✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦

Chapter 5: Every love I've known in comparison is a failure

✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦

"Stop moping."

"Excuse me," Rhys garbled out, looking up from where he had been staring at the same roll of parchment for at least an hour.

He had not been moping. He had been…regretting his life choices that had brought him to that moment.

Feyre looked less than amused, though her face had softened. She didn't look utterly furious with him, which was a step up from Morrigan, who had nearly taken a bite out of him.

Granted, he probably deserved that. He also deserved the cold indifference that Amren had shown or the fact that Feyre had been ignoring him…that Cassian was fucking furious with him and that Azriel hated him.

"Stop moping around," Feyre repeated herself. "You big Illyrian Baby," she added with a small quirk on her lips. That was something at least."

"My brother hates me," Rhys gave back, his voice quiet.

Azriel hated him. He had only tried to do the right thing and still, he had…only messed it up even further. It shouldn't even surprise him anymore.

"He loves you," Feyre disagreed. "But Rhys, you really didn't make that easy on either of them," his mate said pointedly, coming to sit on his lap. It was a piece of peace that he didn't really deserve right now. Not really. Not like that.

"Feyre Darling…" he started but Feyre silenced him with one look.

"You hurt Azriel really badly by saying things to him that were not at all thought out," she told him pointedly. "You didn't take his feelings seriously and you also took a choice away from him and away from Elain. And worst of all…you never even apologised for it, because you didn't even think you were in the wrong, Rhys."

He didn't think he was.

"You never even tried to fix it," Feyre said the worst thing of it all.

He didn't. Not really.

"I tried to get him angry. I figured that would help," he admitted. "It used to."

"When you were children?" Feyre asked. He nodded.

"Sometimes he got so angry and didn't talk, the only way to get him to talk was to badger him long enough that he threw the first punch," Rhys admitted quietly. "And then keep at it until he was absolutely exhausted…sometimes then, he started talking."

"Well, that worked for a child. You haven't been that in 500 years," Feyre said drily. "It's an abscess. And you have let that wound fester under the surface for nearly three years, Rhys."

"So what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to fix it, when Cassian told me to keep away from him and from Azriel…and when Azriel's mate is out for blood."

"Well, for an abscess you would typically need to lance it," Feyre said drily. "You know, poke a needle in it…let all the pus drain out."

This just sounded horrible."

"Give it a little time," Feyre said finally. "And about that mate of his…Oriana Fireborn," she said with some amusement. "So what happened to your favourite jacket?" Feyre teased him and he sighed.

"You don't want to know," he told her and Feyre just grinned at him.

"Don't I?" she teased him. "How bad could it be, Rhys?"

Bad.

"I was young and stupid," he finally said with a sigh. "And I didn't listen to Amren…And I got it in my head that…Oriana's sister would make a good bride," he admitted with a grimace.

Enya. The Healer. Not Titania, the heiress, but the middle sister. Beautiful, Educated, Magically Powerful…she had ticked all the boxes he had once upon a time had for the Lady of the Night Court.

"Shut up," Feyre said and started laughing, much to his bemusement. "You flirted with her sister and she wasn't having it, was she?" she asked and Rhys sighed.

"I was turned down flat," he complained and Feyre just continued to giggle.

"So what did you do?" she asked, trying to keep her laughing under control and he scowled.

"Well, I figured that she was going to fall for my charms," he explained, trying to hold onto the shreds of his dignity.

"Let me guess, she didn't?" Feyre asked and he just sighed.

"She definitely didn't," he said with a sigh. "So I, in my incredible wisdom thought that…well. If the middle sister wasn't an option…maybe the youngest could be," he recounted with a grimace.

If Enya had turned him down flat, Oriana Fireborn had been worse.

"Her response to my flirting was to put my favourite jacket on fire in the middle of dinner. And when that was done, she started on my trousers."

Feyre was laughing so hard that she had started to cry, holding onto his shoulder.

At least somebody was finding the whole episode entertaining.

Amren definitely hadn't thought it was funny, especially because Adara hadn't been very amused by her two youngest daughter's antics.

Or his for that matter.

"Well, I mean, at least you got to keep your hair," Feyre finally said. "Cassian wasn't that lucky."

Rhys thought with a grimace at Cassian's hair that he had finally shorn off because that was the only way to deal with the uneven singed edges. A hand came up to self-consciously touch his raven-black waves.

"Though maybe don't tell Azriel that you tried to make his mate your wife," Feyre added. "I don't think he is gonna like that very much."

Yeah, he also doubted that.

"Just let the first wave of anger subside. And then start with an apology."

That seemed reasonable.

The problem was only that Rhysand wasn't always reasonable.

✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦

Azriel listened.

Mostly at least. With the help of the shadows and lots of potions…and soft kisses, with her crawling into his lap so that he wasn't going to strain any muscles…she got him to stay in the bed for the next day.

She had straddled him again after breakfast, letting his hands gently touch her waist, brush against her ribs that were still twinging with every second movement and was kissing him like they had all the time in the world. And maybe they had. Maybe they did have all the time in the world.

For a moment at least it felt like that, with soft kisses being pressed to her face, being peppered against her skin, her hands buried in his hair.

She would have liked to continue down that road, if she didn't feel her ward ping with something.

She had reworked her warning net, adding bits and pieces and fixing the burnt-out stones.

And currently, it was telling her that there was somebody that that had never been there before.

"Somebody is there," she told Azriel."

"Cassian and Nesta," he answered, immediately, obviously having had a shadow on the lookout. "He's a horrible mother hen," he told her with a sigh as she moved off his lap with a laugh.

"I don't know, it's cute that he checks on you every day," Oriana disagreed. "He loves you."

"He does," Azriel agreed softly.

"I'll let them in. I don't think Cassian is ready to lose any more hair," she quipped as she gained her feet, hearing Azriel chuckle lightly as she left the house and walked towards the ward boundary.

There was Cassian, waiting, behind him a female, tall, light brown hair braided into a cron on her head. And Oriana smiled softly as she recognised her and her own handiwork in the pins that kept the braids in place.

"Good Morning," she greeted them, holding out a hand for Cassian.

"Good Morning," Cassian responded, clasping her hand in his, surprised as she pulled him towards her and through the ward.

"Did you change it?" he wondered. She just shrugged, before she offered her hand to his companion. "Oriana." She introduced herself.

"Nesta." There was recognition in these silver eyes as she stepped through the ward, shivering slightly.

"I never…felt anything like that," Nesta admitted.

Cassian's mate. Azriel had told her about her. But even if he hadn't, she would remember the young woman from somewhere else. Still, that didn't matter right now.

"That's good because I invented it yesterday," she quipped drily. "Thank the cauldron, you are here, I am running out of ways to keep Azriel busy." She turned towards Cassian.

"I am surprised you have managed to keep him in one place this young," Cassian admitted drily.

"I am quite creative at making threats," she said drily, making Cassian laugh.

She turned to the kitchen, leaving Nesta and Cassian to say hello to Azriel but she wasn't surprised at all as she turned towards the meatballs she was making that Nesta had come back into the kitchen, hesitantly standing at the edge.

"I remember you," she said quietly and Oriana smiled softly.

"I remember you too," she agreed. From a few years ago and a night in a music hall. She had pissed off a guy that was going to take advantage of a very drunk Nesta and had then delivered her to her home because Oriana could never quite manage to leave good enough alone.

"I wasn't sure if it was really you. The name was the same but…" Nesta trailed off. "Thank you," she thanked her. "For that night."

"Did it get better?" she asked Nesta, lifting up her gaze to look into her grey eyes.

"Yes. Some," she admitted. "He helps." A sharp nod in the direction of her bedroom, where Oriana could see Azriel and Cassian talking in low tones. If she concentrated, she would be able to pick up on that.

"I can understand that," she agreed. Azriel also helped. In a lot of ways that she never even thought he would. It was so easy to just be herself with him, to not need to be anybody different. Ever.

"You love Azriel?" Nesta asked quietly. "He's…He's a good man. A good friend."

"He's my mate," Oriana responded, forming another meatball.

"That doesn't mean anything," Nesta said with a shrug. "Do you love him?" she insisted.

"I do," Oriana answered truthfully. "I love him. I loved him from the moment I first saw him at that market in Verlairs because he was my mate, but I fell in love with him, because it's Azriel. And he may never believe that he is a good male, but he is a righteous one. And I have learned that that is worth much more," she said quietly.

Nesta seemed to turn her words around in her mind for a little while like she wasn't quite sure what to think about it. Oriana finished her meatballs, not bothering to light the fire on the stove as she made it roar with a flick of her wrist.

"Is that a Tartera thing or…" Nesta asked suddenly and Oriana looked up as she put her meatballs in the oven.

"It's a me thing," she said, as she washed her hands and then dried them. "My father came from the Autumn Court. Tartera are fireproof but they can't control it. I can do both," she explained with a shrug.

"Do you have silver flames?" Nesta asked suddenly and Oriana mustered her. Azriel had mentioned something like that to her, though she didn't know the full story.

"No, I don't," she answered honestly. "I can control magical fire to some extent, though that can still hurt me, just like every other Tartera."

Nesta seemed to take that at face value.

"Cassian said that you made the hairpins," Nesta said suddenly. "Thank you. They are quite…"

"Beautiful and deadly," Oriana ended the sentence with some amusement. "It's good that you found use for them. There is nothing worse than making something that nobody can find a use in," she said thoughtfully. Every time she melted down a piece, it broke a little bit of her heart, even when she could make it even better.

Still. It was something that she had created with her own two hands and her own magic.

"You have a jewellery shop down in the Rainbow?" Nesta asked and Oriana nodded.

"Yes, I do. I used to be an Enchantress, but I fell out of love with that…so I left the mountain…and took up my creed in Velaris. Now…Since I met Azriel, I went back to my roots. I was never somebody who forged weapons. But I was the one you went to when you needed protection," Oriana explained, fiddling with her tea towel. "That was always my goal, what I strived for."

Nesta seemed to mull that over in her head.

"I need to know, did you make anything enchanted for Azriel?" she asked Oriana, sounding definitely amused.

"I made him new armour," she admitted. "But he wanted to test that before actually using it."

"Don't let Cassian hear that, he hounded Az for weeks about the siphons," Nesta said with a laugh, the sound like tinkling bells. Oriana grinned.

"I made some for him. You two can take them back with you if you want to." Nesta nodded, before she grew serious, one hand reaching up to touch the hairpins.

"Sometimes I forget how…many different things you can be in this world," she admitted quietly and Oriana sighed softly.

How weird their world must be to a female who spent most of her life in the human world? That was still so young. Oriana had lived for nearly 2 centuries before Nesta had ever been born. She was just a few years older than Althea was, her niece.

"Every time I invent something new, I am in awe at magic," Oriana said quietly. "And that's something I have done for centuries. You are still so young. And you didn't even grow up in this world."

"How old are you?" Nesta wondered.

"225 years this year," Oriana answered honestly. "Though to be honest, I stopped really counting some time after I turned 100…I got married when I was 18. He died a few months before we celebrated our 80th wedding anniversary."

Nesta stared at her. "You know how weird that sounds to somebody like me?" she asked weakly. Oriana couldn't help but laugh.

"Yeah, I can imagine," she agreed, as she pulled her meatball from the oven, pulling out spices to make the sauce.

"You know he's not usually that bad," Nesta said suddenly. "Rhysand, I mean," she clarified at Oriana's look. "He's an asshole, definitely, but he tends to mean well," she said quietly. "And I am also the last person you would ever expect to defend him. I don't particularly like him, but… he wants the best for his people."

Right.

"Ah."

The noise must have made it very obvious that she didn't agree but Nesta cocked her head to the side as Oriana added spices to her pan.

"You don't think so?" she asked, sounding curious. Like she had never even thought about it. Maybe she hadn't. She hadn't been born into this world. She hadn't been surrounded by it by centuries. But then, maybe she hadn't already grown jaded to it.

"You know…I…I am not completely High Fae," Oriana said quietly. "I am a half-breed. Half Tartera, Half High Fae. I belong to both societies and to neither in a sense," she explained. "I grew up sitting at my grandmother's council table in the mountain. We are a smaller society than the Night Court at large by far," she warned Nesta. "That means, that I am very much aware that the way, my grandmother governs can't be replicated on a grand scale. My grandmother knows every Tartera in the mountain. She knows who they love, who they hate, who they want to be. She knows all of that. Rhysand can't know that. How should he?"

"But…Hewn City," Oriana said with a sigh.

"Yes?" Nesta asked, sounding curious.

"Do you think Hewn City is fair? To it's inhabitants? I don't mean the old faes that chose to stay there. They made their choice. They can live with the consequences. But every child that is born in that place, every girl that is married off to a male that treats her like dirt…they didn't choose that. Innocent children are born there every day and their parents and families prejudices poison them until they are just like them. Of course, they are. Why should they have a different opinion? They never even knew a different way of life," Oriana said fiercely. "It's not fair to the children."

Nesta stared at her, swallowing.

"You…you have thought about this," Nesta said quietly. Oriana nodded.

"I am not saying the mountain is perfect. It's not. We are far from that. Arranged marriages happen there, my own was…but children are seen as incredibly important and must be protected at all costs. If you willingly choose not to have them…no Tartera will understand that. My sister never married. She gets to hear about that every damn day. As do both my brothers. And our justice system is harsh. Capital punishment is used…more freely than it…should. We don't have a stomach for war, but we had a harsh walk to that realization."

"Still. As a Fae…all you have is time. Once you have your first century under your belt, all the time you have…you can spend it thinking. And you start to have opinions about everything," she said drily. "Not just serious political ones but also about what kind of Fireale is superior. The better-tasting one or the one that gets you drunk faster? Is there a better way to forge silver? Opals just don't look good with marigold yellow and I much prefer working with yellow gold over rose gold. See? A wealth of opinions."

Nesta looked at her like she had lost her mind for a moment.

She opened her mouth to respond but then Oriana felt her warding snap, like the maw of a waiting bloodhound.

"We got a visitor," she said drily, putting out the oven with a wave of her hand.

She could feel who it was.

Still, the sight of an Illyrian half suspended in midair like a fly in amber made her grin.

Her warding net had become visible, a glowing golden dome surrounding the Lakehouse.

"Oriana Fireborn."

"Rhysand."

✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦