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Nesta Archeron cranked on the sink, water pouring out quickly and steaming up the mirror soon after as she splashed her face and neck. Her nightmare was more of a creepy dream rather than actual terror. She was walking through a dark forest by herself, down some forgotten path, nothing out of place, the silence actually comforting, until someone whispered her name.
The closer she got to the sound the farther away from the path she strayed. She awoke only when she took a step off an unforeseen cliff, the whisper carried on a the wind that tumbled through the air as she fell, all around her at once. She awoke before she hit the ground, slick with sweat and annoyed that she could never quite catch up to the whisper. When she walked sleepily back into her room, she glanced at her little gold watch on her dresser, cursing and yanking on a pair of tan corduroy pants that had lie crumpled in her desk chair.
Shit. Elain's probably already started, she thought, throwing on a white long sleeve and grabbing her coat on her way out. She walked quickly through the sloping streets, other Velaris citizens smiling politely at her as she passed. Nesta quite enjoyed the autumn season, enough chill in the air that a walk like this wasn't suffocating (even at nearly noon), but clear skies that allowed paths of sunshine to still cut their way onto the cobble stone streets between shops.
Elain still resided with Feyre and Rhysand. Although they all would visit the old Townhouse and dine at the House of Wind, their new estate was now nearing the same level of comfortable familiarity as the others. Her sister would bake and garden and knit her days away in this house. Nesta wondered how she could stand to be around Rhys and Feyre's incessant touching and flirting, but thought that Azriel probably provided enough distraction.
Elain had always enjoyed being so close to family, she had insisted on the room closest to her parents growing up, with Nesta and Feyre's rooms as close as she could convince them to be. Nesta had offered her a room at her own apartment near the Sidra, but she couldn't offer up the near constant company of the others or the grand garden that sat slowly dying in the courtyard as the cold winter crept in day by day. So the baking and knitting and whispering with Azriel had only increased, although the garden was still quite lovely in it's current state.
"You're late. Again," Elain stood in front of the stove, not even looking over her shoulder as she continued stirring a pot of something that smelled rich and almost sickly sweet. Nesta spotted Cerridwen and Nuala, both rolling out dough, puffs of flour shooting up from the counter top they worked upon.
Nesta had chosen not to mention her whispering dreams to others, not even Elain. Although she wondered if Elain saw anything in her future that could correlate. Or if it was just her rotten past melting her brain in her sleep. Most likely the latter. "What're we making today?" Nesta asked, trying to sound excited. It wasn't that she didn't like to cook, its that she simply wasn't good at it. Which was another thing she refused to admit.
"Cerridwen, Nuala, and I are nearly done making the peach cobbler. You can chop the onions if you'd like."
Nesta huffed, "Elain, I'm sorry. I got back home late last night and accidentally overslept but I didn't forget about today, okay? I've been looking forward to it." That wasn't entirely a lie, she really hadn't forgotten about their plans, but she knew she chose to stay out until 3 am, and also knew she was a deep sleeper.
Elain finally stopped stirring and turned her head, raising her brows in faux annoyance but admitting surrender with one look at her sister, waving Nesta in for a hug anyways. After they pulled apart, "Well I'm glad you've decided to come. I'm cooking this meal specifically for Feyre, it used to be her favorite and she hasn't been herself lately."
Nesta, and everyone else in the inner circle, was aware of why. But no one felt comfortable using the exact words just yet. She only nodded peering into the bubbling pot of what looked to be peaches, avoiding Elain's eye.
"So what can I do to help then?"
"We really do need chopped onions, actually," Elain shot her a guilty look and Nesta tied a light blue apron around her waist, rolled up her sleeves, and chopped away at a big pile of smelly, eye-stinging onions.
The Illyrian generals stood unnervingly still, hands behind their backs but bodies positioned strategically. The chilly, crisp autumn air seemed to be sliced by the mountains around us.
Rhysand broke the silence first, not speaking to anyone in particular, "Lovely day, is it not?"
Devlon was already rolling his eyes. Rhysand looked to him when he didn't reply, "Not lovely enough to drag us all up here for the sheer pleasantries of nature, though."
I swept a look across the group, thinking Helion might be among them, but there was only Devlon and two lesser generals flanking him that carried matching hardened stares while still maintaining their battle-ready positions. They were generic Illyrians, bland and nameless— not providing nearly enough intimidation as intended.
Rhysand continued when the silence lasted a beat too long once again, skipping to the meat of the issue, "I'm aware there have been some objections to the Day Court's new fighting techniques they've graciously shared. And I can't imagine why new and improved information and skill would offend anyone." Another pointed look at Devlon, who's jaw was tightly clenched.
"There have been a few brawls, some high tempers at the orders coming from the… others. Nothing that isn't under my control, however," Devlon responded, sounding disconnected from the conversation.
"Let alone the fights," I said, taking a slight step forward, irritated at his belittling of the issue. "Who's the one spouting the poison and lies regarding our partnership with the Day Court? We're building on what has already been created and practiced. Not trying to uproot the past."
This time, one of the generals to Devlon's left responded. He had the dark hair and eyes to match, his Illyrian gear nothing short of what it has always been for the entirety of their lineage - the deepest black fabric with metal covering the vital organs, his wings tucked in tight behind him. "The Illyrians have fought and won for thousands of years using the techniques we have perfected and honed to match with our specific abilities. To toss in new ideas assuming they could fit in seamlessly is nonsensical." Well, he was more eloquent that Devlon, I'll give him that.
Mor let out a sigh. This is probably where she had argued in circles with Cassian. Rhys and I had pushed for this to happen and wanted to see it through. Although I got a sense that Cassian and Azriel might not be entirely on our side for this one, regardless of where they were standing now. They both remained silent.
"We value and honor the Illyrian traditions that we've seen executed, when necessary, throughout Prythian's existence," Rhysand began, "but that doesn't mean there isn't anything else we can learn. I myself sparred with my Mate using Helion's advice and can confidently say it's skills worth learning. I'd rather our warriors have those skills in their arsenal rather than ignore them in arrogance and suffer in the future. Feyre nearly separated me from my limbs." I felt a shot of pride down the bond and Rhys smirked at the memory. "But it's not my job to convince you to do it," his voice getting serious again, although he now continued on in a tone as if explaining something simple to a child, "It's my job to decide if a path is the right one to take, and communicate it. Your job is to listen and implement. If thats too difficult a task for you, maybe we can find you a different job title."
If that slight sting effected Devlon's ego, he didn't show it. The grinding of his teeth had stopped and now he just stared at Rhys, then at Mor, then to me, ignoring Amren, Cassian, and Azriel all together. And although Amren had, until now, stood quietly and patiently, playing her role as an intricate part of our inner circle, I felt her tense at the subtle dismissal. That will be a fun Amren to dine with tonight.
"You're arrogant fools if you think there isn't beings out there with better training, stronger soldiers, and quicker minds than what you have fermenting on the top of these mountains for the past millennia. Continue to act as such, and you will only continue to fall behind," Amren said decidedly, only her short hair swaying softly in the breeze. She fell back into silence having shared her piece.
Dusk had nearly fallen, and the cold wind was picking up slightly. Devlon straightened, "I'll keep my men in check. And as for the loud mouth," he looked back to me, "I cannot say who would do you all or our partners in the Day Court the dishonor. If I find them, I'll be sure to let you know." His words had just enough sarcasm that made me want to show him a few of my new learned skills, in front of his inferiors and on top of this desolate mountain top he called home.
"If?" I questioned. "If you find him? We wont be returning to have the same conversation in the future, Devlon," I replied, my voice steady, my words solid and smooth. "Fix this. It's your responsibility. Take control of your men and their inappropriate behavior now or we will, however we see fit to do so."
"And with that, we will wrap up our lovely meeting," Rhysand said, smiling. "You have three days to turn this attitude problem around. No more questioning, no more murmurs of broken tradition. Until then," he inclined his head to the Illyrian group ahead of us, and we all winnowed back to the House of Wind, just as planned.
I hadn't done much at all today, but my limbs were dragging and my thoughts were scattered once we all were settled down for dinner. It was still early, but everyone had been complaining of absolute starvation. Mor took the liberty of pouring me a generous glass of wine, placing it in my hand rather than on the table in front of me.
The food was there when we'd arrived, still steaming and fresh, from whatever tendril of power Rhysand had sent out to make it so.
Azriel and Cassian had flown down to our estate earlier to pick up Elain and Nesta, who would no doubt try to convince them that we should all just eat there instead. And although I wouldn't had minded being on solid ground tonight, Rhys had said he preferred the slightly more formal gathering space for tonights dinner. Business might find its way into the night's conversation.
"There are times I think of simply ending his life," Amren said as she sat into her seat across from me, her short black hair swaying, still tense from Devlon's dismissal at the meeting. "I would enjoy seeing him flattened on a sidewalk."
"He does bear great resemblance to a dung beetle," Rhysand mused. He draped his arm around the back of my chair casually, giving my shoulder a squeeze. His normal dark attire always seemed to blend with the darkness that was surrounding him, although his eyes nearly glowed in the dim dinner lighting.
"To killing every bug we ever see," Mor toasted, raising her sparkling wine toward the center of the table, where a tinkling of glasses met with hers. Mor drank back the glass in one gulp and began pouring another.
"Slow down, leave some for the rest of us!" Cassian stomped in, followed by Azriel, and snatched the bottle from Mor who rolled her eyes and turned to Amren to whisper about Cassian's tiny tiny something.
"This bottle is imported from the Summer Court." Cassian turned the bottle in his hand, inspecting all sides. "Seems to be courtesy of Amren's puppy love. Where is dear Varian tonight?"
"Otherwise occupied." Amren replied, eyeing him over her empty plate as he tore into a turkey leg.
"Ah, another woman then? Pitiful." Amren only hissed in dismissal. Varian hadn't come around much lately, politics at the Summer Court were in a complete upheaval, and Tarquin needed him at his side constantly.
"Keep teasing, Cassian, Amren will just have to kick your ass again." Mor quipped, cutting her meat into dainty bites before popping them in her mouth with her hand.
He snorted, and replied, "How so? With Helion's new techniques? Please." I could feel the annoyance roll off Rhys at his words, although he remained quiet. A beat of the rarest silence, and then - "You're a fortress of secrets tonight, Feyre."
"And you've barely taken a breath between turkey and your berating."
Cassian gave her a grin, shrugging. "Without your sisters here to fill the silence, the duty falls to me."
Oh. I had forgotten about them completely. Why hadn't they come? Just as I was about to ask what the hell Cassian said to piss off Nesta once again, Azriel cut in.
"They weren't done cooking, and didn't want to spoil the surprise." As much as I love Elain's cooking, and politely tolerated Nesta's, my appetite hasn't been what it used to. Flavors weren't exciting, and the gnawing in my stomach seemed to remain regardless. I felt Rhysand's gaze on my plate then. I had made little circles of the the green beans, mash potatoes, and fat slices of turkey drenched in gravy, pushing them around with my fork into different patterns.
Not hungry? He questioned down the bond.
I swallowed. Just tired. I sent back. And it was true. I was tired to the bone, but felt like if I laid my head on a pillow, sleep would not come.
He squeezed my shoulder again as I picked up my glass to sip from the fruity wine. But just before it could hit my lips … the smell. Cherry. Cherry wine.
I sucked in a breath, a trembling hand placing the glass back down carefully. I stood, perhaps a bit too quickly as my chair rocked, murmured something about fresh air and hurried out of the dining room.
Away, away, away. I just had to separate myself from the smell.
Cherries. That sickly sweet red wine lit a memory that I had worked so hard on dulling. I passed through the sheer curtain separating the bit of rock outcropping the mountain, the smell seeming to carry with me, wafting past and intertwining with my every thought.
It was cherries that day. The day I found out. I helped Elain pick them from the garden, and she had baked a cherry pie in celebration. I lowered my hand to my abdomen, leaning the other on the railing.
We all ate and laughed and danced that night. Such happiness and comfort. It was naive. Naive to assume the best. Perhaps if I was more prepared, went to the Healer earlier, maybe then-
I hardly heard his steps before he spoke from behind me ."Feyre." My eyes began to water. "My darling." My lower lip wobbled, and I bit it as I turned to face him.
"There was cherry wine in that glass," I said quietly, holding his stare. I shook my head then, as if I could shake off the thoughts. "I'm sorry I stormed out. We - we can go back."
"Do you want to go back?"
No, I thought, but didn't send it down the bond. No, if the cherry memory was in my mind, I was entirely locked down and guarded. But I didn't want to stare at my plate of food, or hear the endless bickering, or defend my silence.
Or sip on cherry wine.
I felt that sadness starting in my chest and echoing out. "I need to go home," I said, barely above a whisper. Rhysand took the last few steps toward me, then held me against his chest. Wind and empty space whipped around us for a moment and when he let me go, we were on the front porch of our grand Verlaris estate, in all it's beauty and grace.
Through the large front windows, I saw Elain and Nesta talking in the kitchen. Nesta sat on the counter top, a spoon dangling from her hand and her feet swinging out in front of her. She took a lick of the batter, then pointed the spoon at Elain, teasingly accusing her of something or another.
"Arm chair and tea, or a walk?" Rhysand asked casually.
I didn't actually want to go inside. And Rhysand knew as much, which was why he had winnowed us just to the porch. To be in that bright kitchen, my sister's glancing at me with pity and trying and trying to talk and give advice. I didn't have the energy to deflect it.
Rhysand saw the resolve in my eyes, and simply turned toward the steps facing the cobblestone street and offered his arm.
The breeze was a bit chilly, and I pulled my coat closed. The little lamp posts along the street glowed cheerily, and Rhysand's arm was warm around my own. I gave him a sidelong glance.
With all of my own issues, I hadn't paid enough attention to my Mate. Under his eyes was slightly smudged darker. The only inclination that he's on the edge as much as I am. My heart ached deep in my chest at the sight. He had spent so much time lately taking care of me, maybe I didn't notice how far under he was as well.
"Do you remember," he started, looking out and above the mountains that we strolled toward, the tiny windows slightly lit with the dinner still in progress, "when you and Lucien made the trek through the Winter Court?"
The endless freezing winds and exhaustion in my legs snapped back to my mind. The last few days I spent separated from my court, from my Mate. "I remember freezing my ass off."
He chuckled breathily. "Azriel and Cassian came to help, right at the very end. After days of the brutal cold, and enduring Lucien's terribly boring conversations," I gave him a little shove at that, "they came. And they would do it again, a million times over. And so would I. Feyre," he stopped to look at me then. "This… isn't like that. This isn't a cold hike with a definite end. Cassian and Azriel can't help fight off memories and confusion and pain. But you can. It can start small, but you can build on it more and more everyday."
I sighed, shaking my head. It felt like too much too often. Just as I thought I would pass it, something as small and seemingly insignificant as cherry wine slipped in and I fell for it every time.
"It isn't your fault, and you know that. There was nothing to be done," he said the second half so softly that it was only audible because of the grit in his voice.
"What if it can never happen for us," I breathed. We had stopped walking and stood just outside of the circle of light from the nearing lamp post, some shops around us closing up for the night, others just now opening their doors. It's been years, and I thought the war was the darkest part of my life. Thought that no matter what I had to face afterwards, at least I would have Rhysand beside me. And that I couldn't ask for more than that. "What if I'm unfit? What if it's just supposed to be us and nothing else?"
"No one is more full of loving kindness and wisdom to share than you," he grabbed my hand, intertwining our fingers and putting them both against his chest. "A child is a blessing that at one point in my life, I never thought I would receive, didn't think I was deserving. But this," he squeezed my hand every so slightly, "is here, now. And was just as far out of my grasp years ago as I thought a child was." Tears filled his eyes, but did not fall. Despite them, his face was determined. "We can keep dreaming, Feyre. Even if some are shattered, or seem illogical or impossible, we can piece them back together."
As close as I had been to starving on the other side of the wall, to freezing to death, to wasting away at the Spring Court, I had still found room afterwards to dream. To hope. To wish for something more. "The loss… there's constant reminders. Everywhere I look."
"We have to know that the future is there, waiting for us to look up," he said softly.
But I didn't know if I could.
The small night cafe behind us rolled back curtains from a stage, it lay past a cluster of fae occupying the various tables scattered throughout the outside courtyard. Some had cups of coffee, others wine and cheese. Music, soft and heavy, floated over to us.
"Lonely lovers, there together, can't someone see…" The high-fae woman in a tight, blood-red dress swayed, holding to the microphone stand like it was the only thing anchoring her.
I turned and pressed my back to Rhys chest, his arms wrapped over the front of me. We listened as the melancholy lyrics saturated the night air, drowning the audience in its melody.
Rhys leaned over close to my ear, "The goodness is still there, choose to look for it."
We spent the next hour standing there, in our own little patch of Velaris, soaking in the words and forgetting everything else, if only for a little while.
When we returned to the estate late into the night, there was a letter waiting on the dining room table. Propped up against a small box, the cream colored envelope had elegant script across the front that read
"To the High Lady of the Nightcourt and Rhysand."
"I think it's for you," Rhysand said, reaching over to pick it up. He handed it to me, picking up the tiny velvet wrapped box to inspect.
The orange seal, the same color as the little box, had a Sun with the letter H through the very middle. I ripped open the top, Rhysand making a comment about how unused and expensive our letter opener is. I stuck my tongue out at him, and sat down at the table, unfolding the short letter to read aloud.
"To my dearest and truest friend, High Lady, Feyre Archeron,
It would be my honor to host a visit to my Court for you and your Mate, and perhaps a few of your Night Court Illyrian men and a certain blonde battle strategist. Amren is invited as well, of course, although she often scares many in my court. This is simply a request for a few days of fun and bathing in sunlight, no silly politics need be mentioned. This weekend is preferred, but respond at your leisure.
Warmest regards,
Helion"
"Well that was subtle," Rhysand said, leaning on the back of the chair next to me. "Should I worry, then?"
I rolled my eyes but laughed. Helion, High Lord of the Day Court, was always a flirt, especially if it pissed off someone else. Rhysand was used to it, and never took it too serious. If you don't count the one time when Helion caught Rhys in a bad mood, made the wrong comment, and found himself pressed under a solid block of darkness. That dinner ended very abruptly.
Hopefully this weekend of "fun" wouldn't involve another overdramatic scene like that.
"We could go this weekend, you know," Rhys suggested. "I know it's short notice, but it might be nice to get some sun and relax. Although, I don't believe that politics won't find their way into the trip, so that's something to consider."
"It's Thursday night," I checked the grandfather clock ticking away in the corner of the room, "well, technically Friday morning. Thats very very short notice. And we would need to be back in time to oversee the Illyrians progress." I bit my lip, considering. "I wonder what Helion is planning."
"Regardless, I'd like to pay him back for this letter. And this," with the box laid open on the table, he held up a silver ring, embossed with a tiny bat on the front, "is just distasteful."
I laughed, taking the ring and slipping it onto my middle finger. "Lets go to the Day Court."