Chapter Text
Last Solstice
There were three letters that sat on the nightstand, signed and sealed one year ago, the two wax seals unbroken and ribbons of ink forming names that belonged to one older sister, one younger, and one that boasted of no last name. For a year, the parchment paper rested on the mahogany table, while the Fae who bore a human heart counted sunrises and sunsets as a coward because a confession of love sat on her lips, its grave dug deeper with each passing day until it sat at the bottom of her throat. How much had passed, and how little had changed since the last Soltice: a missing sister, a lost love, a meddlesome family, and an unrequited bond. Such a fate was hers to bear, and thus the theme of her so-far short but soon long, immortal life: utterly powerless.
The parchment of the first letter met the flame that lapped on the log, the F then the E then the Y until embers crackled and promised to let its sentiments stay unknown until her thoughts were ash. The second letter’s parchment succumbed to the flame with more ferocity, stoked from her previous offering, the N and the E and the S reborn as cinders before the wax seal made acquaintance with the log, the famished fire eating her cowardly words with glee. The third letter remained untouched, its salvation lay in the hope of what transpired earlier that evening.
Dear Azriel,
There are no amount of words I can offer to adequately thank you for rescuing me, but I don’t think you realize you’ve done it more than once. Your friendship these past months has meant the world to me. I often find myself hoping to see you in the market or catch you stealing a cookie off the cooling rack. In the short time during our acquaintance, I’ve come to think of you as an honorable creature. When I count my friends and blessings, you’ll always be on my list. Sometimes in my loneliness, my thoughts wander to you. I think that is a sign our friendship should not end once I return to the human lands. No matter what body I wear, I hope you’ll still recognize me. I think I’ll always recognize you. Use the headache powder twice a day, with my sisters around, you’ll need it.
Your friend,
Elain
P. S. I’ve left my gardening tools to your mother. If she finds any use for them, she is welcome to anything she needs.
PPS. I also left a recipe for scones on the counter.
The undelivered letter and its contents remained unknown to its recipient, and as the wax seal was broken once again, as it had been so often over the course of the year, the parchment did not meet the flame, but rather, was shamefully stuffed in the back of a drawer decorated with carefully wrapped ribbons and dried flowers sewn into barrettes.
He had been avoiding her.
For two months she hoped she knew why.
Tonight confirmed her suspicions.
As she worshiped at the Angel of Death’s feet, and washed his blameless and bloody hands clean with the hem of her dress, there, amongst the brilliant gold and green hues lay something unmistakable, something that lived in her eyes, too.
Longing.
He wanted her.
Oh, the excuses muttered into her bedsheets about her so-called dullness and his supposed lovers were flimsy and feeble when compared to the look in his eyes.
Ravenous. Starved. Tortured.
She felt it too.
After bearing witness to the Prince’s work in Hewn, she understood the truth in Mor’s harsh words outside the dance hall. Yes, she was not his equal. Yes, he deserved to find that kind of connection. But because the pull was so undeniable, selfishness triumphed over sanity. She never wanted a mate. She wanted love. And she loved him, so badly, that the strain of his slow rejection drove her to the brink of insanity.
“I don’t want him. And if you don’t know that by now, you don’t know me. Happy Solstice, Shadowsinger.”
Offer and permission. Words unsaid were understood.
I don’t want a mate, I want you.
Her once black now amethyst skirt crawled down the staircase, its velvet hem approached the holly twigs and laughter downstairs, only to be greeted by a fraught fate and a desired destiny.
Fate stood near the flames, the redhead in a silken blouse and velvet garbs, but one glance at the golden eye welded her into a wretch. She searched endlessly for this supposed connection touted as a bridge between souls, but its enormity rendered her blind. Too much light reminded her of her early days as Fae. The light she yearned to see was born from dawn or dusk when the whiteness faded into hues of purple and pink.
“Lainey! We’re settling a bet, who do you think can fly the longest?” Cassian boomed.
She wasn’t the only one longing for Nesta tonight. The poor, poor general. His nerves were so loud, that she wondered if it was the anxiety or the copious amounts of alcohol that fueled his need to parade around the room and fill it with pointless chatter.
Her eyes found him. Desire and destiny stood in the corner against the frost-covered pane, so far from the warmth of the fire. One glance in the light of the Townhouse, and her heart broke. Devastatingly handsome, obviously exhausted. Somehow in Hewn, she mistook it for a mask. Here, it was evidence of what she prayed was the truth.
Azriel’s displeasure was strong in the air. The smell of her honey and jasmine perfume and the musk of his oud and tobacco scent were merged into something quite woody. Not unpleasant to her, but she much preferred the clean, fresh scent of honey and cedar.
“Nervous for your snowball fight?” Feyre teased. There were footsteps in the hallway, and amidst the laughter, she slipped away unnoticed to find Nesta.
“You came.”
She looked beautiful, as always. Healthier, but nervous. The two had yet to speak, the pain of her words still burned.
“Cassian said it might be good… if I came.” A pain arose in her gut that her sister was not here for her, but rather to please the male she fancied.
“Did Feyre pay you, like last year?” Cruel, but she learned from the best.
“No.” Well, Happy Solstice indeed. Was this to be their relationship now? Insults and half-truths? Well, she might be uninteresting, but she certainly did not want to be pushed around anymore.
“Please don’t upset Feyre, it's her birthday first of all. And in her state-”
“Oh f*ck you.”
How true those words rang. Powerless, in a bond she absolutely hated, and hopelessly in love with a male who used to be her best friend.
What else was there to do but laugh?
If there was one thing her sister did well, it was to seek truth’s carcass and carve it into a pelt. Oh, how she had missed it. Her howls were met with Nesta’s gaping mouth and terrorized face.
“You’ve never said such a thing to me! I think that’s a good sign isn’t it?”
She found her sister again and linked arms to gently guide her to the party, only to find him in the archway.
“I was just checking on dessert.”
Azriel mentioned once or twice his fondness for her older sister, how he understood her sharpness and admired it. She knew they grew close this year, and perhaps by the nod he gave Nesta, closer in Elain’s absence.
But then his gaze slid to her, and she gasped.
Amidst lapping lake shores, blades blinking in the sun, budding spring blooms, and steaming cups of tea, she sometimes caught a look on his face that she came to know as Azriel. Not the Shadowsinger, or Spymaster, or Prince of Hewn City, but Azriel, the male she loved.
It boasted of a childlike pureness, and promised some mischief, but was mostly earnest. His mask was gone, and then the words floated between the two of them.
Come and find me when you’re alone.
With a nod, she confirmed she understood. Somehow, perhaps in the springtime of that year, they realized the depth of their relationship had gone completely unnoticed by their family. For two deeply private creatures, they did not contradict when their kin mentioned their relationship as no more than acquaintances in a blended family. Only perhaps in the fall months did Feyre take notice, and now Mor. But even then, its severity remained unknown.
Upon the curiosity in Nesta’s sharp gray eyes, Elain knew the secret was revealed. Perhaps she did not know how far it had gone, but nothing got past her elder sister. No glamors, no gossip, and especially no longing glances.
Between wine bottles and stolen shots of whiskey, then port, then more whiskey, Elain successfully avoided the tug on her rib by staying near Feyre and, a surprisingly charming, Varian.
“My sister likes to garden,” explained Feyre as she started to distribute gifts.
“Well, if you ever find yourself in Summer, there are many magnificent gardens that boast of sunflowers,” Varian said as he poured Amren some more wine.
“Oh yes! I’d love to go. Our Father always used to travel, and I’d like to see more Courts someday.”
Tug, tug, tug.
“Will you excuse me, I’m just going to go check on… dessert?” Elain said as Feyre popped another bite of birthday cake into her mouth.
You’re a terrible liar, Elain, she thought as she gathered empty plates decorated with cake and pie crumbs.
Only the moonlight illuminated the kitchen and offered a chance for a breath. On the counter sat Feyre’s birthday cake, mostly devoured, but still a few pieces left. With desperation, she opened the drawer and started to eat forkfuls of the treat, for all the liquor demanded something to float in her nerve-lined stomach.
“May I have a piece?”
“MMmm!” With a face full of cake and frosting on her lips, she turned to face an amused Azriel, who stepped out of the shadows. Two blinks and she offered him the fork in her hand, and he sat on the kitchen stool.
“Help yourself,” she gulped, the back of her palm wiping her frosting-stained lips. Elain took another fork from the drawer and slowly sat down to try and catch his stare, which he kept down.
“Nesta seems to enjoy the celebration this year,” he said. She pitifully picked at a pink star-shaped piece.
“Yes, I’ve missed her. I’m hopeful she’ll come around more.” The metal of two forks met, and he grimaced.
“Will you forgive her? For what she did?” Those words were whispered with fear still behind them. Was that what he thought? That she was afraid of what she saw? He was a God in Hewn, he held the world in his scarred hands, ruthlessly regal as he protected his Court and carved into flesh. And what of she?
“You know, they almost didn’t let me go tonight, because I’m weak and-”
“You're not weak," he bit out, "You belong with us. You’re part of this Court.” Finally, he rewarded her with his piercing gaze, and the two were finally brave enough to inch closer to each other until their elbows touched.
“Everyone always says the Court of Nightmares is terrifying, but I saw so many flowers carved into the stone. I’ve never been to a place where the flowers are eternal.” Her foot gently wrapped around his ankle, and his breath hitched.
“It’s a cold place, Hewn. But, I… I find solace there sometimes. As strange as that sounds.” He rose to stand but she grabbed his arm.
“Last Solstice, you told me Illyrians are like the mountains because they bow to no God. I think… I think deep inside I’m Illyrian. Because no matter what powers may be, I will not bow to the whims of any God or any choice that goes against mine.”
He cleared his throat.
“I think it’s time we get back.”
“Alright.”
“Thank you, for the cake.”
“Well… I still owe you 540 cakes. Right?”
A curt nod and he winnowed away. She reemerged into the warmth of the family room, only to see wrapping paper strewn about and boxes unopened.
Why did he stay away? Was it…
“For you,” said Lucien.
A small box with gold wrapping paper was placed into her hands, ink that bore her name neatly written on a small piece of parchment. Her fingers untied the strings while her ribs screamed and sobbed, but the room held their breath.
How many bets were placed tonight on whether or not she’d run from the room?
Feyre’s words from Last Solticed echoed in her ears as she undid the lid to the black box.
“He cares for you,” she had said.
“He doesn’t know me!” Elain exclaimed. How could he care for her if he didn’t even know she liked to get her hands dirty in the garden, or that she hated flowers as gifts because they’d wither and die?
“You don’t give him the chance to even try to do so.” The whiteness that blinked back at her caused her to crumble.
Pearls.
He bought her pearl earrings.
She stopped wearing her wedding band over a year ago. Did he even notice? A polite nod to a crestfallen Lucien, and then, the silence was tinged with pity and judgment from the prying eyes in the room.
“I don’t want a mate. I don’t want a male,” she had said to Feyre a year ago. As a human, she could choose, why not know? Now, she just didn’t want… him.
You’d think with a magical eye, he’d be able to read you better.
Whispered the shadows.
Elain raised her head in shock to find Azriel with a smirk on his face. She couldn’t help but suppress a giggle, unnoticed as Cassian opened his yearly lewd gift from Mor.
She hoped that was the reason he seemed to stay away.
~
When her slipper-padded foot hit the stairwell, a blush and smile crossed her face as passionate sounds from down the hall confirmed her gift would prove quite useful.
She assumed he had gone to sleep, and perhaps with some luck after the snowball fight, would seek her out to provide an explanation as to his absence. With all the noise upstairs (good Gods! Two couples and alcohol made for quite a rowdy night), she did not know whether or not he had gone to sleep. So, when the house was slightly more peaceful, she slipped downstairs to deliver a present on top of his pile.
Just a year ago, the Illyrian steppes were drawn into her hand, the nature of their game in its infancy. He taught her to float, and fly, and live. But, was she just a dear friend? Or did he feel the same? Some days the answer was obvious, other days, it was like him: illegible in its indifference.
And there he was. Handsome as ever, clad in his tailored top and black pants. Dark circles under his hazel eyes and hair mussed from perhaps a poor attempt to alleviate stress.
“I….”
They had run from the truth for almost a year.
“I was coming to leave you this on your pile of presents. I forgot to give this to you earlier.”
I want to talk.
They could not run anymore.
“Here,” she said, and her steps closed the distance between the two.
Please?
The box shook in her trembling hand as she extended it to an equally wide–eyed Azriel. Those scarred fingers undid the wrapping paper with ease, but his jaw ticked as he cleared his throat several times.
“You put them in your ears, and they block any sound. With Nesta and Cassian living there with you…”
“No wonder you didn’t want me to open it in front of everyone,” he said with a chuckle.
“Nesta wouldn’t appreciate the joke.” The smile that bloomed on his face somehow undid the past two months of endless grief.
“I wasn’t sure if I should give you your present.” Within a breath, she raised her gaze to meet his and caught the words unsaid.
With a grimace, he looked past her toward the stairwell.
I didn’t want to upset him.
She blinked quickly in shock.
Is that why you’ve stayed away?
He looked down, in shame.
Yes.
She looked up in confusion.
Why would you-
A small velvet box appeared from the shadows to sit in his palm. Their heartbeats were both so loud, it was impossible to tell whose blood belonged to which body.
A stained-glass rose necklace.
He knew roses were her favorite flower.
She knew his mother grew roses.
She knew he loved roses.
“It’s beautiful,” she gasped, mesmerized by its perfection and shocked he bought it to sit around her neck.
Once, in the springtime, he uttered something so profound and poetic, that it garnered a giggle, for it could only be composed by the poet of Prythian.
“The first time I saw a rose, I thought it was a kiss from the Mother herself. I’d never seen something so perfect in my life,” he said while clearing the underbrush.
“Very poetic, Shadowsinger,” she laughed while snipping dead branches.
“They’re the perfect flower, but the thorns remind you they are to be respected. You shouldn't touch beauty if you don’t respect it.”
Now she could care less about respect.
She needed him, now.
“Put it on me?”
Somehow her hand managed to sweep her hair up and she turned away from his body, a position they had found themselves in so many times before during their game.The coolness of the metal seldom cured the heat of her skin, which only intensified upon his touch. She shivered as his scars fiddled with the clasp while they brushed against her throat.
Click.
Though clasped, the scarred fingers lingered to take a selfish residence upon the nape of her neck.
She pivoted into his touch, and his palm laid flat across her chest. A coward by trade, but she somehow summoned the courage to raise her gaze and bit her lower lip.
His scent was heady, intoxication incarnate, and deliciously divine. It was the scent that lingered on her clothes and helped her finish with only the stars to witness her pleasure and release.
“I should go.”
Do you want me?
His thumb swept the side of her throat, his lips parted and pupils wide. Canonized by those callouses that caused carnal cruelties, her sinner’s mind begged to be blessed with the knowledge of whether paradise was found or lost.
“Yes,” he said.
I want you.
The incense of their merged scents promised that if blindness plagued her, no tears would mourn the absence of light, for what else was needed when this flooded her senses?
“Yes,” she accepted.
I need you.
Blessed be the Mother.
Those scars caressed the base of her head, and gently buried into her thick hair to tilt her head. A wild look painted those heavy-lined hazel eyes, and her lashes fluttered to the perfection of his parted lips before the world went dark.
Offer and permission.
Whiskey laced his breath; one kiss and she’d be drunk.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
The fingers slowly unwound themself from her hair and the heat of his body vanished.
“This was a mistake.”
Breathe.
Exhale.
Open.
What a foolish, foolish girl you are, Elain.
“I’m sorry.”
Shame crawled up from her belly and bile stung her throat while she searched for an answer to understand anything. But like always, his face gave away nothing. Aloof and apathetic, his jaw ticked before his eyes fluttered above her head.
“You don’t- Don’t apologize. Never apologize. It’s I who should… Goodnight.”
He winnowed away on the next draft.
Once, she had killed, her first victim justly slain to ensure her sister lived. Now, she was called to kill again.
Azriel, Azriel, I banish you from my heart.
Executioner’s love, must I now depart.
With the next sunrise, the necklace sat on top of his gifts.
And the embers of the third letter wilted upon a weak, winter morning flame.
Happy Solstice, Elain Archeron.
Maybe you’ll become interesting at last.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Three sunrises. Three sunsets.
One moment she was there, and the next, she was gone.
As expected, his wife marched to the primeval power with nothing but utter, unbroken bravery, and in her wake, left a faint and black-hearted husband in fearful tears. Her valor did not falter, even when the lovely creature climbed over the iron brim, the metal once again making acquaintance with the soles that danced on soil or with amiable partners, arms who bore the hands that gardened and baked, lips that kissed softly in the mornings or salaciously when bitten, or eyes that foretold unknown fates. He watched with uninterrupted terror as Elain’s body sank beneath the waves of its watery depths, and only when the ripples created by the weight of his beloved stilled, allowed a breath to escape past his tight lips.
“She’s gone,” murmured Nesta, the Valkeryie’s white knuckles tight against his forearm.
Hundreds of heartbeats in the sea of soldiers that stood in the meadow stilled or sped, only the long blades of grass between the motionless bodies cresting and crashing upon the wind’s waves. Only the Sun swam through the timeless spell, for as the dawn gave way to morning, the sorcery of stillness was interrupted by a pale-faced Lucien circling the Cauldron to gently guide or sharply tug.
Only noon’s relentless summer rays thawed the fear that paralyzed the pairs of feet planted so firmly into the Earth, and in small groups that often glanced over shaky shoulders, turned to walk up the pathway to the camp. But Azriel stayed, for neither the pang of hunger nor exhaustion of a sleepless night tinged his undying devotion to watching the surface of the entity’s still waters.
“Feyre darling, why don’t you go get something to eat, I’ll stay,” murmured a tense Rhys.
“No. I’m staying,” the High Lady said as she and Nesta stood mesmerized with arms intertwined.
No one even dare speak to Azriel. Still, yes, but the wild expression of worry upon his face kept any suggestions of rest, food, or even water at bay. Leather-toed boots paced back and forth, oftentimes to approach Lucien, never to speak, only to ensure nothing was amiss.
When the midday sun started to head westward with only the shadows of a firebird constantly circling overhead to provide shelter from the unrelenting Sun, did the worst happen.
Through the air, the aftershock of a large snap traveled across the field, and Lucien stumbled backward. Before Azriel’s arms steadied Lucien, the fox uttered words worse than death.
“She’s gone.” Those hazel eyes blinked once before he hauled a stunned Lucien to his feet, only for the High Lord to fall back down.
“Get up,” he commanded with an icy voice.
“The bond… it’s gone. I can’t feel it anymore.”
And then, he went wild.
“I said get the f*ck up!” roared Azriel as he grabbed Lucien to bring him to his feet.
“It’s gone! I can’t feel it anymore,” panted Lucien as beads of sweat dripped down his ashen face. Hurried footsteps and screams of confusion fell of the Shadowsinger’s deaf ears, for he started to shout.
“Find her! Don’t just stand there! f*cking find her!” he bellowed as red siphons merged with his vision.
“Az! Az! Stop! Calm down!” cried Cassian as he held Azriel back.
“What’s happened? What’s going on?” Feyre cried over the chaos.
“Elain… I can’t feel her anymore. There was a snap, and she’s…” Lucien’s wide eyes filled with sorrow as the unthinkable words hung in the air.
“Is she dead?” Nesta’s terrified question cracked the silence.
“I… I don’t know,” Lucien panted.
“You’re her f*cking mate! How do you not know?” seethed Azriel as he thrashed against Cassian.
“I said,” roared Nesta as she looked at Az, “Is she dead?”
The answer arose deep within his bones, and somehow he knew something.
“No, no. She’s not dead,” he heaved.
The confirmation of their consternation arose from a siren’s call deep from the Cauldron’s depths, the timbre unmistakably from the Kingslayer’s angelic voice.
I am the Seer of the Seven Seas
I am the Daughter of the Dawn
Cauldron made sister born of three
The Angel of Death’s lovely fawn
Slightly a whisper, mostly a sigh, and then it went silent.
“She’s entered the Garden,” murmured Amren as she circled the Cauldron, and the Tiny Fae’s hands assessed the air.
“Why can’t I feel her? The bond is…” Lucien started.
“Elain is beyond our world. Perhaps that is why it’s gone,” a panicked Feyre suggested as she joined Amren.
“I felt you Feyre, even as you were dying,” Rhys murmured as his power danced around the Cauldron’s iron.
“How will she get back?” asked Az as he pushed past Cassian.
There was no reply; partly because the answer was unknown, but from the wide and worried glances exchanged between each of the Inner Circle, it was understood that an answer had to be carefully chosen, or else Azriel would not hesitate to enter the Cauldron himself to bring her back.
But the silence stoked his rage.
“I’m going in,” he declared.
“No.” Azriel turned to meet his High Lord’s order.
“I said, I’m going in ,” he seethed.
“That is an order,” commanded Rhys.
Violent violet eyes met haunting hazel ones. Azriel’s vicious glare blinked once, and then he turned toward the Cauldron.
“Azriel,” came his High Lord’s terrifying voice.
He would find her, wherever she had gone.
“Azriel, stop.”
He pushed past the stunned bodies of his family as he approached the chasm of calamity.
“Azriel!”
Before his outstretched scarred hand touched the iron brim, he fell backward onto the ground as the blood within his limbs started to slow. He could not move, Rhys had paralyzed him.
“Az, if we lose you, we cannot get her back. We have to help her from here,” he said as he lowered his outstretched arm. Azriel panted as his body slowly came back.
“You’re a f*cking bastard, Rhys. If she dies, I’ll kill you myself,” he gritted out as struggled to rise.
“I know, I know,” his brother murmured as he helped Az stand.
“Promise me you won’t go into the Cauldron,” Rhys said as he extended a hand to Azriel.
Through the red of his rage, Azriel understood his brother’s concern, and reluctantly saw the reason within his sound advice. Whatever realm Elain found herself in, it would be beyond foolish to rush headfirst with only his siphons and his bare fists, and perhaps even damn her chances at survival more given his powerless and useless state. And yet, reasonable rationale sounded like excuses, for within the terror coursing through his veins there was only one answer to quell his fear. But, before his timely meeting with Death, he needed to know she was safe.
“I will only go in if Elain does not come out by the final sunrise. I need to know she’s safe before I return to Koschei.”
“Alright,” Rhys agreed.
“I promise,” Azriel gritted out, and the magic took hold.
And then, he waited. Various members of the Inner Circle would go to eat, and then return to the meadow to stay near the Cauldron. But, Azriel stayed, not even interested in the bites of food Cas brought back from camp.
Only when the shadow of a firebird transformed into the hurried footsteps of a Queen did he realize the Sun set below the waves.
“What happened?” Vassa’s sharp voice asked as she stood toe to toe with the Spymaster.
“Ask him,” Az growled as he jerked his head up to the camp. Lucien, who had made the mistake of seeking dinner, almost met the Spymaster’s fists but was saved by the General’s interference. Only when Cassian promised to ensure Lucien’s eventual return that night did Az relent.
Her eyes widened in shock at the rage that radiated off his aura, and her cerulean eyes snapped at his sharp tone.
“You’re the biggest brute I’ve ever met,” muttered Vassa as she peered into its silvery depths.
Az gave no reply.
“I told her not to be selfish. I told her it would take all of us to defeat him,” she spat as she wiped a tear off her cheek.
“She will come back. That is a promise,” he vowed. Dusk now faded, the pink and purple hues sighed in remembrance of another day as it gave way to a blue blackness. Two souls bound to Death shared the night.
Three sunrises. Two sunsets.
“I thought she was hiding something,” Vassa murmured as the two stood underneath the stars. Finally, after hours of silence, one dared to speak. Nesta and Feyre sat uphill, with Rhys and Cassian near their mates. Mor and Amren were back in the camps to go over any reports, and Eris and Lucien were off to check on the ranks.
“I would’ve never said anything to you if I thought she was telling the truth,” she admitted, the apology thick with guilt.
“She’s… hiding something,” Vassa had told him when he returned to the camp yesterday.
“What do you mean?” Az asked as the Queen approached him with utmost caution.
“I worry… I worry she knows something will happen to her… and is refusing to tell us.”
The suggestion, which already confirmed his suspicions, sent Azriel into hysteria. But as he stood in an eerie silence with the Queen under the stars, nothing but the regret of his barbarous actions and repulsive words tortured the Spymaster. Vassa’s insult was apt, but not quite correct: he was beyond a brute, he was a barbarian. After their argument, Az furiously trained late into the night and only stopped to check Nesta’s tent to ensure she was sound asleep. While their goodbye was full of unsaid apologies, the guilt of his ruthless interrogation and horrific curses were inexcusable.
“She was the same way with you,” Vassa said, desperate at any chance to soothe her nerves.
Az gave no reply.
“Withdrawn, vicious, downright rude. You’re a bad influence on her.” He continued to circle, immune to Vassa’s attempts to rile a response.
“But she’s a lucky female, to have someone who loves her so fiercely.” Finally, Az’s head slowly turned to face the Queen to offer a slight nod in gratitude.
“Go tell Lucien if he’s not back here within the hour, there will be a matching scar upon his face,” he said flatly.
“As I said before, you are the biggest brute I ever met,” huffed the Queen as she turned to trudge through the meadow.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Two sunrises. Two sunsets.
The second day passed with little difference, in either Azriel’s demeanor or news of Elain’s whereabouts. Like the day before, the sunrise came while the Spymaster circled the Cauldron with the utmost scrutiny. Morning faded into remorseless rays of the noon Sun and then faded into a balmy mid-afternoon void of breezes.
“Again.”
“I need water,” panted Lucien after another unsuccessful attempt to conjure the bond’s thread. The answer to his plea was a sharp look, and then two steps as the Prince of Hewn City leaned in until he growled.
“Again.”
Only when Nesta insisted Lucien be released, and demanded Az get water too, did he relent. But, the Shadowsinger stayed nearby, and the exhaustion coupled with the heat finally forced him to sit in the grass for a few moments.
“Drink this,” Nesta said as she threw a leather canteen in front of his feet. He accepted and took small sips so as not to keep his vision away from the Cauldron for too long.
“What a pair you two make,” grumbled Nesta as she joined him on the ground.
“So I’ve been told.”
“I’ll go in there myself if you two don’t come back,” she murmured and put a hand on his shoulder in reassurance. The cries of gulls were heard over the distant sound of clanging metal from the camp’s edge.
“Promise me you’ll keep her safe when I go back.”
“Az, you’re not-”
“Nesta. Promise me.”
“I promise, Az. I promise.”
The rest of the day was spent with failed attempts to get Azriel to do much beyond stand beside the Cauldron, and only when Vassa appeared did he realize the day was gone.
Two sunrises. One sunset.
“Az?” Cassian’s voice broke his trance, and the Shadowsinger was greeted by a bowl of stew and a piece of bread. It had been two days since he had eaten anything.
“Thanks,” he muttered as he joined his brother uphill. The two stood in silence while Az ate, only a casual cough or stretch interrupted their stillness.
“When Nesta went into the Blood Rite, I finally met true terror. I was a warrior for years, centuries of battles of brushes with death, but I didn’t know fear could drive someone into insanity. And when I woke each day to wonder if she were dead or alive, I realized what I felt for her went beyond love, or beyond our bond. It was deeper.”
Az gave no reply.
“But during the most terrifying moment of my long life, the only thing that brought me comfort was what you said. That I would know if she were dead. And all this time, I wondered how you knew that.” The Shadowsinger raised his head to the sky above.
That’s the lovely thing about stars; no matter where you are on Earth you’ll be able to see the same stars as someone else far, far away
Were there stars where she was? Was she glancing up at the same sky, calling for him?
“I felt it when Elain was kidnapped by Hybern.”
“And you feel it now?”
He nodded. Cas took the empty bowl from his hand, and turned to start up the meadow, but paused.
“Her own mate isn’t here, and you are. Funny, isn’t it.”
Azriel spent another sleepless night under the merciless stars.
Two sunrises. One sunset.
How many sunrises had he counted as a coward, because a confession of love sat upon his bastard tongue?
One sunrise. One sunset.
“May I join you?”
Az bowed his head to his High Lady, who perhaps, slept just as much as her Spymaster.
“My sister is like you Az, an enigma behind a pretty face,” she said dryly as she raised her hands to assess the Cauldron’s power.
“You’re too generous. We both know the depth of Elain’s beauty.” Feyre was a rare soul in possession of a great gift: the ability to wield power and empower. Despite her youth, all the challenges endured within those twenty-two years shaped her into a formidable force.
“We’re getting her back. Like before. We’ll get her back,” she promised as images from their time in Hybern’s camp flashed across speckled gray and hazel eyes.
“If it is an order from my High Lady, I have to obey.”
The Stars Eternal stayed beside him for a long, long while.
~~~~~~~~~~
Only a sunrise left.
There was a decision that was made upon the twilight’s glow from the last sunset of his freedom. Sometime between the late hours of the evening, when the stars grew pale, and then gleamed upon the brilliant black of the night, Azriel prepared to enter the Cauldron.
Once the plan was finalized, he started up a small path from the meadow that led to the camp. The smoke of fires snuffed from hours before danced on the midnight breeze, and the groan of bodies against wooden cots reached his otherwise deafened ears.
He opened the flat to their small tent, still littered with various salves and bandages, and allowed himself a moment to kneel before the cot to indulge in the subtle honey and jasmine scent that lingered upon the quilt.
There was not much beyond the small apothecary in the tent, save for dozens of parchment and ink pots scattered across the large satchel on the ground, but as he discovered after their fight in the meadow, a piece of the amethyst stone sat upon the small wooden table. Before, the cad believed its message marked the end of their marriage, but now, he pocketed the stone, worried it was the only evidence left of his dear Elain. Two swords were sheathed and fastened upon his waist, and then, took a leaf of parchment paper and dipped his quill in ink to write a farewell to Jophiel.
Mother
The best thing in this life was to be your son. Take care of Elain, I love you.
Az
He folded the letter and addressed it accordingly before the breeze snuck through the bottom of the tent and sent the previously rustled parchments a flutter. Hundreds of Elain’s neatly and meticulously crafted notes took wing and scarred hands quickly reached to catch and admire his wife’s brilliance.
Vision: The sea is the sky, and I float in freshwater underneath. When I fall underneath the water, I fall down into a cavern littered with bones. I am lost. I cannot remember who I am. With me is a dagger and symbols, that I now realize are the Truth-Teller’s runes. This place is called the Garden of Bones… I do not know how to get there yet.
Mating bonds are a bridge between souls, ordained by otherworldly powers.
Vision: Golden thread pulled me out of the garden. Use mating bond to get out of the garden.
Mask: Must remember what one lives for to take it off; wear it too long and it will control you.
He ran his fingers over various notes on shapeshifting, scrying, light singing, and the Cauldron as if her words would shepherd her into his arms. Gods, what a brilliant mind she possessed, for each detail of her descent, was so perfectly planned. He poured over each word and phrase, most about how to enter the garden or deathless creatures.
But when his fingers found a crumpled letter, his hair stood on the back of his neck.
Vision: He stands with her. She has golden hair but I cannot see her face. I see the golden thread between the two and watch their seven children play in Rosehall. He’s happy… he finally found his mate. Seren, Oisín, Rhoswen, Cethin, Elen, Draven, and Malinda. Brown, brown, hazel, hazel, gold, hazel, gold.
While his feet slowly trod through the camp back to the Cauldron, echoes of Elain’s previous outburst rattled his mind. As he descended into the meadow, against the long blades of grass and wildflowers, it finally dawned on him that perhaps the vision convinced her that he would leave her for his mate. But, the only way on Earth that could ever happen, was if Elain died.
And even then it was unlikely. Even if she died…
If she died…
He stopped.
And then he broke into a run.
“Elain!” he screamed as scarred hands parted long blades of grass. The night was so thick, that only darkness bore witness to his terror.
And then there was too much light.
The blindness was tinged with fear as the call of an entity older than Death seeped into his ears and slithered down into his bones. When his eyes adjusted, they followed a small stream of silvery waves that stretched out from the overturned Cauldron, and upon another look, noticed ripples formed as an indistinguishable figure bathed in Life’s light took slow steps forward.
He raised his eyes to meet a God.
Divinity itself bore a golden mask on top of skin bathed in luminous silver light, her luminary form a testament to her celestial-ordained sanctity. When the deity walked upon the surface of the water, the symphony of her sanctitude took the melody of a low hum.
He bowed his head.
The empyrean creature paused her procession and breathed deeply.
“Beautiful,” came a soft voice.
Lub-dub.
E-lain.
Lub-dub.
Azriel raised his head to find the being of light bow, and met an outstretched arm reaching for his trembling body.
“Elain,” he whispered in awe. Wherever the Kingslayer had gone, whatever the Seer was now, the Mask was welded into her likeness, so much so, it was sewn into her soul.
“Elain… Elain… Elain…” he whispered over and over as the figure crawled toward his stunned body.
“Take off the Mask,” he commanded softly. The figure raised its arms and placed its palms against their cheeks.
“Elain… Your name is Elain. Lain in the morning, wife in the afternoons, and my love at night. Lainey to my brothers, and never El, you hate El. Honey when I tease you because that’s what flows through your veins. But you’ll always be my love, Lain, E-lain. Elain.” The entity struggled to raise the mask.
“E-lain, E-lain, ” he sang softly between chattering teeth, but the entity started to lower its arms.
“Azriel… my name is Azriel. Az when you laugh, brute when you’re cross. Bastard when you’re furious with me, but my love when you kiss me. Azriel… Azriel… husband when I even deserve to be called that by you. Azriel, Azriel… ”
The Mask was raised, then the light vanished, and Elain slumped forward with a groan.
“Found you,” he gasped as she fell forward into his arms.
One sunrise.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
With cedar in her senses and the soft touch of leather against her cheek, the blackness started to fade and became a subtle, blue glow.
“Azriel?” she croaked.
“I’m here, Lain love, I’m here,” he whispered as his lips found her forehead over and over while frantic footsteps approached.
The sunrise will call you home
“What day…” Gods her head burned.
“Shhh, don’t worry about that. You did so well, so, so well.”
“I have his bones… I have…”
Shouts and screams started to reach her ears, and the scent of summer-kissed grass and the salt of the sea met her tongue.
“Elain!” Nesta’s arms wrapped around her and then Feyre crashed into their embrace.
“Nesta? Feyre?” she murmured through soft sobs.
“Oh Gods, Elain, we thought we lost you-”
“You were gone for almost three days-”
“Three days?” The Seer sat up to watch the soft, pale moonlight that glittered off the sea.
“How much time do we have left?”
“One sunrise,” came the Queen’s shocked voice. The fawn met the firebird’s eyes and stood slowly to find her entire family standing behind Vassa in the meadow.
Night Triumphant and his Court stood to not defy the stars, but write them.
“Are we ready?”
~~~~~~
How could a soul know when they witnessed their last sunrise? Was it whispered to them by unknown entities, its knowledge gifted either from cruelty or kindness? To encourage boundless courage? Or to inspire gratitude for existence?
“It was worth it all,” she said to Azriel as the two stood on the shore, the horizon awakening with luminescent brilliance.
“When all this is over, you and I, let’s disappear. Go see the continent,” he said as his thumb stroked the inside of her wrist.
“You’re everything to me,” she said. Brown.
“You’re everything to me,” he answered. Hazel.
Breathe.
Exhale.
“Elain?” Feyre looked toward the sun that started to rise. The Inner Circle stood at the ready, weapons drawn and masks on, as armies waited on the cliff above with bows and swords at the ready.
Elain nodded as the High Lady wrapped the chain with a heart of bone within the skeleton’s breast.
Defeat was not an option.
With death in her arms, the Seer walked into the sea, and the waves pooled at her feet as she called forth her destiny.
I am the Kingslayer
I am the Seer
I found the heart of the sea
I call forth the Deathless one
Who will live through me
Upon her cry, the waves churned then swirled, and the water rose to give way to a formless entity that floated above the water, and its procession parted the waves to reveal floor of the sea.
“Seer, you have something for me?”
She threw his corpse onto the waves, and Koschei raised it out of the water.
“My, my. Seer, I must say, I am impressed. How did you do it? Make a journey like that and live to tell the tale?” the water swirled around her and Azriel’s feet, and pulled them further from the shore, as the rest of the Inner Circle desperately tried to break through the impenetrable force around Seer and the Shadowsinger.
Elain held Death’s gaze and did not balk.
A chilling grin graced Koschei’s pale and flesh-thin face as he taunted her with her fate.
She knew everything.
She knew she was going to die.
She knew Azriel was going to hate her for leaving him.
She knew Feyre and Nesta would give birth to baby girls in a few years.
She knew that if she decided to stay, she would have, too.
She knew that her life was cruel, but her death would be crueler, and that her family would mourn but manage.
It was the fatal flaw of Life; it had to end.
To save a Shadowsinger’s flesh, she had to give her soul. One could not take from the Garden of Bones without giving something in return, and the most precious thing alive was life itself. She gave her life to resurrect Death, and upon the next sunrise, would return to the dust she came from.
“I resurrected your body from the garden, now release him.” Azriel swam beside her with a drawn sword ready to strike true.
“I once made a bargain like yours. When I sent you and your carranam, I did not expect you to be the one to do it.” The Dawn greeted its daughter with vibrant hues, but the blood in her veins started to run cold.
“Release him!” she cried, as her heart started to slow.
“Oh, all right. The Shadowsinger is released.”
The Sun rose above the ocean, and Elain’s body sank beneath the foam of the waves.
Down
Down
Down
The glassy top of the water grew further and further from her outstretched arms, desperately reaching for the frightened voices above that screamed a name over and over.
“Elain!”
Whose name was that?
The only name she could remember was Azriel.
Elain Archeron died, her once beloved body reborn as the foam on the waves.
She died a sister.
She died a wife.
She died a hero.
Oh hello, Death.
We meet again.
End of Part III.
