The Attor had come, with his creatures in tow, and Lucien had been sitting in the grand dining room, aggressively eating a plate of lamb. He'd been so busy aggressively eating, in fact, that he had barely even tasted it.
He'd been ordered to stay where he was while Amarantha's creatures flooded Rosehall, inspecting every single crook and corner. Things had been tossed about, drawers emptied. The whole time, Lucien had sat at swordpoint, pointedly ignoring the two guards who had been set to threaten him, eating his dinner.
When he finished his food, he sat back in his chair, one guard's sword less than six inches from his throat, and very slowly finished a bottle of wine. He had never moved from the chair, or even tried. Only stared, teeth gritted, at the doorway, waiting for the Attor's return. Hoping no one would think to question the aged old scabbard at his belt, a sword he never took off, that he had never been seen wearing before.
They found nothing, of course; nothing incriminating even existed in Rosehall at this point, Lucien had made sure of that. Some sentries and soldiers had been detained, questioned, and then released again. One lad, found hiding in his mother's house down in the village, had been discovered as a deserter from the regiments sent to aid Amarantha, and dragged off again. Lucien could do nothing about that.
Nothing to save him. He could only sit, hands clenched into fists, waiting for them to finish their search.
They cut off the hands of deserters. They'd probably only take one, for a first infraction. He'd have to hope whoever Amarantha had put in command of her armies was feeling merciful.
When the Attor was satisfied, it had drifted into the dining room, fixing him with its baleful stare. "This does not make you innocent," it hissed. Lucien glared, but kept silent. "We will put a new watch on Rosehall. You will not step foot outside these doors."
"I won't step foot outside?" He hissed right back. "Amarantha might as well order me to her court, the cage would be bigger."
"Don't tempt me," The Attor replied. "Would you like to see what your lord looks like these days? I could arrange that."
Lucien swallowed and lowered his eyes, silent.
The Attor all but radiated smug pleasure. "Good. I will take my leave."
Lucien had watched he, and the guards, and most all his creatures, go. A perimeter of them was left around Rosehall, two guards on every exit.
Good thing I won't need one this time.
It took another few days for him to receive a communication. He had spent the time helping the servants clean up, working from within Rosehall to ensure his promise to the Suriels had been kept. They received fresh chickens to satisfy their hunger, new robes had been given to all. The Suriels had begun, on occasion, to simply give helpful prophecies at random to anyone nearby. Terrifying helpful prophecies.
One had fixed Lucien in its gaze, one day. He'd been standing at the window, staring outside at sunshine he couldn't go into. It had drifted closer, a creature that normally never left the most shadowy part of the woods, looked him over, and then whispered, "You are on your journey, aren't you? I have no prophecy for you, only a warning: do not be led by the song. Trust the shadows, first."
He had the riddles, still, hidden away. He kept them folded and on his person at all times, even when he slept. He had written down the Suriel's warning as soon as he was alone, trying to work out what it meant. The first part clearly referred to his sword, the sword that had been bound only to him, that everyone else's eyes seemed to glance off of and immediately forget. He woke up with a hand on the hilt of his sword almost every night now. The words were almost clear enough to hear.
Fucking binding curses. This will take ages to fix, once I have time to worry or care about it.
One day, sitting in his half-empty library, trying to decide how to return Tamlin's strange letter from Amarantha's court, he felt the summons from Kallias. It spread like cold from his heart outward, until he touched his fingertips to a doorway and watched frost gather around them.
"Kallias?" He asked, out loud, into the empty bedroom he stood in. "High Lord?"
I have gathered enough power to find you. Will yourself to me.
Lucien closed his eyes, gathering the shreds of power he received as Regent, fashioning his glamour. He built a man who looked just like him out of smoke and will, and gave it a kind of half-life. Its eyes sprang open, it smiled and bowed, and walked away to perform its functions.
"I am ready," He said out loud, closing his eyes.
When he opened them again, he stood in a circular room made entirely of ice. Or, well, glass that was intended to look exactly like ice. Maybe. It was truly cold in here...
"Lucien," Kallias said from a chair that he hadn't yet noticed. The pale-skinned, white-haired Lord of Winter was relaxing in a chair made seemingly of the same ice as everything else. He wore a crystalline crown. "The sun suits you, I should think. Sadly, our sun is… weaker, here. You may lose some of that color."
"I thought your people lived in great stone lodges," Lucien said, blinking. "I know I've attended some parties in one built of wood. I thought it was yours."
"Yes," Lucien said with a cold chuckle. "We live in great halls. This is just a receiving room. It was designed to… impress, rather than be comfortable."
"I'll tell everyone I was indeed terribly impressed. We are safe, I think," Lucien said with a shrug. "The Attor turned over every pebble in Rosehall and found nothing of interest."
"About that," Kallias spoke slowly, resting his chin in his hand as he leaned to the side. "I think we were nearly discovered. I think your Lord is the reason we weren't."
"... what? How? He knows nothing. I have never dared to try to get word to him."
"I heard from my courtiers that the Summer Court lordling who Amarantha captured had his mind erased by Rhysand. Cleared of all thoughts, first, so Rhysand could report what he found."
"Of course he did," Lucien spat bitterly. "That's what Rhysand does best."
"We should have been undone," Kallias muttered. "That courtier knew enough to implicate Tarquin, myself, and you. But my lordling says Tamlin stepped up and took the blame for enchanting false plots as a way to test Amarantha. Your lord gave quite the speech, I'm told."
"My lord." Lucien blinked a few times. He thought he could hear the sword at his side, a shimmering lilting harmony. "Tamlin gave a speech?"
"Yes. She bought it, for whatever reason. Maybe she was just dazzled by the performance. She has had us all checked to be sure, but it is Tamlin who has been held responsible."
"She found nothing at Rosehall," Lucien said. "It took everyone three days to clean up the mess."
"Good. We had a similar ordeal. Nothing was found, of course. Tamlin took a risk, and I'm not entirely sure it paid off, from his perspective. She ordered Rhysand to shred his mind. My courtiers inform me he screamed for hours, right there in the middle of court. That Amarantha allowed no one to leave until Rhysand had finished."
Lucien thought of the rumors beginning to find their way even to him. Of Rhysand's constant presence at Tamlin's elbow, of the things courtiers heard in the night. That it was Rhysand's voice that the Spring Lord seemed so often to be subjected to. Amarantha's absolute delight in it. Cauldron. Is Tamlin being remade? "Did he? Can he do that to another High Lord?"
"He did. Rhysand's power has always been of a great concern to me. He has more than any High Lord should… or did, before Amarantha's trick. After he took over as High Lord, this Court has always been, to a certain extent, crafting plans for how to react should he decide to upset the balance of power. I suppose Amarantha got to it first." Kallias frowned, crossing his arms, sitting back. "When he had finished his profane display, Rhysand simply carried him, weeping, back to… their room, on her command." His lip curled in disgust. "They were seen together the next day. Subdued. Your lord was… not angry. He does not speak up. He does not look up. He does as he is told. I am concerned that he is cowed."
"Not Tamlin. Tamlin won't give up. It's only been a year." If Rhysand had spent his time destroying Tamlin's mind...
"There is no shame in breaking under torture." Kallias fixed him with a stare. "If your lord breaks, I do not blame him. Even for immortals, a year of torture can seem like a long time indeed. Amarantha has not the long-term planning that the Cauldron deigned to give a goat, but she has always been exquisitely talented at knowing just where to pick at to destroy someone right in the moment. If he is broken by this, he may not want rescue. I don't suggest we desist, but it will… complicate things."
"Tamlin is not broken."
"Let us hope." Kallias took a deep breath and then pushed himself up, walking across the sparkling cold room to a small, equally crystalline table. He picked up a folded bit of parchment paper. "I've gone over your riddle for my Court. I know what it means. But there is an immense danger for my people in taking you to the place that it references, and I am not certain I should agree to do so."
"Why? We need whatever's there to fulfill the terms-"
"Of the riddle. Yes, I know. But… " Kallias looked around the room, empty save the two of them, and slowly walked over until he stood just in front of Lucien. He leaned in, keeping his glacial blue eyes fixed on Lucien's. "It refers to the only safe haven we have. A place where my people are protected from her raids and her domination, if they can make it there. To go there would risk her discovering it. Then my people would be laid bare for her to more fully devour."
"I can go by myself," Lucien said firmly. "I know how to travel like careful mortals, now. I'll be unseen in your lands, if you can give me some clothes that make me seem like I belong here."
"I'm glad to hear you offer that," Kallias said thoughtfully. "I don't dare go myself. Will you take a message from me, for someone in particular? There is one person, out of all my people, who I trust to escort you beneath our safe haven, to the thing you are seeking."
"I will do whatever my lord asks of me, if it will aid me in saving Tamlin," Lucien replied. His voice was strong, and solid, and he knew he'd said the right thing when he saw that frosty smile playing around Kallias's face.
"Excellent. Give me a couple of hours to make the arrangements. I will see you are given some supplies. You will be one of Amarantha's… overseers, heading out to check on the mines to the north and west, to see that her precious metals continue to be dug out of the earth. Your disguise will not be popular, but it will ensure that no one wants to look too closely at you."
"I don't need it to be. I only need to pass safely through the woods."
"I cannot guarantee you will not be found out."
"I don't ask for guarantees. Just a chance." That's all this riddle is, in the end. Just a chance. And a sword that won't fucking shut up.
"Fair. Your service to your lord does you credit, Lucien. You've always been his most loyal subject."
"He's always been my most loyal friend," Lucien shrugged, easily.
"Let's get you ready to ride," Kallias said, and his smile was nearly warm.
For the first time, Lucien could clearly hear the words that his sword was singing. Give me blood, give me blood, give me blood.
Well, that was unsettling.
The sleigh was beautiful.
It was a finely carved thing, a single gigantic piece of wood carefully shaped into a curving, boatlike look, settled on two heavy runners, pulled by a team of six large reindeer. The snow fell in great huge flakes outside, landing softly on Lucien's face and eyelashes, feeling for all the world like soft, small icy kisses.
"Are you sure about this?" Lucien asked. "I know you're worried."
"I am certain," Kallias said. In the snowfall outside this great hall, where a huge fire flickered and crackled and beckoned warmly from within, he was truly within his element. The fur that lined his white coat was of a soft cream speckled with black. The embroidery was black to match the fur, this time. He had a color to his cheeks that he had nowhere else. Lucien understood why Lyssa had always prattled on about his handsomeness, suddenly.
He was handsome, quiet, and cunning. Lucien could only claim to be two of those three.
"If this opens my safe haven up to her, I will have you personally pulled to pieces by four teams of my reindeer, however. Just… as an incentive to be discreet."
Lucien actually laughed, his breath steaming in the chill air. "Fair enough. It's probably the least of the things that will happen to me if Amarantha discovers us. I'd consider it a mercy."
Kallias flickered a smile, but it faded just as quickly. He reached out, putting a hand on Lucien's shoulder. Lucien was bundled up in layers of fur-lined coat and heavy woolen sweater underneath, pants treated in some way to resist allowing the wet snow to soak in, heavy boots. Still, he shivered. He'd gotten too used to the spring lands. "Lucien Vanserra, the last time she learned of a rebellion I fomented, most of our High Fae younglings were slaughtered at her command. They took ill, and I was ordered to personally watch them die. Do you understand?"
"I do." Lucien thought of the courtier who'd brought the news, his hushed whisper, the horror of it. That had been nearly three-quarters the High Fae younglings even alive at the Winter Court. Children were so rare, for the High Fae especially…
"Be discreet. Stay safe. Do not be discovered for who you are."
The glamour settled in, set carefully by Kallias himself. Lucien's hair was pale and white, nearly matching the snow. He had an eyepatch now, instead of the metal eye that allowed him to see, and blinked several times as he tried to get used to the sudden loss of vision, the lack of depth perception. He had a rougher look about him, stockier. A lesser fae. There was a badge on his shoulder identifying him as an agent of Amarantha's.
"And… take this letter to her." Kallias handed him a scrap of paper, folded until it was smaller than Lucien's palm. He hid it quickly within an inner pocket of his coat. "You'll know her when you see her."
"What is she to you?" Lucien asked, in a whisper.
Kallias's face slammed shut, his expression back to its usual chilly disdain. "A friend," He said softly, and turned to walk back into his hall.
Lucien climbed into the sleigh, settling himself on the bench. At his feet there was plenty of dried meat and other preserved foods and bottles of wine to drink. There were packs that worked as part of his disguise, meant to be the records he was keeping to take back to Amarantha.
He picked up the reins, flicked them, and clicked his tongue in the way Kallias had taught him.
The reindeer immediately began to move, their splayed hooves easily finding purchase in the snowy world. Before long, Lucien was speeding along, almost flying, as the reindeer hurried down the path.
The Winter Court was a land of snow-covered mountains, great evergreen forests. Arctic foxes darted here and there in the corner of his eyes. He thought he heard wolves, howling to each other, once, and wondered if they too would be white.
He passed a clearing and saw a herd of elk, digging up grass to graze using their hooves.
Tamlin would love to hunt here.
He passed lodges, here and there, and the people there turned away without really looking at him before they even saw his face. That badge told them the only thing they wanted to know. A stooge of Amarantha's. Hardly a thing to be counted at all. Better to avoid being noticed by him and hope he had not come for them.
There were camps, under the ground, where those Amarantha did not deem suitably subdued were held. He'd heard horror stories about what happened down there. It made sense that the Winter Court, whose people had been punished severely for their attempt at rebellion, would rather avoid being caught out again.
The reindeer continued to run, seemingly tireless, and Lucien smiled.
This will be three down, six to go. Feyre herself was the first piece, and he already had that. Then one for each court, and the last one… the last one he still did not know the answer to. He had to hope it would become clear, once he had everything else.
The sword at his hip sang in a whisper, It is cold here. Give me blood to warm me.
"Stop. I wouldn't spill blood here, not for you." By the Cauldron, he was talking back to the sword now. That was probably not a good precedent to set.
The blood could be yours. I would be quiet, then.
Lucien swallowed, as they flew past bushes with bunches of bright red berries. Kallias had warned him nearly all berries in the Winter Court were poisonous and would lead to a terrible, painful death for any fae who touched them. "How much do you need?"
Only a little, only a little. I'm a part of you now, you great foxlike thing. Now give me blood and become a part of me.
"Did… did she give you blood?" He thought of the priestess, the stone body encasing her bones. The huge cavern that seemed to have been built simply to house her.
She did, when she needed me. Many times I sang for her. Then she died and gave no more.
Lucien stared straight ahead. "I will give you my blood when we find what we need here."
The sword hissed, but it was not exactly an unhappy sound. I can wait to consummate us, Lucien Vanserra. I can wait.
"Then wait you will."
Fucking binding curses.