Chapter Text
Eris
Eris couldn’t remember a time where there wasn’t screaming under the house. Since he was but a boy, hundreds of years prior, there had always been something slumbering in the prisons beneath his feet. They wailed at night, crying their forsaken songs of cracking bones and bellowed howls.
He’d bleed himself empty, before he’d admit that the sounds still made his skin crawl.
He swept through the halls, past the large stone pillars covered in climbing vines that ran high up into the ceiling - twisting themselves around the marble. Orange lined the floors, half-dead leaves forever crumbling in their pots through the dark rooms of the Forest House.
A letter delicately rested between the pads of his fingers. He hung onto it as if letting it slip from his hold and crushing it beneath his boot would be of no consequence or concern.
“Was there anything I could get for you, my Lord?” His personal attendant, Aemaris, asked him softly, head bowed to the ground as he entered his chambers. Her oak-brown hair fell in front of her face, covering the thick scar that ran down from her cheekbone to the cusp of her throat. Eris thumbed at the letter in his grasp.
“No, I won’t need you this afternoon at all.” He dismissed, she looked at him curiously - which was not uncommon. With bite, he added, “go, girl.” She made herself scarce at the glint of flame in his eyes, fumbling to grab the novel she’d been reading off his desk. She promptly dashed down the hall.
Eris didn’t bother to bite that it was his book the blasted girl was rushing away with, he supposed he wouldn’t be in high demand for The Making of the Last High King any time soon.
When she was out of sight, he flicked his wrist to slam the door, the lock latched into place with a click.
His room was larger than his brothers’, given his status as oldest he occupied a corner of the house in the uppermost floor - the last to be slaughtered. It spanned long enough to fit a grand bed, couches stitched with meticulous needlework, comfortable pillows and blankets strewn about the space, all placed affront his large accumulation of books that would give the Day Court lord a run for his coin. It led out to a balcony with seats to lounge and a glamoured bathing area that pooled over onto the side of the mountain.
From there he felt he could see the future, the court he would behold, by force or otherwise.
He fell into the chair she’d been occupying at the table next to the fireplace, and slid his dagger from the sheath at his hip.
The letter was addressed from Nesta Archeron, of course though, the made girl hadn’t so much as picked up a quill. But it suited both himself and Lucien better that everyone thought he was winning her hand. He wondered when the day had come that his father would rather he be courting a girl re-born into the Night Court, than receive word from his own brethren.
Eris read over its contents, not at all surprised to find Lucien’s attempts at wooing his mate still continued to be a sad game of cat chasing too-clever mouse. Tamlin still prowled along the borders of the Spring Court in that beastly form of his, while Eris’ little brother watched over him like a glorified keeper.
The humans are quiet and keeping peace, but there is something that feels unclean about the woods where The Wall lies.
Now that, that was interesting.
Eris ran an exhausted hand through his short-trimmed hair - he’d cut what length it’d accumulated off after it’d been drenched by his own blood. The feeling of it, even as he washed it with lavish soaps, irritating. Aemaris had scrubbed it for lengths of time, but still it had made his skin crawl with every brush over the nape of his neck. Until he snapped at her to cut it all off instead. The blood had dyed it badly enough that she’d seemed relieved.
Eris set his eyes to the low-flickering fire his servant had lit, and threw the letter into the flames - lest anyone find it and drag him back below the house.
Azriel
“Pick up the pace Valkyries! Surely you’re not going to be outrun by some featherbrained but remarkably-handsome brutes.” Cassian taunted, though his breathing was shallow. Azriel recognized that even his brother had grown tired of this venture around the span of Velaris.
“Handsome.. is certainly a brave statement.. for someone.. with your.. unfortunate disposition.” Nesta puffed out, passing him with Gwyn hot on her tail.
“But,” the red-head panted, extending a pointer at Cassian to make note, “featherbrained is certainly fitting.” Azriel huffed a quiet laugh and fell back, staying at Emerie’s side at a reasonable pace. The pair refused to make a race of the exercise. Nesta, Gwyn and Cassian however, reeked of competition.
Cassian made a gaudy, offended sound before dashing into another sprint like they’d just driven a dagger into his back. But the spymaster could feel the happiness that buzzed around his friends, and could smell the bond that had finally clicked into place between Nesta and his brother.
He didn’t bother to wonder if that was something he’d ever be allowed by the universe. Creatures that thrived in the dark didn’t get that kind of pleasure.
At some point across the lengthy span of his life, Azriel had become content with that.
“Brother, pick up that pace! Where’s the fire?” Rhys hollered as they passed he and Feyre - who’d been walking around the city with little Nyx, calling out to them whenever they came up with a quip. Azriel gave another half-laugh, huffing as he passed his brother but keeping contact with his gaze.
“Aren’t you pretty much just a pencil-pusher now?” Azriel teased, spurring himself forwards while Rhys’ wings curled in wounded-pride - though the smile on his face was telling.
“Oh by the Mother.” Cassian, Nesta and Gwyn were all lain flat on Feyre’s lawn, taking solace in the cold soft grass beneath them. Azriel and Emerie approached close behind in a steady jog.
“They’ve finally deemed to join us.” Nesta waved a hand at them between wheezed breaths. “How benevolent.” Emerie laughed, giving the bottom of her friends boot a kick.
“At least we’re not keeling over.”
“We aren’t keeling over,” Gwyn explained, “we’re just - just resting - is all.”
“I can see that.” Emerie then helped the girls to their feet, all adorning their leathers and matching bands - like the newborn Valkyries always did.
“Az, Az my beloved, help me.” Cassian pleaded, he’d pushed himself up into a sitting position and was extending a hand towards the shadow-bender. “I beg you.” Azriel walked past him and into the house, ready to take a thorough bath. If Cass would too was a wild game of chance. “Traitor! Monster! Tormentor!” Howled Cassian, as Azriel strolled into the home, leaving him behind.
He was then assaulted by distress, the house smelt of approaching death. His shadows curled around him protectively while someone’s bloody cough rang through the walls that led him straight to the study, Cassian on his tail.
They found Morrigan hunched over Lucien, pressing deeply on the wound at his side. Lucien glanced at them in a daze. His russet eye was glassy and his mechanical one had been scratched up - if it had been his good eye, he’d have lost it.
“What happened?” Rhysand fabricated affront the desk, “are you alright?” He asked Mor.
“I’m peachy.” Lucien snipped.
“I’m fine.” Mor confirmed, all the while Lucien bled onto the couch. Azriel went to kneel before the injured fae, assessing the extend of their emissary's wounds. He took the thick cotton strip that Mor had ripped from the remains of Lucien’s shirt, and pressed heavily - applying a far stronger pressure than the slight high fae had managed. He was missing a portion of the flesh on his abdomen, and the wound seemed animal-like in nature. “Get a needle, we need to stitch the wound while we wait for a healer.”
Rhys circled the couch, while he couldn’t heal the large wound that had torn through Lucien’s flesh, he could heal the skin above his eye, where only a scratch in his metal eye would remain.
“What happened?” Repeated Rhys, Lucien’s breath shallowed. Azriel’s shadows had been buzzing around his hands, but they retreated after being exposed to the wound, as if bitten.
He’s unwell, dying, sick, there’s blood. Occasionally, Azriel thought they were too fond of stating the obvious.
“He showed up like this in the Court of Nightmares. He was supposed to be in the Spring Court wasn’t he?” Mor asked her cousin.
“Did Tamlin do this?” Cassian questioned, fumbling to unwrap the bandages around his wrists and knuckles, they were slick with sweat and they’d have to be thorough with cleaning the wound if they wanted to avoid infection - but it was all they had. Azriel assumed Rhys had sent a distress signal for Madja to come as soon as possible. He hoped she arrived with haste.
“No, it wasn’t...” Lucien spoke up, slouching further down onto the couch as he began to tire, his eyes dropped closed. Bloodstains coated the sides of his ears, still dripping in trails of wet blood.
“Stay awake.” Azriel ordered, roughly tapping his cheek.
“There is something living in The Wall..” Was all Lucien managed to choke out before losing consciousness.
Mor pulled through the final stitch whilst Azriel’s brother wrapped the bandages around him.
“Great, he’s useless and there’s blood on the couch.” Cassian grumbled.
“He will likely be fine.” Madja assured Feyre, who’d been calming the babe. Nyx, it seemed, had been able to sense the sickness that lingered in the air. “But he won’t wake for a while now, I put him under to ensure the magic does it’s work without disturbance.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course my High Lady. I’ll come back to check on him when morning comes. Call for me if it’s needed.” Madja gave Feyre’s hands a squeeze before exiting the bedroom and taking herself home.
“He said there was something in the wall? What could that mean?” Feyre wondered aloud, “I thought the wall was just a magical barrier.”
Rhysand gave a perplexed, weary shrug, his dark brows pinched in contemplation.
It was then that Amren strolled into the large room.
“Well, I love what you’ve done with the place. The red tones in the study especially.” They’d moved Lucien into a guest room to rest, being safely warded against anyone who may come looking for him to finish off the job.
Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn had swept the perimeter and found nothing to indicate anything had followed them here - still, they couldn’t be too cautious, especially with Nyx resting in the house.
Azriel’s shadows danced over his exposed fingers, where his siphons rested, telling him they’d found nothing untoward had entered the riverside manor.
Amren looked at the body slumbering on the bed.
“I’m here just like you asked,” she glanced at Rhys with pinched eyes, as if he’d thoroughly interrupted her busy schedule, “what happened to the boy?”
“We don't know yet. Lucien said that something inside The Wall did this.” Feyre informed. Rhys crossed his arms, however, as if skeptical.
“Lucien said there was something in The Wall, not that it’s what caused this. I’d still put my money on Tamlin.” Feyre pursed her lips.
“He wouldn’t. This doesn’t feel like him.” She was adamant, and Azriel was inclined to believe her. For all Rhysand may hate his fellow high lord, Lucien seemed his only tie to humanity.
“He was enraged to learn about your pregnancy, maybe it angered him enough-”
“He wouldn’t-”
“Things can’t live inside the wall, it’s impossible, it’s not that kind of magic.” Amren interrupted. “It’s old magic sure, but it’s only a thin barrier. Perhaps the dayling was mistaken, maybe a creature has moved in at the borders. The High Lord hardly does his job enough to keep rogue beasts from manifesting on his land.”
The room seemed to quiet, Amren was deep in thought, and something sour simmered between Rhysand and Feyre.
Azriel kicked himself off of the wall.
“I could go-”
“No.” They both snapped. The shadows simmered.
They don’t think we’re strong enough.
“It’s my job, it’s what you assigned me to do Rhys.” Azriel argued, giving Rhysand a pointed look. The pair were practically swimming with protective anxiety since Nyx had come into their lives, and often it had pooled over onto the rest of the inner circle.
“We can’t send you in blind.” Feyre reasoned, the blue of her eyes flickering with concern. “We don’t even know what it is.”
“You should be sending me to find out.”
“Tamlin won’t like you there.” Rhys griped. Feyre sent him a glare as if reminded of their tryst. She was never one to defend Tamlin, he knew, but she knew his limits better than the rest of them. Still, she seemed to relent for the sake of Azriel’s safety.
“That’s true, last time Cassian and Nesta met with Eris on the boarder he met them with unease.” She explained. “Crossing to the furthest part of his territory would be asking for a fight.”
“He won’t know I’m there.” Rhys scoffed.
He doesn't trust us.
Yes he does, he's worried. The male sneered at his shades.
“He won’t.” Azriel repeated. “I will be swift and I won’t approach The Wall until it’s safe, I’ll send my shadows to scope it out first.”
Rhysand’s brows drew together in thought.
“We shouldn’t get involved in the business of the Spring Court.”
“Your wrong,” Amren argued, “whatever it is attacked a member of our court. Letting it go unpunished makes you look weak.”
“I don’t care if I look weak.”
“You will when the Autumn High Lord comes sniffing around, spreading word that you can’t take care of your people. He’s looking for holes he can poke at since Briallyn, the health of his son might suddenly become very important to him.” Amren explained, Azriel nodded in agreement.
“He does not care about Lucien.” Said Feyre. “No one will believe him.”
“But the more they scour for information amongst the court, the more likely they are to discover the girl has lost her cauldron-given power.”
“Nesta was our advantage.” Azriel added.
“Letting this go unchecked would mean we are submitting to Tamlin, and the bounds of his court. Even if he is not to blame, an investigation is warranted. Otherwise we will give the other courts a reason to doubt our authority. If someone saw Mor winnow from the Court of Nightmares, Keir will already be spreading this rumor over half of Prythian.” Amren, earning her title of Second, had Rhys’ ear in a way he and Cassian never would - perhaps not even Feyre.
She’d always seen things from all seven angles of their circle.
Rhys and Feyre shared a look, quietly corresponding in private converse.
“You won’t directly approach the wall yourself?” Feyre asked, after letting out a strained sigh.
“I won’t.”
“Then send your shadows, see if you can find what Vanserra was on about.” Rhysand finally ordered. “Stay out of sight, don’t anger Tamlin if you can help it and explain Lucien’s condition if he approaches you. We’ll bank on his humanity to let you do your work.”
The Spring Court made his eyes itchy, not that he hadn’t been many times before.
In the days Feyre was locked up inside the manor he’d sometimes sit on the corner of the Summer Court, and send his shadows as far as they could go after nightfall. When twilight would come, he’d push them further and further beyond their bounds to try and reach his High Lady.
He’d never succeeded. Even the darkness had its limitations.
The woods at the corner of the Spring Court brought him unease, it was deathly silent. As if everything in this end of the court had been swallowed up, and had been left a mangled shell of what was. The wildlife was gone or in hiding, the pink flowers that had once littered the forest floors were wilted or had passed on. New growth hadn’t managed to break through the veil of decay.
His shadows felt every tree and shrub as they passed further and further towards the wall. It was as if the pads of his own fingers were scraping on every place the darkness lingered.
The snapping of a branch practically hollered in his ears; it pierced such quiet like an orchestra.
His darkness reached out for the thing moving through the woods, but it bounded. It ran like a rabbit, but Azriel would catch it.
So, he ran too, using his wings to propel himself forward, carefully working his way up and down every root, as though they were simply flowers he was avoiding trampling.
The chase went on and on, closer to the forests edge, and Azriel wondered if this was the beast - he didn't think it wouldn’t be so cowardly, though. After attacking a high fae, the son of Autumn and Sun, he wondered if it could truly be scared to battle an Illyrian?
His shadows caught up with it first, feeling the flesh of its pointy ears just as Azriel barreled it to the ground - reaching for truth-teller as they tumbled.
He let out a breath of air before he saw auburn.
A small blade was held to his gut, between the soft entries of his armor. Truth-teller was to the fae’s throat.
“Shadowsinger.” Eris Vanserra greeted, a aggressive his between his teeth. Azriel frowned, had the high fae done this to Lucien? But why?
“Did you attack Lucien?” Azriel snarled, slamming Eris into the ground again for good measure, even as the fae’s knife ghosted over his abdomen.
“What?” Asked Eris, a small trace of what could be considered worry flickered across his face, and then it was gone. “No, you crude creature.”
“Then why are you out here?”
“Lucien conveyed there might be something unsavory in the woods, the curious mind I am decided to have a wander. Go for a stroll, if you will.” Azriel’s frown deepened. “Tamlin’s Mother-forsaken court happened to be on my bucket-list.” Azriel’s shadows wondered Eris curiously. The fae seemed intrigued.
“Is this stuff coming out of you?” Azriel made a face.
“It is its own being.” He growled, but his shadows danced along the lord. Eris seemed equally as fascinated. Until he realized the Illyrian was still on top of him, straddling him in a defensive pose - Eris poked at his armor with the knife and pulled on a cold frown.
“Get off of me before I move this knife down a little - monster.” Azriel scowled, kicking himself off the fae and regaining his composure. He flipped the knife in his hand before sliding it back into the hilt buckled at his thigh.
He removed the expression from his face and continued on his way as if the other fae weren’t even there. Azriel had plenty a question, especially now he knew Lucien was corresponding with his older brother and hadn’t informed the court. But he’d rather speak with Lucien about it - or have Rhysand do so.
Eris made him uneasy with loathing.
His shadows argued, lingering a moment before following their master.
“What happened to Lucien?” Eris bellowed after him, or it sounded as such within the abyss of quiet.
“Why do you care?” Griped the Shadowsinger. The Fae didn’t answer for a beat.
“He is my blood.” His voice was even and practised, a male of diplomacy. Azriel was a creature of as few words as possible. And therefore, chose not to speak, instead he trudged onward. “He was injured by something in these woods?”
“He will live.” Madja had said as much, it wasn’t very often she was wrong. Eris looked to his feet, as if hiding some relief. But Azriel wasn’t convinced, this creature was more conniving that any other he’d met.
Unlike Tamlin, whose actions could be focused on an obsession to grip what he held dear, unlike Beron’s who gripped and grappled at the allure of power, or Briallyn who had fought to reclaim what the Cauldron had stolen from her - Eris made no sense to Azriel.
His motivations appeared to be to claim the Autumn Court as his own, but Eris had made that speech time and time again. Azriel’s shadow whispered that it was only a half-truth.
Azriel kept on his walk to the Wall. Eris followed, further infuriating the Illyrian.
“I have no interest in your company.” Azriel sneered, a rumble that was almost a growl sitting in his chest.
“You think you’re the person I’d seek for conversation?” Eris scoffed as they kept on, “I’d get more out of talking to wet paint.”
“Then go speak with the paint.” He grumbled. Still neither left, and neither attacked each other, and so they kept on in an uncomfortable silence. Azriel still preferred it to uncomfortable communication. His shadows lingered along the fields of dying flora, searching the earth for indication of this thing that supposedly lived in the walls.
Shadows began singing as they approached the border between the human lands and Prythian.
Azriel was spurred into action, pulling the male along with him as he went in search for hiding. When he found a tree hundreds of years thick enough to hide them, he shoved the narrower high fae against it. He wasn’t so broad as Rhys and Cassian, but still had to tuck himself tight behind the cover - his hand firmly cupped over Eris’ mouth.
The fae narrowed his eyes in frustration - this was the second time Azriel had pinned him. The heat of Eris’ body would have made Azriel fluster if the shadows were not screaming in his ears talking of Autumn Court prowlers.
Azriel tapped his own ear to let Eris know he had heard the shuffling of feet approaching, allowing the other male to speak.
“Fucking brute.” He hissed in a whisper, followed by a cordial number of curses.
“This is it, supposedly there is some kind of power in it.” Eldred, second son of Beron Vanserra, spoke. He was with a small sentinel of soldiers, and the third son, Katyr. Azriel met Eris’ eyes with a cold glare. He looked equally alarmed though, the voices giving him a sort of guarded edge he didn’t have before.
“That no-good bastard little brother of ours was mauled by something, doubt it was just a wall.” Said Katyr, Azriel could see that while the second son looked much more hardened, with a square jaw, and hard angles like their father, with his brown hair they were the picture of similarity - Katyr looked like Eris.
While he lacked the vibrancy of Lucien and Eris’ red hair, being Beron’s brown - the angles on his face were soft just the same as Eris, more delicate and pretty rather than severe and cutting. His frame was leaner than the male before Azriel though, Katyr was much shorter as well.
He’d seen the younger a dozen or so times at court parties throughout - but he had paid little mind to the Vanserra brothers, never noticing the ugly mimicking of Beron’s complexion on Eldred.
The pair were a distance away, right against the Spring Court’s border that bled onto human soil. He and Eris stayed out of sight and further enough that their exchange would not be heard if they were mindful of their volume.
“They followed you?”
“I doubt it, they’re not that sharp.” Eris muttered beneath him.
“I don’t see anything special about it.” Eris turned himself far enough to peak at his brother’s observations. “Why would Father send us here? It’s just a barrier, like it’s always been.” Katyr poked at it despite a guard stepping to stop him.
“They’re right though.” Eris whispered, and Azriel became acutely aware of how close they were to each other. The fae’s voice spoke of contemplation. “The wall is unchanged.”
“I’m fine you git.” Snipped Katyr at a solider, the male went to take a step away when the air shifted. The Illyrian’s shadows buzzed with excitement - feeling a spark run through them, until a kind of wailing filled the area.
Azriel hissed like a startled animal, bringing his scarred hands to cover his ears in an instant. He felt the autumn court male attempt to do the same against the shrill sound, grappling at Azriel forearm to keep himself upright. When Azriel pinched his eyes open he could see blood pool down the sides of Eris’ ears - just as Lucien’s had. His siphons pulsed in an attempt to keep him strong, and awake, just as Eris’ began to lose consciousness.
Distantly, through fogged sight, he watched Katyr and Eldred winnow themselves away - leaving their guards to scream and cry against the ear-splitting ringing. Two soldiers managed to make it to their feet, and two were left sobbing into the grass as they lost their minds in the sound.
A phantom hand with long monstrous claws reached through the wall’s barrier, like it was trying to crawl its way out - and reached for the closest guard, tearing through his chest.
Azriel began to move, hoping to save the other, when a palm rested flat on the chest of his leather armour, he felt a gust of wind - the last thing he saw, through ear-splitting cries, was the monster reach out and tear through the eyes of the other soldier running it’s long phantom talons clean through the back of his skull.
Eris was breathing heavily when they landed into a field of dandelions, on his knees, collapsed from exhaustion. He was hunched over, his slender fingers cupped over his ears still.
“What the fuck was that?” He spat with venom. Azriel sat himself down, disoriented. His mind was swimming, and Eris’ voice was like fog against his eardrums.
The blue of his siphons flared as they worked tirelessly to give him energy, but they were almost spent - the shadows had recoiled and cocooned themselves away.
“There is something in the walls,” he managed, “just like Lucien said.”
“You saw something?” Asked Eris, seemingly much more fine now that he was away from all the noise. Whereas Azriel was still reeling, now that he had no method to balance his power.
“It was like a beast, and it was…” He couldn’t find the words.
“Crying.” Eris supplied in understanding. “It was crying.”
“It was hungry?” Thought Azriel aloud, “why else would it kill those soldiers?” Eris seemed to take a moment to register his words, and the Illyrian warrior could only assume that he was also having trouble hearing.
“I don’t know, sometimes things just kill for the sake of it.” Eris finally said, bringing himself to stand and brushing off the soil from his leather pants. His complexion looked pale and sickly, and his razor-sharp ears trickled with blood.
In the afternoons sun though, his shorter red hair still glistened, reflecting the spring weather.
Azriel finally made a move to leave, hoping to gather enough shadow to get him home - even if it took a few pit-stops. He didn’t want to acknowledge the male who had winnowed them to safety, reminding himself that this was the monster who had hurt Morrigan all those years ago. The fae that had hunted her like a dog for sport.
The autumn fae were cruel, vindictive, and full of wily cunning - they could trick you so very easy into believing that they were capable of ally-ship. Azriel was smarter than that.
“The power that thing had,” Eris stopped him, just as he’d turned his back to the male, “I felt it, and it was just as powerful as Rhysand. Maybe more so.” Azriel didn’t reply, grunt, or acknowledge Eris - letting his shadows pull him away from the spring court, and towards home.
When the Illyrian drew open the door to the River House, he knew he was a sight to see - blood stained the sides of his ears all the way down to the bottom of his cheeks, and his ears still rung with a high pitched squeal sporadically. He was sure he’d burst an eardrum, and his head ached, throbbing in pain. He hoped to make it to his room to freshen up before he ran into anyone, given that night had fallen.
As it happened, he wasn’t so lucky.
Elain stood afront a closed door, before the room where Lucien recovered. She had one delicate hand to her chest, cupped by the other, like she was restraining herself. A rose-pink gown clung to her body, made of silk and a sheer fabric that draped to the floor like layers of petals. Her slender arms were exposed, and he could see the light freckles, paler than Feyre’s, under the candlelight in the hall.
His heartstrings tugged, but he reminded himself of Rhys’ scolding. He’d long past pushed away his fondness for her, they didn’t know each other beyond friendship, and they never would. He loved and respected his brother, and viewed his orders as binding. But still, he wanted to reach for her, like he had wanted many times before.
Because she was a soft being, that he desired to deserve, but knew he didn’t.
She lingered at the door, unaware of him, as if her world would shift should she knock, or turn the knob to let herself in. He made himself known, stepping close enough for her to see him in the light, and far enough away that he wouldn’t be tempted to hold out his palm and ask her to take it.
“He is a good male,” began Azriel, “it would bring him comfort for you to go to him.” He spoke from the opposite end of the hall.
“But it would mean something more though, wouldn’t it?” She asked, in a manner that said she already knew the answer. More fact than question.
“It doesn’t have to mean anything you don’t want it to.” He noticed the purse of her lips, and the way her fingers encircled the doorknob. The candlelight created shapes along her cheeks, highlighting the golden sorrow in her gaze as she looked to him.
It felt like a final look into what could be, he thought, and then she chose.
He was alone in the hallway, and Lucien’s door closed behind Elain.
Azriel, biting his lip, and ignoring the ache in his head and his heart, made for his room.
He sat in the large bathtub, running warm water through his wild hair. It trickled down the muscles along his arms - black tattoos spiraling towards his knuckles, where deep burns scarred his hands.
The sides of his wings brushed the tubs edge, and his shadows warned them away from the cold metal. He let the bottom of the long limbs tip into the water - savoring the quiet and the piece and the warmth. Feyre had designed the house so his room was the farthest from the city and from the dining hall, it was considerate of her to keep him away from all the noise.
He swiped at his ears, rubbing away the blood - thoughts intruded of the male that had winnowed them away from The Wall. Looking fragile and sickly like the world had spun after the screaming.
His mind wondered about how his shadows buzzed around the fae, and that they didn’t seem to recoil in his presence like Azriel assumed they would - his shadows always told him of dangerous or unpleasant people.
Eris was both dangerous and unpleasant, even with the Cheshire smile that tugged on his lips at meetings, his honeyed words, his smooth voice. He was wholly unpleasant.
Then he thought of the fae’s short red hair, how he’d cut the length of it after Azriel had pulled him away from Koschei and Briallyn. It framed his face nicely, cropped. The Illyrian also thought about how his brown pants were a size too small today, snug around his figure, and of the dark lines under his eyes telling of a sleeplessness, and then of how he had thick eyelashes for a fae who hailed from south Prythian.
Azriel thought all these things, barriers high and hidden encase Rhysand was looking for him.
They were silly indulged thoughts, which held no meaning.
He thought them about Elain and Mor too, and passing men and woman. He didn’t indulge often like his brothers had years ago before Amarantha and the war - who now never indulged because they were bound tightly to the souls of others.
All the while he was alone, and he felt entirely inadequate.
In his ears rung not the wailing from The Wall, but the clicking of the door from which Elain disappeared through - click, click, click. It rang and rang in his mind, and slowly he felt his heart letting go of the hope he’d had for them.
Azriel felt his shadows envelop him, touching the exposed parts of his skin in a warm soothing motion, comforting like they had always done. Cassian had once asked what it felt like to have shadows always spiraling around you, and Azriel had no answer because they had always been there.
He didn’t know what the feeling was to be without them, so he was unable to verbalize a world where they did not hug him when he was sad, or shroud him when he was scared and in need of hiding.
They were an extension of himself, and to be without them, he imagined, would be like being without limbs.
The dining table stretched down the lengthy expanse of the room, constantly kept dusted by Cerridwen and Nuala, and was covered entirely in food - breads, sauces, meats and different red wines. The smell alone almost made his stomach growl as he slipped silently into his chair. Nesta had taken to sitting beside him whenever he’d made his way to the table first, and so he mimicked her habit - Cassian beside her. Across the table Feyre and Rhysand sat, smiling at each other lazily as Rhys whispered to her.
Next to them Mor and Amren spoke of the quality of their wine, insatiable drinkers the both of them. Elain hadn’t emerged from where Lucien recovered.
They all offered smiles and greetings, and after piling their plates, awaited his report from the Spring Court.
They’re eyes lingered with questions, before they could ask them, he looked into the red abyss of his wine glass - the candles around the room glistened against the sleek thin glass between his fingers, creating a kaleidoscope of stars against the red fabric of the table cloth.
“Lucien was right,” informed Azriel, “there is something inside the wall. I saw it.”
“That’s impossible, it’s just a thin barrier, I told you that this morning.” Amren huffed, her gray eyes distant and dismissive as she sipped at her drink. She had a dazed look about her, like she’d spent the rest of her day in the sun, laying about on a balcony.
Azriel’s eyelid switched at her disbelief.
“I saw it tear apart two Autumn Court soldiers; it came out of the wall like a phantom.” He explained.
“And that’s what we think hurt Lucien?” Asked Nesta, tapping her nail at the cup that remained unused in front of her.
“I’m sure of it.” Nesta leaned back in contemplation - like she was working out a puzzle.
“But how can something live inside a barrier? Has it ever happened before?”
While the circumstance was grim, he enjoyed watching her engage and speak within the court - she had so many ideas that hundreds of years of life couldn’t teach. They simply extended from the pure unadulterated curiosity that lingered in human minds. With every strategy she suggested, Azriel grew more confident she would make a powerful court general one day.
Rhys shook his head, and Azriel turned his attention to focus on his High Lord and Lady.
“It had claws, or talons. It was trying to escape from The Wall, I think.”
“Do you know why the Autumn Court soldiers were there?” Asked Feyre.
“No, Eris had heard about the wall through Lucien though - before he’d been hurt, he sent word of something amiss. But two of his brother’s had been sent to assess The Wall.” Azriel told them. “I don’t think Eris knew they were coming.” He added, for good measure.
“It’s possible that the Spring Court has weakened so much that unnatural forces are trying to push through from another world.” Suggested Rhysand quietly, deep in contemplation. “But that seems far-fetched, more a philosophical idea than a real theory.”
“What about Koschei? Maybe he has forged something that he can’t get into Prythian, that’s why it’s stuck in the wall.” Suggested Morrigan, Koschei being high on their list of enemies to survey closely. They knew he was likely only waiting for the opportune time to strike. It was what sparked edge whenever anyone left the court for business, pleasure or surveillance.
It was why Azriel spent most of his time outside of the court shadowing the borders of the continent.
“It’s angry though.” Rhysand’s head seemed to bobble in confusion.
“Why do you say that?” He asked.
“It was screaming,” he explained, “it was upset.” He realized this wasn’t much to go on, as he met waiting eyes of varying hues. He left his mind open for Rhysand to see a recall of his memory, it was foggy, like all pictures in memory - but it painted an accurate enough portrait of his strenuous day. “It was a ringing, and it was so loud I could barely move.”
“So how did you get out?” Asked Mor, worry etched into her brows.
“Eris winnowed us out, my shadows seemed affected by the sound.” His voice was light, as if trying to hide the discomfort it brought him to speak of the horrid male, to the woman who had served to be his own infatuation for years. “But it sounded like it was crying.” He repeated, they were Eris’ words from the afternoon, but they rung true still - the thing in the walls was in mourning, and hurt so badly it’s crying almost burst through his eardrums.
“I can speak with Gwyn and the other priestesses tomorrow, see if they know anything that can do something like that.” Offered Nesta, realizing that it wasn’t he she needed to ask - she craned her head in Rhysand’s and Feyre’s direction.
Her sister nodded, her smile speaking of her gratefulness.
“When Cassian and I have finished dealing with the Illyrian rebellion in the north, I’ll go the wall myself. Meanwhile…” Rhysand’s mouth twisted uncomfortably, levelling Azriel with a sullen grimace “… I’d appreciate you finding Tamlin and seeing what he knows of the situation.” Azriel merely gave him a nod.
“Could you go to the Court of Nightmares and make sure Keir knows to keep Lucien’s attack to himself?” Feyre asked, looking to both Amren and Mor - it was better they went as a pair, Mor was only so much of a threat to her father, whereas the court trembled at the feet of the otherworldly creature Amren once was.
“Of course.” Mor agreed with an easy smile and a tilt of her head - it was a friendly gesture that could placate a wild predator, lull it into submission, to rest at her feet. Rhysand shared the skill of the smile, and so had his sister, and father, though rarely used. Azriel had concluded long ago it was in the blood.
Eris
Eris would have screamed if he could have, he would have cried his woes for the whole damn court to hear. They were chasing him, and he ran and ran and ran until they caught up. Asha and Katyr and Eldred hunting for him just as they’d hunted for Morrigan.
Asha’s haunted gaze met his own as he edged that dagger along Eris’ chest - being ordered to carve. Mere seconds after Asha failed, their father had snatched the knife from his youngest’s hold and threw it into Eldred’s awaiting hands. He was giddy with excitement - a smile of pure joy emphasizing his elation. And then he’d begun his work.
He choked on his screams - unsure of fact and fiction.
“What is your game son?”
“What are you playing at brother?”
He wished so badly to scream at them the truth - “I am working with Rhysand!” - he’d been tempted to cry it for all the palace to hear. Because by the mother having your nails carved from your body left him unable to do much else.
Katyr worked his flames across his fingers, and moved to Eris’ feet, leaving burns along his ankles. His mind hazed, he kicked his feet at the phantom memory of burning flesh.
His eyes flew open, and he could have sworn he howled.
But no noise close to such reached his ears - only a muffled whine and frantic shushing filled the large empty night.
Eris’ lids fluttered as he tried to gasp for air - but could only find solace through his nose. A tight pressure clasped over his lips, keeping him from alerting the guards in the corridors. A body curled over him.
“It’s alright.” The voice whispered, sounding almost like a whimper. “It’s alright.” It repeated. Aemaris.
She was straddling him, both her hands pushing on his mouth to keep him quiet. He had his fingers curled around her biceps in a crushing hold. One of her knees was lifted to his shoulder to keep him from flailing, the other steadying her on the large bed.
Her dark eyes bore into his, the moonlight all that illuminated the room - allowing Eris to see the stain on her cheeks. She calmed herself as he watched her, breathing in and out methodically - her hands still firmly stifling any noise he might make.
He breathed with her, distraught and yet trying to grip for control.
“You’re alright.” Aemaris told him again, in that quiet soft-spoken manner of hers. She pulled away her grasp on him.
“Are you?” He asked, with an equal whisper. Her knee that she’d been restraining him with burned red with heat - flames always danced inside his blood when he dreamed. He took hold of her palms, could see that they were not charred, but bore the heat of his magic.
“I’m fine my lord.” Her hair covered her face, and she was shaking like a leaf - still sitting on top of him like she was afraid to move. He blinked up at her, and with just a concentrated image, lit the candle at his bedside.
The light pooled over her face, and she winced at its suddenness.
He lifted hand, reaching out his long slender fingers, and pushed the hair from her nose, out of her eyes - she tried to move away but he stopped her - he berated himself for being too forceful, but pushed the thought aside when he saw the black and yellow that mangled her eye down to her jaw.
“What did he do?” Eris hissed, like he had all the other times she’d shown up in his room black and blue, bloody and flayed. He spat it out like there was anything he could do about it.
“Whatever he wanted.” She choked out. And his eyes danced with flames. “I came here…”
“To hide?” Aemaris gave her confirmation in the form of a shaky shudder.
“I’m sorry you were thrown from one travesty to another, I hate to present this way.” He said, shakily. She moved to sit beside him.
“I know this House is a prison for more than just me, Lord Eris.” She gave him a faint, forced smile. This girl, always so understanding.
“Why don’t I call for some wine, and food.” He offered, because he knew she hadn’t eaten.
She giggled, “but my lord, what will they whisper about us.”
“They’ll say were lovers.” He indulged, leaning back into his soft lavish covers, propped up on silk pillows. “That we’re being wild and irresponsible, and at such an hour,” he tutted, “absolutely scandalous.” She laughed again, and lay beside him in the faint light.
“You dream of such horrible things, Eris.” She said, her voice serious now, “you’re always dreaming.” He gritted his teeth, reaching for a response he couldn’t find. She got up from the bed and strode across the room, the swaying of her white gown across the floor - her deep brown corset hugged her comfortably, and she looked pretty under the night’s light.
Aemaris ghosted her fingers along a stack of books on the third row of his shelves, before pulling one out a touch - his stomach swirled with anxiety.
The cover of Folk of Fall was clean, and the pages were preserved, despite how old the copy was, and she slid a thin parchment from between it and the next book.
“If I can find these things, they can to.” Aemaris seemed tentative as she handed him the paper, “you once told me there were things your family could never know.”
If he were anyone else, he imagined the parchment would quiver in his hands. He should throw it away, no, he should burn it.
But when you are starving, and all you have is the crumbs of what was once bread, it is not so easy to wipe clean your hands.
He folded it, slid it into the pocket of his night pants, and vowed to find a better place to sweep his chambers clear of his past.
“Weren’t we getting a midnight dessert?” Eris reminded her.
When Eris returned to the Spring Courts borders, he was unsurprised to find the shadowsinger had also made his way across Prythian to further investigate. It wasn’t that he intended to work with the brute - he generally tried to stay free of anyone that had a chance of besting him in combat. And even though Eris was a high fae, and the named heir of the Autumn Court, the shadows that swirled around the Illyrian like a shield of armor increased his abilities and strength twofold. But he knew that Rhysand would send an envoy to handle Tamlin, and it didn’t shock him that he chose the quiet-natured and less brazen of his soldiers.
“What are you doing here,” Azriel’s voice was displeased, even venomous.
“I want to know that in the Mother we encountered two days ago.” Eris said simply, trying to keep his voice smooth and assured. It was a method he’d picked up from Rhysand, of all fae, he found charming someone was much easier than battling them.
“This is the Night Court’s problem; we have not called upon you for help.”
“Well, I am not one to be ordered.” Eris challenged; an eyebrow raised at the taller faerie. “Lucien is a son of autumn, banished or not - and I have a vendetta.”
“Against?”
“Whatever screamed bloody murder near The Wall.” He explained, recalling the blood he’d had to scrub away before entering the Forest House, and how he’d had to put on a good show of feigned stupidity when his father had asked where he’d run off to. His brothers were attended to by healers, meanwhile his ears rang all night long. He’d stopped the bleeding; with what little healing magic he could conjure. Eris briefly wondered how the Illyrian had fared, if he’d gone to see a healer to assure his sense was uninjured.
A cool breeze hovered over them in the afternoon’s sun - and he took a moment to truly look at the being that had approached him the moment he crossed the threshold onto the spring border.
The Illyrian had long wings that were tucked tight against his back in a pose of protection, he was larger, with muscle that spread the whole expanse of his frame - yet still he was smaller in body than Cassian, leaner in a way that would help him build swiftness in battle.
His body was trapped by black armour, scales acting as their own chain-mail decorated the front, and fell beneath the shoulder-pads - and all seven of the male’s siphons flared blue across his outfit. A blade rested at his thighs, and two more on each of his forearms - Eris suspected there were more that littered his bodies in stealthy places.
His darker skin glowed under the spring sun, and the raven black of his hair glistened in its rays, curling at the base of his neck.
He was quite a stunning thing, if Eris’ opinion was to be consulted.
“Beron has the men to spare you?” Asked Azriel, trying to trip him in their allied agreement - he was not to inform Beron of anything going on inside the Night Court, in order to remain collated with the inner circle’s dealings.
“My father doesn’t know I’m involved,” he assured, “and besides, he always seems to have better things to concern himself with.” Snipped Eris, like harassing my maid. Azriel looked like he wanted to push him further, to chip away until he found something incriminating under Eris’ skin. It was the way he’d always looked to Eris, like a problem that he wasn’t able to deal with yet. Yet.
He was the one infatuated with Mor, Eris reminded himself, to bring reason to the Illyrian’s distaste. I always intended to be his enemy.
“I want my father to get his hands on whatever is in The Wall even less than your court does, and judging by my brothers’ appearance yesterday, he knows about it - perhaps he’s even known about it longer than Lucien. So let’s kill it or use it, before he gets the chance.” Azriel’s feathers looked like they’d ruffled even more at the thought of working in partnership, even for a short while. “It’ll be one less thing for that precious high lord of yours to concern himself with.” The Illyrian’s eyes shifted downward in thought - for all he was a spy, Eris found him very easy to read. The heir had hit the nail on the head.
“Just don’t get in the way.” The shadowsinger growled lowly, and made for The Manor.
It was deplorable; furniture broken, wood splintered and shattered along the floors - curtains were shredded to tatters and the windows had been broken long ago. Glass crushed beneath their boots. Even the paint had begun to fade and peel when the light spring rains came, moister filling the walls.
The pair hadn’t passed a single lesser or high fae on their silent venture to the Cursebreaker’s former home. All gone, abandoning the high lord to hide in the spring waters or deep within the forests.
Eris knew winnowing would disturb the woodland when they weren’t trying to shield themselves from Tamlin’s view, an uninvited fae traveling with their magic suggested devious deeds to be done. And he wasn’t about to suggest Azriel carry him in his arms once again - he’d been subjected to such humility once before, and came to the conclusion it was not to his taste.
So they’d trekked to The Manor in silence, the only communication between them the adventures of the Illyrian’s shadows.
The shadows seemed to lick at his boots, curious as to where Eris would step next, like they would catch him should he tumble - which of course he would never. Azriel seemed indifferent to their actions, if it annoyed him, or brought him perplexity, he didn’t let on.
“I would marry Rhysand to get out of here too.” Eris said, tilting his head in search for some kind of inhabitant. A ghost of a smile teased at the corners of the other males lips. It disappeared between seconds, but the acknowledgement still had Eris preening his feathers.
“He’s not here, but I would suggest he’ll show eventually. It is better than scouring the court for him, it’s too large.” Azriel said, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed.
The autumn fae chose the staircase to rest his weight on, lest he wreck his silk shirt on the damp interiors.
The quiet was deafening after an hour or so, not because Eris didn’t know when to be silent - he had been taught such a thing on many occasion in his life.
It was because the warrior remained on the offensive, as if Eris was going to attack him given the first opportunity.
“I have no intention to betray you,” Eris began, cutting through the silence like a blade, “so you can smooth out those hackles, shadow-man.” Azriel said nothing, fire burned through Eris’ blood with anger. He tried to trample them, keep them controlled, but still they spurred on. “I have been helping you for years - working alongside Rhysand. A little faith would not kill you headstrong brutes.”
Azriel’s eyebrow furrowed.
He said nothing.
His shadows danced along his fingers in a soothing manner.
“Every day I do not tell my father of your little rebellion in the north, or the artifacts I know lie in your possession, I choose to remain in diplomatic relations with your lord-”
“Would you like me to thank you?” His words were spitting, even in his quiet nature, Azriel’s fury was blazing. His shadows spun and spun around his armor. “Would you like some kind of award little lord? Is that what you desire? Because you will have to find someone else to stroke your ego and bend to their knees for your approval.”
“I was merely-”
“-suggesting that my hatred for you, my courts hatred for you, will vanish should you uphold the basic terms of our treaty. It will not - it is undying Eris Vanserra.” Azriel pushed himself from his side of the manner’s foyer, striding over in swift calculated movements. He towered over Eris, who would not waver or tremor, not at the threat of his father’s hatred, and certainly not for some doe-eyed shadow-warrior.
Eris could feel the warm of his breath like a phantom on his skin, and his wings were spread, covering the pair in a darkness, not even the recently risen moon offering illumination. “If Rhysand would let me, I would drag your body to the tops of the Illyrian Mountains, and I would throw you off and watch you topple down for what you did to Mor.”
“You show your heart too easy, Summoner of Darkness.” Before the shadowsinger could elicit a response, a growl announced another’s presence, the noise hadn’t come from Azriel - behind them a beast snarled.
It had the head of a wolf, the body of a bear, and antlers that climbed far too high for its stature - this was a monster he recognized.
“High Lord Tamlin.” Azriel acknowledged, managing to muster respect, their tryst now over in favor of a goal. The being bared its large curved teeth, the muscle in its jaw alone impressive.
“Tamlin.” Eris grinned, feigning amusement at how far the being had fallen. In truth, he thought it might be nice to hide away in a beastly form - curled away from the problems of the world. Responsibility thrown aside in favor of finding a foxhole to sink into. “Lovely place you have here.”
“What do you want?” Its tone was warning, volatile.
“Tea? Perhaps a chair.”
“There was an attack at The Wall.” Said Azriel. “Lucien was harmed.”
The beast said nothing, but Eris thought the manner with which he shifted from foot to foot suggested he was unaware of the event.
“There is something caught inside The Wall, and it almost killed our emissary.” The Illyrian continued. “We were wondering if you knew what it might be?”
“It’s impossible for something to live in the Walls.” Tamlin said with finality. “Please leave.”
It was more pitiful than he was sure the high lord intended, and suggested shame of his court’s state, and his own condition. But Eris didn’t care for his melancholia when his brother’s life had been dangled in front of the phantom-creature in The Wall, and it seemed neither did Azriel.
“It’s not impossible, we have seen it.”
“It killed soldiers from my court.”
“Your soldiers should not be trampling my lands.” The shape-shifter's tone was a warning, hisses bubbling from his canines.
Eris spun on his heal in performance, moving to leave. He swung back his head back in show.
“You have a being as powerful as Rhysand living in your court and you can’t even set aside your heartache for the fae that live within it.” The beast snarled and snapped, posing itself defensively, it’s hind-legs preparing to strike out at him. “Not all of your people have abandoned this court, even if they would have been right to do so. They wait in the crevices of spring, awaiting the day you decide to consider them again. The least you can do is keep them safe until that day comes.” Eris frowned, beginning to walk from The Manor.
“Would you at least allow us access to your land to investigate, we’ll not bother you.” He heard Azriel say.
“Do as you wish, Spymaster, but keep the Autumn Court lord under control.”
He waited outside, and the Illyrian finally emerged - the sounds of heavy footfalls reaching his ears as Tamlin skittered away like a frightened deer.
“You are impossibly self-righteous for someone with such a sullied past.” Azriel commented, but his former anger had simmered down and died.
“I’m practical, Tamlin just needed to be reminded that even when he has nothing, he still has his people. Even if only a few remain here.” The shadowsinger raised a dark eyebrow but said nothing, Eris didn’t dare think he was impressed with his tactics. “I suggest we start with researching what the thing might be.”
“We needn’t work together. Just stay out of the matter.”
“But then how will you keep me under control?” Eris smirked; an air of playfulness surrounded him.
“Feeding you to the thing in The Wall seems like a starting point.”
“Then you’d have to talk Eldred into siding with you, and if you think I’m difficult you could not even imagine what his terms would be.” He replied, “and Katyr’s mostly just hot-air.”
“Seems you have that in common.” Eris gave him an almost-smile.
“I’ve heard of your brother’s ventures in the Summer Court, do we really want start comparing each other to our brethren.”
Stone-faced, Azriel defends, “it was only one building.”