"Tam!", Lucien shouts, returning to the living quarters of the Manor.
"What? I'm coming, I was just changing", he grumbles, sauntering into the room.
"We both got a letter from the Winter Court. I wonder what they want."
Tamlin furrows his brow and grabs his letter from Lucien's outstretched hand, turning it over a few times in his hands as he scrutinizes it. "Who's handwriting?"
"I don't know either. Odd, hm?"
They both rip their letters open and Lucien's eyebrow arches in disbelief. "It's a request for me to be a Prythian tour guide", he pauses. "To the girl you saved from Hybern."
"The girl Feyre saved, you mean?", he mumbles.
"No, I know what I said", he replies, giving him a pointed look.
Tamlin looks down at the letter and the pretty, girlish handwriting upon the paper.
Dear High Lord of the Spring Court (Mr. Tamlin Demeteri),
My name is Briar Laverne. I'm not sure if you remember me, but I'm the woman (well I suppose female now) that you helped aid in escape at Hybern's war-camp island. I have been staying at the palace of the Winter Court for the last year or so, and they have taught me much about Prythian now that I am Fae. I wish to go on a personal quest to see where I truly belong here in Prythian. Kal and Viv say that all of the courts are beautiful, and I want to see for myself. They mentioned that you are rebuilding yours, so I do not want to intrude by any means. However, I am hoping that once I am finished touring the other courts that you may be gracious enough to have me as a guest in the newly build Spring. Of course, I seek your approval and permission before I step past your borders. I would love to extend to you my gratitude in person as well. I request a response either way. Thanks for entertaining this quite lengthy letter.
~ Briar Laverne
Tamlin draws in a long breath before exhaling, his eyes roaming over the letter wordlessly. Lucien stands quiet, swallowing before he speaks.
"From the way you're looking at that piece of paper, I'd say you were hoping to see her again."
"I was."
"So will you write back?"
"Are you going to accept being her tour guide? I wouldn't trust her with anyone else."
Lucien gives him an incredulous look. "You—oh, fuck."
"What?", Tamlin growls, crossing his arms.
"Is she the one...?"
"Possibly", he says firmly. "I don't know. As I said, I was hardly in my right mind then.
"Be careful, Tam. That's...all I can say without saying what you already know."
He sighs and runs his thumb over the ink softly. "If she is, gods help her. Nobody would want that fate. Being tied to me. She seems great, I don't know what she ever would have done to have gone in the Cauldron and come out tied to me. It's not fair for her."
"You're forgetting that you have the ability to be the kind of male that she could deserve. I know everyone is much too hard on you, and I know it doesn't make you want to push through the negativity and the bitter words. But you can. I've seen the friend that saved me from Beron. He's been around here and there for weeks. He's still inside you. He is you, if you stop letting them get to you. I stopped caring what anyone thought long ago, and I've been alright ever since. The only opinion I care for now is my mate's. So if she is, please don't fuck it up. You tend to live by extremes, and you scaring her away won't help you, and it certainly won't make her feel welcome."
His voice lowers a bit. "You forget that I saw you with Feyre...before everything. I saw your liveliness and your willingness to make her happy and comfortable. And back then she was glad for it. That liveliness is still within you, Tam. Just remember that she isn't...isn't either of them. She's her own person."
"I know that", he mumbles. "But how am I supposed to open myself up again. Given this is IF he even is my mate. How am I supposed to do that knowing that every other female I've been myself with had either died or left? What if that is my true curse? Not my beast form, not Amarantha's claim on me. What if my true curse is that no matter how hard I try, I'm simply unlovable? Believe me, I don't want to be having this conversation with you, but you're all I have right now. And I'm still...", he trails off, running his hands through his blonde hair. "I'm still the most hated person in Prythian. I don't know if I will ever get out from under that. Maybe I'm not meant to, but I don't want to drag that innocent female into this bubble of hatred with me. I can't do that to her. Mate or no."
"I think her impressions and her decisions should be up to her, and you don't need to be falling back into old habits. I know the things you do seem to be for the best, and yes, sometimes they are. But she needs to have the final say on what she feels and she wants. Not you. I'm making progress with Elain because I let her stew. I let her take her time, and I wasn't demanding or smothering. If she chooses to enjoy your company, let her. It will be her choice. Not yours. Because females will find a way to do whatever the hell they want no matter what you say or think", he chuckles softly. "Jesminda was that way, and so is Elain. So is Feyre, and Nesta, and the rest of the Valkyries, and I'm sure Nova was too, hm?"
Tamlin nods and his throat bobs. "I'm just sick of losing everyone. It's like my fight or flight gets triggered and my fight takes over. I know it started when I lost Novalyn because I wasn't diligent enough. I was sloppy and I didn't protect her enough. I didn't keep her close. And then when Feyre came along, the better option of keeping her safe was sending her away, because keeping her close meant everything she came back for and went through. I don't want to lose anyone else. I can't. I won't survive it, Lucien. I have a cursed, stone heart. Everyone looks at me and that's all they see. The beast with the heart that is incapable of love, incapable of being pierced. But it has been many times...emotionally."
"I know Tam. This is not something you need to tell me, but I'm glad you're venting. Venting is a much better alternative than holing yourself up and driving your mind mad in silence."
"Less embarrassing though."
"Who am I going to tell? There are enough rumors about you going around. I'm not one for any rumors, I find them juvenile. Despite being young at heart", he smirks.
"Oi", Tamlin remarks. "So...I suppose we should reply to her letters then."
"We should."
"Lucien?"
"Yes?"
"I can't help but be terrified regardless."
"It will be fine. Just...be..."
"Not myself?"
"No, you should be yourself. But the carefree one. Not the tightly wound version of you."
"Right", he sighs and grabs a pen and some parchment, handing him a piece. "I'm honestly surprised Kallias allowed it. I know she's grown and ultimately it is her decision, but I'm sure they have told her all the spun tales of the beast who resides there."
"Possibly. But she's choosing to visit anyway. That certainly says something."
"Yes...I'm afraid I must prepare myself for more heartbreak."
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, now. You aren't even positive she is your mate but your minor interactions during times of high stress."
"No, I'm not a hundred percent. But if she is, there is no doubt at all that she will reject me. She has been surrounded by Kallias and his wife. And although I have never been anything but diplomatic to them, they are friends of Feyre's. And what exactly do you think your precious employers will do if they find out I have a mate in the form of another lovely young female? Another tragic, broken, traumatized young female? Feyre will see herself in Briar, and you know what happens then? They will yet again see me as the predator and her as the prey, and make no mistake, Rhysand will not stop until I stay miserable for as long as I live. They will convince her not to accept me. Mark my words."
"I hope you know I will make my disapproval of such things known if that happens. As I said, it should be up to Briar, and Briar alone. Nobody else. Everyone in this damn continent needs to mind their own fucking business, I swear."
Tamlin huffs out a chuckle. "No truer words have been spoken."
Grabbing his pen, he begins to write.
Dear Briar Laverne,
I remember you fondly. I wish there was more I could do prior to the day you got away. I don't need any thanks, I am simply glad to hear that you are safe and thriving. It is true that my court is going through major renovations at the moment. However, I would be honored to have you as a guest once you are finished touring the other courts. I know there is probably much about me that you have heard, most of it probably bad. I hope you can find it within you to have no preconceived notions of my character. While my relationship with the other High Lords and Ladies may not be the best, and that is an understatement, I assure you that I am of no threat to you. I myself am healing from major traumas of my past and I am trying to move on and rebuild myself as well. I wish you much joy in your sightseeing, and I look forward to greeting you when you arrive.
~Tamlin Demeteri, High Lord of Spring
Lucien finishes his letter and takes them both, stuffing the envelopes and addressing them, slipping them in their outgoing mail bin. "How did that feel?"
"Hm?", Tamlin blinks as if clouded by thought.
"I said how did it feel? To write to her. I know she isn't nearby, but sometimes even thinking of your mate, if that's what she is, can stir certain feelings.
A faint blush appears on his cheeks and he clears his throat, his eyes still fixed on the letter he had written in Lucien's hands. "Oh, it—it felt nice. I'll be glad to meet her under better circumstances where we can actually exchange words without nearly being killed for them."
Lucien nods. "Apparently I have to make plans to go on a trip to the courts. Except Autumn. I hope to gods they didn't let her write to Beron, he'd rip her apart and all of us would save to step in to protect her."
Tamlin let out a feral growl. "Beron will not lay one harsh word or finger upon her or I will rip his throat out the same way I ripped out Amarantha's."
"Okay...I think it's safe to say something is happening, and it's very fucking strong."
Tamlin looses a breath and swallows. "Sorry..."
"No—it's just that...well, I'm certainly not an expert but it seems like there is already a very strong telepathic bond there. Remember how er...Rhys...responded to Feyre going through the trials under the mountain even when he didn't know her as anything but a human girl? Neither knew about their mate bond then. I'm saying I think it may be true. About you and this Briar. Especially by your reactions surrounding her."
"I fear it may be true as well."
"Fear? Tam—"
"I know. I heard you the first time. That doesn't mean any of this comes easily to me. You know about my parents and my brothers. And I'm...still a product of that. It clearly brews within me."
"It will be different. It's entirely different. You just have to keep your cool, hm?"
"Easier said than done. You know that these powers rebel against control."
"Your buttons are easily pushed too."
"Unfortunately. The temper comes with the genes. I know it's horrible. You don't think I know that?"
"It will be different", he states firmly. "Because it has to be. For not only for your own good but for the good of Prythian."
.
.
.
Gwyn giggles hard as she falls to the ground, clutching her stomach. Nesta and Emerie lay beside her, side-splitting laughs coming from all of them. Cassian guffaws and Azriel's cheeks turn a bright shade of crimson as he crosses his arms.
"Alright, it's not that funny. You can all stop now."
Cassian claps his back and a howling laugh escapes him as he leans over, clutching his abs.
"Ha ha...", he rolls his eyes.
Gwyn recovers first and breathes hard, clamoring to her feet, stumbling over to him and embracing him tightly. "I'm sorryyy. Forgive me?"
She grins beautifully, her face pink and her freckles dancing as she smiles, the stark white ribbon which pulled her copper hair back, swaying in the breeze as his shadows quickly intertwine around them both.
"You I can forgive because I know your laughter was just because theirs was contagious."
Nesta calms down and sits up, smirking. "I cannot believe neither of you knew. I really cannot believe it. Az, you're a SPYMASTER."
Emerie snorts and covers her mouth so more laughter won't escape and Cassian grins broadly.
"I know", he grumbles. "You don't have to remind me of how stupid or blind I was, I already know that, alright?"
Cass squeezes his shoulder. "Hey, we aren't saying that. It's just that it was so obvious to everyone else and we knew she would give you a run for your money."
"You really were the new ribbon, Az", Nesta remarks, going over to hang off Cassian as he dips his head to kiss along her jaw, wiggling his eyebrows as she let's out a raspy chuckle.
"What am I, Nessie?"
Azriel could have sworn he saw her blush.
"You are an impossible problem", she grumbles.
Emerie giggles softly and puts the equipment back as she watches the two pairs of mates. She is absolutely thrilled for both of them of course, but a small pit of sadness still settles in her heart.
"I've got to get back home so I can wash up and open the shop for a while."
Nesta smiles. "Aw, alright."
Gwyn hugs her. "See you tomorrow?"
"You know it."
"I can fly you down", Cassian offers, giving Nesta a quick kiss. "I'll be right back, and then I'm going to—"
"Okay, Cass! We get it, now go", Azriel cuts in, louder than usual.
He smirks and rolls his eyes. "Ready?"
"Yes", Emerie smiles and he lifts her with one arm around her waist, under her wings. Emerie throws an arm over his shoulder, and he flies her down to the shops.
.
.
.
Dressed and refreshed, Emerie sits down at her small vanity and looks at herself in the mirror. It's the same face she has had since birth. The same face that reminds her of her mother. The same face that incurs both unimaginable love and unimaginable grief. A couple of silent tears make their way down her mocha-colored cheeks slowly and she strokes them away, busying herself with braiding her hair to the side. The style is both easy and efficient and it keeps it out of her face while working but still pretty enough for when she isn't training, twirling it into a knotted bun then.
Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, she focuses on doing her wing stretches. They are still painful and tight, but her healer had told her it was necessary to keep the muscles near her back loose and not so tight that she would have constant pain. Wincing slightly she pants through it, and finally finishes the reps, a whoosh of air leaving her lungs. Tears threaten her eyes again, but she fights them back. She's a Carynthian now. A Valkyrie. She can handle measly wing stretches. Especially if the stories of Azriel and Cassian's wings being shredded in war are true. Compared to that, she has nothing to complain about, she muses to herself.
Heading downstairs to the shop, she does the register count and a quick floor sweep before opening, letting the chill of autumn air out the stuffy shop.
She doesn't get many customers that night, but the ones she is lucky to have, made fairly hefty purchases for the upcoming winter. She sells many furs and cloaks. She takes her seat behind the counter once again and pulls out her half-finished knit blanket, hoping to make some progress with it. She gets so focused that she doesn't hear another customer walk in, nor does she notice that she is quietly crying.
"Are you alright?"
Emerie startles a bit and stares up at the male like a deer in headlights. The very first thing she notices is how utterly gorgeous he is.
"Wh-what?", she stutters.
The Illyrian ruffles his wings from the cold a bit and smiles, a deep dimple showing on his right cheek. "I asked if you're alright. Um...you've got some uh...", he leans forward slowly and swallows shyly, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. Emerie can't help but shiver. The handsome male shivers as well.
Must be the cold.
"Oh gods, wow um, that wasn't very professional of me. I'm sorry. I was so entranced in my knitting and I—"
"Hey, no worries. I'm more concerned about why you were crying than where."
Gods, she could practically feel her heart melting into a puddle and her cheeks heat to an inappropriate degree.
"I don't know why, exactly. I um...I guess I was just thinking of my mother."
He nods solemnly. "She's passed?"
"Yes."
"I'm sorry. My father passed recently too."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, in the war. He was one of the footsoldiers."
Emerie's eyes look at him with sympathy. "I am sorry."
"It's not your fault. He knew the risk and he was an honorable male, so he chose to fight him."
"He sounds like he was."
"I learned a lot from him", he says, then clears his throat. "Uh, that's not exactly why I came here. I was wondering if you had any of those fur cloaks left. My mother has had her eye on one for quite some time, and I know it pains her to have to use the money she had from my father. She's trying to get it to last, and though my wages aren't too shabby, they still don't match what his were...however, I've been saving to get her this to brighten her mood just a little. I know my father was going to surprise her with it before he died. It was er...the grey and white one."
Emerie smiles, but can't help her eyes from welling up again at the huge heart under all that tan muscle. "I still have it. For one reason or another, I took it out of the window last week because I thought someone special would come for it. Sounds weird, hm?"
"Maybe a little, but I'm forever grateful for that moment of weird", he replies, his dimple showing again as he grins. "Your eyes. They're...leaking."
Emerie can't help but laughs at his choice of words as she wipes her face. "What?"
He turns red and pinches his nose. "Watery. I meant your eyes were watery. The word evaded me for a moment", he bites his lip. "They also captured mine with their beauty", he says a bit quieter, seeming to go shy.
She shivers again slightly and blushes deeply as she pulls the fur cloak from a drawer neatly packed. Not knowing what to say to the compliment, she holds it up wordlessly.
"Yeah", he nods, swallowing. "That—That's the one."
"Perfect. I'll box it for you."
"Right. I mean—thank you."
"You're welcome."
Emerie turns to box the cloak and he lets out a breath, stretching his wings, his eyes looking over hers and turning somber.
"They clipped you", he murmurs, his voice a low growl. "Who the fuck clipped you?"
She spins around and looks down at her hands, slightly humiliated.
"I'm not upset at you, and it takes nothing away from your beauty but that's...it's outlawed in Illyria. How—"
"Because my father was a wicked and corrupt demon. That's why", she replies flatly.
"I'm sorry. That you went through that and that I startled you", he blushes. "I didn't mean to. It's just...I've heard the horror stories but I've never seen—", he takes a breath. "I'm sorry."
"Like you told me, not your fault."
"As I said, it doesn't take away from how beautiful you are. And I mean that. I know I don't really know you, but I know that."
Something in Emerie's mind clicks and brings her to déjà vu, his voice familiar when he said that. "Have I met you before?"
He looks into her eyes. "I'm pretty sure I've met you. But I don't think you remember meeting me."
She furrows her brow. "What exactly does that mean?"
He blows out a breath. "You're Emerie, right?"
She moves behind the counter and goes for the dagger she keeps there.
"No, no, I'm not going to hurt you."
"Yeah? That's what all the people associated with my family have said, after they've tried to charm me and get close enough to kill me", she retorts, waving the dagger at him.
"What? I—I'm not...I don't know your family. I swear. I know Nesta. The High Lord's sister-in-law? I mean...I don't know her, know her. I've met her once."
"Stop rambling."
He immediately shuts his mouth and looks at her wide-eyed, a bit stunned.
"Tell me your name."
Biting his lip boyishly, looking like he's in trouble, then he replies. "I'm Balthazar."