A.N.: To EgyptianCat, thank you so much for your review – this chapter is for you.
For a faerie city, Velaris' architecture is boring. The more I thought about Fioren-Daara, the more magical I wanted it to feel, as if only faeries could ever have built it. Fioren-Daara took form literally over the last few days as I seriously considered how I'd design a truly magical city.
I saw an amazing quote today that reads: "If the person offering you salvation is the same person threatening you with punishment, it is not salvation – it is extortion." Why does that remind me of someone?
A House of Flame and Flower
09
The Twin-Cities
"I thought you said Fioren-Daara is a two-hour ride in good weather," Nesta said, and Tamlin nodded. "You usually help Antares saddle the horses."
"We're not riding to the city today," Tamlin said regretfully. "We've too much to get done. We shall winnow. And as we'll be there a few days, I've arranged accommodations for us."
"A few days?" Nesta said lightly, but Tamlin could hear her heart flutter with sudden anxiety.
"If it becomes too much, I'll bring you back here," he told her offhandedly. He knew Nesta did not like to draw attention to the things that caused her to struggle – like the snapping logs in the fire. Sometimes he thought she had learned to downplay her own emotional turmoil through the years out of an absence of any outlet. With an invalided father who required physical support and two younger sisters who needed emotional and intellectual nurturing, and Nesta herself responsible for the financial survival of their family, Tamlin believed Nesta had minimised the importance of her own emotions. She nurtured others, not the other way around. From what he had pieced together, Nesta's sisters were too busy letting her take care of them that they never even thought to look after her too. He doubted Nesta's father or sisters ever even considered Nesta's emotional wellbeing. It was no wonder she walled everything away and bristled whenever anyone threatened her boundaries: she could not afford to indulge in her own emotions. Even as anxious as she was about going to the city, about mingling with strange Fae, Nesta downplayed how unnerved she was. She would endure it now, because she must, and she would suffer later, because she had no other choice.
He was relieved when she gave him a slightly jerky nod, her eyes still wide. Nesta had decided to accompany him to Fioren-Daara: since first asking her, he hadn't pressed her about it, no matter how much he'd wanted to. He was proud of Fioren-Daara, was desperate for her to explore it. He wanted to see the look on her face when she saw it for the first time. But he hadn't wanted to pressure her into it – and he knew if he'd tried to, she would have shut down the topic and, worse, shut him out for daring to push those boundaries.
"Come and sit. Have something to eat before we go." They had both risen early, long before dawn, in order to make the most of the day. It was still dark outside, though, and shadows seemed to press against the windows.
"Where does the name Fioren-Daara come from?" Nesta asked, as he plated up scrambled eggs and bacon for her.
"They're the names of two previous High Lords and Ladies," Tamlin shrugged. "Most settlements in Spring are named in some way after a High Lord or Lady who established them: Katra was named to honour my grandmother, Lady Kaderin."
"I thought you told Feyre there are no High Ladies."
"There aren't," Tamlin said, rolling his eyes impatiently. "It's an inherited title based purely on power that is bequeathed to a specific individual, for reasons no-one can attempt to guess. My grandmother was chosen as High Lady over eight brothers and thirteen male cousins and nephews. Sometimes the power chooses females: currently, there are only High Lords."
"So the system is not patriarchal?" Nesta asked.
"Of course not! What does magic care about gender?" Tamlin asked, looking genuinely perplexed, and Nesta pulled a face, thinking. "I could name anyone High Lord or Lady of Spring right now but it's entirely ceremonial: it has nothing to do with the magic that makes me what I am."
Carefully, Nesta asked, "So Rhysand making Feyre the High Lady of the Night Court is…"
"A pretty gesture," Tamlin shrugged. "I imagine he had his reasons for doing it." Nesta scoffed delicately. An empty gesture to convince Feyre that Rhysand was above and beyond what every other male she would ever meet could possibly be. "Feyre may have a title but she has no link to the magic itself that makes a High Lord or Lady. She has a title but she must earn influence, the same as we all must."
"Even High Lords?"
"I spent the earliest years of my reign doing battle with High Fae nobles who looked down on me for being a foot-soldier, for spending so much time amongst the Lesser Fae," Tamlin said. "Had I been more weak-willed, they would have dominated me. But I knew myself and I knew who to turn to for advice and support. Eventually, I put defiant nobles in their places and established the Triumvar to ensure they would be forever kept in check, unable to gain any prominence that would have threatened my court."
"Or you," Nesta mused.
"We are one and the same, the Spring Court and me," Tamlin said sadly. "Ever since the magic chose me."
"I thought you were the only one left alive…" Nesta broke off, pink touching her cheeks.
"I was the last surviving member of my immediate family," Tamlin said quietly. "But I do have distant relatives. The power could just as well have gone to them – or to another bloodline entirely."
"But it chose you," Nesta said softly, and Tamlin nodded, pulling a grumpy face. He often wondered what his life would have been had he been passed over, what the Spring Court would have been like had he not taken it upon himself to transform it.
"Some say the magic has a will of its own, understands this world in a way we never can," Tamlin said, and caught the look that flickered across Nesta's face, the hollow glint in her eyes. "Some say the power is granted for a reason…only I cannot fathom why it chose me." Nesta stared at him.
"Can you not?" she asked, a soft smile on her lips. They finished their breakfast and tidied away, quickly doing the washing-up to leave the kitchen tidy for their return, and Nesta shivered as Tamlin picked up the neat stack of letters she had organised for him, along with his pocket-diary, and tucked them into an inside-pocket of his coat.
"Do you have everything?" Tamlin asked, then frowned at her. She wore the strong boots she had arrived in Spring wearing but everything else she wore, she had either made here or been given by Tamlin himself. Her hands were bare, though, and some small part of her longed to make herself some mittens to keep away the bite of the winter when she went walking or riding.
"More than I had when I arrived here," she said gently, and Tamlin's frown softened.
"We'd better go," he said softly. He held out his enormous hand out to her and Nesta hesitated only for a heartbeat but he smiled softly. "If it is too much, just tell me." She smiled softly and placed her hand in his.
Winnowing wasn't like how she had travelled to reach the Spring Court. One moment, they were stood in the kitchen.
The next, they were perched precariously at the top of a sheer cliff-face, the stone layered with thousands of hues of red, fuchsia, orange and ochre and draped with vines and lush trees whose roots seemed to grip nothing but air, balancing precariously on the cliff-face under the weight of thousands of decadent flowers that smelled absolutely divine, and to which hundreds of different faeries were drawn – only to be snared within the tightly-furled blooms. Mist filmed her face and Nesta licked her lips as her ears twitched toward the sound of roaring crowds: tremendous waterfalls larger than she had ever imagined threw themselves heedlessly down the cliff-face from miles above, down into an enormous sink-hole far below. As Nesta gazed down – dizzyingly far – she saw that the mountains in which they now stood were pockmarked with hundreds of enormous sink-holes that seemed to have been inlaid with gold.
"Where's the – ?" Nesta broke off, glancing at Tamlin. He was grinning with anticipation. Sudden realisation struck her. "We are not throwing ourselves off of this cliff-face, Tamlin!"
Tamlin laughed richly. "Of course not. I just wished you to see the view from above first. This…this waterfall is the life-blood of the city. Strange that a river should give a city its roots."
"Not roots: we all need a bed to rest in," Nesta said, and Tamlin smiled. "What are those flowers?"
"They smell beautiful, don't they," Tamlin said, gazing down the cliff-face. "That's the lure. They're carnivorous."
"Isn't nature marvellous?" Nesta sighed, gazing down at the enormous tree, its roots clinging to the cliff-face, faeries swarming to it. "There is no good or evil in nature: just creative ways to endure. That is creative. Those flowers look the size of your hands."
"They're far larger," Tamlin said. "That tree is further away than you realise. Your perspective becomes warped up here. At home, there are several gardens devoted to the carnivorous plants you'll find only in Prythian. There's one of those trees, too."
"The scent is so strong," Nesta said. "Do the trees grow large enough that their blooms could snare a High Fae?"
"I'd imagine so," Tamlin said thoughtfully. "Let's go." He took her hand once more and Nesta grimaced, stumbling a step, as they winnowed.
Before, they had stood amongst mountaintops, on a sheer cliff-face overlooking magnificent waterfalls. Now she stood deep in the heart of a rainforest. There was simply too much to take in all at once: the roar of rushing water had softened, and the sensation of being in a city – the urgency and the vibrant celebration of life and culture – was confused with the sounds of being in the heart of a rainforest. Everywhere around her, she could smell the richness of ancient, fertile soil, of bright growing things, of sweetness balancing decay, of fresh, clean water and exotic flowers. She heard faeries and Fae and birdsong and animal-life and water bubbling in brooks and rushing around bends in rivers which had, eons ago, carved away the soil from the roots of trees that seemed to Nesta to be giants amongst their own species. Soaring high above even these giants like great silver-grey sentinels were a species of tree Nesta had never even heard of, their bark smooth, their leaves a clear, bright gold – the gold she had seen from high above, gilding the sink-holes all over the mountainsides. The golden leaves caught the sunlight shed through those sink-holes, which she could no longer see due to the canopy, and reflected it everywhere.
They stood on the forest-floor, which teemed with life. Wherever rivers did not run, the rich, fertile earth was planted with terraced crops or more jumbled, natural allotments overflowing with produce, or developed into residential burrows, the same as the villages around Tamlin's palace, their beautiful round doors brilliantly-painted a welcome sight to her. Earthen paths overgrown with trees and hedgerows – also claimed as the homes of different faeries – wound lazily around the roots of ancient, giant trees, tremendous fungi glowing with soft luminescence in the shadows, and as Nesta looked, she realised that a labyrinth of rivers separated islands throughout the forest, carving out organic neighbourhoods. The warrens were the waterfront homes: pathways and terraces and balconies had been built around the trunks of the trees, into which homes and entire neighbourhoods had been carved out of the wood, fresh water dripping into pools attesting to the life thriving in the trees despite its occupants, and the boughs of the trees were heavy not just with ferns and vines and brilliantly-coloured flowers and even smaller trees, but with dwellings of all imaginings. The island neighbourhoods were connected by the extended boughs of these ancient trees, interwoven in intricate thoroughfares laden with shops and restaurants, warehouses and homes. All around her, as far as she could see, the trees were laden with lanterns emitting soft golden faelight. Here and there, sunlight splashed down onto the forest-floor, illuminating everything to an eye-watering vibrancy, the rivers glittering like clear aquamarines, plants everywhere reaching for the light, flocks of vividly-coloured birds – and faeries – shining like jewels as they flitted through the air.
In that brightness, where the dense canopy parted like curtains and sunlight shone down, Nesta saw that what soared high above was mirrored down below. The crystal-clear rivers glowed with strange, soft light that drew her gaze, and under the surface, she realised that the dramatic red stone of the mountains had been carved into an underwater city. Waterways teemed with underwater faeries of every imagining, moving too quickly for her to be able to focus on, except to see the flicker of iridescent scales or the elegant unfurling of sucker-lined legs. She gaped: in the shallows, she was sure she saw aquatic Fae riding pink dolphins as she might a horse. Even where the trees cast shadows over the water, the rivers glowed with mesmerising lights that flitted and darted about or swayed idly in the current.
"When you said twin-cities, I thought you meant…" Nesta turned slowly on the spot, torn between gazing up or staring down into the water, overwhelmed and awed by the sheer creativity, the uniqueness, the vitality of life thriving around her in such a spectacularly beautiful way. The city felt ancient and established and thriving, its atmosphere vibrant and fresh. "I never imagined such a place could ever exist."
"This world is entirely new to you," Tamlin said gently, his eyes as vibrant a green as the thousands of plants thriving all around him. "It's time to adjust your expectations."
"Can anyone expect a place like this to be real?" she asked distractedly. She was so mesmerised by the city itself and all who lived there, and how they lived in it, that she forgot to be leery of the water. She gazed into its depths, lured by the lights and curious about the faeries who lived in the water, and how they live – were there subterranean caves and tunnels carved into the stone like streets and buildings? The deeper one went, did light-averse aquatic Fae dwell? Were dolphins the favoured mode of transport for freshwater Fae? And what were dolphins doing in a freshwater river? What were the Fae societies of the deep oceans like? Was the aquatic city Fioren or Daara? And how had one of Tamlin's ancestors been involved enough in the founding of it to have it named after them? Or was that simply what the land-dwelling Fae called the aquatic city? What did the aquatic Fae call their home?
"Here he is! Whoa…whoa!" cried a voice, and Nesta started, almost trampling Tamlin's toes as a monstrous lizard scampered toward them, taller than Tamlin, its scales shimmering teal and silver and jade-green, its black tongue glistening as it tasted the air, and its thick tail wagging like a dog's as it clawed eagerly through the soft earth toward them. Saddled on its back was a large, enclosed howdah almost the size of Nesta's old flat, with a peaked red roof hung with lanterns. A High Fae male sat on a cushioned bench in front, holding the lizard's reins with one hand. The lizard's tail wagged energetically as he sniffed at Tamlin, who reached out to scratch his scales. "Hello, Arseling!"
"Nalleth," Tamlin said, rolling his eyes, as the Fae male looped the reins around a post and clambered down off his bench. He had the high, elegant features of the High Fae, down to the daintily pointed ears, but his face was scarred and only as he reached to embrace Tamlin as a brother did Nesta realise he was missing an arm. The two males embraced, laughing: Nesta eyed the lizard warily.
"Who's the beauty, Arseling?" the male asked, clapping a hand on Tamlin's back and releasing Tamlin to stare appraisingly at Nesta. "And what's she doing with you?"
"Nesta, this is Nalleth. We served together centuries ago," Tamlin said, casting a small smile at Nalleth. "Nalleth, this is Lady Nesta. Behave."
"Oh, always!" Nalleth grinned. His scars puckered as he did so: Nesta noticed that though his smile was easy, his eyes remained sharp. He was assessing her. She stifled a shiver as the giant lizard's tongue whipped through the air inches from her face. "Never seen drakosha before, m'lady?"
She gave up and shuddered. "No."
"Soppy thing, aren't you," Nalleth crooned to the drakosha, who wagged their tail so hard the lanterns on the howdah danced. "About as dangerous as a mealworm."
"How's traffic this morning, Nalleth?" Tamlin asked.
"Fair," Nalleth said idly.
"Do we have time to take the scenic route to the bank?"
"I'd say so," Nalleth mused, frowning. "Don't know why you need me, though: you can winnow across the city."
"We both know there's only one way to truly experience the city for the first time," Tamlin said, and Nalleth grinned, eyeing Nesta.
"You're right about that," he said thoughtfully. "I can't take you up to the Atelier, you know that. The walk'll do you good – have you been training? You look skinny."
"I've been training," Tamlin grumbled defensively, unfolding a set of steps from the howdah and offering a hand to Nesta, who was trying to think of a version of Tamlin that Nalleth was used to, if Nalleth thought that Tamlin now seemed skinny.
"Just up there, m'lady," Nalleth said, and Nesta settled on the bench, tucking her skirts about her as Tamlin climbed up. He folded the steps up behind him. "Cleaned the cushion-covers special for the Arseling, especially after the last customer – pus everywhere! Never again!"
"Business is good, then, Nalleth?" Tamlin asked. It was the third time he had ignored the rather rude nickname Nalleth called him by: Nesta assumed it had a history dating back to Tamlin's time in the kitchen-tents of his father's war-band.
Nalleth groaned indulgently. As he climbed onto the bench and sat, he rubbed his thigh: Nesta realised that not only had he lost an arm but he had lost his leg below the knee, too.
"As it ever is, really," Nalleth said, shrugging, and clicked his tongue. The drakosha roared softly and wriggled, getting comfortable with the howdah and their added weight. "Fewer nobles coming this way, though that's a bitter blessing."
"They're not spending?" Tamlin asked, and they lurched into motion, the drakosha slithering across the ground, joining a thoroughfare across one of the rivers. Nesta regretted sitting between Tamlin and Nalleth: she should have let them sit together to catch up while she gazed at the city around her. As they crossed one of the enormous boughs laden with shops and cafés with brightly-coloured silk parasols shielding patrons from airborne faeries and flocks of birds, she leaned forward, staring in awe. An elephant plodded slowly but purposefully along the path, six-legged, twin-tusked, small horns forming two ridges between its thoughtful old eyes, its enormous ears tattered: its rough hide looked like it would have the same texture as dried leaves but was muted dark-teal in colour with hints of yellow-green on its underbelly and the underside of its long trunk.
"Is that an elephant?" she asked, stunned, but was almost jolted from the bench a heartbeat later as the drakosha jerked suddenly to the side. Nalleth clicked his tongue and cracked his whip as the drakosha snapped at an elegant arachnoid Fae walking along the pedestrian path on precariously thin legs. Tamlin clamped a muscled arm around her waist, tucking her close, and did not let go.
"An oliphant," Tamlin corrected, as if nothing had occurred. Behind them, the arachnoid Fae had paused at a drinks stall, chatting animatedly with a creamy-skinned Fae who bared her large breasts but wore voluminous skirts that resembled fanged fly-traps – which were fanged fly-traps, Nesta realised, whipping her head back to look, but the two Fae were gone.
"You were saying about the nobles, Nalleth?" Tamlin prompted.
"They're spending," Nalleth said, his voice turning harsh. "But their young – we've been having trouble."
"What kind of trouble?"
"Gangs, Tamlin," Nalleth sighed. "Remember after the Wall went up?"
"I remember," Tamlin said quietly, and Nesta's ears twitched. She kept an ear out, listening in on the conversation, even while she observed everything around her. They passed a small arena crowded with faeries who were watching a boxing match between two horned reptilian males with thick armour plating – only they weren't wearing armour, Nesta realised: they were naturally armoured like an armadillo. She had seen one once in the Prythian Zoo – an armadillo, not one of the reptilian Fae.
"Entitled little pricks who got a taste for violence Under the Mountain," Nalleth snarled, twitching his reins, and Nesta's eyes widened in alarm as the drakosha diverted from the path curving around warrens and neighbourhoods built into the trees to head toward a glittering golden beach enjoyed by feline Fae lolling in the sunlight who were playing a board-game perched on a boulder so that their opponent could play from the water: the aquatic Fae had mottled grey skin and clear silver eyes. Flowers like water-lilies trailed about their fresh yellow-green hair, moving whenever they reached to move a piece the game. Nesta was so focused on the fact that the flowers grew from the Fae's seaweed-like hair, she barely registered that the drakosha had slithered into the water, and was now paddling them downriver, using its tail as a rudder to guide their journey along the waterways. On all sides, aquatic Fae breached the surface of the water, other Fae waving from little boats or the howdahs of other drakosha navigating the rivers.
Nalleth was saying, "They come to the city, spend fortunes on drink and powered nectar and go out on the prowl. They made a big mistake last night, though." Nalleth laughed richly to himself.
"What happened?" Tamlin asked sharply.
"They were bothering some naiads," Nalleth sighed heavily, sobering up. "A minotaur caught 'em, frightening them off. S'pose their pride was wounded, so they thought they'd hunt him down and teach him a lesson." Tamlin groaned. "Oh, that's not what's going to cause you a political headache. The fools had no idea it was Oranch."
"Who is Oranch?" Nesta asked, glancing away from the water as a teal-skinned Fae with glowing golden eyes, webbed ears and billowing hair like pink sea-ferns decorated with coral, shells and sea-glass dived from a bridge into the water without a ripple, met beneath the surface by a male with dark-green skin, yellow eyes, no discernible nose but long thick tentacles falling down his back. The two embraced then dived deeper into the water, joining the busy waterway that ran parallel to the one on the surface. There were distinct avenues where Fae could travel from the surface to the underwater city, and the underwater Fae left a distinct gap between their thoroughfares and the boats navigating the water, to avoid collisions. Nesta realised there were faelights below the water to counteract the boats casting deep shadows over everything as they passed overhead.
"Oranch is a particularly efficient bounty-hunter," Tamlin said, his lips twitching. "Was he alone?"
"No. That Invidia's still hanging around him. She got the drop on them. And you know the Invidia…they adore giving punishment. Imagine she'd had her eye on them since the naiads. The mess they had to clean up after she was finished with them – oh, they're not dead," Nalleth said offhandedly at Tamlin's expression. "But they won't be continuing the family line." Nalleth grinned wickedly. "Shame."
"She castrated them?" Tamlin said, and Nesta glanced at his expression. There was a dangerous glint in his emerald eyes, his body-language tense, seething. She could not decide whether he was angrier about the males assaulting a naiad or their castration by an Invidia, whatever they were.
"You know the Invidia," Nalleth shrugged. Nesta arched an eyebrow at Tamlin.
"The Invidia are female embodiments of vengeance," he sighed. "They take offences like sexual assaults – even the hint of a threat of rape – personally. I know the Invidia who's been hanging about Oranch: I'm surprised she let them off so lightly."
"By all accounts, Oranch intervened before they ever laid a hand on the naiads," Nalleth shrugged, and some of the tension eased from Tamlin's body. Nesta felt it, his arm still clamped around her waist so she couldn't be jostled from the bench as she peered out across the water. "The Invidia have their code, after all."
"So the castration was a warning," Tamlin said, and Nesta's eyebrows rose. Castration was a warning to the Invidia? "Where are they now?"
"The hospital," Nalleth sniffed. "Oranch dumped them there when her new toys stopped squealing and she got bored."
"I need you to get names, Nalleth," Tamlin said quietly. "Oranch and his friend may need to lie low."
"They're no fools," Nalleth said, but he shrugged. "I'll make sure word gets to them."
"Why didn't you tell me about this?"
"I just did!" Nalleth said. "It happened in the early hours. The elf would've crossed paths with you as you winnowed here. What will you do with the noble pricks?"
"I'll remind their families what I will tolerate in my Court," Tamlin said, and for the first time since Nesta had known him, he sounded truly dangerous.
"Well, here we are! First stop – the bank," Nalleth yawned. "Don't know why you wanted to meet so indecently early, Arseling."
"To inconvenience you, Nalleth," Tamlin said lightly, flashing a carefree grin at his old friend. He seemed different with Nalleth – freer. As if this was how he was most comfortable, and Nesta realised that it probably was.
She glanced around and realised that, somehow, they had reached the edge of the rainforest: trees gave way to red sands on the banks of a narrow river and then to a sheer cliff-face rising higher than she could see. The cliff-face had the same intricate layers of red, orange, fuchsia, gold and ochre rock as the cliff-face she and Tamlin had stood above: but this time, the rock had been carved into – intricately. It only vaguely reminded her of that blasted House of Wind in Velaris, and only because the House of Wind was carved into the side of the mountain. But where the House of Wind was one single residence, the side of this cliff-face was intricately carved with thousands of buildings – there were balconies and sweeping terraces, winding spiral staircases with intricate stone guard-rails, or left open, and thousands upon thousands of windows. Fewer doors, though, as if those were located within the mountain. She imagined the natural light put the prices of those residences at a premium. A grand bridge of ruby stone led to a sweeping staircase, which in turn guided people into the main street into the heart of the mountain, a chasm carved neatly into the stone. Faelights twinkled coaxingly but Nesta remembered the library in Velaris and the true monster that lurked in its bowels.
Tamlin climbed down off the howdah and offered his hand to Nesta with a coaxing smile.
"Meet us back here in an hour?" Tamlin said to Nalleth, who grunted and clicked his tongue at the drakosha.
"Have them send a sprite if you're running late," Nalleth said. Tamlin nodded and Nalleth rode away, the howdah rocking gently as the drakosha slithered across the sands. Tamlin turned to her and smiled.
"What do you think?" he asked.
"It's magnificent, Tamlin," she told him honestly, "all of it." Tamlin beamed. He offered her his hand and she took it, thankful for the gesture: he seemed aware of her hesitation to enter the mountainside. "This is very different to the rest of the city."
"Many Fae, including the dwarves, prefer to surround themselves with stone," Tamlin told her, as they crossed the bridge. "Merchants come from other parts of the city to trade in the markets here: some Fae never leave the mountain."
"And the dwarves run the bank?" Nesta asked.
"There's no-one better," Tamlin said. "The dwarves know gold and jewels as few other Fae do. As skilled as they are with crafting it, they are as vicious in protecting it. The dwarves have ancient spells they keep absolutely secret amongst their own kind to protect their gold and their jewels. They are also fierce in their honour: they would sooner cut off their beards than cheat you. There is nowhere more secure for your gold."
Across the bridge, guided by faelights, they entered the mountain. The intricate carvings on the face of the mountain continued within it, and Nesta gazed up and around her at the stairways and paths that zigzagged up and criss-crossed across wide halls. Tamlin led the way to a particularly grand building, the rich red stone trimmed with flawless ruby quartz archways – no, actual ruby – and gold decorations, the name of the bank painted in gold above a wide entry supported by columns. She could not read it.
"Runes," Tamlin said. "The language of the dwarves."
"How many different Fae languages are there?" Nesta asked tiredly.
"Enough to be getting on with," Tamlin said, and they entered the bank. A glittering chandelier of gold and yellow topaz shed warm light everywhere, and Nesta was pleasantly surprised by the aura of warmth and welcome that embraced her. A great hearth spread along one wall, with chairs and cushioned benches dotted about in clusters, while a high desk of polished mahogany spread across the other wall. Behind it sat hundreds of shorter, sturdily-built males all finely dressed – and boasting the thickest, most elaborately-decorated beards Nesta had ever seen. Quills and dip-pens scratched at ledgers while scales glinted as they settled, weighing out piles of sapphires the size of chestnuts, and neat stacks of gold coins were counted out meticulously.
Nesta's heart sank slightly. What was she going to do while Tamlin met with his accountants? The only money she had to her name was in her bank-accounts in the Republic: she had no access to it.
Tamlin glanced up and Nesta saw that above the great hearth, which crackled with a fire that staved off the chill of the stone, there was a large mural. Gold lettering in different styles of runes and different languages gleamed in the firelight. Beside each set of runes or words were numbers. The numbers constantly changed. From what Nesta could tell, these were the current exchange-rates between the Courts of Prythian and what she presumed to be some Fae countries on the Continent.
She saw one name and frowned at the number beside it. "Hybern is not doing well."
"They're in crisis," Tamlin said quietly, gazing grimly up at the board. "Their economy will not recover for centuries, maybe millennia."
"I'm assuming there is different currency for each Court," Nesta said, "based on what's up there."
"Yes, there is different currency in each Court," Tamlin said. "Though for the sake of ease, our gold coins are standardised across Prythian. The same weight and gold content – just different faces stamped onto them."
"Your face is on the gold coins of the Spring Court?" Nesta asked, and Tamlin nodded, pulling a face. He reached into his pocket, withdrawing a small pouch, and tugged on the drawstrings. He glanced along the great working bench behind which the dwarves were busy and tipped a few coins into his palm, passing them to Nesta to examine. There were tiny silver rings with runes etched into them and cylindrical, slightly tapered beads of smoky dark glass that reminded Nesta of sunflower seeds. The largest coin was one of bright gold. Even Tamlin did not carry more than three gold coins, though he had plenty of silver and even more of the glass seeds. She thought they were glass, anyway. On one side of the gold coin was Tamlin's familiar profile, though his hair was longer on the coin. On the other side, Nesta blinked. She had seen his bestial form only once, but she remembered the immense, intricate antlers and the tusks. His bestial form was represented on the coin.
"Every High Lord or Lady of Spring has been different," Tamlin said, "down to the forms we take when we shapeshift. This is me, but this…this was my grandmother, Lady Kaderin. And this coin – this is a very old coin. This was the great-great-aunt my grandmother succeeded."
"What do you call your coins?" Nesta asked curiously.
"I'm sure there were official names when they were first introduced," Tamlin shrugged. "But we just call them 'seeds and silvers'."
"And the gold coins?"
"Those are sovereigns," Tamlin said, shrugging.
"Are High Lords akin to kings, then?" Nesta asked, and Tamlin nodded.
"We are, though the way we inherit the title is unique in the world," he said. "There is no other place like Prythian. Most royal families on the Continent are hereditary, regardless of power. Many of those royal families believe their line was anointed by the Mother herself to rule, that they are Cauldron-blessed."
"How can you argue with that?" Nesta said coolly. Tamlin pulled a face. "Seeds, silvers and sovereigns. How many seeds make up a silver?"
"There are sixteen seeds to a silver," Tamlin told her, "and twenty silvers to a sovereign."
"Why are there holes in the silvers?"
"Two reasons," rumbled a deep voice, and Nesta glanced up. A dwarf wearing fabulously rich robes strode up to them: his beard was intricately plaited and beaded with gold filigree and jewels that glinted and glowed. He had rings on his fingers and his eyes twinkled merrily. "To keep the weight down and to prevent sticky-fingered faeries from pilfering them. The shadow of the holes against the brightness of the silver gives the illusion of faerie-spawn – they won't disturb it."
"Won't some Fae try to eat the seeds?"
"They'd get a dreadful sting if they tried," said the dwarf, chuckling richly.
"Thamdael," Tamlin said warmly. "You're looking well."
"Thank you, Lord," said the dwarf. His eyes twinkled like slumbering embers deep in a fire as he turned his gaze to Nesta. "This must be the Lady Nesta you wrote of."
"Yes," Tamlin said. "Is everything prepared as I asked?"
"While we go over arrangements and see to the accounts, I have asked Toret to take care of Lady Nesta," said Thamdael, bowing courteously to Nesta as a second dwarf – whose beard was just as thick and well-groomed yet not nearly as long as Thamdael's – walked up to them.
"If you'll follow me, my lady," said the second dwarf, Toret, with a handsome bow to her. Nesta glanced at Tamlin, bewildered. He just smiled warmly as Thamdael offered him strong stout and roasted meat carved straight from the bone.
"Thank you, no," Tamlin said, "but feel free to indulge."
"If you'll follow me, my lady," said Toret with a half-bow.
"I'm sorry. Why?" Nesta asked. Toret glanced from her to Tamlin's receding form.
"Lord Tamlin said that you seek to open a vault with us, my lady," he said, and Nesta now glanced over at Tamlin. More dwarves joined him and Thamdael, all of them richly dressed, and they disappeared down a well-lit passage with intricate friezes carved into the walls and expensive carpets on the floors. "We have all the necessary paperwork prepared to expedite the process but we do insist that each new vault-holder be present to set up necessary protections. Would you care for a beverage?"
"Tea, please," Nesta said, following Toret to another immaculately carved passage and a polished door etched with gold runes. A grand desk glowed under soft faelights, comfortable chairs were set around a low round table, and a sideboard cabinet featured a bone-china tea-set and decanters full of jewel-bright wines and spirits. "You mentioned paperwork?"
"Ah, yes. It's on the table ready for you to sign," Toret said, and Nesta frowned.
"May I read it first?" she asked crisply, sitting down in one of the comfortable chairs and settling her skirts about her before reaching for a neat cardboard folder in which papers had been collated.
"I would be concerned if you did not," Toret said, bustling about the sideboard as he made tea. Nesta thought about what Tamlin had said, that a dwarf would sooner cut off their own beards than act dishonourably. Yet if she knew anything, Nesta knew never to sign her name away without first reading every single line of a contract twice. Question everything and, where possible, seek second opinions and clarification from outside sources. It was a standard contract, one very similar to what she would have read when setting up her accounts in the Republic. The only differences, really, were the securities promised and insurances given by this bank: they were all steeped in magic. She took her time to read the contract, sipping the tea Toret had handed her: he sat opposite her, quietly drinking his own tea. He had even brought over a plate of small, iced biscuits.
Wishing that Tamlin was here to just check through the language of the contract and put her mind at ease, Nesta finally took a fountain pen and signed her name. It would not do to start relying on others to explain this world to her: she could not trust completely that the information they divulged was not self-serving. People had Rhysand to thank for her cynicism.
"Excellent," Toret smiled. "Vault seven hundred and eleven is now yours. If you will follow me, I shall take you to your vault. You can inspect it and we can set up the usual protections ready for you."
"Very well," Nesta said dubiously. Toret led her out of his office and down several passages. The further they went, the colder it got. As they reached a short queue of Fae, Nesta shivered in the chill. She focused on what they were all waiting for: miners' carts. The carts weren't what she would have seen in any Republic mine, though, coal-black and battered. These were made of oak, polished to a high shine and finely upholstered with cushioned leather seats. More quickly than Nesta would have expected, a cart returned and she was situated inside it by Toret, who offered her a cashmere blanket to cover her legs and a cup of tea to keep away the chill. Nesta accepted the drink and Toret smiled easily as the cart bumped into movement, gliding soundlessly down a dark stone passage. He chuckled at the look on Nesta's face when light flooded the end of the passage and it opened up into a tremendous cavern with carved ceilings lost to shadows, criss-crossed with sinuous stone bridges that she expected to crumble to dust under the slightest pressure, and over which more carts were travelling at speed, transporting jewels and gold and guarded by armoured Fae with tough stony skin and great tusks like a boar.
"Many customers prefer that at this point I strike up conversation," Toret said, sitting easily on his side of the cart. There was a glint in his eye and Nesta understood that it was amusement. For a moment, she did not understand why customers preferred him to speak: then she realised the cart was heading out over a seemingly bottomless chasm and understood that Toret's conversation was a distraction from a sheer drop that would result in certain death.
"I would say I agree," Nesta said, gulping and keeping her eyes focused on Toret as the cart glided further out across the chasm, even as she went cold, her breath choppy, suddenly very fidgety. "Would you tell me more about the currency and economy of the Spring Court?"
"I'd be delighted," Toret said, grinning, and dived into the topic with great enthusiasm. She had grown up with lessons on economics and finance and Toret seemed impressed with the quality of her questions. He told her about the economic state of the Spring Court after the Wall went up and how hard Tamlin had worked to help their economy recover once he had become High Lord. He explained how Amarantha's reign of terror had affected their economy – or rather, how little it had affected their economy, thanks to the forethought and precautions put in place by their High Lord.
It was clear to Nesta that Toret respected Tamlin not because he was High Lord and respect was his due but because Tamlin took such care in all aspects of the Spring Court.
"Here we are: vault seven hundred and eleven," Toret said, as the cart slowed down along one particularly long stretch of bare wall marked only by faelights that flickered to life on their approach and doused when they passed. Two faelights now glowed invitingly and Toret offered his hand to help her out of the cart. She reluctantly shed the blanket and placed her cup of tea on a little stand and climbed out of the cart, standing uncertainly beside Toret as he fished in the inside-pocket of his robes. He withdrew a pair of pince-nez and perched them at the end of his nose, then withdrew a small gold key and a worn notebook.
"Pardon me a moment while I set things up," Toret said, and Nesta watched curiously as he referred to his notebook then pressed his palm against the stone beneath one of the faelights. The outline of a pentagon suddenly glowed softly golden, revealing a cryptex embedded in the wall. Toret fiddled with it until he had a specific sequence of runes set up, then clicked his fingers twice. "If you please, my lady. Approach the stone and press your entire palm against it – yes, just like that. You'll feel a sudden warmth – " Nesta hissed as her palm seared as if she had been burned but could not remove her hand. Not until the stone glowed softly golden, growing brighter until she had to squeeze her eyes shut against the glare. As the light dimmed, she felt the searing pain in her palm lessen and the hold of whatever magic had kept her hand pressed to the stone release.
"What was that?" she asked sharply.
"You're now magically bonded with this vault," Toret said. "Only you may open it."
"Must it burn me every time I do?" Nesta asked waspishly, examining her palm for burns. Toret chuckled.
"No. The stone knows you now," Toret said. "You will need to press your palm against the door but it will not burn you. This is now yours." He handed her a tiny golden key. He nodded toward the stretch of stone. A spark of light, little more than an ember, glowed right in the centre of the space between the fae-lights. It was a keyhole.
"My palm reveals the keyhole?" Nesta asked, and Toret nodded.
"There's deep magic in your bond with the stone," he told her. "Spells that detect duress. No-one can force you to open this vault against your will – enchantments will be broken just by a simple touch of the stone."
"Quite a security system," Nesta said, as she unlocked the vault.
"We take great pride in protecting our customers' gold," Toret said stoutly, "even from themselves if need be."
"And their domineering relatives, I imagine," Nesta muttered, and Toret nodded sagely. Seams appeared in the stone and a door swung open. Beyond, faelights sputtered into life. She frowned at the gleam of silver and gold. "What is that?"
"Ah," Toret smiled. "Excellent – the setup is complete. Your wages have been transferred in, backdated of course." Wages? She did not translate her surprise to Toret in any way but made a mental note to scold Tamlin later. "Now, everything is complete. I have just one other thing to provide you – your cryptex and ledger. I shall explain more as we head back to my office…"
Back in Toret's office, warmed by another cup of tea, Nesta was given a beautiful polished box of oak. It opened to reveal a soft suede lining in which lay a leather ledger and a second, smaller pentagonal-prism box inside which a cryptex was nestled, each dial covered in golden runes. There was a slot for her vault key to rest.
The ledger, Toret had told her, was a magical and intuitive book in which her vault details would be kept updated to the last minute. It would also show scheduled payments, and he showed her how to use the ledger to schedule these. She could arrange direct transfers from her vault to any other in Prythian, as long as she had the vault details and had a security code from her cryptex. Rather than waste precious time, the dwarves had worked with their Dawn Court counterparts to come up with the ledger-and-cryptex system which utilised some of their most ancient magic as well as new technology. Rather than coming to the bank every time a customer wished to make a deposit or payment, they needed only to use their thumbprint and cryptex code, entered into their ledger, to approve the transfer.
"For vast amounts, we do of course insist that customers come to the bank in person," Toret said. "Any transfer over ten thousand sovereigns will need your account manager's joint access key." Nesta didn't think she'd ever have need to do so, but nodded her understanding. Toret demonstrated how to get the cryptex to generate a unique code several times to ensure she was happy with the process, and explained how most Spring Court businesses ran – if she did not wish to part with coins, she could simply press her thumbprint to the ledger of any shopkeeper and funds would be transferred from her vault. He told her that most of the 'high' businesses – those located above the canopy in the emergent layer of the city – preferred to use this form of transaction rather than cash, as it seemed more elegant to their customers than handing over unwieldy bags filled with sovereigns.
Checking a handsome timepiece on the sideboard table, Toret told her that Tamlin's meeting was drawing to an end. He led her out of his office back to the grand atrium, just as Tamlin and Thamdael entered it. Nesta took one look at Tamlin and knew that whatever had been discussed during his meeting had brought him to the very limits of his patience, lines of tension radiating from the corners of his mouth, his eyes bright and frazzled. Toret and Thamdael bowed low to Tamlin and to Nesta and escorted them to the door.
A.N.: The bank is a combination of Gringott's and Khazad-dûm! Nesta's vault is the same number as Sirius Black's. The Fae on the riverbank are playing cyvasse. The Invidia are creatures mentioned in Kresley Cole's excellent supernatural romance series Immortals After Dark (highly recommended)! And damn it, I want to live in Fioren-Daara!
The next few chapters will be set in Fioren-Daara: I've got a lot of things to set up and important characters to introduce. I like the idea of Nesta finding friends who are not part of the IC but I confess I just couldn't like either of the characters SJM introduced in SF.