Chapter Text
The city of Velaris glimmered in the evening with the Sidra River snaking through her bustling streets. Eris leaned against the railing of a terrace overhanging the House of Wind. He should engage with the party behind him. He should be working on his good graces with the residence of the Night Court, but Eris’s thoughts were elsewhere. He’d already dropped off his gift and congratulated the newlyweds. Now he finished a fifth glass of rich wine.
“Hello, Eris.”
He straightened in surprise, taking in the doe eyes of his brother’s mate. “Elain,” Eris said with a nod of his head.
“May I stand with you?”
“It’s rather cold here away from the fire,” he said. They shared a pointed look at the crowded group around the firepits and more people inside the house.
Elain’s dress, the color of dried roses, flowed in the wind, light as smoke. It was beautiful and, as always, she stood out against the rest of the Night Court. “It’s actually quite nice up here,” she said, smiling at him.
They stood in comfortable silence for longer than Eris thought possible. He was glad Elain and Lucien had sorted things out. Of all the Vanserra siblings, Lucien deserved to be happy.
“Your hands are red,” Elain said, staring at the Sidra.
Eris frowned at his white gloves. He opened his mouth to question her, but her pinched smile gave him pause. Elain’s unfocused eyes stared right through him and the ancient magic within her sent chills across his skin. “Should we go inside?” He offered his hand, but she made no move to take it.
None of the other Inner Circle members were within sight, or her mate. The last thing Eris wanted to do was leave her alone, but they may very well have his head if he didn’t get one of them while she was in this state. When he’d made up his mind to find Rhysand or one of the others, Elain grasped his arm with bruising strength. It startled him, more than hurt.
“Do you fear the dark, Eris Vanserra?”
Eris flinched at her question, her unseeing eyes shifting. “Elain,” he tried again, gently grasping her hand.
She took a deep breath, head rolling back. “Fire and night,” Elain muttered, facing Eris once more. “A fire burns for the south. Eris, you gut the hound.”
Eris drew a stiff breath as Elain came back to herself. “What did all that mean?” he asked, offering his arm as she stumbled.
Elain’s cheeks flushed; her breath uneven. “I’m not sure. I saw—” she trailed off with a shake of her head. “War. I saw war coming.”
“In Autumn?”
She nodded, lowering her voice as they entered the busy house. “From Autumn,” she corrected. “We should find Rhysand.”
Arm in arm, the pair waded through the many drunk attendees. They found the rest of the Inner Circle in one of the smaller sitting rooms. Nesta and Cassian were still in their ceremony clothes while the others were in some state of undress. Forgotten jackets, missing gloves, bare feet.
“Drink, Eris,” Cassian called, slurred. “You still look like you have a stick up your ass.”
“War is coming,” Elain said without preamble, cutting off the laughter that followed Cassian’s jab. “Beron. He will attack Spring.”
Feyre rushed to her sister. “Elain, you’re sure? Did you See again?”
“Just now,” Elain said, glancing at Eris. “We were on the terrace.”
“You didn’t mention your father gathering arms, Eris,” Rhysand said, voice cool as the wind outside.
“I suspected but I had no evidence,” Eris said. “He is scheming but has made no moves of power within our armies.”
Rhysand was softer as he spoke to Elain. “Do you know when he may attack?”
“Before the next Harvest Moon.”
“That’s less than two months,” Azriel said from where he slouched in an armchair. Shadows snaked around his arms and across the floor. A few strays darted for Eris, twisting around his boots before shooting for the dark corners of the room. “Spring is still in too much disarray to defend itself.”
“My father wants power; he will take Spring if he believes that will give him the power he seeks. After the failure with the human queen, I am not surprised.” Eris caught Elain’s stare again and fought a shiver. “But it’s my hands that are red, isn’t that right, Elain?”
She nodded. “Yes, Eris.” Elain then looked at Rhysand. “The balance of the seven courts is too fragile. This could end badly, Rhysand.”
Rhysand scooped up a glass of wine and took a deep gulp which the House refilled. “We will discuss tomorrow. We still celebrate tonight.” He tipped his glass to a thankful Cassian.
“Would you like to dance, Elain?” Eris asked, wanting to question her more.
“I’m not sure—”
“I’d love to, Eris,” Elain said, cutting Feyre off with an apologetic smile.
He took her hand and led her out of the sitting room to the banquet hall. “My brother is undoubtedly lucky to have you, Elain.”
She blushed and looked away. “I’m not as good as Nesta at dancing, but thank you for your company.”
“Where is my brother this evening?"
“Near,” Elain said softly. “I didn’t see him in my vision. Just you.” She looked away then with a small frown.
“Elain? What else did you See?”
Her brown eyes closed as he led her through a spin. “You killed the hound and forged a golden rope,” she said. “I’m not sure what it means. I am sure that your father will start testing boundaries soon.”
The hound was likely his father which set a pit in Eris’s stomach. That the only way to prevent the war would be to kill his father and take the title of High Lord for himself. As if his Court needed more bloodshed. Perhaps the golden rope would be his legacy as High Lord. Something good.
“Fire and night, Autumn Court and Night Court, we work together against this war?”
“I’m not sure,” Elain said, stepping away as the song ended. They walked to the terrace. There were fewer people than before as the party dwindled down. “I saw fire burning in utter darkness. It could mean anything. But I do see the Night Court aligning with you, Eris, against whatever your father is planning.”
That was a nice sentiment, but Eris wasn’t so certain. His alliance with the Night Court was tremulous at best even if they had agreed to ally with him in the event he challenged his father.
“Elain.”
They both turned to see Lucien walking toward them.
“We’ll see each other again soon,” Elain said as she took Lucien’s hand.
He gave Eris a questioning look. “Your mate had another vision,” Eris explained. “Father is up to his antics again, it seems.”
“I see,” Lucien said, his face shadowed. “Safe travels, brother.”
Three weeks later
The Harvest Moon Festival preparations were in full swing by the common folk. The fields were golden and brass, the orchards heavy with fruit, and the smell of pastries wafting through the streets. This was usually Eris’s favorite time of year, a time when even his father was distracted, but among the smell of cinnamon was the sharpening of steel.
Elain’s vision hung heavy on him as Eris sent orders at his father’s request and organized their troops. Summer was fortifying their boarding, taking notice of their movements. As far as Eris could tell, Beron wasn’t intending to war with Summer yet. Taking Spring was the priority.
Capture Tamlin and take the lands, restoring order in Spring and controlling the magic, adding it to their own. Beron had shown interest in going beyond the wall and taking the human lands next.
He’ll be expected to march on Spring in just a few weeks. Under the guise of the biggest festival that Autumn honors.
However, Eris doubted that taking Tamlin prisoner would be easy, if at all possible. Eris took his seat to the right of his father in the War Room. A map of Prythian making up the amber table, carved with intricate details and lit from within. It filled the crowded room with a warm glow, offsetting the bloodshed being planned.
“The Spring garrisons are disorganized and untrained. Often there is no one patrolling the border except for Tamlin in his beast form,” one of their generals was saying, drawing his finger along the carved line between Autumn and Spring.
“Our spies tell us he rarely is in his Fae form, if ever. Hardly of mind, either,” Cadoc said, one of Eris’s surviving brothers. His three younger brothers sat across from him to the left of their father. “He’s a rabid dog who ought to be put down.”
Beron laced his fingers, the stiff hairs of his mustache and beard shifting as he grimaced. “Tamlin has no heir. There is no telling who his magic would be transferred to. Best to imprison him in our dungeons.”
The general nodded in agreement and carried on voicing the current plan. Weapons and armor still had to be made, which was the only thing stalling the invasion. There were concerns that Summer might come to Spring’s defense. There were also rumors of a High Lord meeting being planned without Beron which had set his father in a rage.
Eris had stood still when his father threw a vase against the wall, the red clay shattering across the floor. The slight from the other High Lords would not be ignored. As Beron argued, Spring was a loose end, and the humans did not deserve their land.
“Capturing Tamlin will not be easy,” Eris said, pushing the beast figurine in Spring toward the border. “He is still a High Lord.”
“With our combined magic, we could corner him,” Cadoc said, glancing at their other two brothers. He flashed a grin at Eris. “High Lords still burn, brother.”
“We have to find him first.” Eris turned to the generals. “He is just as likely to hide or use an ambush strategy.”
Beron stood from his seat, everyone else at the table following. “We are working on a solution to lure Tamlin out if he plays hard to get,” the High Lord said. “It is time for dinner.”
The generals busied themselves while Eris stepped away from his chair, rolling his shoulders. He was given a stack of decrees and orders. More paperwork for him to sign and deliver. He also had to somehow communicate with the Night Court without getting caught.
Eris stewed in his thoughts as he walked through the Forest House. He tucked the stack of requests from the generals in his packet. In the far wing, there were fewer staff. It was older, rising further into the ancient trees. The lofty views oversaw their court, the rippling colors of autumn on full display along the hills.
Eris knocked on a hardwood door, carved with old sigils. Beron moving his mother to this part of the house had been a deliberate slight to her station. The old rooms were drafty, neglected, styled for the tastes of several centuries ago.
“Eris,” his mother greeted, first relieved to see it was him and then shamed as she turned her face. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner, Mother,” Eris said, guiding her inside the room.
Not even any guards outside her door. Eris swallowed his distaste. His anger was harder to control as he looked at the bruise marring her cheek. He warmed a pot of tea from that morning and poured two cups.
“You shouldn’t worry, Eris,” she said, accepting the warmed tea with a grateful smile. “It was my fault. I thought I might go to the kitchen to see the staff and got turned around. This place is just so big.”
Eris stared into his tea and cast a sound-dampening spell. Still, he spoke quietly to his mother. “Tell me the truth, mother.”
Her golden eyes, same as his, brightened with tears. She shook her head. “No, Eris.”
“Mother, I cannot help you if—”
“He requested I be brought to his rooms, Eris,” she hissed, the unusual sharpness striking Eris. But he understood and the tea soured in his mouth. “I tried to refuse him. I would not tell him what he wanted.” She reached for his hand and squeezed. “You have your own worries to focus on, Eris. I have survived him this long.”
He debated then, telling her everything, but if Beron even suspected that his mother knew anything, he would kill her after torturing whatever information he could out of her. “I forget, sometimes,” he admitted.
“Have you seen Lucien?” She whispered his name against the rim of her teacup, Eris nearly didn’t hear her.
“He is well,” Eris muttered back. “With his mate.”
His mother perked up, her smile softening. “What is she like?”
“Elain is—” He wasn’t sure how to describe the middle Archeron sister. The one who planted flowers and stabbed the King of Hybern through the neck with a dagger. “She is good for Lucien. Now that they’ve sorted through the mating bond and all.”
His mother nodded as if understanding all too well. “Mating bonds are complicated. Nasty things at times.”
“A nuisance.”
“Not at all,” his mother said. “A mate is a wonderful thing, Eris.”
Despite himself, Eris did wonder what it might be like. Rhysand and Feyre were enviable. Lucien seemed happier than he had ever seen his brother. But Eris could not imagine himself with a mate, someone who matched himself in power and skill. He might’ve toyed with the idea of Nesta if she were not mated to Cassian.
It was a mystery he’d never learn the answer to.
“I’ll have your dinner delivered to your room,” Eris said, setting aside his empty teacup.
“Be careful, Eris.”
He didn’t reply, leaving his mother’s room and the desolate wing of the house. The walk to his wing, long and winding, meant to confuse invaders. Servants had already left his dinner, but he would eat later.
Eris sat at his writing desk and pulled the assortment of letters from his pocket. Movement plans, equipment orders, invoices. He signed and began sorting through the stack, signing his name where needed, and sealing them in envelopes to be delivered in the morning.
It was well past sunset when a flicker of movement caught Eris’s attention. He frowned as he continued to write a name on a freshly sealed letter. He saw it for certain then, a stretch of a shadow too long near his hand.
“Shadowsinger,” he greeted, finishing off the name and setting the quill back in the inkwell before turning around.
Azriel melted out of the shadows in the far corner of Eris’s room, scowling and unimpressed.
Even though his room was spelled, Eris couldn’t help but be nervous. He kept that uneasiness hidden though. “I could have met you somewhere.”
“Rhysand wants updates now,” Azriel said, crossing the room. He glanced at the letters sitting on the table. “Seems you’ve been busy.”
“We are five weeks away from potential war,” Eris said. “I suspect you’ve been snooping around the town all day.”
Azriel’s mouth curled upward. He went to Eris’s platter of food and helped himself. “And other places. What do you know?”
“They plan to capture Tamlin and keep him here in the dungeons.”
“Tamlin is likely to stay hidden.”
“My father knows that,” Eris said, frowning when Azriel stabbed into his meat pie. “He’s putting together some plan to lure him out. I don’t know what it is yet.” A shadow swept up Eris’s arm, sliding into the collar of his shirt.
Azriel circled the table, clearly thinking. “How many soldiers?”
“Thirty thousand at least.” When Azriel raised his brows, Eris nodded. “My father does not want to underestimate Summer coming to Spring’s aid.”
“And your plan?”
“You do not get to show up in my rooms and interrogate me like one of your whoring spies,” Eris snapped as Azriel took another chicken leg. “Does Rhysand not feed you brutes?”
Azriel tossed a cleaned bone. “You were wasting it. Rhysand is expecting you at dinner in two weeks. Have another update by then.”
With that the Shadowsinger vanished, leaving Eris alone.
He took a candle and left his room, telling himself it was to have someone bring him more food, but Eris wandered far away from the kitchens. Thinking some fresh air might do him well, he went outside. The house gardens were sprawling, as old as the house in some places.
When Eris was a child, he spent many of his days running barefoot through the gardens. Before his father saw it fit to beat his feet raw so he couldn’t. In the darkness, the foliage twisted and swayed in the wind. To ward off the chill, Eris stuck out his hand and lit a small flame. The shadows shrunk back, and Eris let out a breath.
His mother once took him to a small grove when he was a child. It was overgrown and wild now but the tree at the center was the most important in Autumn. At least that was what his mother told him.
A High Lord of Autumn must have the heart of an elk and the wisdom of an oak, his mother had told him.
The tree was ancient. Thicker than any other in their court. In its bark were carved marks that he’d never been able to decipher. Its wide canopy hung over a small pool of water, through its leaves, stars speckled the surface.
“I thought I saw someone head this way.”
Eris turned to his brother Zaren. “I came here to be alone.”
“Aw,” his brother teased, “worried about the fight with Tamlin?”
“No.” Eris took a deep breath, feeling the chill in the air. “I’m the least concerned about that.”
Zaren came to a stop beside Eris and stared down at the pond. “I remember Mother bringing us out here when we were babes.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Father has always been the hardest on you, but you are not the only one he beat, you know,” Zaren said, callousness in his voice.
Eris’s lip curled back. He shouldn’t have lit a fire. “Last I recall, you didn’t bear the scars from his ministrations,” he said. “State what you want and be off.”
His brother shifted. “You’ve seen Lucien recently, haven’t you? In the Night Court?”
“We are both emissaries,” Eris said, watching his younger brother carefully.
“He’s with his mate now, isn’t he?” Zaren snorted. “Why does he get all the luck? Taken in like a mutt, a pretty mate, Mother’s favorite. It’s not fair, Eris. Now he resides in the Day Court, living lavishly.”
“The Mother works in ways we do not understand,” Eris said, rolling his shoulders. “Lucien has suffered as much as the rest of us.”
Zaren looked at him then. “You know father believes Lucien to be a bastard. We all know it. That’s why Helion took him in when Tamlin lost his mind.” He grinned, wicked and cruel just like their father. “He questioned Mother, but she wouldn’t admit it. He might’ve killed her if it weren’t for the servant. He took the blow instead.”
“A bastard?” Eris muttered, swallowing his shock.
“Helion’s,” Zaren said with disgust. “Cadoc thinks Father will be done with Mother soon and take another wife.”
It was against their laws but that wouldn’t matter if Beron’s war campaign was successful.
“Elain is her name, isn’t it?”
Brought out of his thoughts, Eris narrowed his eyes. “Yes, older sister to High Lady Feyre.”
“Is she as pretty as they say?”
“Some argue that she is the most beautiful of the sisters,” Eris said, keeping his tone measured.
His brother laughed and began walking away. “Don’t stay up too late, brother. There is a meeting at sunrise.”
Eris could only stare at his murky reflection on the surface of the water, mulling over what he’d learned. Zaren always had a streak of being boastful, appearing as a fool, but Eris was weary. Luring Tamlin out of hiding might be possible if they dangled Lucien out in front of him. But his youngest brother was smart. He wouldn’t be captured easily.
This was a test from his father, Eris was certain. If he warned Lucien and Elain, guilt would be written all over his hands. His head would be separated from his shoulders before he ever got the chance to stop the war.
He could not warn Lucien or tell Rhysand who would tell Lucien in turn. For Beron to be confident enough to send Zaren to prod him, he must be certain he can trap Lucien. Eris worried for Elain who had no training. If she came into harm’s way, then Lucien would hand himself over in an instant.
Maybe that was Beron’s plan.
Eris had to assume that Lucien and Elain were in danger, and that there was no one he could go to for help. He just had to keep both of them alive, whatever Beron’s plan was, and stop the war.
Tired of stewing, Eris left the grove and returned to his room. The shadows were normal, the food on his table still half eaten. Eris grabbed the one meat pie that was untouched and drew himself a bath.
He sank into the water till it covered his head, heating the bath till his skin burned, but it didn’t lessen the ache in his chest.
Two weeks later
Eris walked arm in arm with his mother through the town square. Their citizens were overjoyed to see their Lady of Autumn. Eris had lost count of the goods they had been offered, all politely declined by his mother.
“You seem bothered, Eris,” his mother said as they took a turn down another row of booths. Twice as many lights were strung across the streets in preparation for the festival. Countless booths selling different ribbons and embellishments.
He pulled his mother out of the way of a group of rowdy kids barreling down the street. “Not at all,” Eris said, offering his mother a smile.
“You can’t fool me, Eris, I know you too well.” She stopped at a booth selling charms embellished with precious stones. “Is it the dinner with the Night Court this evening?”
A formal invitation had come that morning inviting ambassadors from each court to the Moon Stone Palace. Rhysand was clever at least. “It pulls my attention away from preparations here.” They were less than a month away from the planned attack. The troops were gathering around the edges of the city. Taking hands away from the less populated parts of their court would put a strain on the harvest but Beron was less concerned with maintaining their trade agreements.
His mother set the charm down and they began walking again. “Your father has always been ambitious with his goals for our Court.” There was hesitancy in her voice. Eris was sure she wanted to say more.
Multiple reports had been left on Eris’s desk of the angry mutterings in pubs about the war campaign. Nothing official had been announced to the public but from the arms orders and gathering of troops, assumptions could be made.
Intentions didn’t matter, though. Mothers didn’t want to lose children in the war, families needed hands to meet the harvest quotas, taxes had already been raised before the Summer Solstice. That was Eris’s first clue to his father planning something earlier in the year.
Money was flowing with abandon, in large part thanks to the festival and preparations for war, but that money would dry up with what would likely be a lengthy and deadly war. If they lost trade agreements, which would be likely, the pressure would only grow. His people would become hungry and restless.
“Which is why I should be spending my time here,” Eris said, “not pandering to Rhysand and his dogs.”
“A good ally,” his mother said with a knowing smile.
“He certainly thinks so.” Eris stopped in front of a booth lined with richly colored cloaks and coats. The attendant brightened at their presence and offered to show them anything they’d like. The two guards that had been trailing them took up station just outside the booth, so Eris let his mother walk freely with the booth owner while he browsed on his own.
His eye caught on a lined cloak, the color of raven wings, shifting with a sheen of cobalt and lavender in the light.
“Spelled for protection, my lord,” the booth owner said and when Eris looked confused, she continued, “No blade or arrow can pierce the finely woven fabric.”
Eris admired the fine stitching and embroidered detail of twisting vines along the border. “An unlikely color for Autumn,” he said as he brushed the fur lining the inside.
The booth owner chuckled. “The ravens perched on the eves of the Forest House may disagree, my Lord.”
“I suppose you're right.” Eris felt the color tug at his memory, but he couldn’t place it. He couldn’t let go of the cloak either. “I’ll take it. Whatever your price.”
“Eris, what do you think?” His mother twirled with a cloak the color of rubies tied around her neck, embroidered with gold thread of two foxes running down the back.
He nodded to the booth owner. “That one as well, please.”
Delighted, both cloaks were packed for them and handed off to the guards. Eris was glad his mother chose something so richly Autumn. Something to remind her of home since he planned to send her to Day with Lucien when the war began. Until he was sure it was safe for her to return, if she wanted.
When they reached the house, the guards walked his mother back to her wing while Eris went to his. Before he reached it, he was met by his brother Warren. “Father wants to see you,” he said in passing.
Eris knew it had to do with his trip to the Night Court that evening, so he prepared himself for questioning.
Beron was in his study and made no acknowledgment when Eris entered, making him wait by the entry as the guards stepped out. He finished another page of writing before speaking. “Another trip to the Night Court? That’s already a half dozen trips this year.”
“The Night Court is most interested in forming alliances at the moment. I have plans to secure a trade treaty this evening.”
The scratch of the quill on parchment carried under the deep rumble for Beron’s voice. “Trade what?”
“Our whiskey for their ink.”
“Ink,” Beron scoffed, dipping his quill once more. “You waste your time with them, Eris.”
“It is far better quality compared to what we get from Summer,” Eris said, tempering his annoyance. “Summer will likely issue tariffs in the coming weeks.”
Beron looked at him then, heady eyes simmering. “You believe that Rhysand will honor a new trade deal when our long-time partners will not?”
The fire in the hearth flicked higher and Eris made the smart move of averting his eyes to the floor. “We must seek other avenues of income if we are to pursue this war, Father.” Eris stood still when the bottle of Summer ink on his father’s desk shattered against the wall beside his head, his cheek splattered black.
“Waste your time with the Night Court all you want, Eris, but when you return, I want to know where your bastard brother is, and when that High Lords meeting is.” Beron’s lip curled back in a snarl. “They’ll regret slighting me with such disrespect.”
“As you wish, Father,” Eris said, bowing at the waist before leaving the room. He let out a shaky breath and steeled himself once more.
In the safety of his bedroom, Eris washed up, scrubbing his face and leaving his hair loose. The red strands spilled over his shoulders as he dressed in a fine suit of dark green. A bottle of the very whiskey they’d be trading was delivered to his room so he could give it as a gift to the hosts. Before Eris winnowed, he looked at the cloak sitting still wrapped on his bed.
With fire in his blood, he didn’t even need the cloak, but he untied the ribbon anyway. The dark color came alive as he put it on, straight along his broad shoulders and spilling to his feet. Eris winnowed then, not giving himself time to second guess the decision.
The Moonstone Palace always took his breath away. Hewn City guards stood at the front entrance and welcomed him through with directions to go to the top floor. Eris tucked the gift under his arm and took the stairs that spiraled to the top. As he approached, he began to hear voices and music.
Knowing the other Courts were present, Eris expected a few stares and whispers given current events, but he didn’t expect conversation to cut out completely. Eris kept his head high as all eyes turned to him, a few gawking. The two Illyrian bastards moved forward as he approached the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court.
Eris came to a stop before their dais. An amused look played on Rhysand’s face while Feyre looked on, curious. “Thank you for coming, Eris,” she said, descending to meet him.
He offered the gift. “A toast for this evening, in good faith of our treaty, High Lady.” Eris pressed a chaste kiss to the back of Feyre’s hand. Conversations around them resumed.
“It will be a busy evening,” Rhysand said, taking the whiskey. “Drinking will be needed.” He was laughing but Eris knew there was a measure of truth in that statement.
Stepping away from the dais, Eris helped himself to wine and starters, staying clear of the Summer ambassador for the time being. While standing at one of the open windows admiring the view of the snow-capped mountains, Eris was joined by Morrigan. He didn’t bother hiding his surprise and raised a brow.
She shifted on her heels, crossing her arms with pursed, red-painted lips. “I think I’d like us to be done with our feud.” Eris raised his brows higher and her face pinched. “Don’t look at me like that, Eris, I had every right to be pissed for five hundred years.”
“Very well. We will be done with it,” Eris said, not fully believing her. “Why the change of heart?”
At that, her face smoothed out and she sighed. “I will always be angry with my father and yours, that will never change. I’ve always used that anger to blame you as well, to keep Autumn estranged.” Morrigan worried her lip and muttered, “Away from my home, to keep it safe.”
Fighting for the words, Eris leaned on the windowsill beside her. “I am sorry I had to leave you at the edge of those woods, Morrigan.” A warm breeze blew their hair despite the snow just outside.
She let out a wet laugh. “I thought I would die in those woods, and I thought my last moments of life would be with your cruel way of saving me.” They both fell quiet for a few moments. “I can’t say I forgive you, but I’ve learned recently that change is good.” She then looked over her shoulder at Feyre and Eris followed. She was laughing with Cassian and the ambassador from Winter.
Eris turned to Morrigan and offered his hand. “Truce?”
She narrowed her eyes but took his hand. “Only because I’ve become quite fond of Elain and she likes you for some reason,” she said with a note of teasing.
“Speaking of her, where is she and my brother?”
“They should be arriving soon. Elain wanted to put together a bouquet to display at dinner.” Morrigan stuck out her hand and summoned a glass of wine. “What did your father do when you refused me at the border?” She sipped from her wine, eyes sliding over to Eris.
Eris met her stare, tapping his fingers on the moonstone rail as he debated. “What all High Lord fathers do, he reminded me of my purpose and expendability.”
The glass left her lips then, eyes unfocused. “I think that might just be fathers.”
“I think you’re right.”.
“The black suits you,” she said, eyeing his cloak. “Brings out the evil in your eyes.”
“Ha ha,” Eris mocked. “Your lackluster staff didn’t offer to take it when I entered.”
Morrigan snorted and took another sip of wine. “The Hewn guards really are terrible at hospitality.” She waved over a server and got Eris another drink, clinking their glasses together. “To shitty fathers.” They both drank deeply, and she looked at his cloak once more. “I’ll owe Feyre money.”
“What?” Eris said, trying not to laugh.
Morrigan cupped her cheek in her hand and pouted, motioning with her wine. “We were very drunk last night. Elain muttered something about you and night and we got into an argument about whether or not you would look good in Night Court colors.”
“I see,” Eris said as he folded his arms on the railing and finished his drink. “And the verdict?”
“Feyre was of the camp that it would suit you, as were Cassian and Nesta. Me and Rhysand argued that you’d never entertain wearing another Court’s colors.” She huffed, swallowed the last of her wine, and refilled the glass, shooting him a glare. “You just love to make a fool of me.”
Sweeping another drink off a platter, Eris took a long sip. “It is actually modeled off of the ravens common in my court,” he said primly, ignoring her snicker and hated the way his ears warmed.
She straightened and then threw herself backward, looping her arms around an Illyrian. “Az here refused to play last night,” Morrigan said, grinning at Azriel’s scowl. She reached up and turned his face to Eris. “What do you think now? You think he pulls off the black?”
Eris rolled his eyes and glanced around for a way out of the conversation but there was no one else nearby. When a jab from Azriel didn’t come, Eris met intense hazel eyes and glared right back.
“Rhysand is asking for you,” he said to Morrigan while still looking at Eris.
She groaned. “I can’t be the only one who owes Feyre money, Az.”
“Why are you with him?”
Morrigan sobered and leaned away from Azriel. “We were just talking, Az,” she said, patting his chest. “Let’s go see what Rhysand wants.”
As they both walked away, Eris snagged an appetizer and went to find his brother who surely had arrived. He found Lucien and Elain on the balcony that hung over the side of the palace. Elain smiled and ran to hug him. “It is good to see you both.”
Lucien tugged Elain against his side. “I take it Beron has been keeping you busy.”
“Very,” Eris said, his mouth souring. “Have you spoken to the ambassador for Summer this evening?”
“Yes, he questioned me about Autumn’s movements,” Lucien said with a grimace. “They will place tariffs. Winter expressed interest as well. I’m sure the other Courts will follow, Eris.”
“I expected as much. Father will not listen.” Eris swished the whiskey around in his mouth before swallowing, trying to let the burn distract him from the danger his brother and new sister were in. “And the High Lord meeting?”
“In three days,” Lucien said against the rim of his glass. “The location hasn’t been set. If Beron tries to show, it may cause all-out war.”
Eris groaned into his glass, a headache emerging.
Elain set her hand on his shoulder and offered him a small vial. “This will help. Lucien and I will be traveling soon, to Day, through the mountains.”
“You won’t be winnowing?” Eris asked as he dumped the contents of the vial into his whiskey.
“Elain wanted to see more of the Courts so I thought traditional travel would be nice,” Lucien said, grasping his mate’s hand. “We haven’t had much time to ourselves either.”
The three of them turned when Feyre called for Elain. She left the brothers with an apologetic smile. “I am happy for you, Lucien,” Eris said, watching as the sisters embraced. “Do you ever wonder why the bond didn’t snap into place when you first met her as a human?”
“Sometimes,” Lucien admitted, stepping closer to Eris. “I don’t pretend to understand the way the Mother works, but the legends say plenty of bonds emerging during intense moments. I feel her all the time now, constant like breathing.”
In a rare moment of vulnerability, Eris asked, “What did it feel like? The bond?”
Lucien’s mouth curved. “Terrifying. It’s magic older than any of us and it feels as such. Elain said it felt similar to the Cauldron. A punch to the gut that rewrites everything about you, tying you to your mate forever.” His smile softened as he looked on at Elain standing with her sisters. “It’s incredible. I hope you experience it one day, brother.”
Eris scoffed, unable to help himself. “Don’t curse me like that, Lucien.”
“Careful, Eris, the Mother might just do it to spite you,” Lucien said, smiling.
“I wish you safe travels, Lucien,” Eris said, meeting Lucien’s eyes and holding for a moment longer than needed. “I’ll light a candle for your protection.”
It was late into the evening when Eris readied to leave the Moonstone Palace. He and Rhysand hashed out the terms of their trade treaty after dinner. It hinged on him being able to stop the coming war but it was sorted nonetheless.
As Eris descended the staircase, faelights floated above his head, drifting on unfelt wind. The shadows darkened at his feet, a chill running down his spine. He was being watched and followed. He stopped and looked behind himself. “What do you want, Shadowsinger?”
The shadows skirted to his right, a split second before Azriel emerged, his siphons flashing. His hand wrapped around Eris’s neck and slammed him into the moonstone wall. Eris groaned, gripping Azriel’s arm with gritted teeth. “Unhand me, brute,” he ground out. Eris wondered if the spelled cloak could stop Truth Teller from burying in his gut.
“I know you’re up to something,” Azriel hissed, leaning closer. “I will find out what it is you’re hiding.”
“You’re angry with me.” Eris smirked, licking his lips. “Jealous your precious Morrigan spent the evening with my company?” He braced for the punch to his face, but it still stung and Azriel’s grip on his neck tightened to the point every breath was fought for. Eris worried for a moment that Azriel might kill him this time.
The sound of Eris’s skull connecting with the moonstone echoed through the staircase, blood from his split cheek running onto Azriel's glove.
“Stay away from her,” Azriel snarled. “I don’t care if she starts the conversation, find somewhere else to be or you’ll be acquainted with my dagger.”
“I think if she wanted to fuck you, she would have by now—” Eris’s teeth cut through his lip, and he’d had enough. He threw a handful of fire, but it collided with a pulse of power from Azriel’s siphons. Rather than use magic, Eris threw his head forward and collided with Azriel’s nose, earning a bark of pain from the Illyrian. Eris was able to get free of the hand and move down a few steps.
His injuries were healing but Azriel’s siphons glimmered with deadly promise and Eris prepared for another blow. That was until Rhysand winnowed in behind Azriel. A small part of Eris was relieved but this blowout between him and Azriel was centuries coming. Delayed once more.
“Az,” Rhysand said, star-flecked eyes shifting between the two of them, “is everything alright?.”
“Eris was just leaving,” Azriel bit out, marching up the stairs.
Not even trying to argue, Eris straightened his cloak and suit jacket. “Your hospitality is fine as always, Rhysand.” The High Lord offered a pinched smile in return and bid him good night. Eris made it outside, his heart still racing, and took a moment to center himself before winnowing home.
The moment he was inside the Forest House, Eris aimed for his bedroom. He hoped to avoid all conversations, but luck was not with him that night. Zaren crossed his path in the hall and his younger brother grinned in such a way that Eris knew he was about to gloat about information he had that Eris did not.
“You missed the excitement, Eris,” he said.
Eris leveled his brother with an unamused stare. “And what was that, Zaren?”
“Father has sent Cadoc and Warren to sea. He believes we might gain allies along the northern coast.” Zaren’s grin widened. “He had me stay here to manage the smiths, of course.”
“Let’s hope they are successful.” Eris tried to move past his brother, but Zaren stepped in front of him.
“How was politicking with the Night Court bastards?”
“Uneventful,” Eris said. “Everything I expected has come to pass.”
Zaren took notice of Eris’s cloak and toyed with the embroidered hem. “And Lucien?”
The bitter taste returned to Eris’s mouth. “Moving to Day with his mate soon.” He pushed past his brother then and didn’t relax until he was safely in his chambers.
Eris sunk down against his closed doors. His jaw still ached where Azriel had punched him. If he were the begging type, he might plead to the Mother and everything Cauldron blessed to change what was about to unfold.
But he stood instead as there was work to be done.