A.N.: This chapter is for Poppy – feel free to keep spamming me!
Hi all, thank you so much for bearing with me. The autumn term at school has been exhausting – illnesses and Christmas carol services galore! – but I'm now enjoying some holiday downtime, as I hope you all are!
Oh, something annoyed me about the Tithe scene (well, many things did) when Feyre's a hideous bitch to Tamlin, throwing it in his face that he doesn't understand hunger. Wasn't he a soldier? He wasn't getting gourmet meals every day! And he certainly understood what it meant to be utterly at the mercy of others. Feyre proving once again that she only ever thinks about herself, and never looks beyond what she sees presented in front of her own eyes.
A House of Flame and Flower
06
Peonies and Pests
She smiled as she ambled through another awe-inspiring garden, doing her best to be mindful of the various faeries she had espied in her peripheral view – and sensed with that unknowable magic that seemed to purr and hum at their nearness – and she had begun to gain an inkling on this walk in particular just how many faeries claimed Tamlin's innumerable gardens as their home. And how they celebrated the deluge with dancing and songs Nesta's heightened senses could hear – and which she had to fight to ignore. Dainty, pretty and intoxicating, the strains of music she heard over the sound of the rain made her lips twitch toward a smile and her heart a little lighter – that was the lure, she thought. What would she find at the end of that line?
It never ceased to amaze her how full of vitality the gardens were. Even as the weather became progressively more bitter, the gardens thrived, teeming with life – whether flora or faerie. Sometimes the two were indistinguishable.
Today, Nesta had ventured further than she ever had before. Each day she could get outside for a walk, she tried to explore a new garden. Sometimes she achieved this goal, but some days the flowerbeds were just so beautiful, she had to stop and linger and admire. She was coming to realise that Tamlin's gardens may in fact be an unending labyrinth. The ruined palace was perpetually surrounded by beauty, by the scents of natural perfume and the hum of insects, birdsong – and faerie-song – surrounded by life, striving and straining, thriving against all odds.
"Life finds a way," Nesta murmured to herself, her eyes widening with delight as a handful of faeries no bigger than wrens darted across her path, sparkling with golden-silver illumination and communicating with a sound like silver bells. Nesta did not get a good look at them, but she imagined they were the reason why humans believed Fae were attracted to the sound of silver bells. If the bells mimicked a form of communication between faeries, the faeries would be drawn to those of their own kind. Perhaps they are even a mating call, she mused.
Here and there amongst the flowerbeds, Nesta had spied faeries, dancing and cavorting in the life-giving rain, glowing and singing. In one particularly beautiful parterre, Nesta momentarily mistook a faerie for the most mesmerising and exotic orchid she had ever seen: the orchid Queen was holding court from her throne – a delicate, frilly peony – and Nesta glimpsed faeries resembling vibrant, exotic fungi and flowers dancing together amongst the neatly-trimmed borders of the parterre, reclining in the enormous cups of frilly peonies, raindrops glowing with some strange magical light to illuminate their revelries. They ignored Nesta completely, content in their own little world.
Wondering about the sheer scope of faerie species, Nesta felt suddenly exhausted by the prospect of all she had yet to learn about the strange world she now found herself part of. She turned away from the peony court and jumped back as tiny faeries holding spears and wearing helmets made from bird skulls, rode past on saddled stoats, chasing after a moving clump of earth festooned with bluebells. Peering closer as the hunt continued, Nesta recoiled slightly: the bluebells were attached to moss-covered limbs like those of an arachnid or scorpion that allowed it to scuttle at speed. As the miniature monster was surrounded by the peony court's knights, it hissed and roared – what must have been a terrifying sound to a creature no longer than her little finger – and beneath the bluebells and the moss-covered legs, stuck at the end of a long worm-like neck, was a gaping mouth dripping saliva, its fangs vicious.
She was used to going out into her raised beds and guarding her crops from slugs, snails and caterpillars. She had seen some of those, but they were hunted by strange faerie creatures she did not know the names of. She wondered what constituted a pest in the Fae realms and whether someone had documented and categorised every single faerie species. There were the compendiums of underfae in Tamlin's library, which she was using to brush up on her knowledge on the most dangerous faeries it would be foolish not to be aware of. She had never seen – never imagined – that there were faerie societies even within the Fae realms, as the peony court seemed obviously to be a society that lived exclusively within the walls of just one of Tamlin's many hundreds of gardens. And each of the gardens Nesta had visited so far had been utterly different, magic maintaining miniature biomes in which non-native flora thrived. Within each microcosm of plants and flowers, surely there was potential that unique faeries had evolved over time?
How long did it take faeries to evolve?
Nesta sighed, and wished… When their family had gained its new wealth, and she had found herself stripped of the work necessary for her family's survival, Nesta had pursued interests she had always been excited by as a girl. She had always been a great lover of music and dance, the arts – and had bought a box at the finest theatre in Prythian, spending almost every night enjoying performances she had been denied during their "lean years". Music and dance was such an integral part of their culture, yet Nesta had also been passionate about the sciences. Mama used to say the sciences were their way of making sense of their own world. The Fae had their magic: humans had science. Both asked unanswerable questions. She was fascinated by philosophy, gorged herself on the histories, studied human laws until she knew them by heart and, after what she had so recently experienced, was more and more curious about psychology. She had started curating her own library and joined societies devoted to the sciences, history, philosophy, psychology and literature. And just as she had started to enjoy it…
Exploring Tamlin's gardens was the first time Nesta had been inspired, been curious about the Fae world. It was the first time she had itched to explore, and to understand. Before, she had merely endured her new place in a world she had no comprehension of, a seedling swept up in a riptide. Now, Nesta understood that she stood poised at a great precipice – that stepping over the edge meant truly mourning what had been lost but also embracing the potential of what her life could be. What she had the skill, determination and passion to make it.
She was eager to move through the side-effects of her bad days rather than fester in them, drowning: she had begun to anticipate the sunrise and planned how to fill her days with purpose. And that had everything to do with being here, in Spring, surrounded by irrepressible life, and safe in the knowledge that in this battered, neglected place, there was very little she could do to actually make things worse. She knew no-one could come to harm by her hand – rather, her magic – if she lost control. And here, it was a matter of if, not when. That knowledge gave her a sense of security, of peace, a spark that had slowly started to burn deep in her belly, a sense of confidence in herself that she had had ripped from her in the most brutal way possible.
The more calm and confident she became in herself, the less she worried about losing control of the magic that simmered in her veins. She was by no means what she had once been, but she knew she had it in herself to rebuild – and make herself stronger through it all.
Nesta had her bad days, more than enough of them. Yet when she woke from those horrific nightmares, one of two things happened: Tamlin sat with her as they sipped blistering hot, fragrant tea, sharing a blanket, or, in his absence, she strapped on her boots and went out into the gardens. By the time she returned to the kitchens, she had calmed herself down. Something about being amidst nature soothed her heartrate and gentled her mind.
Tamlin had returned from Katra only to head out again, this time to the mountains in the north-east, and had been gone for over a week. Confined by the weather for most of that time, and without Tamlin's presence, for the first time in months Nesta had found herself yearning for company. She had found herself lonely.
The gardens were so full of life that it was almost impossible to feel lonely there. Yet the faeries who lived and worked in them maintained a safe distance from her. Or rather, a respectful distance, as if they had been advised to give Nesta her space. She found herself curious about who worked in the gardens and yearned for company.
Nesta freely admitted that she had started to miss Tamlin when he was away: she enjoyed his company in a way she hadn't enjoyed anyone in…well, in memory.
She cleaned her boots on the boot-scraper by the kitchen-door, inhaling deeply: the scent of warmth, of ginger and stewing fruit, fresh bread, spices and roasting meat enticed her indoors. She hung up her wool cloak – an old one of Tamlin's he had given to her, and which she had hemmed and given a fresh lining of fleece – and coaxed at the silver vapours swirling idly through her mind, tentatively caressing one of them.
Though she imagined how she interacted with her magic was different to how Tamlin did his, he had taught her how to use a few simple spells she might need in his absence. She liked the useful spells, the cleaning spells, the spells that she wished she had once had mastery of, when maintaining the cottage was solely her responsibility and there weren't enough hours in the day. Instantaneously, her hair was dry, her boots were immaculate and her clothing steamed with heat. Her body relaxed in answer to being enveloped by warmth and she pushed the door closed, smiling and reaching for her cotton pinafore apron.
"You're getting good at that," said a familiar voice, and Nesta did not hold back her breathless smile as she whirled toward the sound. Tamlin's eyes glowed a rich, deep emerald as he gazed across the huge oak table at her, a silver spoon poised over a jar she had filled only this morning with jam.
"You're home!" she smiled, striding into the cavernous kitchen. Tamlin's beautiful lips twitched slightly as she approached, and though public displays of affection irritated her, it felt natural to go to Tamlin and wrap her arms around his shoulders as he rose from his seat, reaching for her and looping an arm casually around her waist. There was a natural sort of intimacy between them that Nesta had never enjoyed with anyone else. It was as intoxicating as it was calming.
"It was worth it to be away so long if that is the smile I see upon my return," Tamlin said, with that characteristic earnestness she had come to associate with him – unpolished but deeply heartfelt.
"You said you would be gone longer," Nesta said, stepping back and scrutinising Tamlin's face. Those simmering emerald eyes glowed with warmth but there was exhaustion in the shadows beneath them, tension in the fine lines at the corners of his eyes.
"We managed to settle things in good time," Tamlin said.
"Monsters or worse?" Nesta asked. To Tamlin, worse than any monster was politics.
"A little of both," Tamlin sighed, scooping a little jam out of the jar and contemplating it thoughtfully.
"Well, you can't say you didn't enjoy yourself, at least a little bit," Nesta said, and Tamlin grinned tiredly.
"I see you've been keeping yourself busy," Tamlin said, eyeing the evidence before him: jars and bottles glinted, the contents glowing in jewel-like hues in the faelight. Baskets of sweet buns rested beside myriad delicacies Nesta had made throughout the week to add to her afternoon tea. There were several loaves of fresh bread and the pasta dough she had made yesterday – semolina, egg and spinach dough – and shaped into nearly thirty different shapes – was now dry and ready to be jarred up.
Sheets of candied ginger waited to be jarred beside a bottle of the concentrated syrup and jars filled with rhubarb-and-ginger jam. Biscotti rested on a cooling rack beside candied-ginger biscuits. A large ceramic bowl contained dark cherries she had painstakingly destoned before her walk, ready to be brandied, and Tamlin sat before a few scraps of paper on which Nesta had been attempting to write down the recipes for several cakes she had loved but rarely had the ingredients to make. "What are these?"
"They're supposed to be recipes," Nesta admitted, with a sigh. She was all too aware that she was still a guest in Tamlin's albeit ruined home: she did not want to take advantage by wasting resources purely to get a recipe right.
"Why all the crossings out?"
"Because I do not think they're correct." Tamlin frowned. She explained, "I've made these before but so infrequently, I cannot remember the recipes exactly. They were…lost." She avoided Tamlin's gaze – not because she blamed him for Hybern, but because she knew he did.
Tamlin cleared his throat awkwardly. "What are the recipes for?"
"One is a dessert we traditionally make for Winter Solstice," Nesta told Tamlin. "A buttery, spiced shortbread base layered with a compote of plums stewed in sweet wine and spices, and topped with meringue before baking."
Tamlin made a soft moan of absolute yearning and Nesta smiled.
"And the other?" he asked, as if pained.
"A burnt honey cheesecake," Nesta sighed. "It was one of my mother's specialties. I've never managed to get it right."
"Are these attempts you've made to perfect the recipes?" Tamlin asked, glancing from the scraps of paper to the oak table and even the shelves of the pantry that he could see, searching hopefully for the desserts.
"I haven't made them: I don't want to waste anything," Nesta said.
"We have more than enough," Tamlin said, with a gentle shrug. "Do as you like."
"Are you sure?"
"Take whatever you need. I am nothing if not altruistic," Tamlin said, gazing at her coyly through his eyelashes, and Nesta smiled.
"Then you wouldn't care to taste-test –"
"Well, as I'm the only other person here to confirm your findings… You'd better put me to good use."
"There's always Antares," Nesta reminded him. Tamlin's eyes glittered, his lips twitching. She liked it when he was like this – playful. She had learned that a tired, playful Tamlin was flirtatious – and a tired, grumpy Tamlin was cuddly. Self-possessed though he seemed, Nesta had often thought to herself that he seemed as starved of physical affection as she was.
"Speaking of…I assume Antares is the source of those flowers," he said, indicating a large vase at the end of the table. It overflowed with white magnolia and lily-of-the-valley, tuberose, a frilly ice-and-navy iris, silky butter-yellow peonies, meadow orchids, shivering white bleeding-heart, fairylace and dahlias, icy blue dwarf rhododendrons and pale apricot roses, sweet Williams and alstromeria, hydrangea, candelabra primulas, wood anemones and flowering sage. There was never more than one stem of each flower: each seemed to have been chosen for its perfection.
"Why do you assume that?" Nesta asked curiously.
"There was an empty tray on the tree-stump in the courtyard," Tamlin said, reaching for something Nesta hadn't noticed on the scrubbed oak table: a magnificent white camellia flower with glossy green foliage. "Along with this. I think he likes you."
"He likes my cooking," Nesta corrected, and Tamlin shrugged as Nesta took the camellia, inhaling its scent deeply. She adored the scent of camellias. Tamlin's eyes grew thoughtful, concerned.
"Have you seen him?"
"I've heard him, rustling about in the stables," Nesta said, adding the camellia to the arrangement in the vase, and Tamlin sighed with evident disappointment.
"He's engaging with you in his own way, I suppose," he sighed, his eyes on the flower arrangement. "I can't hope for more than that."
"I'd hoped to lure him into the warm," Nesta said. "It's getting too cold for him to be sleeping in the barn."
"He'll be tucked up beside one of the horses," Tamlin said, rubbing his face tiredly. "They'll keep him warm."
"I wish I could make him a blanket or a sleeping-bag," Nesta said. There was a lot she wished she could make: slowly, she was piecing together her wardrobe. She was an excellent seamstress but had been forced to alter and tailor clothing for others, until it became yet another chore. But she had always enjoyed crochet. Until the reversal of their fortunes, she had been limited in what she could make – and usually it was gifted away to her father or sisters. When they had come into their new fortune – the eye-watering wealth Tamlin had given them without a second thought – she had suddenly had the means and the time to explore her favourite hobbies. She loved painting and playing the piano and going to the theatre, her mind was voracious for texts on her favourite subjects, she had enjoyed designing her own fashionable wardrobe for the season – and which others had painstakingly made for her – but crochet was something that had always relaxed her. She could do it without truly thinking and it always produced something tangible that served a double-purpose of being both practical and something she was proud of.
Since Hybern, sewing her clothes was the first time Nesta had set her hand or her mind to creating anything. And it was possible because of Tamlin. He hadn't provided rooms filled with gowns and precious jewels – she would have laughed at the impracticality of it, and knew he would have thought less of her for asking for them, given their circumstances – but he had provided access to the fabric and a sewing-kit and assumed she knew how to go about the rest. There was no other option than to sew her own clothing: and thinking about patterns and all of that had ignited the dormant passion she had to create.
And whenever her fingers ached from the cold as she went egg-hunting and stripped the raised beds of fresh produce, and the wind snatched at her cheeks and pinched her nose, she thought of Antares. She thought of him shivering in the stables and wished she could do more.
Tamlin gave her a thoughtful look then rose to go and fill the teapot with boiling water. He had used her favourite tea – a delicate black tea, with a delightfully invigorating hint of orange – and carried the teapot over to the table. Nesta checked the time and smiled faintly to herself: it was time for afternoon tea.
Her days revolved around food now. Little meals, eaten often, were the best way to increase her weight in a safe way. Breakfast, then second breakfast, elevenses, luncheon, afternoon tea, dinner, supper and an after-supper morsel just before bed to get her through the night. Little and often, that was how Nesta ate: and she was focused on flavours and textures and enjoying every mouthful, rather than focusing on the true objective – to gain weight. If Tamlin had noticed she was no longer deathly thin and painfully angular, he didn't comment on it – as if he knew instinctually that she was as touchy about her weight as Antares was about contact with others. It benefited Tamlin, too: when he was home, he joined her in her frequent meals. They forced him to put down his paperwork, ensuring he did not sit in the library going cross-eyed as the letters danced across the page. And he was bulking up, too: he would never have Cassian's enormous build, but he was very tall and broad-shouldered and could carry extra muscle very well. He was tall and powerful without being bulky. He wasn't a bruiser, the way Cassian was.
Tamlin's eyes lit up as she gathered a tiered cake-stand, setting out the finger-sandwiches and cheesy gougères she had prepared earlier on the lowest plate, then dainty scones, jam and clotted cream in the middle, and on the topmost tier, a selection of the delicacies she had been baking all week. Her macarons were always far more delicious after a maturation period, no matter the flavours, but other treats – like the choux buns piped with grapefruit curd and delicate elderflower cream, and the madeleines piped with honey while still hot – were best enjoyed the moment they had been filled.
"Have you been sleeping?" Tamlin asked quietly, as Nesta finally sat down beside him, ready to indulge. She had made a point of treating herself the way she would treat anyone else: to sleep as much as she needed to, go on long walks to build up her strength, and to allow herself to bake what she wished and eat what she liked. The more she cooked and baked, the more she thought about recipes and ingredients, the easier it became to eat, to train her new senses. She was no longer overwhelmed at the very thought of eating.
"More than I had been," Nesta admitted. "I am nearly up to five hours' sleep a night."
"That's not nothing," Tamlin said thoughtfully. He frowned. "But how do you have the time to make all these?"
"I've made them so many times before, I barely have to think about it," Nesta admitted. She smiled. "All the whisking and kneading combined with walking through the gardens gives me an appetite – and exhausts me!"
"That's good," Tamlin nodded.
"What about you?" Tamlin gave her a sidelong glance.
"I've not had as much success," he admitted.
"You sleep well enough when you're here," Nesta noted, and he went still. It was true, though, and they both knew it: Tamlin was sleeping far better than he had when Nesta first arrived. Even with his frequent absences, she had noticed the improvement. And had he not told her that he had struggled to remain in his Fae form until her arrival? She did not want to read too much into it: but there had to be something in the fact that they looked after each other.
"Which gardens did you visit today?" Tamlin asked, helping himself to another smoked-salmon sandwich. Nesta's afternoon teas were not quite what her mother's had once been, or the ones she used to treat Nesta to in a fancy hotel, but she had made every element of them, and they included all of the things she liked and had denied herself for so long. And Tamlin wholeheartedly endorsed the custom of afternoon-tea: he had never heard of it before. Nesta sighed softly and described some of the gardens she had wandered through.
"I was going to mention it, when you returned: I saw tiny faeries that look like flowers in a parterre full of peonies," Nesta said, and Tamlin nodded knowingly. "It looked like they were holding court." Tamlin chuckled fondly.
"Because they are," he said softly.
"I think perhaps because I have seen only the very worst of the Fae, I never even dwelled on the rest. I never imagined that there are other, tiny, exquisite faeries," Nesta said softly, and Tamlin glanced at her when she let out a soft, sad sigh.
"Why does their beauty make you sad?"
"It's not their beauty, it's the sheer scale of this world," Nesta said, her throat tight. She sipped her tea. "I don't know how it all works – worse, I don't know what my place is in all of it."
"Well, you won't find out either in this kitchen," Tamlin told her gently.
"I know."
Tamlin glanced at her. "And you won't find out reading through the library stacks, either."
"I thought it was as good a place as any to start," Nesta said softly. Tamlin nodded his agreement. She sighed. "I trust my instincts to keep me out of danger. I just hope people understand that any insults are purely unintentional. I am quite aware of my ignorance."
"It's inexperience, that's all," Tamlin said cajolingly. "People won't hold it against you: regardless of everything else you are or were, you are young. There is certain latitude granted to those who are still exploring the world for the first time."
"Perhaps I should go to school," Nesta said glumly, and Tamlin laughed.
"You would be bored," he assured her. "Besides, the best way to learn is through experience – you know that."
"I do," Nesta agreed.
"While I was gone, did you give any thought to what I said before, about the pasta, and my armies?" Tamlin asked quietly.
"About teaching your army cooks how to make pasta, and pasta dishes?" Nesta prompted, and Tamlin nodded. "Tamlin, I'd be very happy to make myself useful to you, especially after all your kindnesses." Tamlin looked bemused, as if he couldn't quite work out what she was referencing. And that was Tamlin, she understood: he didn't realise how generous and kind he truly was. "I thought you likely wouldn't like me to tour all of the army barracks to teach but I do know that the Tithe is approaching. Do you wish me to prepare to teach workshops then?"
"The Triumvar will convene here two weeks before the Tithe, as it does every year," Tamlin said. "This year, the retiring representatives will officially retire their posts and the new representatives will be sworn in. I've broached the topic with the Triumvar already but want the new representatives to be part of the decision-making process."
"What's to decide?" Nesta asked.
"Budgeting," Tamlin grumbled, crinkling his nose, and Nesta smiled.
"An army marches on its stomach," she remarked, and Tamlin grinned.
"It does indeed."
"Do you anticipate the Triumvar may reject the idea?" Nesta asked. She had learned that while Tamlin could have ruled in what Nesta would call totalitarian rule, he preferred to delegate much of the rule of the Spring Court to his Triumvar. Ultimately, it gave his people more autonomy: only in the direst circumstances would he ever pull rank and impose his decisions upon his people. He not only respected his Triumvar's decisions, but he actively sought out their wisdom.
"There will be those who balk purely because what I propose is that the armies eat human food," Tamlin said, with a wry smile. "There are some in the Triumvar who remember a time before the Slaves' Revolt."
"Oh," she said softly. Tamlin eyed her shrewdly. "Have you told them about… Have you told them I'm here?"
"I've told those who need to know," Tamlin said, and Nesta thought that was very telling. Tamlin trusted the wisdom and guidance of his Triumvar, and respected their decisions, but he was not beholden to them: he did not have to tell them everything.
"I can't imagine what they think of me being here," Nesta said, clearing her throat delicately.
Tamlin sighed, shrugging his massive shoulders. "You're at a disadvantage, it is true. But they'll come to see you as you are." He held her gaze, and Nesta could not look away.
"Will they all come here?" Nesta asked softly, and Tamlin nodded.
"Illidan and Nathyrha will arrive first," he told her quietly, his gaze still on her face. "They know you're here: they're keen to meet you in person." Meet you in person, she thought.
"What have you told them about me?" she asked, aware her cheeks were warming. Tamlin shrugged.
"Not much. I don't need to: they notice," he said simply. "They know you're here with me. Even if they don't mention it, I know they've noticed that I stay in my Fae form longer, that I'm putting more weight on, more muscle. They've made the inference."
She had noticed, too, but didn't flatter herself that she had anything to do with it.
"And you think they want to meet me, see me for themselves?"
"I know they do," Tamlin said quietly.
"And the rest?"
"There's not a Fae in the seven courts who would violate guest-right," Tamlin said, his rich voice uncharacteristically cool. Nesta frowned, unsure. "Even if they take offence at your presence, there is nothing they can do about it that would not put them in peril."
"I do not wish to cause any tension in your court, Tamlin," Nesta said quietly. From their conversations, she was aware that the High Fae within the Spring Court were displeased that Tamlin had dismissed court indefinitely, which meant that there was no fashionable season that courtiers relied upon for entertainment and socialising. If Nesta's presence in the palace was one of the reasons Tamlin continued to keep his courtiers away…
"No matter what I or anyone else does, there will always be strife amongst my courtiers," Tamlin said, with a touch of impatience – not at her, but at his courtiers. "The game, my mother always called it. Vicious politics, people striving for influence and power, striving to gain it and viciously defending one's position, no matter the cost… Without me being at the centre of it, manipulating them as an entertainment, others will step in."
"Isn't that dangerous for you?" Nesta asked. "Someone else gaining more political power than you?"
"Only if I remain ignorant of what goes on amongst my courtiers," Tamlin shrugged. "I've taken pains to ensure my courtiers flock where I wish them to congregate while I am busy with more important things."
"If not you, then who is the new centre of court life?"
"Illidan," Tamlin said, rubbing a hand over his tired face. "He plays the game better than anyone: he makes a study of it, though I doubt he's seen anything new in centuries."
"He's also one of your Triumvar," Nesta said suspiciously, and Tamlin's eyes glinted at the thinly-veiled concern in her tone.
"He is: and he and Nathyrha are the only ones I trust absolutely," Tamlin said. "Illidan understands the nature of power. He also supports the idea of the world I wish to create. So he will keep my courtiers distracted with games, because that's what I need him to do, because he knows that's how he can currently best serve me."
Nesta observed Tamlin. He had a deep understanding of the nature of his court, what they needed, and who to trust to manipulate them on his behalf. Specifically, Tamlin knew who his true allies were and trusted them to go out into his realm and rule on his behalf. While Illidan kept the High Fae courtiers distracted with balls and scandals and affairs and intrigues, Tamlin could get on with the work that needed to be done, work that everyone in the Spring Court benefited from – whether or not they were aware of what Tamlin had to do, or cared.
A sudden thought struck Nesta, and she narrowed her eyes. "Tamlin…where are they to sleep?" They did well, the two of them together: they worked their way around the ruins, living almost exclusively out of the library, the kitchen and one bathing chamber. But the Triumvar was made up of three Fae from each of the territories – twelve territories in all, not counting the swathe of land from the northern to the southern borders at the heart of Spring, which Tamlin ruled over directly. Thirty-six Fae were imminent – some High Fae, the majority not. "And what are they to eat?"
Tamlin smiled warmly, his eyes calm and almost amused. "Nesta, do not worry," he said soothingly. "I do not expect you to cater to my guests, nor do the Triumvar anticipate they will be sleeping under this roof for the foreseeable future."
Nesta calmed herself then frowned. "Don't they pester you to restore the palace?"
"Often," Tamlin said offhandedly, "though without any true urgency: they know our resources are directed in the right places."
"You mean strengthening the infrastructure of Spring," Nesta said, and Tamlin nodded.
"Spring suffered but we are much better off than most," he admitted. "Yet there is much that must be rebuilt. And I would rather spend Court money on my people than my palace."
"Eventually they'll expect you to rebuild," Nesta said, and Tamlin shrugged.
"I suppose so," he said glumly.
"Why do you stay here if you despise this place so much?" she asked curiously.
"The gardens," Tamlin said, shrugging. "Millennia of my ancestors devoted time and energy to their creation: I would be ashamed to let them wither. Besides, my people take more pride in the gardens than the palace: they know it is unique in the world."
"Well, the gardens at least will remain as spectacular as ever for the Tithe," Nesta said, and Tamlin smiled softly.
"And I have a couple of months yet to prepare for the Triumvar's arrival," Tamlin said. Nesta knew that the Tithe fell in the earliest days of what she called the Snow Moon, the second month of the calendar year: it fell about a month after the Winter Solstice. Beyond its place in the calendar, Nesta knew little about the Tithe beyond what Feyre had told her: and she took that with a pinch of salt.
"Tamlin…how does the Tithe work?" she asked curiously. Tamlin glanced sharply at her, knowing what she was thinking. "I mean – surely not every Fae in the Spring Court could possibly descend upon this place at once? Logistically it would be a nightmare, not just for you but for the businesses that would have to close, and the lands left vulnerable to invasion."
The tension eased and Tamlin smiled. "No, not every living Fae in the Court comes to the Gardens," he said. "Though the Tithe is such an important event, the majority do, even if they have already paid their taxes to the Triumvar beforehand. The Guilds, for example, always send a representative to offer a token, as a mark of their continued fealty. But most Fae still gather here for the Tithe, because of the opportunities it presents."
"Such as?" Nesta asked curiously.
"The Tithe is historically a time when everyone gathers from across the farthest-flung places in my Court," Tamlin said. "It's a time of commerce and celebration – people sell their wares, arrange apprenticeships for different trades, Fae court each other, news is shared. There are competitions and balls and games. During the Tithe, the Gardens become the most important place in the Spring Court, even superseding Fioren-Daara. It is an explosion of culture: things happen during the Tithe in a way they don't any other time."
"But every Fae in your Court must pay the Tithe?" Nesta prompted.
"In their way, yes," Tamlin said, and Nesta frowned at him thoughtfully.
"Even, for example, the flower faeries I saw holding court in the parterre?" Nesta asked curiously and Tamlin chuckled fondly.
"Yes, even them," he said softly.
"How do such faeries, well…contribute anything you could possibly need?" she asked delicately. She was all too aware of the argument Feyre had provoked over a water-wraith and some gifted jewels.
"Well, someone has to harvest the seeds," Tamlin shrugged, smiling. "Each of the gardens here is its own unique microcosm: the faeries you saw are as many and varied as the plants and flowers they nurture. They are entrusted with the collection of seeds and spores to maintain the gardens. The High Lord's estate benefits from the trade and foreign export of those seeds and spores: and they contribute to a library near Katra that preserves the seeds of every plant, tree and flower in the world."
"How do you designate which faeries are…sentient enough to pay the Tithe, and which are merely pests?" Nesta asked, and Tamlin laughed.
"That depends who you ask," Tamlin said, with a dark laugh. Nesta gave him a stubborn look and he chuckled, shrugging. "I am sure amongst the humans, spiders are reviled as pests by some and embraced for their usefulness by others."
Nesta nodded. "Spiders get rid of the real annoyances," she said, and Tamlin nodded, smiling.
"It's also a matter of hierarchy: the lower on the food-chain a faerie is, the less likely they are to be sentient," Tamlin said, "though there are always exceptions, of course. It depends on the Fae."
Nesta huffed. "Now I am even more confused than if I'd never asked," she said, frowning. Tamlin gave her an apologetic smile. She sighed shortly. "I shall have to use the Gardens as a controlled environment to make my own observations."
"And contrast those to your experiences in Velaris and Fioren-Daara," Tamlin said slyly.
"I haven't been to Fioren-Daara," she said sharply, and Tamlin gave her a smile that was at once coaxing and apologetic.
"I have a lot to do in preparation for the Tithe," he said softly. "I…would like it if you would join me for some of my jobs."
"What kind of jobs?"
"I need to tour the Burrows – the villages nestled in the countryside surrounding the Gardens," Tamlin explained. "The Triumvar will be housed there for the duration of their stay. As the majority of the homes are empty at the moment, it is ideal, yet I am concerned they have been left empty… They may be in disrepair. And I have several appointments in Fioren-Daara that I must keep if things are to be prepared in time. I'd…like you to come and explore the city. The floating markets are a wonder. I think you would enjoy the bookshops and the ateliers, to say nothing of the food. You could eat your way around the city if you chose."
"A city," Nesta repeated, her blood chilling in her veins despite the hot tea and sweet treats she had consumed. A city like Velaris, a place that mercilessly overwhelmed her every sense and instinct. She had been doing well, surrounded by nature: she could focus, took her time to explore her senses. With every walk she took, she let more in. She learned more as she did so. But there was so much…too much…
"Promise me that you'll think about it," Tamlin said, shrugging nonchalantly, diffusing the tension that was building between Nesta's shoulders, gentling her breathing.
"I will," Nesta said honestly, batting away a flicker of annoyance at herself that she had been on the verge of being overwhelmed at the mere thought of going into a city, as if she was some frail thing that could be broken with a harsh breath. That was not who she was. She had never let anything get in her way before: she refused to allow the wounds festering in her own mind to define her life any longer. "Tamlin, may I ask you something?"
"Of course," Tamlin said, glancing up from the plate full of sweet delicacies.
"Would you let the gardeners know that…that they do not need to keep their distance?" Nesta asked, and Tamlin smiled. Tiny dimples winked at the corners of his beautiful lips.
"Don't take it personally," he said softly, his eyes twinkling. "They've wanted to give you privacy."
"I know: I appreciate it," Nesta said honestly. "But I…"
"What?"
"I have a lot to learn and I think I'd best start from the ground up," Nesta said, and Tamlin chuckled to himself. "Gardeners have a unique perspective on how the natural world works."
"You'd rather study faeries than courtiers?" Tamlin teased.
"I'll build up to the biggest pests," Nesta said drily, and Tamlin laughed. He popped the last bite of a honey madeleine in his mouth and licked his thumb. Nesta cast him a sidelong look as he helped himself to another apricot macaron. Nesta had noticed that Tamlin did a lot of things out of habits created when he was very young, and most of them involved him denying himself any form of comfort. He had to be coaxed to indulge in more than one sweet delicacy at any given meal, though he was better since she had asked him to taste-test her recipes.
She couldn't reconcile the Tamlin she knew with the male her sister had told her about. Well, not the Tamlin that Feyre had been telling her about since she had fallen in with the Night Court. The Tamlin Nesta was coming to know was closer to the male Feyre had described when he had sent her away from his lands to protect her, from the gruff earnestness, the impatience and grumpiness, the kindness and the unpolished charisma.
So she did as he had asked: she thought about accompanying him to Fioren-Daara.
It annoyed her how viscerally she reacted to the idea of going to a city. Infuriated her that her own mind seemed determined to place such limitations on her. It ignited her stubbornness as little else had recently: she refused to give in to dread, to the possibility that she might be overwhelmed.
She refused to let her dread force her to miss out on things.
A.N.: Hope you liked it!