Feyre

When I got home, the lights had all been lit to ward against the gathering dusk.

I smiled at the sight, and shook my head to rid my mind of the image of that faerie offering to help. For some reason, the offer had felt genuine, and I wished I was in a stable enough position to accept it.

But this was the forest, and it was winter.

The stone chains in my quiver were uncomfortably heavy as I slipped in through the door, to be greeted by the sight of Elain making awkward conversation with Lucien, and Tamlin watching them a little suspiciously, and. . . enviously. He looked up when I came in, and though Nesta switched her glare from him to me, I gave them all a small, tired smile as I shrugged off my quiver and carefully lifted the chain I'd gathered out of it.

Immediately, Tamlin and Lucien recoiled.

I furrowed my brows. "What's wrong?" I asked, even as I saw the smoke and shadows coalescing at Tamlin's fingertips to form the ghosts of claws.

"It feels. . ." Despite his revulsion, Tamlin seemed drawn to it, as he stood and came to run a hand along the chain. He winced. "Wrong. Like every part of me, every drop of my magic, it screaming at me to get away." He shuddered. "I haven't felt the hideous touch of that stone in. . . Centuries."

I bit my tongue to keep back the barrage of questions. Centuries? And why and when did you have contact with it?

But all I said was: "At least we know it works."

Lucien's face had gone pale, both his metal and organic eyes riveted to the stone. His russet hair was stark against his drained face. "Indeed we do."

I nodded, and lifted it back into the quiver. I cast a glance at Nesta, who was eyeing me like a hawk, and said, "I suppose you're to be the one doing the stitching? After all," I added, and I couldn't keep the note of bitterness from my voice, "my hands are so rough; I couldn't possibly pull off the delicate stitches you could."

Her eyes flashed, but her tone was icy as she cut in smoothly, "I wouldn't expect you to be able to know how to stitch, what with your lack of education."

It was an effort of will not to claw her face - that beautiful, beautiful face; so much like our mother's, especially when Nesta wanted something - but I just clunked the chain down on the table, directly on top of a peeling painting of long fading foxgloves, and stalked into the bedroom.

I'd just stripped off my gloves and was considering falling into bed early despite the mountain of things I had left to do today, when the creak of floorboards behind me alerted me to the presence of one of the faeries. I knew it wasn't Elain or Nesta; they were too light and walked too daintily to make a sound, but the faeries walked as though innately rooted to the ground; like a mountain of muscle and brutish power. I turned, and narrowed my eyes at Tamlin, who gave me an awkward smile as he stepped into the bedroom and looked around. I itched to tell him to get out, but obliged him.

His green eyes were wide behind the mask as they fell from the large bed, onto the single chest of drawers, and then back to me. I stalked over to my drawer, and the stars painted on it rattled as I yanked it open none too gently, and flung the thick gloves I used for hunting in there.

When I turned around, Tamlin was perched on the bed.

"So," he began. "Lucien and Elain seem to be getting on quite well."

"What of it?" I asked distractedly, picking up my bow and unstringing it.

"Lucien is. . ." He trailed off as I kneeled down and began to unlace my boots. "Unyielding, when he talks to females. He doesn't have the best reputation with them, and has had some bad experiences that I think might have scarred him - and understandably so. It's rare for him to show any sort of affection." I kept my eyes on my laces, and the leather falling apart around them, as he huffed an exasperated sigh. "Your sister should be honoured."

"I'm sure she is," I replied. "After all, how rare is it that a faerie deigns to speak to a human?"

His lips tightened into a line. "I didn't mean to sound condescending-"

"Well, you did," I said flatly. "And please, get out of the room so I can get changed."

Tamlin just gritted his teeth, but- "Did you ever see a white wolf in the forest?"

I paused. "What?"

"A white wolf." He repeated. "Absolutely massive - it was probably the size alone that gave away the fact he was a faerie. Massive, snow white, with two golden eyes the size of dinner plates. It would have been in the winter," he added desperately.

I rose from my crouch; the laces trailed behind me as I took a step forward. "Around December? In the snow?"

He nodded. "Yes."

I swallowed. "Then yes. I saw it."

"What did you do?"

I looked down at my laces, and crouched to continue untying them. "I shot at it," I admitted, eyes still fixed on the floor, even as the boot came free and I switched foot. "It was cold, and we were running out of food, and it was about to steal my prey. So I shot at it."

"And?" The eagerness in his voice unnerved me a little.

"I missed," I said shortly. He released a breath. "It was the first shot I'd missed in years - and it was the only ash arrow I had. It was on course to go right through its eyes, when a sudden gust of wind came and blew it several metres off course. After that, I ran." I breathed a ragged breath. "Why?"

I wasn't sure he was breathing. "Because-"

"Feyre."

We both jumped as I turned, slightly relieved, to find Nesta silhouetted in the doorway. Her lips formed lines as sharp as the edge of a frozen lake as she glared at Tamlin until he took the hint, and left. Nesta came forward to sit on the bed as I crouched back down to finish my second boot, and although my eyes were on the ground, I could still feel her glare crisping the back of my head.

I looked up, and her eyes - my eyes; our mother's eyes - were wintry. "What are you doing."

I tilted my head; my hair rolled over one shoulder. "What do you mean?"

She stood, and I had never noticed with as much clarity as I did in that moment, just how much taller she was than me. Especially when I was crouched down. I straightened up to meet her stare, but she still had a few inches on me.

"I mean." She stressed the last word. "That everything you're doing right now, is foolish. Reckless. Idiotic. Why are we housing two faeries beneath our roof, when we can barely house the three of us?" She hissed. "Why are we bothering to stand and fight to help the villagers, rather than just fleeing?"

"You would flee?" I asked incredulously. My voice rose without my bidding it. "You would run, and let innocent people be slaughtered?"

"I would!" She shouted right back. "I would, because I value our family more than I value a bunch of merciless strangers, who wouldn't bother to save me given the chance!"

I screamed right back at her, and I didn't care as tears slipped down my face, the physical embodiment of all the icy barriers we'd maintained around each other melting. "Then go!" I heaved a breath, and found some sort of steadiness in the undimmed fire in Nesta's eyes, even if it was directed at me. "Then go, flee! Leave me to do this on my own!"

Nesta's voice quieted, and I knew it hurt her pride to say, "We can't survive without you." There was a certain brittleness to her words.

"Of course that's what you'd say." I barked a bitter laugh. "Of course you'd think of your own survival - yours and Elain's. After all, who am I? Certainly not a part of the family you seem to care so much about - enough to abandon innocent people to the claws of monsters!"

"You call them monsters," she hissed, "and yet you ally with them! I suppose it's only fitting," she continued with a dark thrill o her words. "You're a half wild beast yourself - why not join with others similar to you? What's your thought process? That it will take a monster to destroy a monster? Why not choose them over your family?"

"Do not preach at me about family." I said quietly. Venomously. "Not when you sat back and let us starve for so any years, when I had to go out time and time again to keep up all alive." I sighed, and passed a hand in front of my face. When I dropped my hand, my voice was steady. "I am going to stay, Nesta. I am going to stay, and fight, because fighting for survival is all I know how to do. So stay or go, but I am going to stay here a defend my fragile dream of a life where all I have to do is paint. And neither you, nor Elain, nor the faerie lords themselves, can stop me."

Nesta sniffed, and straightened her posture. She stretched her swan-like neck, and for a moment she looked down at me with all the cold imperiousness of our deceased mother, and saw nothing but a dirty, bloodied girl, who'd fought and fought again, whose hands were rough whilst hers were soft.

Then she said stiffly, like it hurt her to say. "Then I will stay as well." She pursed her lips, and added, "But the moment that. . . this. . . is over, you are going to teach me how to hunt."

The words shocked me momentarily, but then I nodded, equally as stiffly. "Alright."

"Also. . ." She bit her tongue, then said, "You are going to teach me how to paint."

My mouth moved without my consent. "Very well."