CHAPTER THREE
Memory's Long Shadow
Only a fortnight had passed since my first bleeding – since my darling mother sacrificed herself to protect me from my clipping, and my Lady took me under her protection. She says I remind her of herself, and that is why she saved me. I think what she truly wanted was a playmate for the daughter swelling in her belly who would be able to fly at her side. I don't mind it. My Lady is kind and gentle, so I can tell she means well for me.
Unfortunately, my rescue caused scandal among my home village, creating some tension between the High Lord of the Night Court and that sect of Illyrian warriors. He hates me, I think, for the trouble my existence caused. To placate her mate and the Illyrian lord of my village, my Lady directs me to act as a servant. Again, I don't mind it. It's not so different to the chores I used to do alongside my mother to keep my grandfather's holdings running smoothly.
This day is odd though: I am nervous. I've been told to serve the evening meal to the High Lord and his guests as he hosts a war council. I've never had to serve him directly before, and I fear I might make a mistake. The anxiety sets my fingers trembling against the tray of food in my arms as I step into the command tent. The warriors gathered around don't bother to take notice of me, engaged as they are in their discussion. Head bowed in deference, I began to deliver plates about the table while willing my shaking to ease. I am nearly finished, all dishes laid out with only the task of refilling glasses remaining. I ease between two males, moving to fill the brunet human's glass as the dialogue grows heated. A feathered wing brushes against the delicate membrane of my own and I startle, water from my pitcher soaking the front of the guest I had been trying to serve.
A pregnant pause stretches through the space as all discourse was brought to an abrupt stop. Mortified, I peel myself away eyes scanning wildly for a solution, an ally, an escape – anything. I see the fury in my High Lord's expression, disdain from the darkbringer commander, and disgust from the Illyrian representative. A flash of pity flits across the face of the young shadowsinger standing apart from the rest before darkness conceals his features. The dark-haired seraphim who bumped me was casting me a surprised look, as if he had only just realized I was there. I could feel my wings fluttering helplessly at my back, my eyes snapping back to the poor man I had just doused in icy liquid. An apology caught in my throat as my again shaking hands struggled with the ties of my apron. I could use it as a towel and then—
A melodic peal of laughter pulls me from my panic and cuts through the building tension. The only female placed at the table has succumb to a fit of giggles, dark curls bouncing about her face as she struggles to restrain her mirth. "Finally! Someone sees fit to cool Jurian down," she quips, warm brown eyes dancing as she reaches out to pat the man's damp cheek.
He met her look with a wry one of his own, affection softening his expression. "I'm glad my discomfort amuses you," he returns, swiping at the moisture on his face. His gaze sweeps about the table, taking in the hostile postures of the Night Court leaders before settling on my stricken appearance. I flinch back instinctively when he reached towards me, but his hand merely settled on the top of my head—ruffling my dark locks in a gesture that is almost … reassuring? He pitches his voice low, his tone gentler than I would have ever expected from a general seated at this gathering such as this one, "It was only a small accident. No harm done."
Someone scoffs. I can't say who, too entranced as I was by the man before me. He, however was not so easily dismissive. I watch in awe as the human looks back to the table of warriors, arching an arrogant brow in challenge. "I know you fae don't think much of human might, but you don't truly think a splash of water is enough to slay us, do you?" The audacity of his tone as he stares straight at the High Lord is terrifying.
Incredibly, the man isn't dusted for his insolence. Instead, the High Lord merely reclines in his chair and flicks his hand dismissively in the direction of his generals, wordlessly ordering them all to be at ease. Human brown eyes turn back to me, smug but warm, "See? No reason to fret, little starling."
That had all been near the midway point of the War. Before the famed human hero became so absorbed in his war effort that he turned himself into a monster as awful as those he'd fought. Before his actions drove his half fae lover into the arms one of his closest allies. As I looked at him now, I saw none of the warmth—none of the empathy or kindness that had captivated me as a girl. A shell of what I remembered, bitter and mad. I could hardly fathom what made it possible for the man I knew for a fact had been slain during the War to be here before me now. Certainly nothing good.
"Jurian," I breathed aloud, even as I still struggled to find my center. His presence here, tall and proud and appearing hardly any years older than in my memory rattled me more than I'd like to admit.
It hurt on some level to see him as he was now. The last time I had actually seen him, he had still been that haughty, brilliant man who still took the time to bestow kindness on mere servants—still been the man whom I had idolized. He was already dead by the time news reached my ears of the sins he'd committed to gain an edge in the War and my youthful idealism was shattered not for the last time. I no longer saw his deceit and torture of Clythia as something horrific or heinous – I had certainly done worse in the pursuit of my goals in the centuries since.
Yet… Seeing him now reawakened those pointless feelings of betrayal I had felt when he hadn't lived up to the heroic pedestal I had placed him on in my childhood. Even knowing in my mind that the ire building in my chest was undeserved, it was an effort to force it down and out of sight. It was only through centuries of practice that I was able to maintain an outward mask of casual ease, "I had it on good authority that your spirit had fled it's mortal coil. Must be quite the tale."
His derisive snort enlightened me as to just what he thought of my tactful probing, "The king needed to test the Cauldron's resurective capabilities. I'm merely reaping the benefits."
The vagueness prompted more questions than it gave answers to. He knew it too, and I had to wonder if he was deliberately baiting me. He probably was. He wanted me to ask, so that he could be the one holding the cards. I could draw this out, dance around the true topic of interest until he relented and admitted to his purpose, but that in and of itself was a risk. I'd rather know where we stand now, than maintain my dominance and gain nothing from this exchange. His knowledge of me was too much of a liability otherwise.
I had the presence of mind to sweep us up into the embrace of my magic. I suspected the remainder of this conversation would be such that I would not want overheard by anyone. "What is it that you want from me, exactly?"
If he could feel the touch of my power, he showed no sign, merely regarding me with a cool sort of calculation. "Information," he supplied after a moment of contemplation, "I seek Miryam's hiding place."
"Why?" Something about his answer rang discordant to my senses, though I couldn't place the exact reason. Nothing about his manner seemed explicitly disingenuous. If he was lying, his delivery lacked any flaw I could discern. Call it intuition, or maybe it was simply my knowing rearing its ugly head again. Either way, I could not shake the belief that his claim was a misleading one, if not a total falsehood.
There was a chuckle then, his eyes dancing in wild delight as he read the implications in what I left unsaid, "So, you don't deny she lives? Refreshing change of pace."
I considered deflecting the charge, but quickly deemed it a waste of both of our time. I instead opted to speak plainly, "That would be pointless. It's evident you already know such for fact."
"Where is she?"
"I was never privy to that information," there was an odd sort of curtness in our exchange. Direct answers and questions, but sharing no more than necessary. I couldn't gauge his true motives this way, couldn't figure whether he was friend or foe. I needed to dig deeper.
"You're turn," I declared thoughtfully, "Why bother tracking her at all? You already know she mated another. Happily so, from what I understand."
There was a flicker of hesitation in his expression, gone so quickly I had nearly missed it even with my fae senses – the question caught him off guard. "Miryam betrayed me—abandoned me. She and Drakon both," his tone was perfectly resolute when he answered, yet that small tell had me wondering just how rehearsed it really was.
My knowing was screaming at me again, and this time it was supported by my own memories. For all his flaws, Jurian was not a petty man. He was arrogant, conniving, and amoral, yet he always had a deeper purpose. A worthy goal. His zealous commitment to the freedom of his human brethren from the fae was his greatest virtue even as it drove him to his own damnation. I was hard pressed to believe that whatever had brought him to still stand before me had broken him so badly that even that had changed. "Revenge?" I challenged him softly, "Somehow I don't believe that."
Jurian looked startled at that, though the expression was slight. Perhaps he'd grown too used to people expecting the worse. It had made his job easy, I suspect, but I was already coming to a differing conclusion. His expression became closed off, the crazed amusement he had presented towards the start of our conversation all but gone now. "You're naïve," he accused, his tone lacking any sort of real heat.
There was something there, I could almost taste it. So I gave one final push, my voice gentle and coaxing, "I've hidden us from prying eyes and ears. I've no loyalty to Hybern. Who is benefiting from this performance?"
It wasn't a true admittance of my machinations, but it was enough of an innuendo that I know he understood. I wanted to know if we could be allies. His expression was careful, considering. For a moment I thought perhaps he would admit to my suspicious outright, but instead he merely murmured, "A Xian serpent or a Prythian starling? I suspect I'll see the truth for myself tonight."
He left that cryptic musing hanging between as he lifted himself from his seat and ambled away as if the exchange between us never happened. It wasn't an ideal end to the discussion, but I didn't think I had to worry about him exposing me to the king. Not today, at any rate. Until I had a clearer understanding of what he was up to I'd have to monitor the situation, but for now he was no threat to me or my own.
The rest of the morning into the afternoon passed without fanfare, much to my relief. I spent most of that time at the king's side, fulfilling my role as Ambassador. Officially my job was to monitor the situation and advise the King of Hybern as to what needed to be accomplished before Xian officially pledged resources. Unofficially I was to deflect, distract, and charm so that no one would be the wiser that the offered aid was never coming. In truth the Emperor of Xian had no real interest getting involved with the trouble brewing so far away from the Continent, as Vallahan, Rask, and Montesere were the more immediate concerns. The risk was simply not worth the reward, although if Hybern truly did succeed it would be better to have offered some token support than none at all. It was a situation that allowed me the leeway necessary to pursue my own goals here in Prythian – namely the sabotage of Hybern's campaign.
Any free time I gained I dedicated to mingling with the commanders and officers, even managing to catch Caolan for another inane yet entertaining discussion on proper battlefield fashion. As the day wore on, however, I noticed my high lord paying me an inordinate amount of attention. He was getting impatient, I knew, though I would have preferred to hold our discussion later. It would be more productive if we held it after dinner and when most fae were abed. He was just being too Cauldron-damned obvious about it. I couldn't just leave it alone.
Irked that he was forcing me to deviate once more from my carefully thought out plans, I sauntered over with more sass in my stride than strictly necessary. His expression became shuttered, as if he knew whatever I was about to do would strain his limited patience. Good. He deserved the discomfort. I let a smile play across my lips as I reached out to brush finger tips over his forearm and up to rest against his bicep – over the place where his bargain tattoo was hidden beneath the veil of my magic.
"Something catch your eye, High Lord?" I purred deliberately, letting my voice carry to any who cared to listen.
Tamlin glared, a growl rumbling in his chest in reply and it was an effort not to let loose an exasperated sigh. Surely, he wasn't so obtuse that he failed to deduce my purpose? No, the male was just being difficult for difficulty's sake. I supposed it served well enough, for the angry brooding front he presented. It might seem suspicious if he fell for my charms too easily.
Still, I had no intention of letting him off easy for the attitude. I let my expression twist into something wicked. "Oh come now, don't be shy," I teased him even as I slid closer to add in a stage whisper, "It's perfectly understandable to crave a real female after being so taken in with that mortal-born wench I've heard so much about."
It was a low-blow, I knew it was. Yet, I couldn't help the little thrill of excitement I felt when I saw real fury dancing in those stunning gold-flecked emeralds. I couldn't tell if it was the insult to his former lover, the implication of his failure for falling for her deceit, or simply the reminder of the betrayal that drew forth his wrath so easily. I was quickly finding I didn't really care. It was fun goading the beast.
He drew himself up to his full height to loom—actually loom—over me, and I could see the claws glinting in the afternoon light on his hands. Had I been someone else, had this male been someone else to me, I might have been intimidated. As it was, the display only roused in me a distant notion of impressed amusement. Despite the anger radiating off of him, his movements were disciplined. I hadn't pushed him enough that his control had snapped, not yet.
As if sensing that his posturing failed to have the intended effect, one of Tamlin's hands slid up to cup my throat, the razor-sharp tip on his thumb pressing just firmly enough that I could feel the sting without breaking the skin. He gave me a deliberate once-over, drawing further attention to the size difference between us as he hissed, "And you think that you are a female capable of sating me?"
I almost balked at the implied insult—then I noticed that wicked amusement that mirrored my own in his expression. Was he—taunting me? Maybe he wasn't as obstinate and inflexible as I had thought. I leaned in, letting his claws press deep enough to draw blood. "Looks can be deceiving. I would have thought you'd have learned that lesson by now."
"You're overconfident," was the retort, nearly nose-to-nose now. As close as we were, I could see his lips twitch just on the edge of a smile.
It was getting harder to resist a true smile of my own as I dipped my voice into a low sultry tone, "Let's find out, shall we?"
There was a feral sort of intensity in his gaze as he released me, watching closely as I glided away. He stalked at my heels as I made the decision to lead us to his tent instead of my own. I didn't want to chance an encounter with Deryn or another of my retinue. We only had a couple of hours before the evening meal was served, and I didn't want to risk the conflict after the exchange I had had with my retainer this morning.
Tamlin's tent was simpler than my own, only the barest necessities scattered about. No frills or glitter, much like the male himself. As we stepped inside, my high lord maintained his predatory edge. He was still riled from the show we'd put on for the camp, and if I were being honest, so was I. Something about playing this dangerous game with him was too enticing to resist.
I took a silent moment to let my magic do its job, sealing a layer of privacy over the small area. For added effect, I weaved intricacies into the illusion cast – silhouettes cast by candlelight against the canvas walls, the sound of muffled laughter, moans, and growls, the musky scent of sweat and sex. I called upon my own memories of the last time we'd been together uninterrupted, strengthening the glamour with an element of authenticity. On a whim, I let a dimmed impression of the sights, sounds, and smells being presented outwardly to be perceived inside the tent as well. I could see the moment Tamlin noticed in the tensing of his shoulders and the flare of his nostrils.
I was half-expecting the first words out of his mouth to be more of that challenging flirtation. I hoped for it. I found myself disappointed when instead he chose to voice his criticism and impatience, "You've been busy chattering about today. Did I really hear you discussing fabric with that one male? How in the Mother's name is that conducive to our goals?"
"That male happened to be the Commander of the Arcane Legion, and my most promising source of potential information thus far," all the playfulness leached out of my mood as I replied. I didn't bother to hid my annoyance with him any longer. If he wanted to argue with me about this, so be it, "Hybern's Army isn't the sort that will be crippled in a single fell swoop. I can't deliver what I promised you without fostering my points of contact first."
To his credit, while he bristled at my tone, Tamlin did not fall into the trap of biting back. I'm comfortable enough with my failings to admit that I wouldn't have been able to resist continuing the argument, not when it came to the High Lord of Spring. When it came to my mate. Instead, he posed an expectant query, "You said we'd discuss how to proceed. Well? What is it you have planned?"
I did sigh then, settling myself down to perch on his bedroll. "Gathering intelligence on Hybern's forces, armaments, and command structure comes first. I already have approximations from my spies' preliminary reports, but the whole purpose behind me coming personally was to determine specifics. It will likely take a week or two before I can gather an accurate assessment."
I could see the question burning in his eyes, and I added in firmly before he could begin complaining again, "In the meantime you need to stay low in the king's perception. Right now he believes you're little more than a raging beast he can manipulate. He doesn't think you a threat, and we need to keep it that way. Play up your role, snarl and growl at anyone who approaches you, but don't confront the king directly. If he calls upon you, do what he asks, but do so grudgingly. Drop hints that you're only doing what's necessary to limit the damage to your court. Too eager and you'll be suspicious, but outright defiance will mark you as a problem."
There was a beat of silence, the tension in his posture easing slightly as he considered my advice. If his body language was any indication, it seemed he would take it to heart. Good.
When he deigned to speak again, it was in a somber tone, "I return to my estate to oversee the Tithe in two days."
There was a sort of heaviness in the declaration, like he was dreading what would come of it. I knew the Spring Court was currently in disarray, but I didn't have the details. All I had heard was hearsay from Hybern's men. I hadn't the time or freedom of movement to see for myself since my arrival, and I hadn't cared enough to have my spies investigate beforehand.
I bit my lip, a rare lance of pity sweeping through me. I knew what it was like to feel alone. Abandoned. "How many have left their post?" I asked, voice unusually gentle.
"More than half," he admitted just as quietly, a swirl grief and anger fighting for dominance in his eyes. Then he set his jaw, rage winning out as he snarled, "She twisted my people around her finger then left my lands wide open for Hybern's taking."
He didn't name her, as if to do so would make the betrayal and loss hurt too much. Feyre Archeron – Cursebreaker. The human woman who sacrificed everything she was for the love of her High Lord. My High Lord. It rankled something inside me.
"That's what you get for trying to give away something that was no longer yours to give," I huffed without thought, causing that feral temper to turn back in my direction.
He moved faster than I could blink, caging me in between his arms against the bedroll. "Explain yourself," he demanded – daring me to finish my thought.
But I couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop, not with the jealousy spurring me on. I pressed my hand to the center of his chest, nails biting into the material of his tunic. "Did you forget? Your heart belongs to me, mate."
A sharp cry of pleasure sounded before he could snarl a response. That was my voice, shouting Tamlin's name. Then followed his roaring of my own. I had been tuning out the sounds produced by my glamour until that moment, but these two were rather more intense than the others. A climax. It made me hyperaware of how close we were. A flush of warmth spread through my body, heat pounding in my core, between my legs – rather inappropriately, to be honest. When I turned my attention back to the male before me, his eyes were silted with hungry intent. Clearly, I was not the only one affected.
His voice was husky he as growled in challenge, "You think you have any claim on me after what you did, Nerys? You chose to spurn me."
"You spilled secrets that got people I loved killed," I spat back furiously even as a new ache started in my chest, "You watched them do it!"
He surged forward with a thunderous expression, forcing me to lean back onto my elbows. There was less than a hairsbreadth between us as he roared in my face, "They were going to kill you!"
It was the anguish that laced through the fury in his tone which startled me out of my resentment.
Another insistent pull at my chest and then a heartbeat later we fell together as one – mouths melding and tongues tangling. The mating bond, I realized distantly, that was what I felt. That irresistible urge to poke and prod him, to lure him close. This kiss was wholly different from what we had shared in the past. It wasn't sweet, or playful, or loving. No, this kiss was raw and volatile, full of all the hurt and anger we had each been harboring for so long. All the grief and longing. There was no room to breathe as we devoured one another.
Logic and reason fled as I let my hands wander – let the glamours concealing my scars and the bargain markings fall away. I couldn't get that damned tunic off of him fast enough, and my vest wasn't far behind. As I became too distracted with the task of unbuttoning the white shirt he wore beneath, one of his hands tangled into the hair at the base of my neck and yanked. He angled my head to better open me to him while he sought to totally dominate the kiss. I fought him every step of the way, yet there was no denying the electric excitement that shot through my veins when he won away my control.
I felt his leg press between my own, lifting high enough to grind against me just right. I arched into him, the moan on my lips swallowed into the ravenous ministrations of his mouth. His free hand slid to the small of my back as if to hold me in place. The fingers there caressed along my spine through the thin material covering my back with such delicious gentleness that a shudder traveled through me.
Tamlin let his lips trail a path downwards then, leaving me gasping as he licked away the now-dried blood from the prick left by his claws. I hadn't bothered to wipe it away, and with his teeth scraping at the fluttering pulse point at my throat, I found myself instantly pleased with the fact.
I needed this. I needed him.
My own fingers tore themselves away from their exploration of his muscled torso to find the thick locks of his hair. They tangled there, anchoring him to me as his mouth slid lower still, over my clavicle. My top was open, Tam sliding the black gossamer down my shoulders before he continued his descent.
The hand on my back slid up my spine and brushed over the scars marring my shoulder blades. Where the joints had been carved out so thoroughly that it was almost as if the additional limbs had never existed. The sensation was startling, a jolt of phantom pain through wings that were long gone.
Then I remembered. Remembered everything I'd lost because of this male. That I was supposed to hate my mate. That I couldn't forgive what he had done, no matter how good his reasons were. No matter how much I missed him. No matter how much it hurt.
Bless and curse him both, but when I pressed my palms to his shoulders, the foolish male halted immediately.
Cauldron, did it hurt. It hurt so much to push him away. It wasn't until he was so close that I truly realized the depths of how badly I missed him. Not just the touching or the flirting, but him. All his quirks and contradictions. The High Lord's son who had no desire for his power. The fiddler who believed his talent a waste. The warrior spirit who would never be truly comfortable in lordly attire or at frivolous court functions. I missed his kindness and wry humor. I even missed his stupid, dirty limericks.
It shook my resolve, that hurt. The way those green eyes looked at me in question and longing. There was no forgiveness in me. That part wasn't a matter of will. I simply was not able to forgive him for what transpired, not any more than I could forgive myself. Perhaps I would never be able to. If he pressed though… If he did, I'd give him everything. I'd stay with him. My soul craved his so badly that I didn't doubt that, but the guilt and resentment would eventually consume me—consume the both of us. Somehow, I knew, if I went to him now it would bring nothing but ruin.
I let my hands drift up to cup his face because I couldn't bear to break the contact. Not just yet. I did have to get us back to the discussion we had allowed ourselves to be distracted from, however. In a way it was easier now, as if that spark of passion between us had left a lull of calm behind. Ego and temper would no longer cloud the words on my tongue.
"You don't want to be the tyrant who rules by fear," I told him once my breathing found an easy rhythm once more. It was a statement, not a question. A reminder. I knew my mate's heart well enough to tell that much. Thoughtfully I let my thumb caress over the contours of his high cheekbones. "I'd advise that you don't enforce the penalty of the Tithe. Don't demanded loyalty when the trust your people have in you has been shaken. The ability to show mercy is a strength, not a weakness."
Tamlin didn't answer right away, merely looking down at me with such intense concentration that I wanted to squirm. Slowly, as if I were a hare he might spook, he lowered his head, resting his brow against mine. Fool that I am, I allowed it. Just for this moment. "Perhaps you're right," he murmured, breath brushing against my cheek. A pause stretched before he finally asked, "You'll remain here?"
The reluctant acceptance in that question only made my heart ache all the worse. It almost sounded like he wanted me to join him. "It will draw too much attention if I go, and I doubt the appearance of another foreign dignitary at your side would help your cause."
He grunted an affirmation, that he suspected as much. Disappointment that he couldn't quite contain in time echoed down the bond. I had to close my eyes against it, otherwise I'd never be able to steel myself for what came next.
My voice was little more than a whisper as I said, "You need to let me up now, Tamlin."
"I know," just as quiet, but he didn't move.
"Tam, please."
There was one last deep inhale of breath before he lifted himself up, moving to stand and pulling me up with him. He took a respectful step back as we both began righting our clothing. Tamlin recovered his deep green tunic and adjusted it as I slipped my jade vest back into place.
There was little hope of repairing the coiffure without Deryn's expert touch, so I removed the pins from my hair and combed through it as best I could with my fingers. The High Lord across from me didn't bother trying to fix the state I had left his own golden mane. Well, if nothing else we now looked the part we were playing for the camp.
"Give me a day," I told him as I turned towards the exit. I didn't want to look him in the eye, to see whatever expression was there. "I'll see what I can come up with to help you in Rosehall."
I slipped my magic back into its rightful place seconds before I let the concealment around our meeting place slip away. Then, before he could say anything to make me linger, I was gone.
A/N: This chapter decided to get away from me again, but I like the results so I suppose that's alright, haha. Tamlin was only going to have a small scene, then as I was writing it these two decided to steal the show. A lot of angst on Nerys' side, but at least this time they moved forward further than they moved backwards. I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
I ended up pushing two scenes back to the next chapter, which you should be seeing before Christmas. We'll be introducing Nerys' spymaster coming up soon, so look forward to it!
