A.N.: Thank you so much for the amazing reviews! I hope you continue to enjoy this story.
Trigger warning, just in case: this chapter briefly hints at a history of SA and how Tamlin views Calanmai.
The interaction between Nesta and Galit is important – the part about Galit's scent: it hints at something more, something nefarious festering in the north… Cyvaon is a combination of chess, Cyvasse, Catan, Dungeons and Dragons and Risk! The scene in the toyshop is absolutely inspired by the Hellfire Club's manic energy! And I'm building up the idea that the humans can utilise magic in the way we can electricity: they have their own magical equivalent of radio and films. And I've been watching Chris Ramsay on YouTube solving really beautiful, very tricky sequential puzzles, which is where part of this chapter came from!
And Jevrem is pronounced with an 'H' not a 'J'.
A House of Flame and Flower
11
The Floating-Market
"You met Galit," Tamlin said quietly, his playful smirk giving way to a soft look with no hint of teasing. Nesta frowned and wondered how he could know that. He caught her expression and smiled softly. "Traces of her scent are on the paper."
"Are they?" Nesta frowned. Tamlin tilted his head thoughtfully as he gazed at her. "She told me she goes to pains to mask her scent." Tamlin nodded.
"Many Fae do," he said. "It's precautionary: we give too much of ourselves away otherwise."
"She seemed surprised that I could scent her," Nesta frowned. "But you can."
"I've known Galit for a very long time," Tamlin shrugged. "And there are few who can disguise themselves from my power."
"Perhaps that's it," Nesta frowned thoughtfully. She shivered, saying, "My…power. That's why I could scent her, when she has concealed her scent with magic?"
"Likely," Tamlin nodded. He tucked her parcels back into her bag, rummaging around and examining everything she had purchased, rubbing his thumb over the hanks of soft yarn. He raised his eyes to hers as he tucked everything away again. Looking concerned, he said, "Nesta?"
"I – Tamlin, I thought I recognised her scent," Nesta told him. She didn't understand it. "I have never met Galit before in my life – and I know that her scent is not one I've smelled before but it was so familiar… It filled me with rage, Tamlin."
"Well, scent is one of the strongest triggers of memory," Tamlin said quietly. "Perhaps something about her scent teased at your subconscious."
"But why would I mistake one person's scent for another's?" Nesta asked. "And why can't I remember who that other scent belongs to?"
"We can identify someone's species by their scent," Tamlin said, shrugging. "It's a survival instinct: to know just what is approaching. The scent tells us instantly whether we should be wary and hide, whether if it's safe to flee or if we should freeze or whether it's safe to approach."
"That would be very helpful," Nesta said impatiently, "if I knew the different species and trusted these new instincts."
"Give it time. You'll learn," Tamlin said gently.
"Not quickly enough to be of any use to me now, apparently," Nesta said tightly. Tamlin gave her a sympathetic smile, his eyes twinkling: he understood her frustration.
"Everyone's scent is unique because it's affected by our lifestyles and emotions," Tamlin told her.
"So why was my immediate reaction to Galit's scent irrational anger?" Nesta asked, frowning.
Tamlin set his teacup down slowly as he gazed thoughtfully at her. "I'd hold off on calling it irrational anger. There's obviously a reason you had such a severe reaction to Galit's scent… It likely had nothing to do with Galit herself but with something being triggered in your own memories… I'd say you've had interactions with someone of Galit's species before and they've been very negative ones. Was anger all you felt?"
"No," Nesta said. "I felt…deep suspicion as well as anger."
"Not fear?" he prompted, but Nesta frowned.
"No. Why?"
"I…thought perhaps it might have been in Hybern that you first experienced the similar scent," he said quietly. Yes, fear would have been one of the strongest emotions she would have associated with anyone from Hybern – from that crowded hall of vicious Fae. Fear and pure rage. But she hadn't been afraid when she scented Galit. Suspicious, yes, but not fearful.
"When have you felt rage and suspicion most overwhelmingly?" Tamlin asked.
"That is easy enough to answer: the Night Court," Nesta said coldly. She sniffed delicately and sipped her tea. Mirroring her, Tamlin picked up his teacup and took a drink. His emerald eyes were dark with serious thought as he watched her. Her tea soothed her and Nesta sighed, setting down her teacup. Realising something, she asked curiously, "How do you know Galit?"
Tamlin smiled softly but pink touched his cheeks. He coughed softly but answered, "Galit has supplied contraceptives for centuries."
Nesta blinked, nonplussed. "For who?"
"For me, Nesta," he laughed softly.
"For your lovers?"
"No, for me," Tamlin said, shrugging.
"You take precautions?" Nesta said, highly surprised. In Prythian, everyone had access to contraceptives – male or female. It was considered an absolute essential to healthcare and the Trust had long ago subsidised all contraceptives by law. No-one was going to be forced to carry a child, no matter what their reasons were for not giving birth. But the way the Fae were, Nesta had assumed that they would push the responsibility of taking precautions onto the females – if they were permitted at all. Perhaps she'd spent too much time around Illyrians.
"I am overly cautious," Tamlin told her quietly.
"Don't you want children?" Nesta asked curiously. Tamlin's emerald eyes flicked to hers, passionate and warm.
"I would love children of my own," he said richly, and Nesta could feel his yearning in that moment. It was written in his face, glowing from his eyes. But it faded. His shoulders slumped and the familiar weary tension knotted his broad shoulders. "But I must be careful about who… I have no wish to be fettered to a female I do not know or trust purely for the sake of a child. The risk… Any child of mine might stand to inherit my power. If I was not around to raise them, they would be influenced by their mothers…and their mother's families… I have worked too hard and the world I wish to build is not established enough to survive…"
Nesta frowned. "You sound as if you do not have a choice in your partners," she said quietly.
Tamlin visibly flinched.
"There are…occasions when my responsibilities to my Court supersede my personal desires," he said quietly, and that pink tinge in his cheeks faded, paled visibly.
"Bodily autonomy and consent are non-negotiable in Prythian," Nesta said. "I am assuming things are not so evolved here."
"Not when there's magic involved," Tamlin murmured, his eyes going hollow.
"What do you mean?" she asked quietly.
Tamlin murmured miserably, "Calanmai." Fire Night, she thought: Feyre had told her about it. After her initial exasperation at Feyre wandering about after being explicitly warned not to, lest her life be put in danger, Nesta had been curious about the Rite itself.
"I remember Feyre telling me about Fire Night," she admitted quietly, and Tamlin flinched. "I… I remember thinking I couldn't imagine how horrendous a toll it must take on you, to have control of your own body stripped away, used as a vessel for unknowable power…" She shivered, her body going cold. "Now I don't need to imagine."
Tamlin stared at her, his eyes grim. "Everyone calls it sacred. A sacred ritual. Essential for our prosperity. They light the pyres and celebrate. Females line up, hoping for the power to choose them. I…have always been helpless to stop it."
"In Prythian, consent is held sacred. No matter whether it's in a sexual relationship or conscripting people to the army," Nesta told him. "We have no gods. But we have our ancestors and we honour them. No-one has the power to deny our freedoms the way theirs were. No-one." She sighed, watching Tamlin: he was closing himself away, as he often did when something was haunting him. To distract him, lighten the mood – draw them back to the beautifully decorated café and their delicious treats – she sighed and said lightly, "This conversation did not go the way I had expected."
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Tamlin's mouth. Those fine lines at the corner of his lips winked and a spark lit in those green eyes. His tone rich with fondness, Tamlin said, "They never do with you."
"I'm sorry if I upset you," Nesta said earnestly. She hated seeing that closed-off Tamlin, with the dark eyes haunted by memories. She didn't have to know what they were to know how devastatingly they affected him. And she worried that he'd have a bad turn because she had brought them up. She hadn't meant to, hadn't realised where the conversation might head and regretted that she hadn't had the foresight to realise… But how could she know? She knew when Tamlin was on the edge and what to watch for that warned he was in a bad way. She knew how to coax him back after a bad turn. But as intuitive as they both were about each other, helping each other after their bad turns, Nesta still knew next to nothing about Tamlin's past. She knew he was haunted by Amarantha. Didn't know what those memories contained.
"You didn't," Tamlin murmured, his eyes earnest. He sighed heavily, shoulders hunching as he dropped his head in his hands.
"Tamlin?"
He sighed and pushed his hands through his hair as he straightened up. His eyes glittered. "I've taken my eye off things."
"What are you talking about?" Nesta frowned. Tamlin sighed, looking suddenly haggard.
"The gangs," he muttered darkly. "The noble High Fae youths prowling this city."
"The ones mutilated by the Invidia?" Nesta clarified.
"The Invidia…have an innate sense of a person's truest nature," he said quietly. "The…severity of the punishments she dealt out last night implies she read their hearts and dealt out justice."
"It's not on her to decide what justice is."
"It's an instinct," Tamlin said quietly. "They have the overwhelming urge to punish wrongdoers. The fact that she was driven to exact such a brutal punishment, the beatings as well as the castrations… Her punishments combined with their behaviour beforehand…"
"They've gone hunting before," Nesta said quietly, and Tamlin's expression darkened.
"That's not the worst part," he said grimly.
"Their victims will not agree."
"That's exactly what I mean. There are victims. And I had no idea. I…" Tamlin groaned, rubbing his face.
"Tamlin," Nesta said softly, shaking her head. "You've put your energy into safeguarding your people from underfae. The worst monsters have taken advantage of that. They've taken advantage of you."
"They could only do that because I allowed it," Tamlin said, his tone sharp. He was bitter, angry – furious at himself.
"Tamlin, you cannot control what people do," Nesta said, frowning, "nor hold yourself accountable for their choices."
"I can hold myself accountable for allowing a situation like this to escalate," Tamlin countered. "Last night was not the first time those youths went hunting. They can only have become so emboldened in my absence. I've neglected my responsibilities. My people have paid for it. That can't happen again."
"So, what are you going to do about it?" Nesta asked.
That dangerous glitter darkened Tamlin's emerald eyes. "I intend to make sure everyone is aware of the consequences of threatening my people."
"How?"
"The Tithe is mere weeks away," Tamlin said coldly.
"Do you dispense justice at the Tithe?" she asked.
Tamlin nodded. "If a matter cannot be settled by the Triumvar, they will escalate things to me," he told her. "If something as serious as this happened in the other territories, though, my Triumvar would alert me instantly so that I could deal with the matter personally."
Nesta frowned and watched Tamlin. He was punishing himself for what he considered his failure to protect his people.
"Tamlin…you can't control what your people do," she said gently.
"I know," he said quietly. "But it is my duty to make sure they know what I'll tolerate... My people should be able to trust that I will protect them."
Nesta said, very softly, "You can't protect everyone, Tamlin. That's too much – even for a High Lord."
"Then what is the point of…" Tamlin trailed off, the muscle in his jaw ticking slightly.
"Of what?" Nesta prompted delicately.
"Of me?" Tamlin's eyes gleamed with a desperate earnestness. "I have always tried to do as much as I can for as many people as I can."
"That's more than most."
"But it's not enough."
"Tamlin…it is more than enough," Nesta said. "And far too much to take on alone."
"The Triumvar take on their share…"
Nesta smiled softly. "And that culture of protecting the vulnerable, of zero tolerance for those who abuse others' trust, will continue to grow," she told him. "It's how Prythian began. Compassion and dignity for everyone. Accountability to each other. Bodily autonomy and informed consent as an absolute… From what I understand, you're building the foundations for something similar."
"Prythian sounds perfect." Tamlin sounded grim. His eyes had lost their lustre, utterly despondent.
Nesta laughed softly. "We are far from perfect. But we are aware of it: we are constantly trying to improve."
"Nesta… I would like you to tell me more about human culture," Tamlin said thoughtfully.
"Really?" she asked.
"They are my neighbours," Tamlin said. "If I am to be a good neighbour, I wish to know as much about human culture as I can. I do not wish to disrespect the history or culture of Prythian with my own ignorance."
Nesta smiled, excited to realise that as much as she had to learn about the Fae, Tamlin also had to learn about human culture. Five centuries was nothing to Fae but to humans… Five centuries of complicated political alliances and wars, shifting territory boundaries, great dynasties that had risen and come crashing down, the surge in development of new technologies in warfare, communications and advanced medicine, the exploration of science and natural evolution of music, art and dance, the rich heritage of song, dance, food and literature that bonded many of the human cultures together, the shared history not just of the Slaves' War but of the most recent Great War that had threatened to tear their world apart – and how fiercely they had fought to prevent it, to protect all that was good, all they had built for themselves, all they had accomplished in those five centuries of freedom.
"Where would you like to start?" she asked, realising even as she did so that this was how Tamlin must have felt when she voiced her frustration at not knowing enough. Where did she start?
"Something…simple," Tamlin said, laughing gruffly as she smiled. "What about… What do children play with?"
"You want to know about children's toys?"
"They're how we learn about our world," Tamlin shrugged. "How do human children learn about the world?"
"Stories and games, mostly," Nesta said softly. "Riddles and puzzles."
Tamlin gazed at her. He asked, "Were the puzzles yours?"
"What?"
"The puzzles. In the cottage," Tamlin said, and Nesta stared at him, her lips parting. "Were they yours?"
"Yes – how – ?"
"I remember them," Tamlin said quietly, his voice grim. "I remember everything."
Her mouth went dry, remembering the one time she had seen Tamlin in his bestial form. "You must have an excellent memory."
"I was trained to be observant," Tamlin muttered.
"How?" she asked curiously. He glanced at her, smiled subtly and went to the polished counter, murmuring something to the Fae behind it. A few moments later he returned with a plate covered with a linen napkin. He set it on the table before her and sat down. "What's this?"
"Take a look," Tamlin said. Nesta glanced down: an assortment of bite-sized treats, some made of cake, some of biscuit, some of pastry, all exquisitely decorated. She had barely taken a look at them all when Tamlin draped the linen napkin over them, concealing them. "Alright. Now, what did you see?"
"You didn't give me long enough," Nesta protested.
"I can tell you," Tamlin said, his tone calm rather than boastful.
"You chose them," Nesta pointed out, frowning.
"I didn't. I hadn't seen them before you did," he said. "What did you see?"
"Tiny iced buns and biscuits, some bite-sized cakes and pastries," Nesta said impatiently.
"Describe them. In detail," Tamlin pressed. "What colour was the icing, how were they decorated, what scent did they each have?"
"I don't know!" Nesta blurted, flustered and annoyed. "We were talking about children's toys."
"This is how I was trained to use my observation skills, to notice every detail," Tamlin said, sighing heavily as he removed the napkin from the plate again. "That's how I remember the puzzles." He reached for one of the tiny treats and Nesta mirrored him.
"They were mine. I always loved puzzles," Nesta told him quietly. "I used to sit with Mother… The creditors… They had no value because they were so well-worn so we were permitted to keep them."
"Tell me about your favourite games," Tamlin said, watching her quietly as her back straightened and her lips pressed into a firm line, eyes bright.
"My favourite game? I haven't played that in years. Cyvaon. It's a multiplayer board-game – a game of strategy. But the board is never set the same way twice: it's made up of unique tiles and you can create your own as well as use the ones provided in the basic sets to make the game infinitely more complicated. Each tile is a different terrain and each specific terrain has its own advantages and disadvantages that are absolute. You must use those to your advantage," Nesta said excitedly. "You set the tiles first – this is done by casting die – and then you have time to plan potential campaigns but the game doesn't begin until the Roulette Die is cast, generating one of many scenarios the Cyvaon Master creates and dictating each player's political status, then you must adapt to your given status and try to win the conflict that ensues. It is ultimately a war-game that teaches strategy. You have to use the landscape and your playable pieces to every advantage – but there are also die that are cast at certain points in the game that introduce new variables to the conflict – civil unrest, assassinations, food shortages, plagues. Each player has a set of playable pieces – queens and pikes and armoured elephants, ships and weapons caches, infantry and heavy-horse, civilians and ambassadors and medics. The aim of the game is to win the conflict."
Tamlin frowned at her thoughtfully. "That sounds very like Cyvasseon."
Nesta's eyebrows rose. "Perhaps they evolved from the same thing." She shrugged and sighed. "I haven't played Cyvaon in years."
"Why not?"
"My family had no interest in playing it," Nesta said. Reflecting on that, it said a lot that Feyre never understood the intricacies of Cyvaon nor had the patience to learn. "Nor did I have friends who appreciated it."
"It's Lucien's favourite game – Cyvasseon," Tamlin said, smiling softly. "It infuriates him."
"How so?"
"Because I beat him every time we play," Tamlin said, shrugging modestly. Together, they ate the last of the dainty mouthfuls, their tea refreshed by a waitress.
"As clever as he is, I imagine that would be maddening," Nesta smirked, and Tamlin grinned. "He should have realised years ago that you play the game on a far grander scale."
Tamlin smiled. "He plays it, too, in his way: he's better at politics than I am."
"Yes. I've heard you do tend to go for the throat rather than waste time mincing words," Nesta said, and Tamlin laughed richly. His eyes glittered, those fine lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes. Had he not grabbed Beron by the throat and dragged him, quite literally, into the conflict against Hybern?
"Shall we go to the toyshop?" Tamlin asked, and Nesta smiled and nodded. She was curious – had Cyvaon evolved from Cyvasseon? Were they one and the same thing? They finished their tea and Tamlin thanked the waiting staff before they left: he took her shopping-bags and made them disappear, sending them to the palace to await her return. As they meandered through the Atelier, Nesta told Tamlin more about the games that were popular in Prythian – how much she had adored intricate sequential puzzles designed to boggle the mind, found jigsaw puzzles soothing and adored Word-Webs. She had to explain what that was: apparently, it was a uniquely human game.
"It's simple, really: each letter of the alphabet has a tile, and you have a certain number of tiles which you have to arrange in as many words as possible before taking new ones," Nesta said. "There are different versions of the game: sometimes you play on a board, playing competitively against other people. But I prefer when we each have as many tiles as possible and create our own Webs, until the last tiles are taken. I used to get my children to play it, to practise their spellings. They were only allowed to use a word if they could tell me what it meant: it encouraged them to read more."
Tamlin blinked furiously at her. "You have children?"
"From the village," Nesta clarified. "Their families sent them to me to learn to read and write and learn their sums." She sighed again. "My family never played that game, either." Elain had never liked the pressure of the game even when they didn't play competitively: and Feyre didn't know her alphabet.
Tamlin frowned as he led the way to a toyshop. "I would suggest we ask the toymaker to create a set of these Word-Webs tiles but…it seems the game is protected?"
"Oh, it's copyrighted," Nesta nodded. Tamlin reflected on that.
"We must put things in place, then, to ensure they remain protected," Tamlin said.
"I thought you said the Dawn Court viciously protects its creators' intellectual property," Nesta said.
"The Dawn Court does," Tamlin said. "Most other Courts and the Continental realms will not be as respectful. If they can profit off the humans, they will."
"How do you even go about protecting intellectual property?" Nesta asked curiously. "Amongst the humans, there is a roaring trade in knock-off products, or people adapting old designs to something they market as superior."
"Magic," Tamlin said simply. "There's deep magic in the Dawn Court – no-one would dare violate it by stealing another's ideas."
"It sounds complicated."
"Thesan tried to explain it to me once," Tamlin said thoughtfully, as they entered the toyshop.
"Did he?"
"I fell asleep halfway through," Tamlin said, his lips twitching. His eyes glittered as he said, "Jevrem eventually woke me but Thesan never even noticed; he was still talking!" He smiled warmly, affection radiating from his face, "When Thesan is passionate about something, there's no stopping him."
"Who is Jevrem?" Nesta asked. Tamlin smiled warmly.
"He is Lord Commander of the Dawn Army. He worked his way to that position centuries ago, and still rightly earns it today. He remains the Lord Commander of Thesan's forces," Tamlin said. "You met him at the summit. He tends to take the place of the captain of Thesan's personal guard when Thesan meets publically with other High Lords: there is no-one who would give more to protect Thesan than him. They always argue about it… They became lovers only recently but no-one could ever doubt their devotion to each other even before."
"He had the beautiful wings," Nesta remembered, and Tamlin nodded. She remembered the immaculate white wings and beautiful golden armour of the Peregryn warriors – and that it was taken for granted that females fought alongside the males in battle. She remembered thinking what a striking contrast they made to the hulking, brooding Illyrian males in their battered leather armour.
They entered the toyshop and Nesta gazed around in awe. She had never seen such toys before, not even at the height of her family's wealth and influence and Mother had taken her to rummage through the boxes in her father's many warehouses. Dolls of every design – every hair-colour imaginable, furred or scaled, winged or hoofed, humanoid or not, of every body-shape and number of eyes, wings, limbs imaginable, each dressed in exquisite miniature clothes and accessories – lined the walls, absolutely exquisite, vibrant, intricately detailed. She thought they represented every Fae in existence! Polished puzzles were stacked up: soft, stuffed animals gazed with sightless glass eyes, modelled after both animals and non-sentient faeries: board-games were spread out on tables with potential customers playing them. Nesta noticed that while most of the toys were catered to Fae of humanoid size, there were different sections of the shop where tiny faeries and larger Fae examined the shelves, poring over miniscule dolls or huge toys. Everywhere she looked there was something to engage the senses: that was a similarity shared with human toyshops. Toys were designed to delight, to intrigue. She could hear music playing softly from somewhere the sound of a baby laughing raucously. A small High Fae boy pottered contentedly around a toy kitchen, seemingly real food bubbling away and filling the area with the scent of baked bread and strawberry jam. A group of adolescents was clustered around one of their friends who was glaring at a wooden puzzle partly disassembled, while a group of adult Fae – of many different species – sat around a gaming table on the edges of their seats, holding their breath as one of their number cast a handful of dice. Their reactions were explosive and chaotic and Nesta skirted around them as they started arguing animatedly about how to proceed in their campaign, becoming more and more panicked and nonsensical.
It wasn't Cyvaon nor was it Cyvasseon but it was similar. For a little while, Nesta stood just watching the game. Tamlin told her about it: it sounded like an offshoot of Cyvaon as Nesta knew it, with the players creating their own characters that formed a team and embarked on adventures, each with their own strengths and weaknesses and defined roles within the team. They had to navigate their adventures by working together, aided by the Narrator who drip-fed important information – usually at inopportune times – and beholden to the dice that could declare anything from there being an outbreak of plague, a night with a particularly seductive bed-mate, granting them extra strength from consumption of rare herbs or gifting them a seemingly useless sword that inflicted emotional wounds rather than physical ones.
"That could be useful in certain situations," Nesta mused. One of the Fae nearby heard her, as their friends howled at their dire circumstances, and gaped at her.
"How?" he yelped.
"Emotional anguish can be crippling," Nesta said lightly. "The wounds can last a lifetime. As long as you choose your victim wisely, of course."
"Of course," the Fae muttered, turning back to the gaming table. "Of course! I know what to do! Roll an eleven!"
"Just roll an eleven, just like that!" his friend screeched hysterically while a third Fae prayed to the Mother, twisting their ears.
"Emotional anguish can be crippling?" Tamlin repeated to her questioningly.
"How do you think Rhysand got Feyre to give in to him?" Nesta said darkly. "He calculated how powerful an effect his emotional anguish would have on her and took the risk. Sheer, calculated vulnerability. His gamble paid off: she's his now." Tamlin stared at her, eyebrows raised.
"You are terrifying," he remarked.
"Well, you've trained yourself to be highly observant," Nesta said, her smile cutting. He laughed richly and took her hand.
"Come on," he said, "let's find some games. You said you like sequential puzzles."
"The more baffling the better – but, Tamlin – "
"I don't want to hear you so much as mention not needing them," Tamlin said. "My books are bearing the brunt of your frustrations at the moment. They're obviously not engaging you. Perhaps you'll find some puzzles more appealing."
"When was the last time your library was archived?" Nesta asked waspishly, because the library truly was frustrating her. "When did anyone last take stock of what is actually in the stacks?"
"No idea," Tamlin said, not paying attention as he gazed at a display of puzzles. "Certainly not while I've been High Lord."
"Well, I suggest you take stock of what's on your shelves," Nesta said. "I can't tell if it's all utterly out of date or just abysmally dull. Either way it's a waste of shelf-space."
"Books were not something my father or brothers appreciated," Tamlin said. "And I'm ashamed to say I've not invested in the library as I should. Thesan will be horrified. Helion too, probably."
"Helion has thousands of libraries, or so I was told," Nesta said. Handsome and powerful as she had thought the High Lord of Day, her respect for him had evaporated when she had learned he frequently took Morrigan to bed.
"Something like that," Tamlin shrugged. "Most of them are archives though. Now, Thesan's library is astounding – he's curated every book and scroll personally over centuries."
"Why haven't you done the same?"
"I've never been interested," Tamlin shrugged. "A music library, perhaps."
"I've never heard you listening to music," Nesta said.
"I sent the resident musicians away," Tamlin muttered. Nesta frowned at him.
"You can't listen to music any time you wish?" she asked, as Tamlin examined a jigsaw puzzle box.
"No," Tamlin sighed regretfully. She stared, amazed. In Prythian, they took the Sou-bo for granted: a system invented over a century ago that harnessed magic to transmit sound. From the Sou-bo, an entire music industry had been born, not to mention news and communications. There had been only one Sou-bo in the entire village, in the general shop, and on a rare occasion a travelling merchant might show a flick in the square – for a nominal entrance fee from anyone who wanted to watch. Once upon a time, though, Nesta had had her own Sou-bo and collection of both audiorbs and flickstones – she could listen to her favourite playlists and watch flicks whenever she liked. It was one of the few things she had indulged in when they found their new wealth – and only because a Sou-bo was practical: they needed to keep abreast of current events. She had listened to the news every night, dreading that she'd pick up some whisper, some clue about a potential invasion of Fae. No hints necessary: the Fae had come in person.
It felt bizarre, somehow, that humans had managed to achieve something the Fae had never imagined. It filled her with pride…until she remembered that she was no longer human. She felt her heart dip and knew instantly that Tamlin had noticed: without even looking away from a particularly beautiful, intricate sequential puzzle, he reached out and took her hand. It tempered the feeling swooping in her stomach, the heaviness. She gave his hand a small squeeze in gratitude and sighed.
When Tamlin insisted she help, she chose a selection of jigsaw puzzles, board-games and sequential puzzles of varying sizes and complexities. She talked to Tamlin about the games she had grown up playing, the riddles and rhymes they were taught as children to remember their histories, the cultural significance of certain toys. It turned into a history-lesson about one of the most prolific creators in the second century A.F. – the Age of Freedom – who had, amongst other things, designed the Roulette Die she still played Cyvaon with. This led to a discussion about the creator's contemporaries – a visionary playwright who had immortalised early figures in the creation of Prythian as a Republic through his plays; a composer without equal who turned the tides of a war through the power of her symphonies; and a queen who created the very foundations of the Republic itself after a horrendous civil-war. She glossed over the Queen, though: Nesta had always thought her fate the height of tragedy and never liked to dwell on it. She did tell Tamlin that many of the Cyvaon scenarios popular amongst devout players were based on true historical events but given twists, and the civil war of Prythian was one of the most controversial and infuriating of all scenarios to be confronted with – because the Dance and its major participants (and their horrific fates) was still so divisive.
"I haven't played with dolls in years," Nesta sighed sadly, gazing at the wall of dolls. "It's a shame. They're exquisite."
"Thank you," a voice grunted, and Nesta blinked, surprised. The same male that had arrived at Galit's shop earlier, the one who had rolled his eyes as he removed his sword at the door, sat behind a polished counter cluttered with trinkets, fiddle toys and jars of vibrant dice. Nesta saw that behind the counter was a workshop: there were doll-parts, paints, polished pieces of wood and metal cogs scattered about on the counters.
"You're not wearing your sword," Nesta remarked, eyeing the male. He looked much more relaxed and content than he had been when he appeared in Galit's shop, his muscles loose as he rose from a stool and prowled closer. He wore an apron now and she could see that he had been painting something: there was no evidence on his apron or his hands but the scent of paint lingered and she could see a tiny doll-head cradled delicately in apparatus on the polished counter.
Eyeing her, the male replied, "Don't need it in here."
"Did you make all those dolls?" she asked, gazing from him to the wall of dolls. He grunted softly, nodding.
"I made everything."
"Everything?" Nesta blurted, eyes widening.
"I have help," he said softly, and Nesta blinked as two faeries appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Not faeries – Nesta didn't know what they were. About eight inches tall, Nesta was only sure that one of them, at least, was female: her curvaceous body was made entirely of flickering flame. The second entity was almost invisible: Nesta wondered if she could see their shimmering outline only because of her own innate power.
"Never seen a sprite before?" the flame-bodied female asked, smiling coyly as she lolled on the feline male's shoulder. Nesta became aware she had been staring open-mouthed at the two entities.
"No," Nesta said bluntly. The fire sprite sighed richly.
"What a shame. Every sprite you ever see shall fall short in comparison," the little sprite sighed luxuriously, stretching and running a hand over the curve of her hip as she gazed at Tamlin with eyes like embers. She rolled over on the feline male's shoulder, resting her chin in her tiny hands and smiling as she kicked her feet behind her playfully. A gust of wind blew and she squawked inelegantly as her flames guttered and embers sparked, drifting off on an invisible breeze. Nesta watched the sprite reform inside a tiny dollhouse perched high on another wall, the flames now vivid blue touched with pink. She wondered how the entire shop didn't catch ablaze and realised there must be special spells in place to prevent such a thing.
Nesta glanced down at the polished counter as large sheets of brown paper rustled softly and something tugged delicately at the smallest puzzle on top of the pile Nesta carried. She could just see the shimmering outline of a female with long hair that seemed to float around her face in its own breeze. The longer Nesta looked, the stronger the outlines of the tiny female's form became. She could see clearly their flowing hair, their lithe body and their lovely heart-shaped face, their expression at once mutinous, tearful and filled with purpose. She had eyes of palest incandescence that darkened to a stormy-grey as the feline male clicked his tongue quietly, eyes on the doll-house as the fire-sprite simmered.
"Enough," he muttered toward the dollhouse, as the second sprite continued to wrap the games.
"You can see her, can't you," Tamlin murmured in Nesta's ear, startling her with his nearness. She realised she had again been staring. She nodded. "Most Fae cannot see the Zephyrn. They can be sensed as the caress of a breeze, sometimes. But when they are in a fury they can destroy forests with their wrath."
"What about the other one?" Nesta murmured, watching the tiny shimmering female deftly wrapping boxes in brown paper, imagining how it looked to someone who couldn't see her. It would seem as if the paper was folding itself.
"The Embryne," Tamlin said, glancing over at the dollhouse. "The Zephyrn and the Embryne are both elemental sprites. There are also the Terron and Aquis."
"Earth and water sprites," Nesta guessed, and Tamlin nodded. Sometimes she was startled by how different their cultures were: sometimes she was reminded that, no matter how they felt about it, the humans had once been inextricably intertwined with Fae culture. In spite of the Slaves' War, the humans had retained some of those ancient links – mostly through language. She had learned that Cyvaon and Cyvasseon were one and the same: the names had changed, because while the Fae had remained the same over the last five centuries, the humans had evolved. Their language had evolved: dialects had developed. Tamlin found it hard to wrap his head around just how drastically different human culture and technology was now than it had been five centuries ago – because it was equivalent, Nesta supposed, to a few decades in the human realm. Though, in the human realm, a few decades was enough to see tremendous advances. Tamlin seemed saddened that the Fae had stagnated.
"Have you thought about it?" the feline male asked. He had a soft, raspy voice, gruff and earnest and Nesta couldn't help but like it.
"Thought about what?"
"Galit's offer to join her classes," the male said, flicking his eyes at her. His pupils were slitted, not unlike Galit's had been, though his were more dramatic, far more feline.
"I didn't realise our conversation was not private," Nesta said sharply, stifling the heat suffusing her body. Had he heard the entirety of her conversation with Galit? The male shrugged.
"Heard her mention the workshops as I went upstairs to the massage room," he said quietly, in that soft voice. His voice was gentle but his accent was rough, unrefined, with a twang. It was very appealing despite her annoyance with what he was actually saying. "They're worth it. They helped me build this place, after…"
"After what?" Nesta prompted, frowning. The male's eyes drifted to Tamlin.
"He knows," he said darkly, and Tamlin gave him a grim look. Nesta frowned between them.
"Many were left…scarred after the Slaves' War," Tamlin told Nesta in an undertone, as the Zephyrn sprite continued to wrap their games, "and by what came after."
"There's people who want to help if you're ready to start healin'," the male muttered, ringing up their purchases on a till.
"And Galit is one of those people?" Nesta prompted, aware of how sharp her tone was. She was still nettled by the implication that this strange male may have overheard her conversation.
"She's the best of 'm," he grunted simply. Tamlin glanced over as the group of players cheered raucously and she noticed him glancing around the rest of the shop. A few people lingered by the shelves but it was not overly crowded.
"How is business?" Tamlin asked quietly.
"Steady," the male muttered.
"But not thriving," Tamlin prompted.
"People don't spend money on toys when there's food to put on their tables," the male muttered.
"Things are not so bad," Tamlin frowned.
The male shrugged. "Habits are hard to break," he sighed.
"Those days are done," Tamlin said sharply, and Nesta felt him stiffen, tension radiating from him. He was still haunted. Hated reminders that the rest of his Court had suffered, were still suffering the ramifications of Amarantha's occupation. Nesta reached out, resting a hand on his arm. The rough-accented male noticed. Tamlin loosed a breath slowly. The male rang up their purchases but Tamlin dithered in the heart of the shop, frowning at the shelves.
"What's wrong?" Nesta asked gently.
"This shop should be packed with customers," Tamlin said quietly. "It used to be."
"People need time to relax," Nesta said quietly. "They need…"
"They need to be able to trust," Tamlin said quietly. "To have faith that their world will not be turned upside-down… I need to earn the faith they put in me."
Nesta sighed, frowning. "Tamlin…"
He rolled his shoulders as if to shake off agitation and turned to the toymaker. "Once upon a time, people donated money to pay for toys to be sent to orphanages across the city," he said.
"Before," the toymaker grunted softly. Tamlin scowled.
"They do not do so now?"
"Some," the toymaker shrugged.
Tamlin relaxed somewhat and said sadly, "And I know who those Fae are certain to be." An argument broke out amongst the players huddled around their table and the toymaker grumbled in annoyance, heading over to pull apart two Fae who were grappling on the floor arguing hysterically and threatening a precariously-balanced display of puzzles.
Tamlin frowned around the shop.
"If he's struggling to bring in customers, I'm not sure how you standing in the heart of his shop scowling is going to help," Nesta remarked and Tamlin blinked, glancing at her.
"I wish to make a mass purchase," he said.
"Of what."
"Everything. These toys should be sent to the orphanages," Tamlin said. "These toys inspire joy. This Court could use more of it."
"We could all use more of it," Nesta said quietly. She warned, "You can't just empty his shelves in one go."
"Money is of no concern."
"That's not what I meant: it'll take years to replenish the stock," Nesta said. "Why not organise to have the orphanages visit on predetermined days over the next few months? The children can choose their own toys, and you can be invoiced after."
They approached the toymaker with the idea. The male's eyebrows rose but he showed no other signs of shock. On the neat stack of brown wrapping paper, the Zephyrn sprite gaped up at Tamlin, her hair settling elegantly around her slim shoulders in her shock.
"Can such a thing be done?" Tamlin asked the toymaker.
"If you wish it, Lord," he shrugged.
"I will have my…" Tamlin frowned. His secretary hadn't yet returned to the Gardens to resume their responsibilities.
"I can coordinate with the orphanages," Nesta offered, and Tamlin gave her a small smile. "If you would be so good as to check your diary and send a list of dates that suit you, we can start arranging things."
"Don't need to send a letter," he grunted, bringing out a leather-bound tome. He flicked through the crammed pages and jotted down a few dates. "Here. I close the shop a day each week to replenish stock and do paperwork. They're welcome then, long as they're supervised."
"They will be," Nesta vowed. She glanced at the slip of paper he handed her as Tamlin paid for the games and puzzles they had purchased. "Orhan? I am Nesta."
"I know who you are," he muttered, pushing their purchases toward them. Nesta exhaled slowly and glanced at Tamlin: he squeezed her hand, understanding her expression. She was beginning to hate being so recognisable. How did she disguise her scent so that she didn't give herself away? The Zephyrn sprite had taken up a perch on the rim of a glass jar mesmerising black polyhedral dice with hearts of glowing, opalescent pink pearls, the transparent black material twinkling with stars arranged in what Nesta recognised as their own star-system. She flitted her gaze up to the Zephyrn sprite and offered her a half-hearted smile. The sprite's lips parted, eyes widening, and she started to clamber to her feet as Nesta turned from the counter. They left the toyshop and Tamlin vanished their purchases back to the palace.
"Are you alright?" Tamlin asked, as they meandered through the streets.
"I hate that everyone seems to know who I am – or what I am," she admitted, her voice tight. She frowned at him. "Will you teach me how to disguise my scent?"
Tamlin nodded. "Of course. I can teach you how to raise a full sensory shield, too."
"What's that?"
"It conceals you utterly from every sense – sight, sound, scent, all of it," Tamlin said. "Only the most powerful Fae can master it but I believe you have the mental discipline to do it."
"What does mental discipline have to do with magic?" Nesta asked curiously.
"Quite a bit," Tamlin said, sighing heavily. "Our power is tied to our minds as much as our emotions. If something affects either, it is reflected in our power… Illidan says I chafe against my position, reject my role as much as I am able. He insists that as long as I do that, I'll never be able to embrace my full potential… I'm dangerous enough as it is."
Nesta remembered Tamlin on the battlefield. If that was Tamlin not at full-strength, she wondered just how extraordinary he would be if he embraced his power.
And what about yours? a little voice wheedled in the back of her mind. Was the power in her veins good only for evading family-members who wished to strip her of her freedom and her dignity, to disguise her scent – to disguise who and what she was? She couldn't even say she had been given her power for a reason: she had taken it, motivated by pure vengeance and the refusal to lose herself to what the Cauldron had wanted to force her to become.
Tamlin squeezed her hand gently. He sighed. "You're somewhere else," he muttered.
"I'm sorry," Nesta said quietly. "Was I ignoring you?"
"It's alright," Tamlin said. "I was just asking if you're hungry."
"We had those cakes barely more than an hour ago," Nesta said. Then, "Yes."
"There's somewhere I'd like to take you," Tamlin said hesitantly.
"You mentioned the floating market," Nesta remembered, and Tamlin nodded.
"I'd like to walk down to the riverfront," he said quietly. "You'll see more of the city that way: it's different when the sun sets." They made their way down the great mellyrn tree: as they went, Tamlin pointed out different shops and landmarks, including a statue of an incredibly graceful High Fae female with commanding eyes and a knowing, playful smirk. "That is Lady Kaderin, my grandmother. She was High Lady in her time. Illidan returned the statue here after my father died."
"Why did he take it?" Nesta asked curiously.
"My father would have destroyed it," Tamlin said bluntly. The statue was located in a small courtyard: around it was a depot swarming with different Fae, all served by small faeries with bat-like ears, enormous eyes and high, squeaky voices. "The Post Office. The elves can deliver your post anywhere in the world as long as you know the recipient's name. It's part of their magic – to fulfil commands."
"That sounds awful," Nesta frowned.
"It used to be," Tamlin acknowledged. "There was a time when they were enslaved to High Fae. As long as they wear clothes, they remain free: and their magic is strong. They're excellent messengers because they're magically bound to follow orders to the letter, no more and no less."
"Doesn't that put them at risk?"
"Yes," Tamlin acknowledged, "which is why the Post Office has a caveat: they must always return home safely. That is the only order I have ever given them."
"I thought you said the elves are no longer enslaved."
"They're not," Tamlin said. "I own the Post Office; they're my employees. Similar magic that enslaved elves to their masters bonds them with me."
"Why use elves as postmen?" Nesta asked curiously.
"They're perpetually…underestimated," Tamlin said, smirking at Nesta, remembering their conversation at the Warrens about being unexpected versus underestimated. "During the Slaves' Revolt, the human slaves freed the elves. They may not look it but the elves were some of the humans' fiercest allies. Their magic is powerful – and largely considered inferior by most Fae, to their detriment."
"They can really find anyone, anywhere?" Nesta asked.
"As long as you have the person's true name," Tamlin shrugged. "It's hit or miss with nicknames."
They meandered further down the mellyrn tree, passing shops, emporiums and pleasure-gardens – brothels by any other name – cafés and bars. In fact, the lower down the trunk of the tree they got, the more Nesta noticed that shops had given way to eateries. Some were sprawling and grand, and Tamlin pointed out the ones frequented by the nobility. Others were quite literal holes-in-the-wall serving what she would call street-food as fast as they could cook it, crowds surging like waves upon the shore.
"But the best place to eat," Tamlin said, as they approached the riverfront, "is the floating market."
Any city in the world might have boasted a floating market where vendors sold their produce on the open water. But what made the floating market of Fioren-Daara so extraordinary was how the underwater city glowed beneath the surface, emitting mesmerising light that glimmered on the undersides of the many thousands of boats, canoes and howdahs that navigated the water at the foot of the mellyrn tree, spreading out from the many overflowing quays into a great, wide basin that seemed endless, a tranquil sea of darkness glimmering with pinpricks of light. Though the sun had set and the world should have been blanketed in darkness, the combination of the natural glowing waters and the faelights brought the surface city to life in a brand-new way.
Nesta watched as Fae gathered at the quays, where boats and canoes waited to take them out onto the water. Tiny faeries flitted back and forth across the water with large trays laden with saucers and tiny dishes full of food, stopping here and there amongst clusters of boats. The faeries glimmered as they glided above the water, stars that twirled and danced around the many floating food-stalls where Fae perfected their recipes.
"The best way to experience the floating-market is to go out in a little boat," Tamlin said quietly, "but if you'd prefer we can stay quayside." He nodded at some covered areas near the quays where people had gathered in small parties, enjoying meals with friends, sipping drinks served from dockside bars. Some small part of Nesta's heart panged, yearning to experience friendship like that. She had no memory of it.
"No," she said, sharply inhaling a bracing breath. She lifted her chin. This was not the Cauldron, was not a bathtub. Light glowed high above her, all around her, beneath the surface of the crystalline water. She could see what waited beneath. She glanced at Tamlin. "You won't let me fall in?"
"Never," Tamlin said quietly. She reached out, taking his hand, and he smiled as he led her to the water. They climbed into a small boat with a small table and chairs set out on a little deck strung with faelights. There were tiny flickering faelights on the table with cutlery – knives, forks, chopsticks, spoons, fat straws made of glass – and a dainty vase with flowers. The little boat glided gently from the quay and into the riot of sensation awaiting them: vibrant lights and raucous laughter, overwhelming scents that made her mouth water, snatches of song and music that made her ears twitch.
"During the day, the river basin hosts a fish-market," Tamlin told her. He had moved his chair so they sat side-by-side, his chair angled so that he could watch everything – so that he could explain what she was seeing. His hands were clasped loosely on his stomach, his legs stretched out – he looked content, his eyes glittering. His lips twitched at the corners and his smile grew as they navigated the market. "But as soon as the sun starts to dip toward the horizon, the Fae from Daara retreat beneath the surface and the food-vendors spread out across the water."
"So Daara is the underwater city?" Nesta asked, watching, intrigued, as specks of light whizzed past, carrying laden trays. "And the surface-city is Fioren?"
"According to some," Tamlin shrugged, and laughed. "Others say the opposite. I'm not sure anyone remembers which is which anymore. I know that Lady Fiorynne and Lord Daaran were High Lady and her Consort millennia ago. The cities were likely established around the same time – at least during the same reign."
A tiny speck of light zoomed toward them, slowed and rested tiny glittering feet on the edge of their table. An eye-watering smile graced the tiny faerie's face and Nesta squinted at Tamlin, who sat up a little straighter. "May the Mother bless you this evening," said the faerie. "What have you a taste for?"
"Everything," Tamlin said with gusto. "My companion and I would like to taste as many of the dishes on offer tonight as possible." The faerie made a noise like chiming bells that Nesta took for giddy excitement.
"Shall I bring a dish of each or would you prefer to share?" the faerie asked, glancing at Nesta for confirmation. She glanced at Tamlin.
"I think sharing might be best," Nesta said conservatively. She didn't know what to expect but just from the scents she knew that roast chicken and wilted greens was not likely to be on the menu. And thank goodness: she despised that bland meal.
"Would you care for drinks?" the faerie asked politely, glowing brighter and brighter since Tamlin had asked for as much food as they could consume.
"Many," Tamlin said, and Nesta smiled.
"And varied," Nesta added.
"Do you have a taste for any particular liquors or flavours?" the faerie asked. Tamlin glanced at Nesta, who shrugged delicately.
"We'll leave the choice to you," he said, and the faerie glimmered. The faerie dipped a little curtsey and zipped away.
"It's the largest restaurant in Prythian: the boats are the tables and the faeries are the waiting staff," Nesta mused, and Tamlin nodded.
"You hire a boat for the ambiance out on the water but the faeries go between the vendors to prevent bottlenecks," Tamlin said.
"How do you pay?" Nesta asked curiously.
"You have to provide coin or establish credit before hiring a boat," Tamlin said. "The vendors pay fees to float their kitchens and those fees cover the wages of the faeries and the ferrymen. At the end of the night, when I settle our tab, money will go directly to each of the vendors we sampled food from."
"Is that to prevent bottlenecks as well?" Nesta asked.
"Anything that eradicates a middleman where money is concerned is always a good thing," Tamlin said, and Nesta nodded. "And it helps keep track of who is popular – and whose fees should be raised to reflect this."
"You don't like people making a profit?"
"No: I encourage that," Tamlin said. "But I do believe people should pay taxes proportional to their earnings."
"So the wealthiest pay the most?" Nesta said, and Tamlin nodded fervently. Nesta glanced at him, wondering about the water-wraith. As if he could feel her eyes on him – he could – or the direction of her thoughts, Tamlin glanced at her.
"What?" he asked quietly.
"I'm just…wondering about the Tithe," she said quietly, and Tamlin grunted. "The water-wraith." He scoffed.
"That bitch," he muttered and Nesta raised her eyebrows: it was the first time she had ever heard him swear. He glanced at Nesta. "She told you about that, did she?"
"What happened?"
"The first Tithe I oversaw as High Lord, the water-wraith came to the Gardens weeping and bemoaning her poverty… I felt compassion for her circumstances and sent her away with food and gold," Tamlin said quietly. He sighed heavily. "She did the same thing the next year – but I was wise to her by then. I'd learned that she gorged on her offerings before attending the Tithe. She took advantage of my inexperience. I gave her gold and food that others needed desperately. She's been an urchin in my foot ever since: it has been a battle of wills ever since to get that wraith to pay her dues."
"Is it worth the fight over a fish?" Nesta asked.
"If that fish turns into a stew that feeds a family, is it not worth it to pursue it?" Tamlin countered, and Nesta nodded to herself. There had been many times that a single fish would have made all the difference. How often had she stretched a single chicken-breast or offal to create soups or hearty stews full of vegetables or crusty, fluffy suet dumplings?
"Did you explain that to Feyre?" Nesta asked curiously but already knew the answer: the tight lines at the corners of Tamlin's lips told her everything.
"I wasn't about to indulge one of her tantrums, not after she attempted to undermine the very foundations on which my court is built," he said coolly.
Nesta sighed. "I never realised the extent of Feyre's ignorance."
"You didn't know she was illiterate?" Tamlin asked curiously. Nesta rolled her eyes.
"I did. We both know that literacy has little to do with intelligence," she said. She sighed and shook her head. "Feyre's world was small: it was limited to her next meal. You opened her eyes a little to the true scope of this world… Now I worry they've been blinded."
Tamlin grunted softly. "She'll see what he wants her to see… All of Prythian views the Night Court as lawless and terrifying," he sighed, "especially the denizens of the Night Court itself."
"Did some flee to find sanctuary here during the Occupation?" Nesta asked curiously. Tamlin nodded.
"Out here on the water, there are representatives from every single Court," Tamlin said. "Some came before the Occupation but many fled here during it and have decided to remain… They enrich my Court. Not least because they bring their culinary flair."
"Even before I left, people were fleeing from the far reaches of the Night Court to Velaris, seeking a haven," Nesta said quietly. She gazed around her, at the vibrant lights, inhaling deeply of the scent of spices, her ears twitching at the sound of someone singing splendidly in a deep tenor somewhere across the water.
"What is it like?" Tamlin asked curiously.
"What?"
"The City of Starlight?" Tamlin said. She sighed.
"The city itself – its architecture – is quite beautiful," she acknowledged. "It's like a painting. Seen from afar, it looks exquisite. But hidden beneath layers of distracting beauty are the cracks, the decay and the rips and tears that have never been mended… Velaris is an anomaly in the Night Court because of its appearance of culture. It does not show Rhysand's true nature, as he believes: his deliberate neglect of the rest of his territories does."
The faerie reappeared, bearing a small tray on which two elegant cocktail glasses rested, the contents glowing softly. She offered Nesta one the colour of frozen raspberries topped with a layer of froth that teased Nesta's nose with the scent of liquorice while Tamlin took the one that was honey-coloured and garnished with nutmeg.
"No more talk of unpleasantness," Nesta said quietly, as the faerie zoomed away again. She sipped her cocktail curiously – and made a noise of delighted surprise. The earthy tang of rhubarb tempered by the sweet sharpness of raspberries flowed over her tongue. She sipped her drink and offered to let Tamlin try hers; he offered his, and she licked her lips of the taste of spiced apricot.
"Too sweet for me," she told him, preferring her own cocktail. All too soon it was gone, though their faerie waitress seemed to anticipate whenever Nesta would take her final sip and appeared with another, different drink to replace it. Nesta kept track of her cocktails – and the combination of flavours, wondering how to recreate them at home – sipping them slowly as she and Tamlin enjoyed themselves. They ate their way steadily through the very best of what the floating-market had to offer that evening, carried to them on tiny, painted plates in a large, woven tray. While she sipped at a spicy whisky-sherry cocktail over crushed ice, Nesta picked at their starters, which included seared scallops with peanut and spring onions; fried sage leaves; snow peas stuffed with crab; salt-and-pepper squid; crispy merguez-stuffed olives with chilli honey; hibiscus hummus with warm flatbreads and a radicchio salad with pickled grapes and goat's cheese. A port and whisky cocktail with pear and lemon juice arrived in time for Nesta to sip it while yet more tiny plates arrived, each beautifully presented but offering only a generous mouthful of each dish for them to sample. They enjoyed juniper beef carpaccio with pickled shallots, pear and parmesan mayonnaise; steamed clams infused with red curry and coconut broth; sticky coffee ribs and pork ribs in plum sauce; chilli cauliflower bites and paper-thin pancakes with shredded duck, tangy sauce, spring onions and cucumber. Nesta tried everything but even she looked dubiously at a salad of raw jellyfish with green mango. The tuna ceviche with passionfruit, so elegantly presented, confused her.
"These are saltwater fish," she frowned, and glanced at Tamlin, who was knocking back an oyster. He chased it with a strange-looking shot and sighed contentedly.
"They are," he agreed, passing her the second oyster and the tiny glass of something that sparkled with silver droplets dancing on its iridescent surface. She frowned and he chuckled. "Many aquatic Fae can winnow through the waters, as it were. Some have fish-farms out in the coral reefs and kelp meadows along the coast. Their produce is always fresh. This market is a celebration of all that Spring has to offer."
"Spring can offer saffron and coconut, chillies and lamb and olive and oysters and all of this?" Nesta asked, trying not to sound dubious. She was learning not to second-guess magic.
"You remember what I told you about the natural biomes within the Spring Court?" Tamlin asked, and Nesta nodded. He shrugged.
"Prythian has temperate forests and grasslands," Nesta told him quietly. "It's easy to forget that the Spring Court can be so different when the Gardens look so similar… It would be lovely to see a model of the Spring Court showing all the different biomes and what is grown in them, how they affect trade in the Spring Court… What do other Courts trade for?"
They talked for hours, sipping cocktails and helping themselves to the many, varied dishes supplied regularly to their table. Their little boat drifted around the basin, showing them the sights – the many cooks preparing their sumptuous menus but also entertainers, singers and musicians on illuminated stages. Here and there, underwater Fae climbed out of the water to perch on the edges of those floating stages and listen. When they weren't talking about economics and inter-Court trade, they listened to impromptu operettas performed by a broadly-built Fae from the Summer Court who prepared vats of vegetable curries.
Nesta smiled as the faerie appeared with another cocktail – this one a bizarre mixture of Chartreuse, port, sugar and egg-white violently shaken until it frothed, garnished with a sprinkle of nutmeg. It was absolutely delicious: Nesta hummed her approval as she took another sip, and sat up straighter in anticipation as the faerie returned with yet another tray laden with tiny plates. They feasted on a decadent spiced dal with small cheese-stuffed flatbreads; cardamom saffron rice jewelled with pomegranate, carrot, pistachios and rose-petals; chicken with marsala, olives and blood-oranges; tiny colourful dumplings, some steamed, some fried, one particular soft bun stuffed with fried mushrooms and slices of aubergine fried in breadcrumbs, served with a dab of spicy mayonnaise and a coriander leaf; chilli crab legs that came with a large linen napkin and a tiny mallet to crack them open; small fillets of fish fried and presented in thin flatbreads with coleslaw, pickled cucumber and spicy mayonnaise; a delicious fluffy oyster omelette; and the most mouth-watering beef curry Nesta had ever had in her life. The meat melted in her mouth, the spices rich and decadent, warming her entire body.
Though she'd had barely a mouthful of each dish – just enough to try, and to tempt, but not even to gorge on – Nesta was feeling full. She had tried everything – even the jellyfish salad and the colour-changing noodles with bluebell dipping-sauce – and was deliciously tipsy. She was on the right side of that precipice where the world seemed more beautiful, more vibrant, more hopeful. She wanted to hold onto that feeling.
"I was thinking of asking some of the vendors to cater to the Triumvar during their visit," Tamlin said idly. "Which dishes were your favourite?"
"The beef curry," Nesta said, without hesitation. Tamlin laughed; he had been teasing her about the pout she had given him when he ate his half of the portion they had been served.
"I think you were ready to throttle me over it," Tamlin said, his fangs flashing as he grinned.
"I would eat my way out of a grave filled with that curry," she said stubbornly. Tamlin chuckled but Nesta groaned as the faerie appeared again, her tray laden with sweet morsels. Dainty pastries and chocolates dominated but Nesta gravitated towards the more exotic-looking sweets; a granite-like frozen dessert made from hair-thin rice noodles with rosewater and lime syrup and garnished with pistachios and brandied cherries; pineapple soufflé that took her to an exotic island paradise; a passion-fruit crème brûlée; a tiny pastry that was coiled like a snake and filled with almonds, pistachios and orange-blossom; a tiny sweet crafted to look exactly like a peony flower starting to open that somehow tasted of the memory of a sun-drenched picnic with her mother eating strawberries and sipping elderflower cordial while they dipped their bare toes in a bubbling stream. She raised her eyes to Tamlin's face and noticed his eyes were closed. His expression was at once blissful and tortured – an exquisite agony. She felt that. Her mother's face, beautiful and shining with health and light; the soothing weight of her hand stroking Nesta's hair; her perfume teasing Nesta's nose; the warmth of that sun. It was agony: she wanted it more than anything.
They finished their meal with a delicate, uplifting cocktail that somehow stopped Nesta's stomach from protesting its fullness but did not take away from the delicious feeling of contentedness and joy that had radiated through her body since she first sat down to eat.
As meals went, it was unusual. As experiences went, it had been extraordinary.
The entire day had been.
She didn't realise how late it was, how exhausted she felt, until she was tucked up against Tamlin's heat on the bench of Nalleth's howdah, winding through the city. Head resting against Tamlin's shoulder, Nesta didn't see the city as they traversed it; she didn't even register the open fire Nalleth lit to warm them. Not when Tamlin sat amongst howdah drivers and ordinary Fae of Fioren-Daara playing a battered violin that Nalleth had brought out from the howdah. She sat mesmerised by Tamlin's playing, awed by the transformation in Tamlin when he played – as if he was utterly lost to the music, in a world where only he and the music existed. It seemed as if the music came, not from the violin, but from within Tamlin himself, low and sweet and sad.
If she had protested against being given the cot inside the howdah, she had no memory of it. She did remember Tamlin tucking a blanket over her, and the faint strains of music that softened to male voices talking low. But most of all, she remembered the feeling of utter contentment as she drifted off to a deep, easy sleep.
A.N.: I know, it was a long one!