deep hazel eyes, and he nods back slightly, turning back to his brothers. 

“Yes, Rhys. I have, but not the secrets you think.” Eris watches him take a deep breath, glancing at Eris once more before continuing, “Rhys, Eris is my mate.”

Eris straightens beside his mate, donning his most imperious expression. He stands quietly, arms lifted slightly, prepared to defend them both against whatever happens next.

---

Azriel

Azriel watched his brothers’ faces intently through the flames Eris had conjured between them. He was overwhelmed by the emotions loose within him, rattling around his mind noisily. This meeting had been one disaster after another, and now he was standing next to Eris, protected from his brothers by his mate’s flames, telling his brothers the secret he’d kept from them for centuries. 

Cassian was so focused on what he’d said about Nesta’s letter, Azriel wasn’t sure he’d even heard what he said about Eris. Cassian was close enough to Eris’ flame that Azriel could see the beads of sweat dripping down his face as he glared through the fire at Azriel. 

“Give it to me, Az.” he pointed to where Azriel had pulled the letter out and now held it in his hand. 

“It’s for Feyre,” Eris snapped. 

Azriel shot him a look. The situation, which had been building for weeks, had been on the edge of salvageable and had just tipped in the wrong direction. He knew his mate’s attitude, and it could only escalate this fragile scene. 

Rhys’ expression nearly matched Cassian’s in anger. His brothers were furious; he’d lied to them not just about Nesta but about Eris. He had been keeping secrets and now they were out in the open. 

Rhys composed himself first. “How long?” He asked cooly. 

Cassian was just now catching up, and Azriel watched his expression sour as he looked between Azriel and Eris. 

He swallowed, “400 years.” Azriel went with the truth; no use denying it now that he’d let it out. 

Cassian was hot-headed and easily read; it had always been easy to spot his emotions. Rhys, however, had perfected his composure, only showing what he wanted you to see, never caught off guard. But at this, his face had paled as he opened and closed his mouth. It was a nervous habit he’d developed as a boy, when his words hadn't quite caught up with his mouth. He'd schooled it away centuries ago, but it slipped through in intimate moments. Even now, as he glowered at Azriel, he could see that little boy in him, the one who would show his uncertainty and be vulnerable with him and Cass. 

Pieces of his heart were breaking off and drifting away from him as the chasm between them widened. No one spoke as Eris lowered his flames but did not extinguish them.

"You’ve had a mate for four hundred years?” Cassian boomed, waving an incredulous arm toward Eris. “And it's fucking Eris Vanserra?”

“Careful, Cass.” Azriel defended, and Rhys, pulling himself together, laughed sharply. 

“You’ve been fucking Eris godsdamn Vanserra this whole time,” he laughed again, “Mother above.” he threw his arms out, the look in his eye turning hysterical. 

Azriel deflated further. This wasn’t how he wanted to have this conversation. He wanted it to be a meaningful moment of intimacy between brothers, where he opened up the deepest parts of his heart and let them look inside to see his love and how happy it made him. Not this angry, confusing, violent mess. Not when his brothers were both coming undone with concerns for their own mates. He wanted this to be different.

But it wasn’t, and he would not let them disrespect Eris this way. 

For years, he’d grit his teeth and said nothing when they made their jokes at Eris’ expense and whipped each other into a vacuumous frenzy about the things they thought they knew about him. He’d said nothing because he was protecting a secret. But that secret was out now, and he would defend his mate above all else. 

“I am not fucking him, Rhysand. He’s my mate,” his deep voice firm, widening his wings in a defensive pose. 

In the light of this revelation, they’d both forgotten about Nesta for the moment. Cassian’s fury had slowed into something different, something more painful. He was hurt. Rhys, however, had not yet banked his incredulity.

Rhys looked at Eris. "This is low, Eris, even for you," he spat.

Azriel quickly realized where this was going and shook his head fiercely before his mate could fan the flames. "Rhys, it isn't like that. We have a life together, we love each other."

Rhys scoffed, looking back at Azriel, "What does he know, Azriel?" Rhys' brows were nearly touching in their scowl, "he's been fucking you for information for four centuries, what the fuck does he know?"

Azriel balked; his loyalty to his court, to his family, was his most tremendous honor. His life. He'd sacrificed irretrievable parts of himself to protect his court. The idea that he would betray his brother was sickening.

"Rhys," he breathed out, but Rhys just laughed darkly again, opening his mouth to speak.

Eris raised his flames, "I wouldn't if I were you, Rhysand," he warned in a low voice.

Azriel looked at his mate. He could sense that Eris was livid and fighting desperately to control his instincts as flames swirled up his legs and arms, sparks crackling from his fingertips.

Rhys took another step forward, his own dark magic sliding out towards Eris. Azriel recognized the look of Rhysand calculating before coming to a decision. 

Before he could intervene, Rhys pointed a finger at Eris, “You,” he said, overtly threatening, “get the fuck out of my court. Whatever deal you struck with Keir, it’s over. Any alliance between you and my court is nullified. You step foot in this court again, it will be seen as an act of aggression from the Autumn Court.”

Azriel moved between them as the heat from Eris’ flames intensified, waves of it rippling out into the room. 

“Rhys, you can't be serious.” He kept his voice calm, but his heart was twisting painfully inside his chest, his throat still aching from Cassian’s powerful hold just moments ago. 

Rhys looked at Azriel with an expression so cold he felt its icy tendrils shiver down his spine. This was not his brother, the boy he grew up with and cherished, the male he’d sworn his oaths to and spent his entire life protecting and serving. This was the Rhysand other courts feared. The one the Court of Nightmares cowered from. This was the full might of his High Lord, and he was helpless beneath its weight. Rhys lowered his hands and tucked them behind his back, face set. 

“Spymaster, you are relieved of duty, effective immediately. You are exiled from this court under investigation. Suppose I find that this relationship,” his lip curled at this, “has compromised the security of my court or its people, that confidential or proprietary Night Court information was shared with rival courts, thereby risking its safety and its people, you will be charged with treason against the Night Court.”

Azriel thought perhaps time suspended around him. His body was frozen as he stared at his brother. He glanced at Cassian, who had turned to Rhys, a similar look of shock on his face. The room was silenced by the rush of blood pounding in his ears. He felt the room shift beneath him as everything he understood about the world unraveled around him. Eris was watching closely, his face unreadable. Cassian spoke first. 

“Rhys, wait—“

“No, Cassian. He’s treated in secret with the heir apparent of another court for 400 years. I have no idea what's been divulged. He's a compromised asset and a threat to my court. By his own admission, he has kidnapped and hidden the sister of his high lady. He will leave this court and he will not return until my investigation is complete.”

“Rhys, what about Nesta?” Cassian argued, his voice uncertain. 

“Nesta,” he looked between Azriel and Eris, “will be returned unharmed. To kidnap a member of a high lord's family is an act of war.”

Azriel could barely hold himself up as the world fell in and out of focus. He distantly heard Eris’ voice speaking in an authoritative tone. He pulled himself into the present in time to watch Eris shift from enraged to calculating.

Eris stood straight, his expression becoming that of Autumn’s fearsome Heir. Eris had tucked his rage into that compartment within him and now commanded the attention of the room. Azriel felt a sliver of relief through his chest as he trusted that Eris, powerful and cunning Eris, had taken control. 

“Nesta Archeron left this court of her own accord. She’s written her sister, your high lady, such just last night.”

Eris snatched the letter from Azriel’s limp hand and floated it to Cassian on a wave of magic. 

"You’ll see here that she’s chosen to break ties with Night permanently.” 

Cassian tore open the letter and scanned it, turning back to Eris. “It doesn’t say where she is,” he accused. 

“No,” Eris agreed. 

Cassian growled, “Well, where is she?”

“I am not a courier, Cassian. I do not serve you or your court. Nesta has provided the information she wishes you to have. Whatever she's omitted, she had her reasons.” 

Azriel had not moved or spoken. The word ‘exile’ was the only thought in his head. He felt Eris approach him slowly and place a warm hand on his forearm where he’d held out Nesta’s letter. At the contact, Azriel tore his gaze from Rhysand and met Eris' eye. He saw Eris’ expression darken as he took in the confusion and pain in his eyes. Setting his jaw, Eris faced Rhys once more. 

“Unfortunately, our alliance is bound by bargain magic, Rhysand. You designed it yourself.”

Rhys crossed his arms with a chilling look as Eris continued, “We are both bound by the magic of the bargain. However, I am willing, under the circumstances, to amend terms of our agreement.”

He kept his hand on Azriel’s arm, applying gentle, reassuring pressure as he spoke. 

“You will not share any knowledge of our mating bond or relationship with Beron or other courts,” he paused, eyes narrowed to slits, “Azriel retains Night Court citizenship and all the rights and responsibilities thereof on the condition that he only enter its borders with invitation or approval from his high lord or lady, he will be permitted unfettered correspondence with his mother. The Night Court shall transfer any funds he has banked here to an account in Summer, and he will be released from any oaths sworn to this court.”

Rhysand scoffed, “Is that all?”

Eris brushed past his dismissive tone. “In exchange, I will continue to share information regarding my father's movements, Queen Brialynn, or Koschei, and I will support any movements the night court makes against Brialynn or Koschei." Eris pauses here to consider. Azriel feels his quick mind calculating before he speaks again.

"I will release Night from any obligation to support my bid for high lord with the expectation of maintained secrecy. I will also cede free access to Hewn City, but all previously negotiated trade agreements stand.”

Azriel barely followed the conversation, numb with shock. He had not moved since sharing a glance with Eris, and now his eyes rested on his mate’s pointed ear as he negotiated with Rhysand. 

Rhysand appeared to consider, his features sharp in the flickering fire Eris maintained between them. 

“Nesta will visit her sister in person as a gesture of goodwill. She will remain a citizen of Night and hold the responsibilities of her post under my purview.”

Azriel slid his gaze to Cassian, who was staring back at him. They shared a dumbfounded look. They seemed to be the only ones in the room affected by this abrupt upheaval of everything Azriel had ever known. It was clinical the way Rhys and Eris negotiated his rights back and forth, like a contested inventory. It was surreal to feel his inner walls collapsing into ruin while his mate and his brother discussed him in formal tones. 

Eris shook his head. “Nesta is not my concern. I have no authority over her or her allegiances. You see from her letter that she left of her own free will. Any bargain you wish to make for her return to Night will have to be with her directly.”

Rhys narrowed his eyes but nodded his agreement, “You have no authority over any citizens of my court; you will negotiate Azriel’s privileges and restrictions but not Nesta’s?”

“Azriel is my mate,” Eris seethed, “we are cauldron bound.”

Rhysand smirked offensively, “Fine. Then you will ensure unrestricted communication between Nesta and her court, whenever you have her stashed, and you will not prohibit her return. This court maintains a duty to its citizens and will not forfeit its right to search for missing court members."

They went back and forth, discussing terms in agonizing detail. Eris’ hand never left his arm, and the steady flow of affection continued down the bond. Eventually, Eris gently asked Azriel if he agreed to the bargain terms, and Azriel nodded a hollow nod, uncaring what he agreed to and trusting Eris would have protected him with his clever mind. 

Azriel felt a zip of magic across his mate's skin as the new bargain inked itself onto his body. Rhys turned to Azriel and repeated the terms of import. Azriel nodded his agreement once more and felt his skin sting at the magic bond. 

Eris turned back to Azriel now. He knew he must look forlorn and sorrowful, but all he felt was cold, painful emptiness. Eris squeezed his arm. Cassian had staggered back and appeared unsteady as he took in the room. Rhysand stepped forward with his high lord mask firmly in place, nothing left of his brother in that moment. 

“You disappoint me, brother.” He had the gall to look hurt. 

Eris snarled as he whipped toward Rhysand, “You were supposed to look after each other," he snapped. "You broke this bond, Rhysand. You have no further claim on my mate and you will not address him again.” Shaking his head in disgust, he turned back to Azriel, his expression softening instantly.

“My heart,” he whispered low enough for only Azriel, raising a hand to his cheek, neither caring if his brothers witnessed their affection now.

Azriel met his eye and felt his knees buckle. Eris swiftly pulled him in with an arm around his waist and winnowed away in a snap, sparing one last contemptuous look to the room as they disappeared.

---

Azriel’s memory was sharp. It was his gift and he had trained it over hundreds of years, honed it into a weapon. It was a tool he relied on to piece together complex secrets and political puzzles over time; a skill he could employ to protect his family or sway court movements. His mind was a deep branching library of extracted secrets and knowledge gathered in shadows. It was tended meticulously, sealed tight against loss or degradation.

He had in his vault perfectly preserved memories that could shatter alliances, humiliate and incriminate lords and ladies, even bring down entire courts. He was methodical in his handling of this vast well of knowledge he maintained. Carefully planning and tracking who knew what, where information came from, who needed it, and what its price would be. It was a deep crevasse only he could navigate.

It was within this crevasse that he kept the pristine and untouched memory of a broken whisper through his mind: his brother’s voice frantically explaining what Amarantha had done before he and his family were sealed under impenetrable wards. This memory lives in his bones with such grotesque clarity that he can still feel the heat of panic rising through him, stinging his skin and eyes, the rush of blood that clouded his vision as he listened helplessly to his brother's charged words. The way Rhys’ voice had grown distant as his power faded.

This memory sits under his skin like a second layer. As much a part of him as his blood and flesh. The moment he realized Eris would’ve been under the mountain, too. The crack that formed in his chest at the thought of his mate under Amarantha’s thrall.

He could replay ad Infinitum the slickness of blood from his hands and shoulders as he threw his body against the unyielding wards over and over—the sharp acrid smell of burning flesh as he nearly shredded his wings to fly through them. The skin of his throat cracked dry and raw as his anguish tore out of him in endless howling cries into the Velaris stars. The grief and loss so searing and unrelenting it finally drove him to his battered knees in a thunderous crash that leveled a copse of trees where he fell. The sorrow of being helpless and alone pushed him to the ground as he heaved into dirt.

From the reaches of his ancient cache of memories, he’d known that fragile haunting loneliness only one other time, as a scared boy in a dark cage.

---

As the warmth of Eris’ magic faded, Azriel crumbled. It seemed that his bones and muscles, the blood and sinew that held him together, had disappeared, leaving him hollowed out. His legs gave out and his body lurched out of his control. He fell into Eris, who tucked an arm around his waist and guided him to the floor, shushing him gently all the way. Azriel’s face was pressed into Eris’s chest, his mouth pushed slightly open, eyes blank. His wings draped around him like a shroud. Eris rocked him slowly on the floor of their cabin, pressing his love and warmth down the bond as he soothed Azriel with soft hands through his hair and down his back and arms.

Time continued around him, but he felt nothing as Eris continued his steadfast murmurs and soft stroking. His eyes tracked the sun’s descent across the Autumn sky through the window, and when it tipped finally out of his view, he tilted his head up to look at his mate.

“My heart,” Eris whispered, his voice cracking as he cradled Azriel’s head in his loving hands.

Azriel wanted to scream; he wanted to beg or bargain away this gaping emptiness, to forget what his brother had ripped out of him and tossed aside. The awareness that what he’d always known to be eternal and unwavering could be torn from the walls and ceilings of the first home he'd ever known. His desperation was needle pricks across his skin, and he clenched his fists against its incessant sharpness, an explosive rush of anguish sweeping through him. His heart was collapsing and all he could do was stare up into the worried eyes of his love.

He felt his hands begin to shake where they held Eris’s shirt.

“Oh, my love,” Eris pulled him closer, gently rocking him once more. He slipped back into that vacant timeless void and let his limp body sway against Eris, his shadows shivering in the folds of his wings.

When Azriel finally noticed his body again, his knees ached from where he’d knelt in Eris' hold. Moving him gently, Eris kept one arm around Azriel’s shoulder and leaned slightly to slip the other under his knees. He lifted them both off the ground with ease and carried Azriel to the bed. Azriel remained silent as he worked to steady his hands. He watched Eris numbly as he removed his boots before moving to his leathers until Azriel was in his shorts. He guided a compliant Azriel back onto the bed against the headboard, adjusting his wings with care, before removing his clothes and climbing in next to him.

He tucked the blankets around them and pulled Azriel toward him until he was curled against Eris’s chest, his wings laid out limply behind him, with Eris’s arm tightly around him. He kissed Azriel’s head softly, stroking his hair in a steady soothing motion.

“I’m here, my heart. I will not leave.”

His brother had rejected him, told him he was unworthy and troublesome, that he was not worth fighting for. Had accused him of forsaking his homeland, betraying his people. Rhys had banished him from his home and his family, stripped him of the title he’d held with honor for centuries. Everything, his life, was gone. He was lost in the knowledge that his brother no longer claimed him, that Cassian had not fought for him. He had no family left.

Eris reached a steady hand into Azriel’s chest, torn open, and wrapped his fingers around the pulse of his pain. Without a word, he held it gently and let it settle over him, that he might share some of its terrible weight. Gratitude flooded Azriel as he was swept into that pendulum of past and present sorrow, his love by his side.

He felt the pathways of his blade-sharp memories converge. A new path emerged, already rocky and overgrown, and he let it swallow him up into that clawing and terrible loneliness. For the third time in his 500 years, he felt the dark insidious ache settle into his brittle core. The familiarity of it finally broke him, and holding tightly against Eris, Azriel wept.

---

Eris

It had been a week since he’d watched his mate’s whole world stripped away from him by the impetuous hands of his brother. That first night, Eris held his love as he broke against his chest again and again. The image of Azriel choking for air under Cassian’s brutal grip had been startling and haunting. But the furious sorrow, his tearful aching misery, the mottled sobs of his grief, would forever echo within him.

Eris had strained with incredible focus to maintain a steady hold on his mate as violent waves of misery shredded him apart down the bond. As it peaked in the early hours of the morning, Eris had struggled to breathe around its suffocating invasion. His love was unmoored in his pain, and Eris was helpless to soothe him.

He’d held Azriel until he fell asleep, their skin sticky, wet from tears and hot breath. When he had finally drifted from consciousness, Eris breathed a sigh of relief that his mate might experience some respite from his darkness in the clutches of sleep. His sleep was restless, and Eris did not relinquish his hold for a second.

He kept his post, a grave-faced sentry to Azriel’s despair, until the sun had risen halfway through the sky the following day.

In the days that followed, he’d been unable to rouse Azriel from the bed. Three times a day, he delivered and then carried away full plates of food and warm mugs of tea. Untouched, hardly even noticed. He held his disconsolate mate through each night and attempted to coax him up each day. Azriel did not speak, did not move, or react to Eris’ increasingly concerned pleas.

Eris knew he was pushing his luck, staying away from the Forest House this long. He could not bring himself to leave Azriel alone in his bereavement. As the days stretched on and Azriel showed no signs of rejoining the world, Eris became desperate. He risked everything he'd been building in Autumn by remaining, but risked his mate's safety and security by leaving.

On the seventh day since bringing Azriel home, he sat gloomily in his study pushing papers around his desk. A quick flicker of light and he watched a folded parchment drift down into his open hand. Lucien. He laughed aloud at the relief that flooded him at his name scrawled in his brother's familiar curve.

Brother,

Reports are grim from the north. I will return south in two days with details.

L

Eris nodded his approval to the letter in front of him. Two days. He would make his excuses to the court for two more days, and when Lucien arrived, they would formulate a plan. Azriel had always adored Lucien; perhaps his perky energy and easy humor would lift his dampened spirits.

Eris wrote out a quick reply instructing Lucien where to meet him in Beyrih and shot it into the flame of his magic. Allowing his shoulders to slump in an uncharacteristic moment of defeat, he gathered himself once more. He stood, shaking out his sleeve and forcing that sneaky shadow into his hand.

"You," he looked down at its gentle movements in his cupped palm, "no more secrets between you and I, little shade. You will watch over him and you will alert me if he needs me," he instructed with squinted eyes.

His demands made, he watched it spin into a small whirlwind in his hand before slithering back into his sleeve. He had no idea how the shadows worked, if this request was even possible. Assuming the shadow's movements indicated agreement, Eris nodded to the empty room once more and strode for the door.

Plating a simple lunch for his love, he carried it to the bedroom. He set it on the bedside table and leaned down to run his fingers through Azriel's hair where he slept quietly. Azriel opened his eyes slightly and looked up but did not speak. Eris gave him a small smile, curling his fingers to run his knuckles softly across his mate's cheek.

"My heart," he murmured, "lunch?" He gestured to the plate. Azriel made no move toward it. He knelt by the bed and leaned down to rest his head against Azriel's shoulder. He kept his steady flow of adoration and hope drifting down the bond as he left soft kisses across Azriel's skin, carding through his mussed curls gently.

"Lucien will come in two days, my heart."

Azriel said nothing, just blinked up at him—his strong, ferocious, protective, lively mate. Eris swallowed the pieces of his breaking heart and crossed to the chair he'd pulled up to the bedside. He lifted the book from the cushion and sat, opening to his bookmarked page. As Azriel continued his lifeless blinking, Eris picked up where they'd left off at breakfast— reading aloud as his love listened quietly.

Chapter 12

Summary:

Last week: Azriel had a falling out in the NC, Eris stepped in, Azriel was very sad and emotional when Eris brought him back to Autumn, Lucien announced an upcoming visit

This week: Nesta and Gwyn have some domestic moments before exploring the village and meeting some residents, some house hunting, Lucien arrives in Autumn.

Feat. More gay pining, annoyed Nesta, some hound fluff, Eris having a one-track mind when it comes to Azriel

Nesta

Waking slowly the next morning, Nesta kept her eyes squeezed shut. She could feel that she and Gwyn had shifted closer in the night, their hands still clasped between them. Their bodies touched from shoulders to toes, and Nesta's skin tingled warmly along the side that pressed against Gwyn. She turned her head and peeked one eye open, startling when she found Gwyn already awake and staring right at her.

Gwyn blushed, looking away, "I just woke up."

"Me too," Nesta offered lamely.

After a few uncomfortable moments, Nesta pulled her hand away from Gwyn's and sat up with a wide stretch. Gwyn sat up next to her and looked around the room. Nesta dropped her arms into her lap and watched Gwyn's eyes track the several portraits around the room. She remembered she had her own guard dog she had not introduced Gwyn to.

"Gwyn, do you like dogs? Hounds?" She asked.

Gwyn gave her a cautious look, "yes," she said, almost a question.

Nesta grinned and slid out of the blankets and off the bed. She held out a hand to Gwyn, "come on, there's someone you've got to meet," she said vaguely.

Gywn looked at her curiously but reached out to take her hand, slipping from the bed to follow Nesta. Nesta led Gwyn down the stairs to the living room they'd had tea in the previous night. She walked them over the the sofa and sat them down, thighs dangerously close to touching again. Gwyn looked around the room, landing on the archway leading to the front door.

"Should we… be dressed?" She asked shyly, looking down at their nightgowns.

Nesta shook her head, "It's not that kind of meeting," she smiled a broad happy smile.

Gwyn watched her closely, brows drawn, as Nesta reached an arm out in front of her and snapped her fingers in a brief pattern. They glanced around the room. She reached her arm back out, preparing to snap the pattern Aurie had taught her, when a thin stream of dark gray smoke slid across the floor ahead of them.

The gray smoke billowed and plumed as it crept towards them, morphing incorporeally until an enormous sleek-furred hound materialized in front of them with an inelegant sneeze. Gwyn jumped backed, ducking behind Nesta.

"It's okay, Gwyn. This is Missy. She's responsible for me," she quipped as she reached out to scratch the large animal with her fingernails.

Missy leaned into her touch, her tail wagging where she sat on the carpeted floor.

"How does she— what is she?" Gwyn asked, peeking around Nesta's shoulder.

Nesta laughed, "She's a smoke hound. One of Eris', apparently he breeds and raises them here in Autumn."

Gwyn kept half her body tucked behind Nesta as she reached an uncertain hand out towards Missy.

"Yes, that's right. They're unique to Autumn, they can't be bred or traded to other courts," Gwyn said, "I've read about you," she added, addressing the hound.

Missy sniffed her fingers curiously before accepting her affection. She stayed with the two females, indulgently enjoying their attention, before turning back to the bed Aurie kept in the corner. Gwyn and Nesta watched her settle, her form coming in and out of visibility as she laid her head between her massive paws with a sigh.

"Nes dear, why do you have one of Eris Vanserra's hounds?" Gwyn asked, sitting back from where she'd leaned behind Nesta.

Nesta was not sure why Eris had left one of his coveted hounds with her. From the art in the bedroom she occupied, Missy was not just coveted, but beloved by the Autumn prince. Enough that he'd commissioned several portraits of her.

"Eris was the one who brought me here, to Beyrih. Aurie said the night I arrived, he told her he would leave Missy to keep me safe." She explained. "She comes and goes, though I don't know where she goes when she does. But if I snap like this," Nesta repeated the pattern with her fingers, "she just… appears."

Gwyn watched Missy's eyes drift shut across the room, satisfied by this answer. She stood slowly and twisted in a languorous stretch before offering her hand to Nesta, as Nesta had before, "Tea?"

Nesta took her soft hand and allowed herself to be pulled from the sofa. She did not release Nesta's hand as she led them to the kitchen. She walked Nesta over to the table and pulled out a chair, guiding her into it.

"It's my turn to make the tea," she said airily.

Nesta watched the dark blue hem of her silky nightgown brush across the floor as Gwyn swept around the kitchen. The soft fabric pulled against her long legs, thin shadows forming where it shifted across her skin.

Autumn's adoring sun brightened across the delicate skin of her shoulders, so rarely exposed. The space was small, but Gwyn's graceful movements made it feel spacious, as though it responded to her presence.

Gwyn fiddled with the tea set, unaware of Nesta's attentive eye. She frowned at the teapot, whose lid would not shift into its notch. Nesta watched with wholesome delight as Gwyn bent over to inspect the dishware from a lower angle, her elbow sticking up as she tinkered.

Nesta cleared her throat and Gwyn looked at her under her raised arm, her head tilted sideways. It was impossibly charming and Nesta nearly forgot why she'd called for Gwyn's attention.

Blinking twice, she pointed at the tray, "I think that's the top to the sugar. You've swapped them," she said with a sheepish smile.

Gwyn stood, her frown deepening. She snorted as she swapped them back and they dropped into place.

"What would I do without you, Nesta Archeron," she said cheerily, carrying the tray over to the table.

They sipped their tea together and made a plan for their day. Nesta worked hard to hide the smile threatening to reveal itself with every word, so taken with the simple moment of enjoying their tea and planning a shared day.

The plan they devised was simple: Nesta would show Gwyn around the village and they would look for somewhere they might live more permanently. After separating briefly to dress for the day, they met back at the door. Gwyn in her blue priestess robes and Nesta in a simple forest green dress of thick wool. Both nodding briefly to Missy, they stepped into the mid-morning of Beyrih.

The fae of the village were bustling about happily as they wandered the pathways to the bakery. Nesta insisted it should be their first stop, excited to share it with her friend. The fae here were warm and welcoming, some of them recognized Nesta and stopped to say good morning.

As they walked, Nesta explained what she knew of the Beyrih to Gwyn, who listened carefully and nodded along.

"When I was first brought to the library, I researched other sanctuaries for people like me. I wasn't sure I could stay in the Night Court after…" she glanced away into warm hues of the Autumn forest lining their path.

She shook her head,"I thought I might want to leave."

She continued, "Anyway, I never found anything. If anyone in Night knows about Beyrih, it's not documented." She tilted her head in thought, "I wonder if every court has something like this. A place just for fae who need a place."

Nesta watched her as they walked, scanning her face and posture, "I've only been to Night and here. And the High Lord's meeting I suppose, but I was only in the palace there."

Gwyn nodded, slipping her arm through Nesta's. Nesta continued glancing over at her periodically, assessing for any discomfort or fear but finding none. She was prepared to return Gwyn to the safety of Aurie's cabin at a moments notice. She had said as much enough times before leaving that Gwyn had laughed and teased her for being a mother hen. Still, Nesta kept a living map in her head as they walked, always plotting the quickest routes back just in case.

They walked the rest of the way in easy silence until they arrived in the village square. Nesta pointed out what she knew, the dining hall, the sewing shop, the odd cafe or mercantile. Nesta brought them to a stop in front of the bakery with a sunny grin. She pushed the door open and ushered Gwyn in ahead of her.

The baker, moving around the open kitchen jovially, welcomed them over her shoulder. Nesta called back a familiar greeting, having visited several times in her short span here. The baker stopped when she recognized Nesta's voice and turned to her with a smile. Her smile broadened when she noticed Gwyn.

"You must be Nesta's Dearest Gwyn," she chirped.

Nesta gave the baker an exasperated look, turning away to hide her embarrassment at the exposure. She had, in fact, mentioned her hope that Gwyn would be here soon to several fae in the village, and was now regretting her uncharacteristic candor.

Gwyn avoided her eye and nodded politely to the baker, introducing herself. Gwyn gave Nesta a fluttery feeling in her chest she could not explain, she felt compelled to bring her up in conversation— looking for reasons to talk about her. Private to a point of concern, facing the inevitable result of such openness was deeply unsettling.

Nesta tried to shake it off and steel herself back into the public mask that only Gwyn's presence could undermine. She pointed at several pastries in the display she'd been generously sampling on her friend's behalf since arriving. Nesta took the bag of pastries from the baker, frowning at her knowing wink, and hurried from the store with Gwyn right behind her.

Gwyn smiled her most mischievous smile as they settled in a grassy patch of sun in the middle of the village square. Nesta eyed her with a groan as she pulled the pastries from the bag and flattened it into a make-shift tray to place them on.

"Yes?" she asked with a raised brow.

"I'm just curious how many fae here were expecting me when I wasn't even expecting myself," she said, reaching for a buttery golden bun with bright red fruits baked into its soft crust.

Nesta tried to hide her smile, "They're very interested in your research," she hedged, "the Valkyries." She looked back, pleased with her redirection when Gwyn's face brightened.

"They know about the Valkyrie?" She asked excitedly, chewing her sweet bun.

"They will," Nesta replied, selecting a flaky golden pastry with chocolates melted across the rounded top.

Gwyn laughed, turning her face to the sun, trapping Nesta the gravitational pull of shadows contrasting the smooth skin of her face. The sounds of metal clanging and colliding drew Gwyn's attention, she turned towards the large dining hall at the other end of the square. Gwyn frowned, turning to Nesta in question.

"They have a training ring here. Some of the fae gather in the mornings to practice together." She explained blandly, looking the direction of the ring and picturing Jay's unfriendly face.

Gwyn, unfortunately, perked up at this, "That's right! You were there yesterday! have you been training?" She asked.

Nesta shook her head, "You haven't met the female who runs it. She's awful Gwyn, rude for absolutely no reason."

She frowned again when the cornflower blooms of Gwyn's blue eyes turned towards her hopefully. Gwyn bit her lip and raised her brows in Nesta's direction, nodding conspicuously towards the sounds. She sighed, gathering their half-eaten pastries into the bag and placing them in her satchel.

"Come on then," she smiled, "I'll introduce you. Don't let her get to you though, Gwyn. She's just… like that, it's not you," she said fiercely, already preparing the barbed steel of her sharp tongue in case Jay even started to upset her brave friend.

Gwyn clapped her hands together and jumped up. Her enthusiasm energized Nesta somewhat and she gathered her skirts to stand, nodding towards the dining hall as she breathed deeply. Gwyn tipped the hood of her robe up shyly as they walked and Nesta's shoulders straightened at the movement. Gwyn was enthused about training, Nesta would cut down anyone who attempted to hamper that excitement. Raising her guard, she led them around the side of the dining hall to where she knew the training ring was positioned out back.

Rounding the corner, her eyes met Jay's immediately. The prickly tension between them missed Gwyn entirely, she held her hands in front of her chest and watched the assortment of faeries move through parries and jabs with practice swords. Nesta kept keen eye on Jay as she pulled Gwyn around the side of the ring to where she was monitoring her trainees.

Jay, perched on the wooden railing of the enclosure, did not acknowledge her until Nesta cleared her throat loudly. Turning with a sullen look, Jay gave her a terse nod before her gaze shifted to Gwyn. Nesta bristled at her assessing stare but Gwyn smiled gently, pulling back her hood. As it slid down her bright red hair, settling at her back, Nesta watched with growing annoyance as Jay's expression noticeably softened.

Scowling, she cleared her throat again, "Jay, this is my friend Gwyn. We've been training together in Night, I wanted to show her the ring." She remained stiff as she watched Jay hop down from the ring and saunter toward them.

Jay had the closest thing to a smile Nesta imagined she could summon across her lips, and it rankled her further to see it. Jay pointedly ignored Nesta as she approached Gwyn, reaching a hand out to her. Gwyn offered her own and Nesta looked on peevishly as Jay took Gwyn's hand gently, bowing respectfully, "Welcome to Beyrih, my lady," she said smoothly. "My name is Jay. I run the training groups and the kitchens here."

Gwyn smiled sweetly and tilted forward in a shallow bow of her own, "lovely to meet you, Jay," she agreed.

Nesta's sharp glare was narrowed in on Jay's large callused hand, which had not yet released Gwyn's.

"You are of Autumn, my lady?" Her tone more gentle than Nesta was accustomed to. She watched Jay like a hawk as she ran a hand through her cropped hair, looking down kindly at Gwyn.

Gwyn tilted her head to the side, "I— yes, my grandfather," she answered, "I think."

She pulled her hand back and turned towards the training ring. "Is it open to all?" She asked, nodding towards the still-practicing fae.

Jay smiled proudly, "All who wish to attend," she said, following Gwyn's gaze. "You're welcome to join any time, we start after breakfast. People come as their schedule allows until lunch."

Gwyn looked to Nesta and raised her brows again, nodding her head towards the ring, imploring Nesta with her terribly persuasive grin. Nesta gave her a small smile and a shallow nod in return.

She looked at Jay who, who was calling out to someone in the ring with a brief form correction before turning back to Nesta and Gwyn.

"Perhaps tomorrow, we'll come after breakfast," Nesta said.

Jay gave her an unimpressed look but nodded, turning back to Gwyn.

"Please do," she said. Nesta clenched her fists at the warmth in her tone.

She reached for Gwyn's elbow and pulled her away, nodding in affirmation to Jay who simply raised a brow at her and turned back to her instruction. She led them back out towards the village square as Gwyn chattered happily about learning a new training style and how she'd worried her form would suffer after leaving Night. Nesta had no interest in sharing her precious mornings with Gwyn, certainly not with the dour female who had taken such an immediate liking to her.

Nesta could not blame her for it, she was very familiar with the ethereal pull of the beautiful priestess, but she did not like it all the same. But, she'd promised herself that she would make Beyrih a place Gwyn could feel happy, at home, and if that meant training with Jay then she would do it for her.

They wandered around, snacking on their remaining treats, until the sun peaked in the sky and they decided they'd explored enough for one day. As they moved through the speckled sunlight of Autumn's bright canopies, the soft light and cool breeze faded her earlier annoyance as she listened to Gwyn's observations about Beyrih.

"Jay was lovely, and she looks very well trained— I thought she was friendly," she said.

Nesta pursed her lips, "A fluke," she said flatly, "I've never seen her like that with anyone except Aurie."

Gwyn snorted, "I'm sure it has nothing to do with the way you act like she might catch you on fire."

Nesta whipped her head towards Gwyn in outrage, "I've met her several times and she's never said so many words to me as she did to you just now. I've been perfectly pleasant," she huffed.

Gwyn nodded with a smirk, "Now that Jay and I are such good friends, I'll put in a good word for you," she teased.

Nesta shook her head amicably and shifted the conversation away from Jay.

Instead, they talked about the different places they'd been today and what they might like a new home to look like. There was a small lake nestled in a crop of evergreens between Aurie's cabin and the village that Gwyn was drawn to. Nesta had never lived near water as a child, and had avoided it since being Made. Only for Gwyn, she agreed to inquire with Aurie about the area.

Arriving back at Aurie's cabin they set about preparing lunch and catching each other up on their weeks apart. Nesta listened excitedly as Gwyn explained her and Merrill's recent research on a Valkyrie ribbon ceremony they'd found in an ancient text. Gwyn had been ecstatic in her explanation, jumping in the air with an arcing arm to mimic the slicing motion of a sword as she walked Nesta through its significance. Gwyn wondered aloud if Jay knew anything about it. Nesta just nodded primly and said she did not know what Jay might know.

They ate quietly and then moved to the sitting room where Missy returned to lay across their feet, warming their bare toes as they laid back against the cushions. Looped around each other in their private way, they whimsied the day away in shared fantasies of Valkyrie triumphs and easy lakeside mornings.

It was a peace Nesta's heart shied away from, that wicked voice in her head insisting it was not deserved. But she breathed carefully through the heat that rose up her throat at the thought and let her lovely friend's lilting voice carry her into the shared universe they were creating. It was theirs alone and Nesta was pleased beyond measure to design it with her dearest Gwyn.

---

The next several days passed just as peacefully as the first had. Nesta begrudgingly joined training sessions with Gwyn found she did not dislike Jay's instructional style as much as she disliked Jay.

Despite her initial trepidation, she fell back into the routine and enjoyed the familiarity of it. While the instruction was similar, the approach to training in Beyrih was different than what she'd experienced in Velaris. For one, it's was open to all, not just females.

She'd continued monitoring Gwyn closely for signs of discomfort. While she would occasionally shy away from unfamiliar faces, and always positioned herself at the back corner of the ring with Nesta as a buffer, she had not shown any outward distress Nesta could detect. Nesta was happy to act as a barrier between Gwyn and the others, she would've taken up the post even if Gwyn had not initiated it.

Aside from the mix of fae who participated, it was a more relaxed schedule. Jay ran through a series of exercises that repeated on certain days; sword fighting one day, hand to hand combat training the next, a day of rest that was mostly stretches and breathing exercises, and so on. Residents could come and go, joining where they chose and opting out of what did not interest them. There was a smaller handful of fae that Jay kept on a stricter regimen, but that seemed to be voluntary rather than compulsory for admittance.

By the end of Gwyn's first week, Aurie had returned home. She greeted them both warmly, holding each of their hands in hers. Aurie acted as if she hadn't seen Nesta in months, despite only a handful of days having passed. Nesta felt an unexpected comfort knowing she'd been missed, that someone thought about her warmly when she was not present.

They ate like queens upon Aurie's return, with Aurie fussing over them cheerfully and always popping in with treats and snacks. Jay made an appearance near the end of the week to bring Aurie a steaming buttery pie, oozing with warm sugary fruits. They'd enjoyed it together around a soft fire in Aurie's living room.

From her perch beside Gwyn, Nesta watched the fire across from her flicker and glow. She thought about the frigid nights she'd spent in her Velaris apartment, the wood of Cassian's campfire snapping at her in the Illyrian mountains all those weeks ago. Studying the flames, she blinked as she realized there were no logs in the fireplace. The flames were steady and warm, and they looked as real as any flame she'd ever seen.

Waiting for a pause in the conversation, she looked to Aurie, "How does that work?" She pointed to the fire.

Aurie followed her finger to the fireplace, "Magic," she said.

Nesta narrowed her eyes at the golden flames. The increasingly helpful magic of this court was wearing down her defenses, her remaining human apprehension about fae magic fading quickly.

Aurie continued in a pleasant tone as Gwyn looked down to observe the flames, "Autumn magic is fire-born," she explained, "fae with fire magic can pull it from the earth, from the air, and tame it. Lord Eris has powerful magic, he keeps this, and a few others, lit."

Nesta placed her hands beside her on the sofa and leaned forward, closer to the flame, "like the standing wash," she said, almost to herself.

Aurie nodded in confirmation, "Yes, water comes from the land, same as fire. Elemental magic is fluid, intuitive. It responds to intention."

Nesta took this in, "Eris has water magic, too?" She had not heard of fae, besides her sister, carrying multiple types of magic.

"Not quite, dear, as first son of this court, his power is drawn from the magic of Autumn's abundance. In turn, her lands respond to the magic Lord Eris carries in his blood, grants him the gift of bending his magic in ways most other fae cannot. It is high fae magic."

Contemplative, looking for the right words, she continued, "for the wash, it's not really the water he manipulated, it's the land."

Nesta stared at the flames in wonder until Gwyn bumped their shoulders together, "are you alright?" She asks quietly.

Nesta smiled at her friend, nodding, "I didn't realize magic could be used this way," she said.

Aurie tilted her head, "it is a gift not many possess. Plenty in Autumn, like those of us without fire magic, burn wood in our fires. This cabin once belonged to Eris, many years ago, and he left this parcel of magic behind when he gifted it to me and my sisters."

Nesta looked back at Aurie with wide eyes, "This fire has been burning that long?"

"You'll have to ask Lord Eris how it sustains itself, I only know we've never known a cold winter since I arrived." She smiled appreciatively, fluttering her nearly-transparent wings behind her softly.

Aurie and Gwyn continued talking but Nesta's eyes did not leave the fireplace. The magic here felt different than the magic of Night. What she'd seen there had been cold, hard magic. Powerful, but rarely used in this way. Not just a weapon, but a tool.

Something about the magic of Autumn, its people, its wide skies and ancient forests, felt right to Nesta. She could even picture Elain here, kneeling in Aurie's garden beds, inspecting the medicinal herbs she grew in neat rows. The image made her smile, even as her heart ached at the thought of her sisters.

Elain was quietly contained in Night. Nesta knew she had been through her own trauma with the cauldron, the war, then the loss of their father. She'd watched her sister struggle to understand her new body and powers as much as Nesta did. It manifested differently in the two older sisters, but Nesta suspected Night was a difficult place for Elain, as it had been for her.

Elain had a quiet way of coping, a timid fawn to be herded and led, her shaky legs not yet strong enough to walk an independent path. Nesta had been heartbroken by Elain's participation in her confinement but now, she thought maybe Elain was just the more clever of the two. Perhaps she was trying to survive just as Nesta had, but rather than growing thorns, she'd grown soft petals. Night's inner circle feared Nesta because they did not want to be pricked; perhaps they feared Elain for the risk of her decay.

Nesta wondered idly if Elain could make a home here. If she too would enjoy the strange magic that lit instead of darkened. Calling her attention back, she felt another light jostle as Gwyn leaned against her again.

"What do you think, Nesta?" She was asking.

"Hm?" Nesta offered.

Gwyn laughed, "Aurie said she there's a cottage by the lake that might suit our needs," she repeated.

"It's small, but truly lovely. It's been empty for some time, it might need some repairs. But we can go look around tomorrow if you'd like," Aurie chimed in.

Gwyn clasped her hands together, "yes, let's go tomorrow and have a look."

With that settled, they cleared the pie and tea cups away together before saying goodnight to Aurie and following each other up the stairs. They'd continued sharing a bed even after Aurie returned home. Gwyn said she felt safer sharing a room and Nesta was more than happy to oblige. She would not admit it aloud, but each evening as they began their dinner preparations, Nesta's mind was already wandering several hours ahead— preparing for the moment Gwyn would slip her fingers between Nesta's under the blankets in a secret embrace.

After changing, they pulled the blankets down together. Climbing under the soft quilt silently, they scooted towards the center of the bed and pulled it up around them. They whispered their good nights into the air above them and Nesta blushed madly in the darkness as she anticipated her lovely friend's touch.

Instead of a warm hand sliding into her own, where it lay open between them, she felt Gwyn's fingers wrap around her wrist with a light tug. She peered at her friend, turned on her side, facing Nesta. Nesta moved to face her. She stared at her friend unblinking. Without thinking, she pulled Gwyn's hand to her lips and pressed a soft kiss to her warm skin. Gwyn let out a small hiccup of breath before shuffling forward on the bed. Nearly pressed together, Gwyn took her hand back and brushed back Nesta's hair. She did not dare move.

Her lovely friend held her gaze as she ran her hand slowly down Nesta's neck, her shoulder, her arm. Settling in the dip of her waist, Gwyn pulled her in closer. They were barely breathing. Nesta mirrored her movements with an arm around Gwyn's waist and they ran shy fingertips across each other's backs and arms over their gowns tentatively until they could not keep their eyes open a moment longer. They slept sharing breath between lips just inches apart.

---

The next morning over breakfast Aurie talked about the couple who had previously lived in the cottage they would visit today. It had been an older couple, forced to leave their home after the crops of their family farm were destroyed under Amarantha's rein and they could no longer afford the tax.

They'd apparently stayed in the cottage for close to 30 years before resettling in the Spring court when Prythian's curse was broken. When circumstances in the Spring Court became volatile, Eris had offered the cottage back to them, but they'd declined, choosing to stay with their children and help rebuild Tamlin's court. No one mentioned her sister's part in it, the curse breaking or the fall of Spring, but they all acknowledged it with uncomfortable glances.

"They were a sweet couple," Aurie was saying as she refocused, "I think would be happy to see the two of you fix up the old cottage." She was moving around the kitchen again, cleaning their dishes and setting them to dry.

"Alright," Aurie announced, "shall we?" She gestured to the door.

Gwyn nodded excitedly, "Let's," and she stood to pull on her boots.

Nesta followed and together they made their way out of the cabin and down the footpath. Aurie led them down a divergent path from the one they used to visit the village. As they walked, the foliage darkened, wide red and gold leaves shifting into thick branches of green needles. They walked across a soft bed of fallen pine needles until they reached the lake's edge. The water moved softly against the shore, small round ripples visible where little creatures bubbled up to the surface briefly to snatch a seedpod or a little insect dotting its surface. The dark green water reflected a mossy forest beneath the surface, nearly too dark to see. The rippling effect of the water made it appear like an inverse of the tall, full, evergreens around it's perimeter.

They watched the small waves wet the rocky shore for a few moments before Aurie pointed them towards a barely-visible cottage 30 paces back from the water's edge. It was a small plot with a dark wooden fence surrounding it. Soft green ivy grew up the fence and around its posts, a dusting of small white and yellow flowers blooming between the broad leaves. The cottage itself was a mismatch of large stones with a thatched roof, both covered in the same ivy as the fence. It was almost camouflaged in the green hues of the surrounding forest. A small path led to an outdoor seating area right before an inset door.

It reminded Nesta of a story-book cottage from human tales she'd read as a child. She took it in with nostalgic appreciation as Aurie led them up to the front door. Inside, the empty space was dusty from disuse, vines growing through open windows and evidence of little critters scattered around the wooden floorboards.

Despite its state, it was a lovely. Nesta glanced at Gwyn who was looking around with sweetly curious eyes. The main space was a large, open, room with wide windows framing the walls, shaded by the dense trees surrounding. The back corner held a quaint kitchen with a square table for two set just to the side.

Aurie walked them through two small bedrooms, side by side, and the surprisingly large washroom that connected them. "Now, we can have all this fixed up before you move in, of course," Aurie assured them.

Nesta met Gwyn's eye and they grinned at each other, "It's perfect," Gwyn said wistfully. Nesta nodded her enthusiastic agreement, "perfect," she said back.

Aurie clapped her hands, her delicate dragonfly wings lifting her slightly off the ground in her excitement and she kicked her feet in the air a few times with a squeal before dropping back down. They walked around a while longer, peeking in closets and inspecting the outdoor space. Eventually Aurie led the way back home as Gwyn and Nesta trailed her, both lost in thoughts of their new home.

---

Arriving back home, they heard Aurie make a startled noise as she entered the cabin ahead of them. Nesta took Gwyn's hand and held it at her back, keeping Gwyn behind her as she hurried into the house. She relaxed immediately as she saw Aurie being lifted off the ground in an embrace, held tightly by Lucien Vanserra who was laughing a booming laugh at something she'd said.

Nesta pulled Gwyn in behind her, squeezing her hand reassuringly. Gwyn allowed herself to be pulled into the room but did not release Nesta's hand. Lucien slid his hands down to grip Aurie's waist and spun her around before he placed her lightly on the ground with another smile.

"How long's it been, Aur?" He pretended to tick the years off his raised fingers.

Aurie swatted his arm, "Almost a year, you scoundrel," she chastised.

Lucien smiled back wryly, "There was a war, you know," he wiggled his brows at her.

She hmphed and reached up affectionately to pat his cheek, balancing on the tips of her toes to reach him, "It's lovely to see this handsome face again."

Lucien chuckled, "Flattery will get you everywhere," he teased.

He looked up at Gwyn and Nesta and offered them a courtly bow, "Lady Nesta, Lady…"

He looked to Nesta who walked them both forward, "Lucien, this is my friend Gwyn. She came from Night."

Lucien nodded solemnly, "I hope you will find Beyrih a refuge, lady. Oh," he said, as Gwyn stepped around Nesta to greet him, "priestess," he finished with an apologetic bow.

"My Lord," she bowed.

He cocked half a smile, "just Lucien," he corrected.

Gwyn quirked a smile in return, "Just Gwyn."

Aurie pulled Lucien deeper into the room and settled him in her comfiest chair, flitting around to bring him his favorite tea and biscuits. Lucien accepted her royal treatment with twinkling eyes, as if he knew he was being spoiled by this lovely fae but it would hurt her to be denied her doting.

He explained that he was visiting from the Night Court and was summoned to meet Eris this afternoon. Nesta watched him closely when he mentioned the court they'd once shared but he said little.

She did not know Lucien well, but at the moment he was the closest connection she had to her sisters. She steadied herself, "Lucien, my sisters— have you seen them, are they well?" She asked.

Lucien's cheeks pinked slightly as he nodded, "Feyre, Lady Elain, they're staying at the townhouse. Elain is mending the gardens there, it's quite remarkable what she's accomplished in just a few weeks." He offered the room a bashful smile.

Lucien glanced at Aurie then back to Nesta, "Have you spoken with my brother?" he asked.

"He was here, maybe a week ago. He asked me to write a letter to my sisters. I don't know if they received it, I haven't heard anything back. Eris and Azriel have not returned."

Lucien frowned before he answered, "Eris and Azriel are here. As I understand, they've been staying at their cabin and have not left. Eris was vague in his message. I'm sorry, Nesta, I don't know much more than you." He shook his head in apology.

Before he could go on, a flash of gold lit the doorway and Eris stepped out, already scowling as he scanned the room. His eyes landing on Lucien, he pointed, "Good," he said tightly, "let's go."

Lucien blinked from his chair, "I know my mother did not teach you those manners," he tsked.

Eris paused to take in the full room. He looked somewhat, though not very sincerely, apologetic.

"Apologies, ladies, Lucien is needed elsewhere," he said, a bit softer, offering a quick bow.

Nesta stood, her face a challenge, "Where is the letter I wrote my sisters?" She asked pointedly.

Eris spared her a distracted glance, "Lady Nesta, your letter was delivered to Cassian nine days ago," he said without intonation.

Nesta's brows shot up as she spun to face him fully, "Cassian?" She demanded, "That letter was for Feyre and Elain."

What could have happened that would lead to the letter she wrote in good-faith to her sisters being delivered to the hands of the fae most likely to tear through Prythian to her drag her back to Night? Gwyn did not move but watched Nesta with a cautious expression. Lucien stood from his place by the fire and approached Nesta and Eris.

Eris' face revealed nothing, "Yes, Lady, circumstances were not as we'd anticipated, or hoped, and it was delivered to Cassian with instruction to see it reached Feyre."

Nesta lifted her skirts and stormed around the couch to stand in front of him but Lucien got to him first, "Eris," he said "maybe you can sit down for a minute and explain what happened." Eris looked irritated at the suggestion.

He finally nodded, expression severe, declining to sit. He explained that Azriel had attempted to deliver Nesta's letter to Cassian and Rhysand but they had reacted poorly. He provided little detail but told them the meeting had escalated and Eris intervened when things turned violent.

Nesta stared at him, she could not picture the brothers in an altercation. His tone curt, face tight, he went on to explain that his mating bond with Azriel was revealed unexpectedly and because of the hidden bond, Azriel was exiled from the court under investigation for treason.

Gwyn looked between Lucien and Nesta, both of whom seemed to struggle to process Eris' brief retelling of a clearly much longer tale.

"Az," Lucien breathed, "that's why you wanted me here instead of Spring," Lucien said to his brother. Eris nodded once with a pained look, his jaw clenched.

Eris looked back at Nesta with some regret, "I'm sorry I don't know more. I will not keep information from you but for the moment, I have none. I cannot stay, Azriel needs me, but I, or Lucien, will return as soon as we have any word from Night."

Nesta nodded with wide eyes, pushing back the sting she felt as tears welled in her eyes. Where were her sisters, were they alright? How had things gotten so bad that Rhysand would exile his brother? It was unfathomable.

Eris straightened his coat and motioned for Lucien to follow him out, "Apologies for the intrusion, Aurie." He gave the healer a generous bow.

She waved him away, "I've never seen a Vanserra use a door."

Eris glanced at Missy, tucked into the corner with a watchful eye, ears perked up high. He made a zsp noise with his mouth and instantly she was by his side, staring up at him awaiting command. He glanced at Nesta, "Do you mind?" She shook her head, still sifting through what he'd said. He made another unintelligible noise and she swirled into stream of smoke before dissipating before their eyes.

Lucien was watching Nesta, "Nothing will happen to your sisters," he assured her, noting the worry in her eye, "I am still emissary of the Night Court, maintain residence in Velaris, I will not let anything happen to them. I will get them out if necessary, alright?"

She took the hand he offered and held it, nodding to him, "Thank you, Lucien." and she meant it.

Eris inclined his head towards the door again, impatient. He laid a hand on Lucien's shoulder as they walked through and before either landed a step, they disappeared into a flicker of flame. Nesta crossed back to the sofa and sat down heavily. Gwyn took her hand and stroked it gently.

Aurie watched them for a moment before nodding to herself, "Better put on another pot," and she hurried away on light feet.

Notes:

Tumbl with me, friends: vanserreneity

Chapter 13

Summary:

Last week: Nesta and Gwyn did some house hunting and continued getting settled, Lucien returned from Night.

This week: Lucien and Eris exchange information before Eris returns to his father then Spring.

Feat. Sweet angel Lucien being a sweet angel, Unstable Beron, and Taciturn Tamlin— these high lords y’all…

Eris

Eris winnowed them to a small clearing near his cabin. Close enough to be within the wards, far enough to have a private conversation. Taking a few steps forward, he sighed heavily and pulled a hand down his face. Lucien crossed his arms, his eyes worried.

"What happened, Eris?" He asked, "the whole thing."

Eris turned back to his brother and watched his perceptive eyes take in the circles under Eris', the red rims of them from sleepless nights.

"What do you know?" Eris asked in return.

Lucien dropped into a low crouch, reaching out to toy with a small Autumn bloom. "I've mostly seen Feyre, and Elain, they don't seem to know much," he sighed, glancing up at his brother.

"Last report I got directly was from Cassian, about a week ago. He told me him, Rhys, and Az were meeting somewhere in Hewn City territory, said I should stand-by because he'd return with a plan to bring Nesta home and they might need my help."

Eris's boots sunk lightly into the soft leaf-littered ground as he began pacing, hands clasped tightly behind his back. Stone faced, he nodded for Lucien to continue.

"I waited at Feyre's townhouse, thinking he'd return with some direction from Rhys," he said. "He stormed in raging about Nesta being kidnapped and how you had something to do with it. He was about to fly to Autumn, Feyre barely talked him out of it."

Lucien watched as Eris added this information to the index of what he already knew, slotting it into place as he pulled a picture together.

"I asked where Az was and he went off, Eris. He wasn't making any sense. He said something about Az lying to him but he wouldn't answer any questions, he was barely coherent. Eventually he rushed out the front door and flew off; I have no idea where he went."

Eris turned at this, "Do you think he'd try to come to Autumn?"

Lucien thought about it, standing to meet Eris' eye, "No. He was beside himself but he wouldn't disobey a direct order, even in that state."

Eris had doubts. "Even if he believed his mate to be in danger?"

Both brothers considered. Each, in their own way, could understand the instinctual pull to protect your mate.

Lucien cocked his head to the side, "Does Nesta know, Eris?"

Eris did not stop his circulation, "I don't believe so. Az said it's because she was once human, the mating bond doesn't mean the same thing to them." He gave Lucien a side-eyed, "sorry, brother, I didn't mean—"

"No, it's okay, I get it. Elain is the same way, I think. Regardless, I don't think Cassian will come to Autumn, at least not yet. Beron is still a good deterrent," he offered Eris a sliver-lining smile.

Eris snorted, "A blessing."

"That's really all I know. Rhys is barricaded in the River House, he won't see anyone but Cass and Amren. I got a letter two days ago from Amren instructing me to reach out to my contacts in Spring. That's when I wrote you that I was coming down."

Eris nodded, the rest he already knew. He walked over to where Lucien had leaned against a the broad trunk of an aging oak. He blew out a long breath, running a hand back through loose waves of limp hair. Lucien assessed him, head to toe.

"Seems like you know more than I do, Eris," he said.

"I told you most of it, back at Aurie's. What I didn't share is that Azriel has been inconsolable since we returned from Night." He shook his head.

"It went poorly, Luce, but Cass had his hands around Az's throat and I lost it."

Lucien paled, "He what?" His eye metal spun in an agitated whir.

"Az tried to explain that Nesta was safe, but there was no way to explain how I'd known Azriel was in danger, or why I would step in. He told them everything."

Lucien blew out a low whistle, "That explains Cass' reaction in Velaris, then. You and Az have been mated almost as long as they've been brothers. Must've been a blow to find out that way…"

Eris stopped, glaring at his little brother.

"Nothing was kept from him in malice," he snapped, bitterness pinching his brows. "It was for protection, it's always been for protection."

Lucien held his hands up in placation, "I know, Eris. I just meant it makes sense that Cass would be upset— if he found out about you and Nesta, at the same time. He can only process so much, the little bat," he joked weakly, attempting to back pedal.

Eris let out a dark rumble, "I don't give a fuck about Cassian, or Rhysand— they're lucky to be alive after the way they talked to him; threatened him." He turned to continue his rumination around the clearing.

"He hasn't left the bed in days. He won't eat, won't talk, barely makes eye contact. Rhysand exiled him, Lucien. Put him under godsdamn investigation," Eris was getting worked up.

Since their return from Night, he'd swallowed his own emotions— focused on caring for Azriel. Now, Lucien was here and it was pouring out of him.

"He accused me of fucking him for information," he spat in disgust, "accused Az of treason. By the mother…" he groaned, raking through his wrecked hair once more.

"Azriel, Lucien, our Azriel. Wouldn't-tell-you-Feyre's-favorite-color-under-threat-of-death Azriel, he accused of cauldron-blasted treason."

Lucien eyed him, but let him continue. They both knew Azriel was no threat to the Night Court, he was dangerously loyal to his brother and their people.

"He'd give his godsdamn life for that wretched court, nearly has several times, but that miserable snake couldn't stand him having any happiness outside his little inner circle."

Eris went on for several minutes, managing an increasingly untethered array of derogatory names for the Night Court's high lord. Lucien let him carry on, releasing the fear and anger and bone-deep devastation he felt on his mate's behalf. When he was bent over his knees panting, after an especially long-winded string of curses, Lucien finally approached.

"Take me to him, Eris." Lucien had a hand on his shoulder, the gentle pressure grounding.

He looked up from his bent position with tired eyes, "It's bad, little brother, just be prepared. He's not himself."

Lucien nodded again, "how long until you have to be back?"

Eris stood, shaking out his hands and rolling his neck, "I should already be there," a pleading look, "I could not leave him, not like this."

Lucien kept his hand on Eris' shoulder as they walked together towards the cabin, "I can stay, they won't expect me back in Velaris for week, maybe two."

Some of the tension in Eris' shoulders released, he would not have to leave Azriel alone. "Thank you," he said hoarsely as he reached the door and pushed it open.

---

Eris led the way to the bedroom in the back of the cabin. He opened the door lightly and stepped inside, nodding for Lucien to follow. They stood for a moment, watching Azriel sleep. The room was dark, heavy curtains drawn across the windows. The air felt stale and dry. Azriel lay on his side, his head rested on a bent arm. His wings, limp in rest, stretched long across the bed behind him. The blankets were pushed down to his waist, exposing the dark ink of swirling tattoos covering his shoulder and down the arm that fell carelessly over his abdomen. His shadows worried over him, rushing up and down his body in assessment. Through it, he slept silently.

Eris took a step toward him when Lucien reached out an arm to stop him, shaking his head, "Let me," he whispered.

Uncertain, he nodded, standing back. He watched as Lucien crossed the room on silent hunter's feet. He knelt on the ground next to Azriel's sleeping form and observed him for a brief moment. Eris' heart tightened at the sight of his littlest brother's pained face, watching his heartbroken mate sleep. He prayed to the mother and her every follower that Lucien would help pull his mate out of this fugue.

Lucien reached a hand up gently and Eris thought his heart might break again at the tender movement. As he reached for Azriel's hair, that tenderness turned devious in a blink. Before Eris could register the shift, Lucien placed the outside of his middle finger against the inside of his thumb and flicked Azriel's forehead.

Eris gaped at him in disbelief. He watched his mate's lovely hazel eyes fly open with a start as he raised his head off the bed in alarm. Azriel was whipping a dagger out from under his pillow, vigilant even in mourning, but Lucien was expecting his defense and grabbed his wrist in midair.

Lucien smiled a sly foxes smile, "Hello, brother," he cooed.

Eris was already moving to intervene, furious that Lucien would pull such a childish stunt. He'd barely taken two steps across the room when Azriel propped himself up fully on his elbow, more voluntary movement than he'd seen in days.

Eris paused, looking on as Azriel, chin trembling, dropped his knife and reached a hand out, clasping it around the back of Lucien's head. Eris watched his scarred fingers slide into fire-bright curls. Lucien, smiling more softly now, mirrored his movement and reached up to hold Azriel's head in his wide hand, Azriel's rounded ear under his thumb. Eris saw Azriel's eyes well with tears and his heart throbbed painfully in his chest.

They held each other like this until a tear finally dropped down Azriel's cheek. Lucien reached up with his free hand and wiped it away gently.

"If you wanted to join the exiles, Az, you only needed to ask," he said quietly.

To his astonishment, Azriel cracked the tiniest smile at Lucien's tasteless joke and actually laughed. It was quick, and at least half sob, but it was there. Eris was stunned, watching his little brother charm his devastated mate into his first smile in over a week. He resolved to build Lucien a new cabin, a tree-house, five tree-houses— whatever he wanted, he could have, for giving this moment to Azriel.

As Eris watched in wonder, a modicum of anxiety releasing. He was not what Azriel needed right now. He did not need his mate; he needed a brother. If anyone understood the pain of exile, the betrayal of a brotherhood, it was Lucien. Eris was overwhelmed with gratitude for his irreverent and kind-hearted little brother, that he could offer Azriel what he needed most in this unraveling— the love of a brother, unconditional and adoring, if a bit cheeky.

They'd leaned their foreheads together, hands still clasped around each other. Lucien was whispering something Eris could not hear, something just for Azriel. Azriel was nodding through unsteady breaths, the fingers in Lucien's hair bending and releasing with emotion. Lucien held his head tightly, his face solemn and sincere, saying whatever he needed to say with none of his earlier humor.

Azriel let out a shuddering breath and Lucien slid his hand down to Az's neck, still whispering softly. Eris' breath caught in his throat at the tender moment, watching his brother pull Azriel's head onto his shoulder gently. Azriel went willingly and as his shoulders began to shake with grief, Eris slipped out of the room— knowing this moment was not his to witness.

---

He was draped over the desk in his study when Lucien found him a short while later. He'd settled here to give Azriel and Lucien space, and prepare for his return to Beron's fortress. He'd been distractedly firing off missives to court officials and courtiers when Lucien rapped two knuckles on the door as he entered.

Eris shot up from his chair, "Az?" He inquired quickly.

Lucien crossed to his desk and sat across from him, "Asleep," he replied.

Nodding, he slunk back into his chair with a heavy sigh. Lucien grunted in agreement. With a flick of his wrist, Lucien magicked two glasses of Autumn whisky from Eris' bar cart onto his desk. Handing one to Eris, he held the other in the air.

"To mates surviving Night, may they defect in peace," he said sardonically, tilting his glass towards Eris.

Eris tipped his in return and took a long pull.

He looked at his little brother hesitantly, "Did he say anything? Does he need anything?"

Lucien swirled his glass. "Time, I think."

Eris set his glass down and dropped his face into his hands, "That, we do not have. Tamlin wrote this morning about the borders."

Lucien looked up, "And?"

Eris shook his head, still held in his hands, "It's not just Autumn, Lucien. His borders are shifting on all sides."

They both leaned back in their chairs.

Eris continued, "I was supposed to meet with him days ago but…"

Lucien nodded.

"I need to get back. My sources say Beron has not mentioned my absence— which is disconcerting."

Lucien raised his brows in concern, "Agreed. I can meet with Tamlin, if you can't get away," he offered.

Eris stared at him, horrified, "Absolutely not," he shook his head in affront. "Under no circumstances are you to leave Azriel here alone."

Lucien shrugged, "He can come with."

Eris threaded his fingers into his hair and groaned at the ceiling, his earlier fondness for his brother waning.

"Can you just make sure he eats, Lucien? Maybe gets out of bed? I'll be back in one week and I will not be happy if I find him wiling through Spring or, Mother spare me, the human lands under your influence." He jabbed an accusing finger towards his little brother.

Lucien chuckled, finishing his drink. "Eris, I'll take care of him. I love him too you know," he said with sincerity, his metal eye clicking softly in the quiet room.

Eris did know. And he was grateful. "Alright, alright. I know." He gathered himself to stand, "I'll say my good byes and leave him in your… hands."

He strode from the room, smirking as Lucien's voice followed him out, "Capable! you were going to say my capable hands!"

Re-entering the bedroom, he crossed to sit on the side of the bed. He ran his hand down Azriel's spine with gentle fingers, softly massaging the point where his wings met his back.

"Azriel," he beckoned.

Azriel opened his eyes slowly and looked up. He turned back on his side, letting Eris' hand slide across the muscles of his abdomen.

Eris smiled, "My heart," moving his hand up to Azriel's cheek.

Azriel lifted a hand to cover Eris' and for the first time in days, he spoke, "My love," he rasped.

Eris brought a glass of cool water to his lips, as he'd done for Eris so many times. Eris held his breath as Azriel gulped it down. Setting it aside, he leaned down to kiss his lips, then his forehead. Eris held his lips against Azriel's forehead for a moment, savoring the feeling of Azriel's textured hands on his forearms.

Eris stroked his hair back, "My heart, I must return for a few days, perhaps a week. Lucien will stay. I am one letter away, nothing could keep me from you should you call."

Azriel nodded, squeezing his hand. He let Eris help him sit up against the headboard and fluff the blankets around his waist. Eris ran his hand down his cheek and neck, letting himself feel the warmth of his chest as he took in the lucidity returning to his eyes.

He gazed at his dearest love, struggling not to cover him in soft kisses and shower him with love and never leave his side again. He opted instead to raise both Azriel's hands to his lips and kiss each finger, lingering where his scars were most prominent.

"I love you, my heart," he whispered, leaning in to kiss his love one last time and memorize wintery scent of him.

Azriel leaned his head back against the headboard, feeling the cool rush of air as Eris inhaled deeply at his neck, "Always, my love."

---

He winnowed just outside the Forest House, stepping onto the manicured grounds of the courtyard. It was quiet as the house prepared for supper. He took the long way to his chambers, stopping to peer in on his brothers and greet his mother.

In his rooms he took an indulgent bath, soaking in the comfort before facing whatever his absence had wrought on his court. He dressed in a fine tailored suit of deep Autumn saffron, taking the time to plait small thin braids across the sides of his head and into a larger braid down his back. He was glad to access his full wardrobe and let himself enjoy selecting several gold rings and baubles for his ears.

Appearances were important in his father's court. Eris was already particular about his presentation, but not knowing his father's mood over the last week gave him a little extra push. Adjusting his cuffs and collar in the mirror, he was as ready as he could be.

Before he could exit, he received a summons to his father's private quarters. Eris worried his bottom lip as he read the missive, brows drawn. He'd been away several days longer than he'd told his father and it was difficult to predict Beron's moods— he schooled his face into ambivalence as he left his rooms.

Reaching his father's quarters, Beron swung the door open as he was reaching out to press it open. He did not react. Beron looked him over thoroughly before stepping aside and waving him inside. Shutting the door, Beron walked hurriedly across the room to the small table he kept in his private study. Eris had shared many meals here with his father, each as different as the last. As he covered the space between them, he watched his father's expression, determining how he would need to play this.

Beron sat heavily at the table, gesturing for Eris to follow. He kept his eye on his father as he lowered into his seat.

"Father," he bowed his head respectfully.

His father glanced out the window beside the table before looking back to his son.

"My son," he said, "what news from the Court of Nightmares?"

Eris felt his jaw tick. "The trade is complete."

His father nodded once before turning to face the window again, apprehensive. Eris watched him observe the fading light. When he turned back to his son, Eris could see a flash of anxiety in his tired eyes. There were sides of Beron the other courts did not know, were never shown. Eris sensed this was one of those moods and steadied himself.

Much of Eris' young life had been spent learning his father's many presentations. His masks and personas were a tapestry of many different fathers— Eris was well-practiced in estimating which was present. This mood, this Beron, was difficult to navigate; this father was expectant and needy, he was easily agitated. Eris waited patiently for his father to reply, knowing it was best to let him lead the conversation until he understood where he needed to intervene.

"We're done with Night." He ran his hands roughly down the front of his tunic before reaching to fill his goblet with sweet Autumn wine.

"Sir?" He ventured cautiously.

Beron waved a hand as he drank from his goblet, "We have as much as we will get from that old crone Keir. Rhysand is unwilling to trade anything of value, we waste our time courting their partnership."

Eris had not expected it to be this easy to wriggle out of the diplomatic catastrophe he'd left in the Night Court, it was an unsettling feeling. He reached for his own goblet and sipped from it carefully before meeting his father's gaze once more.

"As you wish, father," he bowed his head slightly.

Beron reached out a hand and laid it across Eris' forearm where he held his glass. His father squeezed lightly, hope written across his features.

"The winds of change are blowing, son. The horizon is bright for Autumn." His grin was almost childish in its thrill.

Eris kept his tone even, "How so, father?"

Beron held one hand up to Eris to pause him, with the other he snapped a finger. Several young servants filed through a side door in his chambers, their arms stacked with small serving plates. Beron inspected each one with a critical eye, using a knife to pick through the contents, before it was allowed to be placed on the table. When the last plate of fragrant roasted greens was served, he waved the servants away with an impatient huff.

Beron served himself, popping a bright red cherry tomato in his mouth and chewing sloppily. Eris was patient.

Sighing through his nose, Beron carried on, "I've been making advantageous alliances, my child. Alliances that will see our court returned to power." He glanced out the window again as he spoke.

"Alliances, father?" He kept a wary eye on the twin daggers strapped to Beron's side. He knew better than to inquire about Beron's phrasing: return to power.

His father's smile widened as he shook his head, "All will be revealed in time, child. I have a task for you."

Eris felt chagrined at this predictable turn of events. Beron had maniacal plans and, naturally, Eris had a mysterious role to play. One of the many things that made navigating his father's reign so tiring was the erratic and temperamental nature of his scheming. He developed his plans in secret and left Eris to follow along, piecing the clues together. Fortunately, he was well-practiced at this game.

"Of course, my lord."

Beron chuckled, an empty and sinister sound.

"Come, my child. No need for formalities," he swept an arm out to showcase the vacant room, "it's just us."

Eris smiled politely and bowed his head slightly again. It was safest to keep Beron appeased. "And what of my task, father?"

Beron smile was jagged, but approving.

"You will draft continental trade agreements— lumber, textiles, it doesn't matter," he flapped his hand.

Were Eris allowed freedom of expression, he would have groaned. As it was, he let his father continue uninterrupted.

"Choose what you wish, what is of value is the trade itself, the cargo is inconsequential. We will open a channel to Queen Brialynn. She has challenging, but useful, connections. A significant trade deal will give her the guise she needs to return to Prythian. Autumn will welcome her in two weeks time."

Eris swallowed discreetly, slicing the meats on his plate but unable to stomach eating. "And what of our connections, father?"

Beron snapped his eyes to Eris with an abrupt glare, his mood shifting without warning. Eris felt the temperature of the room raise subtly and braced himself, this volatility unwelcome but familiar.

"You think I don't know all about your meetings with that nit in Spring?" He wheezed a laugh, "Whatever friendship you think you have there, it is mine now. You will draft the agreement by morning— then you will return to Spring and ready it for me."

Eris was conflicted. The inconsistencies and vague purpose of this plan were dangerous, but Beron's strange paranoia pardoned him from his missteps in Night and gave him a reason to be in Spring without raising questions. He was suspicious, concerned about how the pieces of this puzzle might come together unexpectedly.

"Father, if I may, it is risky to provoke another high lord, even one as weakened as Tamlin." Eris' voice was cautious, he needed more information.

His clemency from the decimated relationships in Night may have been a boon, but between Brialynn and his father, too many unclear paths diverged. Not wanting to press his luck, but needing more, he ventured a gentle but steady inquiry.

"Perhaps if I understood what we seek from Spring , I would be better prepared to carry out your task."

Beron glowered at him before reaching across the space to grip Eris' arm once more. This time, his grip was bruising. Beron's skin burned the sleeve of Eris' shirt in the tight hold, his shifty eyes alight with deep orange flame.

"You don't question me, boy."

Eris suppressed a grimace as the tight hold squeezed bone and muscle painfully. Beron's fiery eyes glittering, his already tangential grasp on his mood slipping.

"Of course, father," he offered, breath steady, "it will be done."

His other hand twitched in his lap as he pressed against the instinct to peel his father's hand away. He felt the bone close to fracturing, the familiar sting of his father's white hot brand. He was grateful his mother and brothers were not here to witness the moment.

"We need Tamlin complacent. The queen has need of Spring magic." Beron's scowl did not fade as he abruptly loosed his grip and shook his hand out, returning to his wine.

"You will entice his cooperation, or I will take it." Beron's voice was voice remained firm as he shoved back from the table and stood, leaning over toward Eris.

Eris looked up at his father and felt the messy tangle of fear and sorrow and anger that underlay their dysfunctional bond. Part of him, that miserable and bruised child within him, still wanted somehow to please his father.

He saw Beron's thoughts whirling unstably in his eyes and sighed to himself. This was a male who required Eris' constant tending; a male whose fire welled deep in his veins with ancient power— with a blink he could manifest a scorching, devastating flame, but Eris knew that for all his fire, he could not summon any warmth.

He nodded and stood from his chair, folding his napkin and placing it gently on the table beside his untouched meal, "As you wish, father."

Eris stiffened as Beron walked around the table to stand in front of him. The hand that had just injured him in anger now reached out in tender affection. Eris did not flinch as Beron laid it softly, gently across his cheek, "I do this for you, my dear. Everything I do, I do for the legacy you will inherit. We must be strong, hm?"

Eris managed another nod, staring into his father's vacuous eyes. Beron dropped his hand, expression flattening, and turned, waving lazily behind him in dismissal.

When Beron was gone from the room, he leaned over the table for a brief moment— letting out a long breath. He attempted to correct the damage to his shirtsleeve, but it was not salvageable. He hated to walk the halls of his home with the evidence of his fathers behavior on display, but with no alternative, he could only don an uncaring expression and resolve to move quickly.

With more questions than answers, he repositioned his incredulous mask and strode from the room with a steady gait, already missing his love's strong body cradled in his arms.

---

The next morning Eris dressed in riding clothes and made his way to the stables. He called for Missy to follow and was grateful for the surety of her presence beside him. After preparing his horse, he winnowed himself and both creatures to the Spring border and crossed on horseback, watching Missy's fluid form warble among the trees ahead of him.

He'd stayed up late into the night drafting trade proposals. Though his father had insisted the trade was insignificant, Eris would not make a deal that did not benefit his people. He'd worked until the sun was near rising, ensuring the people of his court were taken care of. By the time he crested the hill ahead of the Spring Manor, he felt the fatigue of his week settling in him.

Tapping his heels against his horse, he urged her onward and they advanced slowly to the manor. He left her in Tamlin's stables and made the rest of the trek on foot. Approaching the courtyard, he watched the front door of the manor swing open, revealing a purse-lipped Tamlin. The Spring Lord was dressed in a simple green tunic and tan trousers tucked into faded leather boots. His hair was bound back from his face in a long plait that fell over his shoulder.

"It's been over a week," the blonde male opened in a dull tone, not bothering with a greeting.

Eris waited until he'd crossed the courtyard and stood at the bottom of the stairs below Tamlin. Of the High Lord whims he had placated or angered this week, Tamlin's surly mood did not concern him.

His eyes surveyed the disorder of Tamlin's garden before climbing the manor steps until he stood before the Spring Lord.

"Oh, don't be like that," he soothed, pulling an errant twig from Tamlin's loose braid. He held it up to Tamlin before flicking it aside.

"I've come all this way to save you from my father and the journey has exhausted me. I'm parched." He brought a hand to his throat for effect.

Tamlin shook his head with a glare, he grumbled something ungenerous under his breath before turning to enter the manor. Eris followed with an easy grin. He'd known Tamlin most of his life. They weren't as close as Tamlin and Lucien, but they had an understanding. Both raised by unpredictable tyrants, they had the camaraderie of two people with shared burdens.

While they understood each other, to an extent, they were fundamentally different leaders. Where Tamlin had grown up never wanting or expecting power, Eris had been bred and trained for it. What was a burden to Tamlin was a welcome inevitability to Eris.

But Eris admired the way Tamlin made sweeping changes and proclamations when he came to power, shifting the culture of his court without apology.

Over time, he'd made choices Eris would not have, done things he did not condone, but he had a genuine love for his court and loyalty to its people. Eris respected that. He'd taken Lucien in and protected him without question, given him a place to build a home when Eris could not. For that alone, Eris would offer Tamlin grace first.

Eris had watched from the sidelines as Feyre gutted the foundations of what Tamlin had built for his court. He saw how Tamlin struggled after Amarantha, and how that struggle twisted into something consuming and thorny. And now, he watched the consequences of Feyre's action and Tamlin's inaction laid out in front of him through these vacant halls.

He followed Tamlin through the expansive home and into the kitchen. After Rhysand and then his own father, it was odd to see a powerful high lord shuffling about his own kitchen, not a servant in sight, fretting over his own tea. Even more odd was the expectation that he, a guest, should participate in the fuss. Tamlin passed him cups and dishes silently and Eris readied them quietly on a tray he'd dug out of a cabinet.

Tamlin took the prepared tray and handed Eris a paper sack, inclining his head toward the door. Eris followed him out in bewildered silence. Tamlin led them to his personal library and set the tea tray on a small table near a towering window. He looked out over the manor grounds through the window: wild and feral, abundant and bright. Tamlin took the small sack Eris had pinched between two fingers and dumped it onto an empty plate. Several biscuits tumbled out and, despite the grim presentation, Eris almost clapped his hands together in boyish delight.

Eris allowed himself few indulgences, Spring pastries were one. When a Beyrih resident had asked about opening a bakery, Eris had been thrilled. He'd offered for the baker to come to Spring and study under his favorite pastry chef and had enjoyed her perfect replicas ever since. Sitting across from Tamlin, he unabashedly filled his small plate with the warm biscuits and let Tamlin pour his tea.

The first bite was a medicinal balm on his weary heart. He let the buttery flakes of the layered biscuit melt in his mouth. The light crisp of the golden crust added texture to the almost-sour fluffy interior. Breathing deeply, he let the comfort of Spring cuisine soothe him, this passing moment of savory and soft dough steeling him for Tamlin's inevitable questioning.

They watched each other over the table, Tamlin looking less disgruntled now that they'd settled.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Tamlin started.

Eris set his biscuit down regretfully and sipped his tea to wash it down. "Busy," he started. "If I'm honest—"

"I'd prefer it," Tamlin grumbled.

Eris shot him an annoyed look, "If I'm honest, there are developments across several courts right now that require my attention."

Tamlin eyed him but said nothing, stirring more sugar into his tea.

"Beron is working with the human queen, Brialynn. They have their sights on Spring. To what end, I do not know." He said bluntly, seeing no reason to cushion it.

Eris heard the shrill scrape of sharp nails on porcelain as Tamlin's claws lengthened around his cup.

He tsked, "Let's not, Tam."

Tamlin set his glass down heavily, "What does this have to do with my borders? Is Autumn involved, Eris?"

Stirring his own tea, Eris glanced out the window. He felt a tinge of humor down the mating bond and almost smiled at what antics his brother might be weaponizing against his saddened mate.

"I don't know, Tamlin. That's the truth."

Tamlin eyed him, "What of the Autumn soldiers on the border in recent weeks?"

Eris shifted, sitting up straight in his chair, "Scouts, as far as I can tell."

Tamlin nodded as he continued, "Beron, and the queen are after Spring magic," he explained, "I do not know why. Beron asked me to come here to secure your cooperation. Brialynn will be here within the fortnight."

Tamlin threw his head back with a snarl, his hands clenching around the arms of his chair.

"My people have suffered enough, Eris. Those who are left, the ones who stayed, I will not put them in danger."

Eris nodded his agreement, "We need more information."

Tamlin tipped his head up, receding claws tapping against his tea cup, "We need Lucien."

Eris gave an aggrieved sigh, "Perhaps…"

The concession cost him, he did not want his brother mixed up in Autumn politics. He also wanted his brother watching over his mate and not concerning himself with anything but ensuring Azriel was safe and fed. But, Tamlin was right. His clever little brother had the knowledge, and connections, they would need to solve this puzzle.

He looked back out over Springs rampant wildlife.

"Give him a few days," Eris requested. "He's—"

Eris was reluctant to offer more but he needed Tamlin's allegiance. He also knew Lucien would over-share with Spring's lord regardless of what Eris withheld.

"He's with Az."

Tamlin raised a brow at him, a blonde curl escaping his braid and falling down his neck. Eris offered nothing, his expression blank as he stared back at the high lord.

Tamlin watched him for a moment before he chuckled quietly, "And is Rhysand short a shadowsinger?"

Eris bristled, "That is not your concern," he snapped.

The High Lord shook his head, bemused, "It was always going to end badly, Eris."

Tamlin had known about Eris' bond since he'd taken Lucien in all those years ago. He'd kept their secret, though Eris could not figure why. Azriel and Tamlin were barely cordial, but Tamlin had agreed to keep their secret regardless. After the bloody and violent fall-out preceding Rhys and Tamlins' ascension, Night and Spring relations had been frigid. When Feyre pulled her dark blade across the throat of the Spring Court, they'd deteriorated irreparably.

Despite the tumult between the two courts, Tamlin had never used his knowledge of Eris and Azs' bond. It confounded Eris. The best guess he'd been able to venture over the centuries was that Tamlin simply did not care. He could find no other motive— there had certainly been times when revealing his knowledge would have given him an upper hand in Night Court dealings. But he'd kept it to himself, preferring to remain on the outskirts of court gossip and back-stabbing.

Despite his apparent ambivalence, Tamlin had anticipated that Rhysand would respond poorly to his bond with Azriel. Eris knew it would delight him to know something had been taken from Rhysand and he refused to offer any additional details.

"Tamlin," he implored, "let's be adults."

Tamlin chuckled again but nodded, "Sure. Come," nodding toward the window beside them, "see the borders."

---

Tamlin took Eris to several points along his north and south borders. Their last stop was the southernmost point of Prythian, where the wall had once barred humans from entry. Eris knelt and reached a hand out, fanning his fingers through the tall green grass of Spring. He parted the grass with both hands, forging an opening in the dense growth. Following the blades to where they met soil, he frowned.

"What magic is this?" he said under his breath, digging his fingers into the dirt to feel around.

Court borders were steadied by the magic of the lands they held. He'd heard of lands suffering when high lords were unwell, though it was rare— high lord magic was said to be pure power, difficult to weaken. For the borders to waver unstably as he was seeing now wasn't just unheard of, it should have been impossible.

He leaned forward toward the part he'd created in the thick grass and watched as the thin line of dirt he'd exposed shifted, nearly imperceptibly, back and forth. A minuscule wave of soil.

"It moves slowly. Though I've seen it jump ahead in the night, it recedes slightly by morning." Tamlin explained, crouched on a low branch behind Eris.

Tamlin had several long strands of the grass Eris knelt in twisted between his fingers where he wove them into thin rope. He did not look up as he continued.

"I've sat where you sit now for hours, watching."

Eris looked back at the dirt in front of him, scooping the loose detritus into his hand.

"It's not the soil," he said, watching the dirt lay limp in his palm.

Behind him, Tamlin shook his head, "No, it's not the land. It's the magic. It's pulling in somehow."

Eris pursed his lips to one side, his frown deepening. Tamlin had been a poor steward to his lands in the early days of Feyre's defection, and his court had suffered. But in recent months Eris had seen the magic strengthen as Tamlin returned more to himself. This magic was not shifting in response to Tamlin and that knowledge was more startling than the alternative.

"At what pace?" Eris stood from his crouch and surveyed the field ahead of him through suspicious eyes.

Tamlin shrugged, adding more threaded reeds into his rope and twisting them around his fingers.

"An inconsistent one," he answered.

Eris would not roll his eyes. Tamlin was being ornery, but he bore a great burden. A change in one border was shocking on its own, to have multiple borders shift was unimaginable. Eris could not make sense of it, the mystery of it bothered him. Something felt just out of reach, and he did not like unanswered questions.

He watched Tamlin for a moment as he wove his rope delicately in large hands.

"Your magic, is it changed?"

Tamlin shook his head once more, "It doesn't seem to impact my magic. It doesn't seem to impact any magic within the new border— it's not taking magic, it's changing where it begins and ends."

The high lord sighed wearily, "It's gotten worse in the last few weeks."

"What of your people," Eris inquired.

Tamlin glanced up, nodding towards sprawl of his territory, "Most live further in, few venture to the borders."

Nodding, Eris crossed to where Tamlin absently fiddled with his woven reeds.

"Lucien has contacts in bordering courts, and the human lands. It will take a few days to put together." Eris looked down at his hand with distaste. Flicking them out, his magic removed the dirt from his fingers and nails.

Tamlin hopped off the branch, "Very well. See yourself out, Eris."

Tamlin tossed the bundle of grass to Eris and disappeared in a gust of warm wind. Eris snatched the knotted grass out of the air and held it in his palm. He twitched a half-smile at Tamlin's antics— he'd woven the reed into a small, grassy hound. Eris tossed it in the air and let it disappear into his magic. Without looking back to the border, his smoky magic whisked him away from Spring.

Notes:

Tumbl with me, friends: vanserreneity

Chapter 14

Summary:

let my girl Nesta have feelings

Notes:

literal shout out (read: I am shouting) to my fav bro Strangeredlantern (SRL)--- she makes my sentences complete (she completes me). In a very cool and chill way.

She is the beta reader dreams are made of and I am obsessed with her brilliance.

Nesta

Nesta's mind was loud with anxious thoughts about the Night Court. News of Azriel's exile was a shock. The brothers of the inner circle had been an impenetrable force since she'd met them back in the human lands, when Feyre first came to ask for her help with the queens. All she'd learned about them since indicated their bond was a life-force between them. That Rhysand would exile Azriel, over his mating bond with Eris, or perhaps his support of her, spoke to a fraying of more than just brotherhood. She worried that Rhysand was unraveling and wondered how long it would be before he turned on Feyre or Elain.

Aurie and Gwyn tried to comfort her after Eris and Lucien left, but she was too confused and worried to appreciate their warm mugs and sweet words. Eventually, she'd said goodnight and gone to her room alone. After a while, Gwyn knocked, but Nesta did not call out to her or welcome her in.

Her fears for her sisters and Azriel had taken a loathsome turn. She was lying flat on her bed with hateful thoughts about her role in their endangerment. She was sure her defection had started this decaying of centuries-long relationships. And if that rot, sewn by her hand, harmed her sisters, she was not sure she would survive it.

She lay awake deep into the night, long after her sweet friend's voice faded from behind her door. Now, Gwyn was forced to sleep alone in a strange room in a strange court because Nesta could not bear to let someone see her like this; she was crumbling into that darkness of self-doubt and blame. Thinking about it brought a wave of heat up her neck and cheeks. Weak, she scolded herself.

She spent hours spinning through increasingly severe images of what her sisters might be experiencing in her absence. She thought about Azriel, who had turned away from his own family because of her, and it twisted inside her. Bolting upright in her bed, she shoved the covers back and threw herself off the mattress. The familiar ache to be alone in her misery felt itchy and uncomfortable after her weeks with Gwyn in the fresh Autumn air.

She pushed back against the part of her that demanded she remain in the lonely darkness of her room to suffer obediently. She thought of Gwyn, of the people in this village, and fought that incessant voice in her mind, the one that told her she could only feel pain and cause it for others. She straightened her arms at her sides, fists clenched tightly, and made an exasperated sound into the dark room. Maybe, for tonight, she could seek comfort somewhere safe. Just this once, she thought.

She crept down the hallway to Gwyn's door and pushed it open, peeking her head in. Gwyn was lying on her side, facing the window. Nesta could see her round eyes reflecting the moonlight, its soft silvery glow across her cheeks and hair. Nesta watched for a moment as Gwyn's long dark lashes cast slender shadows across her cheeks. She was as lovely as the clear skies of Autumn, and Nesta could not look away. She pushed the door open further and moved deeper into the room. Gwyn sat up with a gasp when the door creaked under Nesta's slow push.

"I'm sorry," she hurried out, "I didn't mean to scare you."

Gwyn let out a breath, her hand over her heart, "By the cauldron, Nesta," she said with a low, warm laugh.

She reached out her hand and beckoned Nesta into the room. Nesta's shoulders dropped in relief. She crossed the room quietly and sat on the edge of the bed. Gwyn pushed the covers down and slid toward her, her crossed legs propped behind Nesta's back and along her thigh— a delicate cradle. Nesta stared out the window, but Gwyn's eyes watched her.

A small breath escaped her when she felt Gwyn's hand slide around her back to hold her waist, her head tipping down to Nesta's shoulder. In this light hold, she leaned back gently into her lovely friend.

She felt Gwyn's thumb softly stroking her waist as her friend spoke, "It's not your fault, Nesta. Azriel, your sisters, Rhysand— it is not for you to carry, my moon."

Nesta's eyes welled with tears at the hushed words. "It is," she whispered.

She froze when she felt Gwyn's warm breath on the back of her neck. Her heart pounded in her chest as Gwyn's soft lips ghosted across her skin. Chills shot down her chest and arms when Gwyn's other hand wrapped around her front and pulled her back, the unmistakable sound and feel of soft kisses around the side of her neck as she settled Nesta in her lap. Nesta struggled to control her breathing.

"No, Nesta Archeron, it is not." Gwyn's voice was quiet and firm. Nesta melted back into her certainty, as though she could absorb it.

She let Gwyn pull her back into the bed. Gwyn settled herself against the headboard and settled Nesta's back to her chest, her long pale leg exposed where her nightgown pulled up to accommodate the position. Nesta let herself believe, for just this moment, that this magical starlit female was right; that she was not bad or rotted, and that she could keep this warm glow in her heart.

She wound her arms atop the ones that held her and slid her fingers into Gwyn's.

Gwyn dipped her head to Nesta's ear, "Sleep," she whispered. Her lips pressed lightly against the point of Nesta's ear, and her breath hitched at the tingle it sent down her spine and deep into her belly.

She just nodded and squeezed Gwyn's hand, closing her sleepy eyes.

---

Gwyn slid down the bed at some point in their sleep, and when Nesta woke, she was on her side, Gwyn's arms around her. She could feel Gwyn's slow breathing behind her, her chest rising and falling against Nesta's back. It was strange, this serene intimacy. It was not demanding, it did not make her feel shame or doubt. She had never been kissed with the tenderness Gwyn had kissed her skin last night, and it set her heart in motion; she wanted more.

It was not a drunken romp or a frantic secret coupling. It was shared between them, and while she did not have words for it, she somehow understood it. Something was pulling her toward Gwyn, and Gwyn was not pushing her away; she was gathering her closer. It was terrifying. It disarmed her, stripped her defenses, and left her wanting.

She snapped her eyes closed when she felt Gwyn stir behind her. The hand around her waist slid lazily up her body until soft fingertips caressed her ribs. Just below her breast, the hand froze, stiffening against the fabric of her nightgown. Gwyn sucked in a breath as she pulled her hand back from Nesta. They breathed out deeply in unison before both rolling over on their backs.

"How did you sleep?" Nesta asked, breaking the painful silence.

Gwyn propped up on her elbows and looked at Nesta with a secret smile. "Well," she nodded.

Nesta stared at her a moment longer before shaking her head, "We'll be late for training," she said.

They stood from the bed with reluctance and relief, pulling the blankets back into place. Without a word, they made their way to the kitchen. Aurie was already seated at the table, a full tea set before her.

"Ah, my dears!" she chimed like a bell, "Join me?"

Grateful for the buffer, Nesta sat and poured a cup, passing it to Gwyn after dressing it. She blinked as Gwyn took the cup from her. She hadn't meant to serve Gwyn first— she'd done it without thinking. What am I doing? She wondered, watching Gwyn sip through a sly smile— as though she understood precisely what Nesta was doing. Aurie barely tried to hide a similar expression. With a blush, Nesta stirred a drop of cream into her own tea and looked pointedly away from them both.

Frowning weakly, she turned her attention to Aurie, "Aurie, I'd like to see Azriel. Lucien said he has a cabin here?"

Aurie set her tea down, "Eris and Azriel maintain a cabin just outside Beyrih. Lucien should be in town today for supplies; he can help you contact Azriel."

Nesta nodded, leaning back to shake the morning's intimate tension. Aurie finished her tea and wandered off to gather her equipment for the day. Aurie spent most of her day in the community working as Beyrih's primary healer. She waved a shimmering hand into the kitchen as she passed the door, wishing her guests a good day and rushing out the front door.

Alone again, Nesta and Gwyn kept their eyes wandering around the table, finishing their breakfast. They washed and dried their dishes together before separating to dress for training. The fighting leathers Nesta arrived in were ruined beyond repair. Aurie had torn the leather into strips for other uses, scowling at their state as she'd worked. When she visited the seamstress, she had not asked for leathers, so she borrowed a set Gwyn had brought from Night. An old set of Nesta's, in fact.

"We can go see the seamstress this afternoon. If we're going to continue training, we should have fitting gear." Nesta looked back and forth between them, each wearing poorly fitted and worn outfits.

Gwyn glanced back at her as they left the cabin and set off towards the training ring. "Nes, I don't have any money."

Nesta shook her head as they walked. " The village provides whatever you need."

Nesta explained what Aurie had told her. The people of Beyrih had developed systems to ensure all the residents had what they needed. Nesta didn't understand the whole system but explained what she could.

"Like the library," she tried to compare, "you don't use money in the library, right?

Gwyn tilted her head, "No, no money. But we work there, tending the books and generating research for the court."

Nesta nodded, "The people here work, too. Whatever they can do, they do. Whatever they need, they are provided."

By the time they reached the training ring, Gwyn still looked uncertain. "We can go look. I'll introduce you to the seamstress; she can explain better."

Hopping up onto the raised platform, they focused their attention on the work of training. Jay was walking through the rows of fae as they stretched, warming up. They worked through uniform stretches before moving on to hand-to-hand exercises.

Nesta and Gwyn were damp with sweat by the end of several sets. When Jay called the session to a close, Gwyn hopped off the low platform first. She reached back to offer a hand to Nesta, who took it gratefully and dropped beside her friend. They found a shaded spot nearby and sat down to drink from waterskins Gwyn filled. They breathed heavily, cheeks still flushed, as they slowly cooled down.

Glancing up, Nesta saw a familiar Vanserra round the corner, a bulging canvas bag slung over his shoulder. Before he could spot them, Jay approached with an outstretched hand.

"Many visitors from Night these days," she said.

Nesta narrowed her eyes, not appreciating the implication.

Lucien laughed agreeably, grasping her hand warmly, "Jay, old friend, it is good to be home."

Nesta watched the exchange with interest. It surprised her to hear Lucien call Autumn home. He was exiled from these lands and only allowed entry to Beyrih through the magic that hid it from the court's high lord. From what little she knew, Autumn had not been kind to Lucien. She listened discreetly as the two Autumn fae caught up, the warmth of their friendship apparent. Several other fae joined in as the group greeted Lucien like a returning war hero. Perhaps he was, she thought.

After charming the attentive fae of their training group, Lucien waved to Nesta and Gwyn, nodding his goodbyes to the others. They both stood as he approached.

"Nesta, Gwyn," he gave them each a polite bow. "How do you find Beyrih?"

Gwyn started to answer, but Nesta, anxiety catching up with her, cut her off. "Is Azriel here?" she asked shortly.

If Lucien was put off by her curt address, it did not show. "He is. He is just outside the village, resting."

Nesta nodded, "I need to see him."

"Nesta, he's not— he's not well. I don't think he wants any visitors at the moment," Lucien said gently.

Nesta tucked Gwyn's waterskin into the pouch at her back, next to her own. "Did he tell you that, or do you just think that?" She asked.

Before he could answer, she turned to Gwyn, "Dearest, I need to speak to Azriel alone. If you do not want me to go, I will stay and wait until Aurie returns home."

Lucien opened his mouth, but they did not acknowledge him.

Gwyn took Nesta's hand, her expression wary. "I suppose I can go to the seamstress. That may take some time. Perhaps you'll be back by the time I'm done?"

Lucien raised a finger to interject, but Nesta's plan only included Lucien peripherally. Not enough to warrant input.

"Lucien can take you," she stated. She did not want Gwyn alone. "He can take me and his supplies," she nodded to the bag Lucien carried, "then come back and see you at the seamstress."

Lucien had both hands in the air now, brows raised. Gwyn looked apprehensive. Nesta quickly realized that she might not feel comfortable getting her measurements made and trying on clothes with a male she barely knew waiting in the lobby.

She squeezed Gwyn's hand, "He'll wait outside, just to be sure I can get back to you quickly if you need me," she assured her friend.

Lucien looked between them, "Excuse me," he said, amused, "perhaps I had plans."

Nesta smiled at him, "You do. You have plans to deliver me to Azriel, take Gwyn to the seamstress, wait for her outside, and then return to collect me afterward."

Lucien appeared thoughtful, but the twitch of his lip betrayed his intention to acquiesce.

"As you wish, Archeron," he emphasized her surname as if it explained something— like he'd seen it before and was familiar enough not to argue.

Together, they made their way to the seamstress, where Nesta gave Gwyn a quick squeeze and reminded her that Lucien could bring her back at any time if she asked. Lucien nodded along in confirmation. Nesta found that she appreciated his agreeable nature and willingness to inconvenience himself in the service of others. Lucien was kind. Loyal. She had hardly been friendly with him in the short time they'd known each other, and he barely knew Gwyn. She wondered what lengths he would go to for Elain, for his mate.

Turning back to Lucien, she nodded, and he extended his elbow to her. She took it cautiously, holding on with both hands. She did not enjoy traveling through this fae magic; she found it jarring and disorienting. She smiled once more at Gwyn before a warm sunny light filled her vision, and she felt the indefinable shift of space around her.

As the light cleared, she looked up at a cabin much more modest than she expected from Autumn's finicky heir.

Lucien watched her brow raise, "Azriel built it," he offered.

She nodded; it fit the shadowsinger. It was understated and simple in design but elegant in a classic way. It blended into the Autumn scenery, the red hues of the wooden exterior complementing the jeweled tones of the forest. It was fine and well-crafted, and its design clearly emphasized the wildlife and landscape. She smiled to herself—it was built and maintained with the meticulous and intense focus she would expect from her Illyrian friend.

She pointed to Lucien's bag, "Thank you, Lucien. I'll take it from here."

She wanted him returned to Gwyn as quickly as possible. He shrugged the bag off his shoulder and handed her the strap. She grimaced at the weight, refusing to show how much it strained her muscles to keep it off the ground.

"Bring her here immediately if she needs me. Even if she looks uncomfortable, come for me."

He nodded at her stern instruction, "Of course," he bowed again.

He told her where to find Azriel inside the cabin and disappeared with a grin into a sun-bright flare of magic.

---

Azriel

He woke to steel-blue eyes watching him from Eris's usual chair. He stared back at her momentarily before forcing himself up into a seated position. He pulled the blankets around his waist, conscious of how little he wore. The vulnerability of this young female observing him in this state was uncomfortable. Nesta raised the book she'd been skimming and arched an incredulous brow toward it.

"Eris?" She asked.

Azriel nodded, unsure what to say.

"Dry," she assessed blankly.

He nodded again. It was dry. Eris favored documented accounts of historical events, battle strategy, and political intrigue. His mate had an incredible mind, sharp and nearly impossible to keep up with. Azriel was intelligent, clever even, but Eris' mind was a deep labyrinth of knowledge— always hungry and learning, pondering and considering, storing away every bit of information he absorbed.

He watched Nesta snap the book closed and set it on the bedside table, disapproving. He let his wings stretch behind him, stiff from lack of use. His shadows rushed the leathery skin lovingly, their cool touch whispering their approval. He glanced at the pile of clothes Lucien had left at the end of the bed. His cheeks felt warm under Nesta's gaze.

He was embarrassed to be seen this way. Weakened, useless, rejected. Coddled by his mate and mate's brother. Half-naked in front of this observant female. Nesta did not seem bothered. She stood from her perch and crossed to the door.

"Get dressed, meet me outside. We need to talk." With that, she clicked the door shut behind her, and he was, once again, alone.

He breathed out, running his hands back through his hair. He hadn't left this room since Eris had tucked him into bed that first night. He'd had no intention of leaving this room until Lucien eventually dragged him out by force. But it would be rude to leave Nesta, a guest and a friend, waiting without explanation. His impeccable manners battled with the numb desire to hide away forever.

The least he could do, he supposed, was get up long enough to explain to her that he was not in the mood for company. With a heavy sigh, he walked to the washroom to rinse off. He grimaced at the murky water of the tub, its hue forcing him to consider the last time he'd bathed properly. Weak, he thought to himself.

Letting decorum win the battle within him, he drained the tub and filled it with fresh water to wash more thoroughly. He dressed in the simple cotton tunic and soft pants Lucien had laid out, as one would for a small child who did not yet understand how to dress.

He glanced at his siphons, arranged neatly on the vanity near the door. Eris's work, no doubt. The glowing symbols of his homeland, markers of his honored status there. But he did not have any standing there anymore. The blue stones mocked him cruelly from their neat rows, reminding him of what he'd lost. He opened the top drawer and hastily swept them into Eris's jewelry collection. Eris would not like how his rough movement disrupted the order of his things, but Azriel wanted them out of view. He slammed the drawer shut and forced himself out of his room for the first time since his return from Night.

He found Nesta on the large stone patio, teacup in hand. She gestured across the round table at another steaming mug.

"I hope you don't mind," she said.

Azriel shook his head, sitting to accept the offering. Nesta was tapping the rim of her mug, watching him with a look he could not read. Concern, he presumed, and shame welled up in him anew.

"Az, I'm sorry if this is my fault. If you… If what happened with Rhys was because of what you did for me."

He raised his brows at her. It wasn't concern, it was guilt.

He shook his head quickly, "No, Nesta. It is not your fault."

Glancing around the wooded clearing that housed his cabin with Eris, he thought about what he'd left behind in Night—what Nesta had left behind. Their positions were not dissimilar, and he felt a sorrow in his heart for what they'd both lost. He did not know how to explain the erosion of his foundational relationships. Since returning to Autumn, thoughts of his deceptions and his choices had intruded on his mind, unrelenting in their cast of blame.

He'd let Eris hold him through the night as he wept and whimpered for what was taken from him. He obsessively ran through an exhaustive list of every choice he'd made, every conversation with his family. He'd cataloged all the times he'd withheld something from his brothers, and all the times he'd remained silent when his brothers made choices that shocked him.

"What happened with Rhys began long before you came to Prythian, Nesta. Do not shoulder blame for something you could not have swayed."

He did not know how to capture the depth of those centuries-long relationships, and he could not bring himself to try. Nesta was nodding thoughtfully across from him.

"You said we needed to talk?"

Her face cleared as she focused, "Elain. I want to get her out, if she'll come. It's not safe for her there. Gwyn has heard rumors about the continent. I want Elain here with me, where I can protect her."

That got Azriel's attention. He set his cup down and turned fully to Nesta, "What rumors?"

Nesta looked at him anxiously. "I don't know. She said the priestesses talked about movements from the continent, but she didn't know what they meant."

He considered what he knew about the continental lands. He knew from Eris that Beron was colluding with at least Brialynn. Signs indicated that Brialynn was working with Koschei. It was unclear how the three of them connected, and he doubted they had any genuine shared goals. If what he knew about Beron held, and it would, the three actors were harboring their self-serving ambitions while allying out of necessity.

Nesta produced a small bag and laid its contents out on the table. Sandwiches.

"They were for Gwyn," she explained, nudging one toward him.

Lost in thought, he picked it up and bit into the soft bread. Nesta nibbled hers across from him, watching quietly. Finishing the offered food, he washed it down with a gulp of tea. She pulled out two apples and tossed him one. They crunched their snack together in amiable silence. They drank and ate from Nesta's bag while he tried to bring his mind back to the present concerns.

Leaning back in his chair, he realized this was the first time in over a week he'd felt full. The first time he'd thought about anything except his pitiful banishment. He looked up at Nesta, who returned his glance with a slight tilt of her lip—barely a smile.

Azrriel would not cry. He would not cry for this kindness, offered so subtly he'd barely noticed it. Like him, he knew that Nesta was proud— did not ask for help, fought to be seen as strong. She'd seen him and offered him this bridge.

Unable to speak, he nodded to her. She nodded right back, smiling mysteriously as her hand disappeared into the folds of her leathers. Pulling it back out, she held two wrapped caramels in her hand. She tossed one to him, and he grinned as he plucked it from the air. They chewed their candies together, Nesta watching the forest and Azriel gathering himself.

He cleared his throat, "Nesta, I don't have access to Elain. I'm not permitted back in Night without Rhysand's approval," the words cut his mouth as he spoke them.

Nesta frowned at him, "Lucien?"

"He comes and goes from Night, but taking Elain— even with her consent, it's risky. There's no guarantee she'd go with him anyway."

Nesta leaned her elbows on the table. "He can get a message to her? Without interference?"

Azriel nodded, "Likely so."

They discussed the safest way to get Elain a message that would not implicate her in anything if found. During a lull in the conversation, the cabin's front door burst open, and Eris came charging out, flaming auburn braids flying out behind her. He skidded to a stop when he saw them.

Azriel and Nesta had frozen in place at the commotion— they'd been flicking their balled-up caramel wrappers back and forth, trying to land one between the other's raised fingers. Azriel knew they must look silly, hands raised in odd configurations over the table littered with snacks they'd pulled out from the kitchen.

Eris did not move as his heaving chest slowed with his breathing, eyes darting between Az and Nesta. Azriel set his wrapper down and crossed to Eris's still body. Eris's eyes tracked his every move, wide and concerned. Reaching his mate, Azriel reached out and tucked a loose copper strand behind his ear.

"My love," he said quietly, "you're home."

Eris stared at him. Azriel watched his wide amber eyes focus on him, bearing the intensity of his mate's gaze. Slowly, Eris stepped closer to Azriel's open arms and raised his hands to hold Azriel's cheeks.

"My heart," he whispered, "you're up."

Azriel watched his body relax and swept him into a tight embrace. Eris so rarely showed emotion freely, Azriel knew his love had been worried about him. He hated causing Eris worry.

He held Eris close and whispered, "Thank you, my love, for keeping me safe."

Eris nodded into his shoulder. Remembering they had a guest, Azriel pulled back, "Eris, Nesta is here for a visit. We were discussing movements on the continent."

As Eris's eyes returned to focus, he warmly nodded to Nesta.

"You ate?" He asked, looking back at Azriel.

Azriel smiled sheepishly, "Nesta brought a picnic. We had sandwiches and tea."

He felt like a child begging for his caretaker's approval. He felt it even more so when Eris nodded, and Azriel felt giddy at having done something right. He pulled Eris to the table, and the three began reviewing what they knew of the courts' many predicaments. Not long after they'd settled, another flash of light lit the patio.

Nesta was moving before he had a chance to turn around. Azriel and Eris watched Nesta run her hands down Gwyn's arms, turn her slightly each direction and scanning her through squinted eyes. Lucien stepped away from the pair and approached the table.

"I don't think we've had this many guests in centuries." Eris smiled, his nose crinkling, and he felt himself relax further.

He did not have his brothers, but realized he still had family—people who cared about him and showed up when he needed someone to show up. He nodded at his mate, reaching out to squeeze his hand where it rested on his knee. He vaguely heard Nesta pelting Gwyn with questions about what happened, whether she was okay, and whether she was hurt. Gwyn giggled at her and shook her hands away, insisting she had just finished early and wanted to check on Azriel.

His heart expanded painfully at this unexpected group of fae who all showed up here for him. Eventually satisfied with Gwyn's state, Nesta led the priestess to the table. Azriel looked around at the odd grouping: two exiles, two defectors, and a conspiratorial heir. All hiding something from someone, all having made their way to this secret refuge looking for peace. Though his heart ached terribly and the lump in his throat had not relented, he felt the slightest glimmer of that foreign bloom in his chest: hope.

Eris snapped his fingers, and the clutter on the table was replaced by a large map, a fresh pot of tea, and a tray of treats.

Never disappointed by a scheme, Eris rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He looked around the table with a roguish grin, "Shall we?"

In the soft orange rays of Autumn's setting sun, this strange collection of rejects and runaways hunkered down to solve the world's problems over dark black tea and sweet cherry tarts.

Chapter 15

Summary:

Last time: Eris and Lucien caught up, Lucien little-bothered Azriel, Nesta coaxed Azriel out of bed, and the newly formed group of night-court defectors + Eris gathered to discuss the threats to Prythian.

This week: Azriel starts getting back into routine, Azriel pushed Nesta and Gwyn into volunteering for an Autumn festival, and Nesta begins the early stages of training with Lucien.

Feat.: more soft Azris (my lifeblood), Az and Nesta moments, Lucien being lovely as always.

Notes:

An eternal huzzah for my friend Strangeredlantern for beta reading. She is very smart and patient and encouraging ♥️

I was feeling stuck on this chapter and I deeply appreciate her willingness to talk it out with me and offer very generous encouragement.

Azriel

The company gathered around Azriel and Eris' table late into the evening. Eris had placed markers across the map as they studied it. Eris explained the border changes in Spring, describing what he'd seen.

"I should go tomorrow," Lucien said. I'll see for myself, and then talk to Tam."

Eris said, "I have to return to the Forest House and prepare for our guest."

Azriel looked between them, disgruntled. "Eris, I can be alone for a few hours without imploding," he said, annoyed and endeared by his mate's cautious worry.

Eris looked at him with concern. Azriel knew his love had suffered alongside him this last week. He thought that if roles were reversed, he might feel just as concerned. Still, he did not want to set the precedent that he required constant oversight. Before he could reply, Nesta piped in.

"Come to training with us, Az." She turned to Lucien, "Will you be back by lunch?"

"I can be," he agreed easily.

Nesta nodded, satisfied: "Eris will return to the Forest House to monitor Beron and prepare for Brialynn, Lucien will visit Spring to inspect the borders, and Az, Gwyn, and I will train." She glanced around the table: "Lucien, you can meet us at the dining hall for lunch, and we can discuss how to contact Elain."

"Alright, Nesta," Lucien gave her a playful smile, "we can discuss your magic, too."

Nesta whipped her head around with a glare. "What do you know of my magic?" she asked sharply.

Lucien did not back down, "That it's untrained, maybe even hostile."

Tension around the table rose as they all watched the exchange.

Nesta visibly bristled, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "I don't use my magic," she said primly.

Lucien shrugged, "That's likely why it's hostile."

Azriel grimaced at the icy glare she shot back at Lucien and sat up to cut in, but Eris put a hand on his knee and subtly shook his head.

"No one can train it," she seethed, "Amren tried." Her knuckles strained where they clutched her chair.

Lucien laughed fully, "Amren, that old dragon? She's seen plenty, but that doesn't mean she understands it. Fae magic is different than whatever she dragged into this world."

Nesta looked like she would protest, but stilled herself, considering.

"And you?" She asked coldly.

Lucien sat up. "I know what it's like to have magic you don't understand or know how to use, magic that scares you because it's unpredictable."

Azriel's heart clenched, breaking at the thought of Lucien's Day powers manifesting within him, the isolation he must have felt as his parentage and magical legacy crumbled around him. Azriel and Eris had been supportive and tried to help him, but his Day powers were foreign to both of them. It wasn't until he'd begun training quietly in Day that he started grasping his power—learning to wield it.

To his surprise, Nesta was nodding at Lucien.

Encouraged, Lucien went on, "I can help. Spring has vast fields that are still unoccupied. I can ask Tamlin for permission to access the vacant land for training."

Azriel could see it was here that he lost his audience.

"Absolutely not," she said firmly, shaking her head. "I want nothing to do with Spring."

Seeing his luck running out, Lucien tipped his head thoughtfully, "If you're interested in training, we will figure something out. Just think about it, we can talk about it more tomorrow."

Nesta agreed with a nod, turning to Gwyn. Gwyn had pulled her legs under her in her chair and was leaning on her elbow, eyes half open. Nesta reached toward her but pulled back, glancing around the table. Azriel smiled at Eris, both understanding.

Perceptive Lucien also clocked the exchange, "Shall I return you to Aurie?" He offered.

Nesta nodded at him and reached back out to take Gwyn's hand, "Come on, Gwyn, let's get you in bed."

Gwyn just yawned, giving her a sleepy nod.

Lucien stood, stretching his arms above his head. "When will you return?" He asked Eris.

"Day after tomorrow, though I'm unsure how long I can stay."

Lucien walked around the table to clap Eris on the shoulder, "Be safe, brother."

Eris covered Lucien's hand with his own and nodded. Lucien turned his attention to Azriel as the females gathered their things. Azriel groaned knowingly at the affable smirk on Lucien's face. As expected, Lucien leaned down and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek and a hard clap on his back.

Azriel reached up and ruffled his curls thoroughly. "See you tomorrow, Luce," he said, smiling despite himself.

"Tomorrow, brother."

He crossed back to where Nesta and Gwyn waited. Both females nodded to Eris and Azriel, who stood to see them off. One female on either arm, Lucien shot Azriel and Eris a triumphant grin before slipping away into a beam of light.

Finally alone, Azriel softened when he felt Eris' hand snake around his shoulder, turning him so they faced each other. Eris massaged his shoulders gently, watching his face with quiet relief.

"Eris, I—"

"No. None of that," he said softly.

Azriel knew Eris could feel his churning thoughts through the bond. He was used to the exposure after so many centuries, but in particularly vulnerable moments, it chafed a bit to be so seen.

Eris slid his hands into Azriel's hair, cupping the back of his head, "There is nowhere I would not go, nowhere I would not stay, for you."

Azriel nodded shakily. He watched Eris' concerned eyes rove over his face. He reached up to run his hands down Eris' arms and slide them down his sides, pulling Eris against him. In the steady light of stars, bright against the indigo sky, Azriel kissed his mate gently. He felt Eris' fingers wind through his hair and caress his scalp softly as he kissed him back. After a moment, Azriel broke them apart to nestle his face into the crook of Eris' neck.

Eris held him there, one hand on the back of his head, the other rubbing up and down his back. Azriel fought the urge to cry again at the easy tenderness. He trusted Eris' word without question, and its sureness was overwhelming. He knew that Eris would never let him live a single moment doubting how much he is loved, and the soft gravity of that knowledge had him nuzzling deeper into his mate— his arms tightening around Eris' waist.

"Come," Eris said quietly, kissing his head and taking his hand.

Azriel held Eris' hand in both of his and dutifully followed him into the cabin. Eris led them to the bedroom. He crossed the room to turn down the sheets for Azriel, fluffing the pillows and smoothing the blankets. He returned to where Azriel stood watching him and retook his hand. Instead of allowing himself to be led to bed, he pulled back and ran a hand down Eris' tight braids.

"May I?" he asked.

Eris took his hand and placed several kisses on his palm, nodding with a smile. Azriel loved Eris' hair—how it felt in his fingers, the reds and oranges irradiant in the light. He loved how it smelled like Eris and how carefully Eris took care of it. Azriel enjoyed helping his mate tend to his long hair. After more than a week in bed, he was happy to return to a well-worn routine between them.

He settled Eris at the vanity and smiled adoringly at him in the mirror. With slow and sure fingers, he unwound the ties and pins that held Eris' meticulous braids in place, handing each to Eris as he untangled them. Eris deposited them in their designated porcelain bowls. Azriel started at the ends of his hair, gently pulling apart the braids and brushing through the loosened strands with his fingers.

Eris leaned back into his touch. Reaching his arms behind him, Eris wrapped his hands around the backs of Azriel's legs and pulled him forward until he was close enough for Eris to lean back against him, head tilted forward. Azriel let the undone parts of hair fall over Eris' shoulders as he worked his way up his mate's head— fingers wandering through the strands, pausing to massage the skin of his head as he went.

Azriel leaned forward and selected a silver-handled brush he knew Eris favored for its soft bristles. Azriel let himself enjoy taking care of his mate, his mate who had given up a week of duties to take care of him. Azriel knew he would have given up more, perhaps given up everything, if he'd asked. He was glad for this moment between them when he could show Eris his gratitude.

He brushed Eris' hair out carefully, stopping occasionally to pull the curtain of red waves aside to kiss down his neck and whisper to him gently. He brushed fragrant oils through the ends of his hair before plaiting it into one straight braid down the back of his head. Eris leaned his head back to rest against Azriel's abdomen. Azriel let his thumbs work on the tension knots in his neck, kneading them as Eris removed several earrings, his eyes closed as he did so.

Eris reached out to open the top drawer, opening his eyes slowly to smile up at Azriel. As the drawer slid open, Azriel remembered what he'd stashed there earlier in the afternoon. Eris saw them at the same time as Azriel, and his soft, open expression sharpened.

"Az," he said, not quite an inquiry.

He began picking the siphons from the drawer and placing them on the vanity. Irritation clicked audibly in his jaw as he rearranged his jewelry.

Azriel winced, "I don't want them out, Eris. I don't need them here. What's the point of staring at them?"

He continued working on Eris' neck, stiffening quickly under his touch as he tried to explain why they'd been hidden there.

Eris nodded, and Azriel could sense he was trying to be patient and gracious, not to let his need for environmental control disrupt Azriel's processing.

"Perhaps we keep them in your drawers, darling."

Azriel chuckled at his haughty tone, agreeing apologetically. As amends, he took Eris' hands in his, removed each ring with a kiss, and placed them in their designated slots within the vanity. Eris softened at this and closed the drawer.

Standing, he collected Azriel's seven discarded siphons and carried them to Azriel's armoire. With a flourish of his wrist, an ornately crafted cherry-wood box appeared in his open palm, the slim curve of Autumn flames carved into its surface.

Eris placed the siphons in the box and closed the lid carefully. He set it on top of the armoire, patting the lid as though apologizing for Azriel's irreverence. Azriel sat on the bed, sadness creeping in as he stared at the box. He felt his shadows press against his shoulders, commiserating in their way. His whole life, he thought wretchedly, all he'd loved and accomplished, fit too tidily in that small Autumn box.

He stretched his wings out behind him before relaxing onto the bed. Eris slipped in beside him and moved to wrap himself around Azriel.

"Let me, my love," Azriel whispered, suddenly shy.

Eris had held him with such care and affection for the last week that his arms ached to wrap around his mate. Eris nodded. They held each other for a moment, kissing deeply and contentedly. When Eris turned away, Azriel pulled him back against his chest, and Eris lay his head on the arm Azriel slid under him. Azriel wrapped Eris' hand in his, bringing both up to Eris' chest. They breathed together as they settled.

Azriel dipped his head to give Eris one more kiss on his neck—two more kisses. He stopped finally at three. "I love you," he whispered.

Eris nestled against him and yawned, "Always, my heart."

---

Early the next morning, Azriel woke to a coaxing voice.

"I am off, my heart. I will return tomorrow by midday."

Azriel nodded up at Eris, who leaned down to kiss him goodbye.

When Eris left, he slowly rose from bed and walked to the nearest window. Peeling the curtains back, he popped the paned glass open, letting the cool morning air into the room. It was barely twilight; he would not be expected at Aurie's for a few hours. He made his way to the kitchen for sustenance and tea.

He'd slept more soundly last night than on previous nights. It had felt good to spend time with friends, get back to unraveling mysterious plots, and focus his energy on keeping Prythian safe. It eased some of his loneliness when he thought too long about his courtless state.

Azriel had not experienced a welcome home until Rhys' mother had taken him in. Even that had not been welcome at first. Cassian and Rhys had not been happy when he first moved in. He'd been so small and unusual; he'd only known the rare affection of his mother. Their early mistreatment of him had not felt out of place; it fit within his limited experience of family. He supposed that's why he hadn't resented them for it at the time. But as they'd grown closer, his brothers became his home.

It didn't matter if they were in Illyria, Velaris, or Hewn City, or were separated by war or time. They remained the sturdy foundation of home, his only framework for the word. When he'd met Eris and they began courting, as his feelings grew, he made space in his heart for Eris—together, they'd built their own world, their own home. It was Eris who gifted him this cabin, his first brick-and-mortar home, just for them.

Knowing Azriel had been robbed of so many choices in his life, Eris gifted him the bare bones and gave him the time, space, and resources to create what felt safe and what felt like home. At the time, Eris had told him he didn't care if Azriel built them a hovel; he would be warm wherever Azriel was warm. Azriel loved creating a home for himself and his dearest love. It gave him a sense of belonging, something concrete. It allowed him to do his favorite thing: provide for Eris.

This retreat in the Autumn woods now tethered him to the land, keeping him from floating miserably away with no ties to hold him. He sighed as he finished his breakfast and cleaned the dishes. Part of him wanted to lean into Autumn and accept it as his home. But his quick-beating heart still longed for the jagged mountains of his homeland, the glittering river through Velaris, his warm bed in The House— so near to Cassian's.

He dressed in well-worn leathers, gathering himself to leave. It had been weeks since he'd properly trained, months since he'd trained with Jay. He was looking forward to the work of it. He glanced at the wooden box that held his siphons, thinking loudly. He could not bring himself to approach it. His shadows wound gently up his arms and around his shoulders, a familiar embrace. He let them soothe him before tucking his wings in tight and stepping fully into their hold.

He arrived just outside Aurie's cabin and knocked softly, not wanting to wake anyone who was still sleeping at the early hour.

---

Nesta

She was tiptoeing around the kitchen, soft as a mouse, when she heard a gentle knock at the door. She rushed to the entryway, not wanting the noise to wake Gwyn or Aurie. She found Azriel on the stoop, hands tucked into his pockets and shoulders tight from the brisk morning air. She grabbed his arm and pulled him inside.

"Everyone is still sleeping," she whispered, "we didn't expect you until later."

She led him to the kitchen; his steps were so silent that she had to check to ensure he was still there. He chuckled softly the second time she glanced back.

"Spy," he explained with a grin.

In return, Nesta offered him a smile, leading him across the room to the small corner table.

"How do you like training with Jay?" Azriel asked.

She gave him an incredulous hmph, "Gwyn enjoys it," she replied.

Azriel leaned back in his chair. "You should give her a chance, Nesta. She's extremely knowledgeable." He paused, observing her for a moment. "She reminds me of you, actually.

Nesta gawked at him, "Me?" she demanded.

Azriel nodded, his shadows shimmying down his arms and through his fingers. "She's strong, fierce, loyal, a natural leader and teacher," he propped his elbows on the table, "like you."

Nesta stared at him. No one ever offered her praise so openly. It distantly annoyed her that Azriel granted her this compliment in comparison to a female she did not enjoy. Despite that, she found herself bashful at his generous words.

She did not know how to respond, so she reached across the table and tapped his arms. "Elbows off the table, Azriel— no Night Court manners here."

Her expression was stern, shielding her discomfort at his assessment of her strengths. Azriel dropped his hands into his lap with a soft snort.

His smile faded, and he looked at her again. "I did not get to thank you, Nesta."

She shrugged with feigned indifference, uncomfortable with the openness of this conversation. She stood to busy herself preparing breakfast for the house and its guests, looking for something to distract her hands.

"There's nothing to thank me for, Az," she said, watching her hands work instead of looking at him. She felt him approach her from the side and looked up at him. He looked tired, but his expression was warm and kind.

He reached out slowly and placed a hand gently on her arm. Ignoring her insistence that he owed her no gratitude, he held her hand in his. She felt the rough texture of his swirling scars against her skin as he squeezed lightly.

"Thank you, Nesta. For your kindness. For your friendship."

She saw sincerity in his eyes, the deep burrow of her flushed with rare warmth. She nodded curtly, taking her hand back. She was grateful he did not push it, turning toward the counter beside her to slice bread and boil the water.

They were eating their toast silently when Gwyn entered, already dressed in her leathers. Nesta smiled at the graceful way she drifted across the room. She greeted Azriel first before turning to Nesta. Still seated, Nesta looked up at her and felt a blush across her cheeks, pulled into Gwyn's azure gaze. Gwyn placed a hand on Nesta's shoulder and let it drag across her back as she walked around her chair to sit beside her. Nesta tried to still the shiver down her spine at the casual contact.

Azriel was watching them, but carried on with his tea and toast without comment. Gwyn plated her breakfast and took several generous bites before breaking the silence.

"Aurie won't be down for a while. She did not get home until late last night." Nesta and Azriel looked at her, waiting for an explanation. "I saw her in the hallway just now."

They chatted about their training experiences in Night and Autumn as the sun slowly filled the dim space with warm light. As its rays began to sharpen in her periphery, Nesta stood. The other two fae followed, and they loaded their dishes into the sink before taking off for training.

Arriving early, Nesta took her place next to Gwyn. Azriel crossed the ring to talk with Jay, who clapped him on the shoulder when he approached.

Jay let Azriel take the lead, and Nesta felt a familiar comfort at the routine. There were parts of Night she did miss, parts of her time there that had been warm. Like Azriel's steady presence in the ring, his deep, lulling voice calling out formations. Azriel's graceful way of moving helped Nesta pick up the movements easily; he made the violent thrusts and parries of sparring into a smooth dance.

They moved together through Azriel's instruction until Nesta and Gwyn were both red-faced with exertion. The stray sounds of training eased as Azriel began a wind down exercise, guiding them through deep breathing as their heartbeats slowed to resting. In the quiet, Nesta gave herself a moment to prepare for Lucien's questioning at lunch. She did not like talking about, or thinking about, her magic. It made her jumpy, irritated.

Allowing the soft slow-down of their final meditation to calm her, she sighed heavily toward the billowed clouds of Autumn. She let Gwyn pull her up and they began the brief walk to lunch. Azriel caught up with them easily.

"The Harvest Festival is coming up," he said casually.

Nesta watched him as they took their seats.

"Jay is organizing most of the food," he continued.

Nesta narrowed her eyes.

"I volunteered you two to help." He finished with a grin.

Before Nesta could protest, Lucien approached behind Azriel, arms loaded with steaming trays of food.

"We're coming back to this," she said firmly.

Nesta watched as Azriel ignored her to smile up at Lucien, "Is the young prince working the kitchens now?"

Last night was the first time Nesta had seen Lucien and Azriel interact outside of the Night Court. It was still strange for her to see them joke together. They were clearly close; they'd even referred to each other as brothers. Nesta wondered what else she did not know about the mysterious spymaster and her sister's many-layered mate.

Lucien laughed as he settled next to Az, "Not all of us are barred from entry," he retorted.

Azriel rolled his eyes, Gwyn and Nesta watching the two closely. They tucked into their meals and talked about Beyrih, about training, and Autumn. Nesta enjoyed the simple camaraderie. How long had it been since she shared a leisurely meal with… friends? She quipped lightly with Azriel, laughed at Lucien's easy charm. Gwyn shared some of her knowledge of the Valkyrie and listened intently as Azriel talked about fighting alongside them in the first war.

When their plates were empty and cleared away, Lucien cleared his throat.

"We should talk to Eris," he turned to Azriel, "but I think you need to go to the continent. See if you can gather some intel— we need to know what Brialynn wants with Spring."

Nesta pushed her plate away at the mention of the once-human queen, grimacing as she felt the Cauldron's choppy water slicing through her skin. Gwyn reached for her, but Nesta felt the frigid fire of her magic thrashing at the conversational proximity to the Cauldron's magic— she wrenched out of Gwyn's grasp and stood abruptly from her seat.

She looked around at these fae, her friends, and she wanted to fold back into her seat and be useful, helpful, needed, necessary. She felt embarrassed by her quick revulsion as she stood uncomfortably beside the table. Her companions looked at her with kindness, the sincerity of it pulling new guilt through her blood.

Lucien watched her. "We just need information," he said to the group, eyes on Nesta. "We are not making contact."

Azriel glanced at Lucien, "I'll talk to Eris. I can leave tonight."

They continued for a few moments, allowing Nesta the space she needed to refocus her attention on the present. Gwyn reached out casually and slipped her fingers through Nesta's, pulling gently to guide her back into her seat. Taking a deep breath, she complied, spine straight as she caught up. Lucien was talking.

"We lay low until we know more. The magic in Spring is like nothing I've ever seen. We need to know what we're dealing with before we act."

They gave him nods and murmurs of agreement. Lucien turned to Nesta with a grin, "Well, Nesta Archeron, are you ready to play with fire?"

Nesta rolled her eyes, "You use those lines on my sister?" She blinked when the words left her mouth, surprised at herself.

Lucien, unphased, smirked, "The Archerons have a particular immunity to my bewitching allure, I suppose. Works charms everywhere else," he shrugged with a wink.

Nesta's shoulders dropped in relief when he unexpectedly played along. She found his amiability reassuring, his quick repartee lightening heavy moods.

Looking back at him, she arched a brow. "Can Gwyn come?"

He stood from the table, motioning toward the door, "Naturally."

Nesta looked back at Azriel. His eyes were narrow as shadows fluttered around his ears. She cocked her head in question. He shook his head in return, "I will talk to Eris. I will leave for the continent tonight."

Nesta suspected Eris would not endorse this plan, "Are you sure, Az? No one would blame you if you needed more time."

Azriel stood, holding out a hand to help her from her seat. "I am of more use there than here."

She watched him carefully. He believed what he said, that he had value in the field that he did not have at rest. She did not let go when he went to pull his hand back. She did not argue; she knew it was no use.

"Be safe, Azriel. Return if it gets too risky, it's not worth losing you."

He gave her hand a light squeeze, nodding. He leaned down, lowering his voice, "You can trust Lucien, Nesta. He's a good male." She squeezed his hand back with a nod. Azriel said his goodbyes to Gwyn and Lucien before slipping out the door.

Lucien led Nesta and Gwyn through the village and down a familiar path. They arrived on the other side of the lake, which they would soon call home. Gwyn pointed across the water and told Lucien about the cabin.

"We'll be neighbors," he offered cheerily. "I don't stay often, but when I do, I'm just there," he pointed to a dark crop of woods near the cabin.

Nesta felt some comfort knowing that her only remaining connection to her sisters would be nearby, easily accessible.

"Why are we here?" she asked.

Lucien let his magic lift a small cluster of twigs from the ground near their feet. They watched as he magicked it a few feet past the shoreline, then with a twitch of his finger, it burst into flames. Dropping his hand abruptly, the engulfed sticks fell into the lake with a sizzle.

"Just a precaution," he grinned, nodding toward the wisp of smoke where the sticks had extinguished. "Water tempers fire."

He brought his attention back to Nesta, "Now, start at the beginning, tell me what you know about your power."

Chapter 16

Summary:

Last time: Azriel and Eris reconnect, Lucien talked Nesta into accepting his help, Az trained with Nesta and Gwyn and volunteered them to help with festival preparation.

This week: Nesta begins training in earnest, Nesta and Gwyn share a moment

Feat.: Lucien being very patient, Nesta trying not to get discouraged, Nesta swooning constantly and helplessly.

Notes:

Do you guys remember several chapters back when I swore I would eventually be cool and chill about my SRL fangirling? And then do you remember when I was constitutionally incapable of keeping that promise? Back again with another huzzah for the brilliant and patient and endlessly encouraging SRL and her kind and witty guidance. As always, we have her to thank for collecting stray commas and strengthening all sentences and storylines she touches!

Nesta

She turned away with a grimace. It felt uncomfortable to explain her magic; she did not have words for it. It lived within her, thrashed and broke like waves against her unsteady shores. In the months of her scorned indecency, she'd tried to quiet the bludgeon of magic that pounded against her bones. There was something about it that scared her, something dark and ominous.

"I don't know," she replied. "It's… cold."

Lucien nodded. "Have you ever summoned it on purpose?"

Nesta shook her head in reply, "I don't know how."

Lucien crossed the shore to stand beside her. They looked out over the deep waters of the lake, its soft rippled surface alive with strange creatures and their own Autumn magic. Nesta shifted on her toes, looking up at Lucien for instruction. He continued to appraise the lake.

"Out there," he pointed to the center of the lake, "deep below the surface, there are whole colonies of animals." Nesta followed his pointed finger, watching the water's gentle movements. Lucien continued, "It's deep, one of the deepest lakes in Autumn. Maybe all of Prythian."

Nesta frowned; she did not like the idea of a bottomless lake at her doorstep. She thought about the Cauldron's disconsolate water, the icy marks it left across her skin as it squeezed in around her. She felt it trying to expel her, enraged by her presence.

Lucien carried on, "Magic is like that, Nesta. It's not an ambivalent presence; it's a world unto itself. If you dive into the lake, the fish will disperse, they'll hide away, maybe even lash out in fear."

Lucien knelt at the water's edge and ran his fingers through the shallow waves. Nesta watched the small rocks and sand bloom up into the water, camouflaging Lucien's swirling fingers.

"But you enter slowly, let them become accustomed to you, recognize you, and the equilibrium of their home is maintained. Now you're sharing the space, working alongside each other."

Lucien stilled his hand in the water, and the three fae watched silt and debris settled into his palm, still cupped just below the surface. Nesta crouched down beside Lucien. She heard Gwyn walk back to the treeline to sit at a distance. Nesta turned to face Lucien.

"The Cauldron," she said softly, "water reminds me of the Cauldron."

She did not know why she was sharing this with him. There was a sincerity in his nod that encouraged her onward, an openness in his expression. She watched his magic eye whirl rapidly, the mechanical click-click-click it made as it spun. His good eye watched her carefully, waiting for her to continue.

"It isn't like Autumn magic. My magic is cold; it's dangerous. Keeping it contained, it's the only way I can feel human. Like I'm still a person, with a future and a family."

Lucien leaned back to sit on the shore. He propped his arms up on his bent knees and considered her words.

"You are a person with a future and a family. But you're not human, not anymore. I know it's unfair," he pulled his brows together in a pained expression, "I regret it every day, Nesta. That I couldn't stop it."

She looked away, glancing back at lovely Gwyn, fiddling mindlessly with the hem of her robe. Nesta noticed the way the forest seemed to brighten around her, the flowers more vibrant, the ancient trees attentive. Feeling grounded, she turned her attention back to Lucien. Before she could speak, he went on.

"I couldn't help you then. You or Elain. I can help now, but you have to trust me."

She dropped down beside him with a sigh, "You don't understand, I don't know how to reach it."

At this, he shot her an excited grin, "I understand perfectly, Archeron. Here, I'll show you."

He stood quickly, reaching back to offer his hand to pull her up. He held both hands in front of him, upturned fists closed loosely. Unfurling one hand, a small yellow flame appeared in his palm. It swayed gently in the breeze but did not extinguish.

"I grew up learning how to use this magic, watching my brothers and learning everything I could. It's like breathing to summon this flame, I barely have to try."

Nesta scoffed, "Very understanding."

Lucien gave her a small smile, opening the fingers of his other hand. "This," he said, "this took focus and time." In the palm of his hand, a sharp light flitted around as though reflected through a mirror. The quick motions slowed when Lucien narrowed his eyes. The light thickened in his hand, pulling its edges in until it formed a slender glowing line.

Nesta looked between his hands. Both seemed strong and confident to her.

"Let's just start small," Lucien offered. He motioned for her to hold her hand out. Taking it in his, he flattened her upturned hand. "See if you can just coax it to the surface. You don't have to do anything with it, try to make it appear."

Nesta stared down at her hand. "Find where it lives, then make it a pathway out," Lucien advised, as if it were a simple task.

Nesta closed her eyes and felt around behind her ribs, deep in her chest, where she kept the beast of her power leashed. A shiver flashed through her when she approached it, that long suffocated magic pulling on its bindings. In her mind, she reached out to it slowly, picturing the nervous little fish of the lake darting around within her. She held still, breathing in and out slowly through her nose.

She felt Lucien and Gwyn's eyes on her but kept her focus inward. She let herself be still, patient. When she was starting to feel silly, she felt something reach back out toward her. She held her breath, too afraid to move. She started with a gasp when an icy cold touch shot down her arm and around her outstretched hand.

Her eyes flew open, darting down to her open palm. It was empty. She shook her head, "I felt it, I don't know what happened."

Lucien clapped his hands together enthusiastically, "That's great, Nesta! That's really great!" He cheered.

Nesta dropped her hand, "Nothing happened," she said dully.

Lucien reached for her hand, "May I?" He asked. She nodded, and he picked up her hand to inspect it. "The skin feels cool," he reported. He closed both hands over hers, and she felt the warmth of his Autumn magic soothe her skin. The casual use of his magic appeared not to phase him at all, he dropped her hand easily and brought a hand to his chin in thought.

"That's really great, Nesta. It took me weeks to make that first contact; you did it in a few minutes."

He nodded his head encouragingly, and she couldn't help but feel some pride. She was grateful for his generous assessment, especially with Gwyn observing from the treeline.

"Now we know where we're starting, what you already know how to do. We can build on that," he said matter-of-factly.

Nesta did not argue. She promised she would learn to control her magic, to keep Gwyn safe, and that's precisely what she would do, even if her teacher were an unfortunate optimist.

"Okay," she said, "let's keep going."

Lucien lit up before taking a step back, "Go on then," he said agreeably, "let's try again."

They passed most of the afternoon watching Nesta try and fail to summon any visible magic. She could feel the cold sting of it on her skin, but she could not manifest it or mold it. Lucien tried to assure her that this was normal, that she had grown up without magic, so it made sense that wielding it did not come naturally. The logic was sound, but the defeat still stung.

After several hours, she was beginning to fade. Gwyn joined them eventually and clapped excitedly alongside Lucien whenever she managed to sting herself with her own icy powers. She found their enthusiasm to be poorly managed, but appreciated their support and made no comment on their revelry.

Sparing her any additional fatigue, Lucien called their session to a close. "That's plenty for one day. That was great, Nesta, really great." His praise pinged off her like an acorn against hard ground, but she softened easily when Gwyn joined in, "Incredible, Nes!"

She smiled politely at her friends. Lucien gave them both a wicked smirk. "I believe you're needed in the kitchen's festival preparations," he laughed.

Nesta groaned. She was already exhausted; she did not want to spend the rest of her evening being told what to do. She cursed Azriel for his meddling. She could not understand why he wanted her and Jay to get along. But the fae here had done so much for her, had accepted and housed and cared for her. Even though she was a dangerous liability to their secrets, they had welcomed her with warmth.

So, she allowed herself to be winnowed across town to the dining hall. Lucien deposited them in Jay's care with a flamboyant wink before disappearing, claiming he had business to attend elsewhere.

---

Jay led Nesta and Gwyn to a back room off the kitchen. The room was lined with ample wooden shelving from floor to ceiling. The shelves were filled with many pots and pans, row after row of soft white flour, and clear jars of sugar. Some of the shelves held large blocks of dark and light chocolates, as well as little canisters of powders and liquids, some brightly colored, others with earthy, neutral tones.

Ignoring Nesta, Jay spoke politely to Gwyn as she explained what she needed. The annual festival featured a large cornucopia filled with Autumn's signature confections. The fae of Beyrih would line up to collect sweet honey cakes and fluffy buns, leaving behind treats of their own for their neighbors to gather. Jay did not want them anywhere near the star pastries, so she pushed them into the corner of the back room with a handwritten recipe and instructions not to touch anything that wasn't on the list.

Examining the recipe after Jay grunted her goodbyes, Gwyn announced they would be making cookies.

"Is that what the recipe says?" Nesta asked cautiously.

Gwyn set the parchment on the long table in the center of the room. "It's what these people need, Nesta."

Nesta grinned back at her. She would follow Gwyn's every instruction without question. Gwyn collected pots and pans from various shelves while calling out the ingredients for Nesta to bring over to the worktable. Once Gwyn determined they had everything they needed, they sat on either side of the table. Nesta waited patiently for her instruction.

Gwyn explained that she'd memorized a recipe from her mother, one she'd been craving since visiting the bakery in town. Nesta would ensure that Gwyn had exactly what she wanted, despite Jay's insistence that they follow her recipe to the letter.

They worked quietly, measuring and mixing. Gwyn directed Nesta, and Nesta followed along dutifully. "We need more flour," Gwyn announced, standing to look over the shelves for what she wanted.

Nesta watched her before returning her attention to the large bowl in front of her. Lost for a moment in the meditation of endless stirring and whisking, she jumped when a crash and Gwyn's muffled cry of surprise rang out. Looking up, she met Gwyn's eye across the room, and they both froze. Gwyn, reaching too high on a shelf, had lost her balance sliding a sack of flour to the ledge.

Nesta covered her mouth with her hand to keep from laughing, looking on with barely contained amusement at the sight in front of her. Gwyn's hair, skin, and robes were powdery white, covering her head to toe; the sack had tipped over and dumped its contents directly onto her. Gwyn was staring, her shocking blue eyes even more stark against the snow-white coating across her face.

Stifling her laughter, Nesta rushed over to Gwyn, wiping flour off her face with a sleeve pulled over her hand. "Oh, Gwyn," she choked out.

Gwyn stared at her with wide eyes, "Jay," she whispered. "Oh, mother above, this is a mess," she whispered.

Nesta paused her ineffectual wiping and gave Gwyn a stern look, "It was an accident, dearest, even Jay will understand that. Besides," she sniffed haughtily, "she likes you."

Gwyn shook her head slowly, tears forming in her eyes. Nesta felt her heart quicken when her bottom lip began to tremble.

She held Gwyn's face between her hands, "Gwyn, my lovely moon, it's just a spill." Nesta stepped in, close enough to hear Gwyn's breath catch when she slid her fingers up to push flour-speckled red waves of hair from her face.

Gwyn, her dearest and loveliest, her brave and brilliant friend. Nesta's heart swelled up painfully at the thought of her friend experiencing this distress, this fear of being disruptive or being scolded. Without thinking, Nesta reached a hand up behind Gwyn and grabbed onto an adjacent sack of sugar. She pulled it forward until it spilled out over both their heads in a sweet avalanche, stunning them both.

Surprised by her own boldness, Nesta stared down at the mounds of sugar and flour they'd dumped on Jay's kitchen floor. She lowered her raised hand, glancing up at Gwyn.

"We could've just told Jay it was me," she admitted slowly, "she would've believed it."

Gwyn's eyebrows shot up, and she let out a peal of laughter so bright Nesta had to steady her breathing at the sound. Gwyn fell into a rapturous laughter, one hand clutching Nesta's shoulder and the other wrapped around her belly as she struggled to breathe. Slightly hysterical, Nesta leaned into Gwyn, dropping her forehead down to rest on her shoulder, letting herself be swept into the moment.

Gwyn grabbed Nesta's hand, and through that weightless laughter, she dragged Nesta back to the work table. Nesta took her seat, still clutching her chest as she laughed uproariously at Gwyn's delight. Leaning over the table toward Nesta, Gwyn reached her hand into the bowl between them and scooped a handful of batter into her palm. Through the sweetest laughter Nesta had ever heard, sweet and lovely Gwyn flung a handful of batter at Nesta.

When it splattered against the table, they both stared down at it before breaking into another fit. Nesta laughed until tears left sticky trails down her cheeks, mixing with flour and sugar. They giggled as they tossed chocolates and little palmfuls of loose flour back and forth across the table. For a time, Nesta was only in this singular moment— Gwyn was here, Gwyn was laughing full bright, Gwyn was happy. Nesta would have done anything to keep it wrapped up in her heart, a private moment, a secret joy.

Catching their breath, they both slowed their laughter. Smile fading as she registered the scene in front of her, Nesta’s eyes shot down to the other female’s mouth, where errant sugar clung to her full lips. Dragging her gaze up Gywn’s face, as if to look away from her soft mouth would cut her deeply, their eyes locked across the ruined table.

Moments passed unnoticed as they remained in this thrall. Unable to resist the pull of her, Nesta, slow as honey from a spoon, lifted slightly off her chair, her fingers digging little wells into the sugar and flour on the surface of the table. She braced her weight against it, leaning forward towards the other female.

 Gwyn sat still as a stone, her eyes never leaving Nesta’s as she watched her lean in carefully over the table between them, until they were just one single breath apart. Nesta paused, taking in the deep teal of Gwyn’s eyes. She felt herself adrift in their welcoming waters, the warmth of it cocooning her softly in the infinite moment passing between them. Before she could think better of it, or be shaken from this spell, she closed her eyes, angling her head just slightly as her elbows bent to lower her body. 

Gwyn watched with steady attention, unmoving, as Nesta’s lips parted just enough for the tip of her tongue to peak out before she leaned impossibly closer. Gwyn sat perfectly still in the gravity of Nesta’s pull, breath held. Nesta closed the remaining distance between them with the light sweep of her tongue across Gwyn’s bottom lip, pulling spilled sugar into her mouth as she moved.

Reaching the corner of Gwyn’s mouth, she pulled her tongue back in to savor the taste of it, the sweetness coating her tongue, sugar granules melting into her mouth. Neither able to break the delicate glimmer of this moment, they remained only a touch apart, eyes closed, feeling each other's breath dust across their skin like ripples on still water. 

Only in the disruptive clatter of commotion in the next room did the mist of this moment begin slowly to recede. Nesta eased her eyes open and righted herself in front of Gwyn. Their eyes stayed locked only on each other as Nesta lowered back into her chair and settled her forearms on the table, grounding herself so she did not slip away. It was tempting to do just that, let this moment melt and drift and sweep her along with it before crystallizing into an unbreakable capsule to contain this feeling. She could live in that liminal space between their mouths and breathe in the anticipation of that first touch forever. 

“What the fuck?” came the annoyed gasp as Jay swung the door open and clamored in, nearly tripping over an upturned pot. 

Surveying the room, her eyes landed on the two females before her, still tied together in a trance, staring unblinkingly at each other.

“So… Was there a major weather event or an incident of great violence that I missed?” she asked, surveying the chaos of spilled ingredients and the disheveled state of the obvious perpetrators.

 At the sound of her third “ah-hem,” Nesta slowly turned towards her, blinking twice before a shiver shuddered through her. Shaking her head, she took in the room for the first time. 

“Oh, ” she said quietly, unwilling to break the moment to explain herself. 

Not remotely satisfied, Jay scoffed loudly and waved her finger back and forth, gesturing to the space between the two females. 

“Does someone want to explain this?” 

Breaking back into the present moment with great effort, Gwyn’s cheeks heated with a blush across her freckled skin. She dragged her eyes from Nesta, to Jay’s accusing glare. 

“Oh, I'm so sorry, Jay. We got carried away and things got... We’ll have it cleaned up before dinner, I promise.” 

Jay narrowed her eyes at Gwyn before sliding her gaze to a now openly unrepentant Nesta. Nesta, having recovered herself, crossed her arms across her chest and huffed at Jay before sniping, “She said we’ll clean it, and we will.”

She dismissed the Autumn female entirely, turning back to continue her inspection of the light flush on Gwyn’s face, the bright pink hue spreading up the pointed tips of her ears and pulling Nesta’s gaze helplessly along. 

Unimpressed but apparently satisfied with Gwyn’s promise to put the kitchen’s backroom in order, Jay grumbled something about helpless Night Court refugees, kicking the pot out of the doorway and stomped back through. Nesta watched Gwyn watch Jay disappear into the central kitchen, then turn back to face her. 

The glare she’d just leveled against Jay softened instantly as her eyes made contact with Gwyn’s again, and she gave the redheaded female a small smile. Gwyn returned it with a bashful look, lifting her hands from where she’d clutched them in her lap to tuck her hair behind her ears and glance away. Though the moment had passed, its electricity still sparkled in the air around them as they both struggled to find something to say.

“I’ll take care of–” Nesta started at the same time Gwyn said “It was my fault I’ll–” Gwyn laughed her bright laugh and covered her face with her hands, offering Nesta an embarrassed apology. 

Nesta's shoulders loosened at the sound of Gwyn’s soft laughter, slumping back in her chair with a giggle of her own, “Let’s just get this mess cleaned up before Jay decides to roast us for dinner.”

They tidied their mess quickly, efficiently, and without a single word being spoken. The air between them remained taut and heated as they made occasional eye contact before glancing away. Gwyn’s blush never left her cheek, and Nesta could hardly focus on her task with that alluring rosy flush moving silently around her. 

By the time they finished putting the kitchen back together and collecting themselves, the sun was well past set. Jay returned several times to scold Nesta and offer assistance to Gwyn, but both females were aware only of each other as they swept and scrubbed. When Jay deemed their clean-up sufficient and informed them they were no longer needed for festival preparations, Nesta brushed the last of the debris from her dress.

She tucked Gwyn's hand into her elbow and led them from the dining hall down the path back to Aurie's. Her heart was its own force inside her when Gwyn laid her head on Nesta's shoulder as they walked. Nesta guided them home to Aurie's cabin and led her up to the room they'd returned to sharing. Once home, Gwyn excused herself to the washroom to clean up. Nesta paced over to the window and threw it open, sighing into the cool evening air.

Her skin was heated, replaying the moment her tongue tasted Gwyn's lips for the first time. She felt the slow drag of her tongue, the closeness of their lips. She peeled off her stifling wool dress and leaned unabashedly out the window, clad in a simple shift— the heat of the memory sending a flush down her neck and chest. She let the night air cool her, the impact of whatever would come next sending chills down her arms and up her neck.

She lurched from her place on the windowsill when she heard the standing wash quiet and Gwyn stepped out. She listened tensely as Gwyn moved around the hidden room. When the door finally opened, Nesta stood by the window to watch. Gwyn opened the door slowly, peeking around the frame to look for Nesta. Their eyes met briefly before Nesta sank into the glow of lovely Gwyn, stepping out from the washroom.

Her hair was wet, dripping down the skin of her neck and chest, leaving the fabric of her nightgown speckled with dark spots where droplets landed silently. Nesta was frozen in the window, watching her lovely, bright moon step into the room. Without her bidding, she felt her hand reach out to Gwyn, beckoning her forward with a heavy exhale and a welcoming nod.

She watched Gwyn's shoulders lower, and she stepped toward Nesta with one hand out to reach for Nesta's, the other tucking deep red strands of wet hair behind her ear.