The Shadows that Sing Ch. 30
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Chapter 30: The Day Court Part 2
Under different circumstances, Elain would have enjoyed being in the High Lord of the Day Court’s personal study. Opulent marble coated the floor; the walls were lined with majestic columns and arching windows that revealed a stunning view of the Day Court territory; a chandelier made entirely of delicate glass hung from the high ceiling, illuminating the surroundings in shimmery light. It was as lovely as the rest of the Court.
As it was, the only reason they were here was because they’d fucked up—badly—and were now being savagely (and deservingly) berated for it, so Elain found it difficult to fully appreciate the impressive architecture.
Helion was pacing back and forth in agitation, the gold trim of his pure white robes sweeping over the marble as he did so. Before him stood Lucien and Elain, their heads bowed slightly like two children who’d gotten caught doing something naughty. Behind them were Feyre and Ishira, who for whatever reason had insisted on coming along.
“You were welcomed into our Court with open arms, you were given access to our libraries, and yet you decided that was not good enough,” Helion said, continuing on his rant that had already lasted several minutes. “You decided to take advantage of our hospitality and venture into areas prohibited to guests!”
Elain gulped. “I can understand that,” she said in a meek voice, “But to be fair, there was no one or nothing that told us we were specifically weren’t allowed to follow any secret passages we might find.”
The High Lord glared at her with such ferocity that she felt herself shrink backwards a little.
“The Caverns of the Keepers hold some of Day Court’s most honored and classified troves of knowledge,” the High Lord said hotly. “It’s not only disrespectful in the highest degree to take it upon yourself to peruse through the caverns—it is forbidden.”
Feeling small and useless, Elain spoke in an even quieter voice. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to take advantage of you. I was just following the voices in my head.”
It took only a second after speaking for her to register how positively insane she sounded. From Helion’s wary look, she was sure he was thinking precisely the same thing.
“Ishira told us that we were meant to come down there,” said Lucien, speaking for the first time since entering the High Lord’s study. “I understand that we broke your rules or whatever, and we are sorry, but clearly this is something that was destined to happen.” He shrugged in that casually confident way of his. “When both a Seer and a Flame Keeper receive intelligence from higher powers that force them to meet, it seems like it’s something that should be forgiven. Especially in light of the bigger problem here that we are all trying to solve.”
A snarl formed on Helion's face. “How insolent,” he seethed. “Both of you,” he nodded toward Elain, “are young and foolish and irresponsible— ”
“Don’t talk to her like that!” Lucien fiercely.
Helion strode forward until he was face to face with Lucien.
“I’ll talk to her however I want in my own home when—”
But as Helion lifted his arm in an angry gesture, Lucien seemed to take it as a threat, rather than just the way the High Lord was talking expressively, and he raised his hand in response.
A beam of golden light exploded from Helion’s outstretched hand at the same time a lick of crimson fire came from Lucien’s. Both looking utterly shocked, as if they had no control over the magic whatsoever.
Though Elain knew that the magic emitted by Helion couldn’t possibly be fire (it was, after all, a gift of the Autumn Court), she couldn’t help but think that the High Lord’s glowing beam looked suspiciously like a flame, mimicking Lucien’s own so very closely.
The flame and not-flame danced together, twisting and curling in a way reminiscent of Azriel’s shadows, wrapping around each other as tightly as a lover’s embrace and burning bright as the Night Court stars before vanishing into utterly nothing.
A chill of realization ghosted across the nape of her neck as a memory—no, a vision— from months ago swam to the forefront of her mind. This was not the first time she had seen the dancing flames.
“What the bloody hells was that?” Elain surprised even herself by asking, but she could hold the question in no more than she could ignore the sense of foreboding growing stronger with every passing moment.
No one replied. Confused, frustrated, and slightly concerned at the lack of response, she studied each of her companions’ visages. Lucien looked as stunned and puzzled as she; Ishira had an expression of grim acceptance; Helion was absolutely frozen, his eyes wide as saucers. She wasn’t even sure that he was breathing.
But it was Feyre who confirmed Elain’s suspicions that something incredibly meaningful had just occurred. And it was Feyre, her sister, who she knew better than almost anyone else in the world, standing there with the strangest look of anguish, resignation and apology written across her face, who spoke next.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “This is not how I wanted you to find out.” Her eyes, wide and beseeching, swiveled back and forth between Helion and Lucien.
“Find out what?” the red-haired male demanded, his vexation now mixed with frustration. Helion, on the other hand, remained in his state of shellshock; he had yet to move a single inch.
Feyre opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could, Ishira cut her off.
“What you’ve just seen is a rare, albeit not unheard of, magical manifestation that occurs in the most unique of circumstances.”
“Like calls to like,” Feyre murmured under her breath, closing her eyes.
“Precisely,” the Flame Keeper said.
“What might those unique circumstances be?” Elain asked slowly, but Ishira had turned to look at the male beside her.
“Lord Lucien,” she said, “You have been told a lie your entire life. You are not the son of Beron Vanserra, High Lord of the Autumn Court.”
A heavy, pulsing silence reverberated through the room.
“What?” he breathed finally. Then he shook his head. “What are you playing at? Of course he’s my father.”
But Ishira shook her head right back. “He is not, Lord Lucien,” she said. “Yes, your mother is the lovely Lady Elvinye of the Autumn Court.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Helion finally move, his whole body shuddering when the Flame Keeper said Lucien’s mother’s name. But Elain did not turn her attention to him; she could not keep her eyes off Lucien. Something in her very blood told her that to leave him unattended at this moment would be a grave mistake.
“But your father—your true father—is none other than High Lord Helion of the Day Court,” Ishira’s clear voice rang out.
All the breath vanished from Elain’s lungs. She felt the thread in her chest grow taut as across from her, Lucien went utterly still.To her right, Helion’s head collapsed into his hands, a position of sorrowful defeat.
Her head was spinning with questions. Lucien was Helion’s son? Helion? How could that be? If his mother was truly the Lady of the Autumn Court…did that mean Helion and Elvinye had once been together?
Most importantly, what did this mean for Lucien? And what would his “father,” Beron, do if he were to ever find out?
The thread in her chest tugged again, pulling her from her thoughts. She focused on Lucien. He wore an expression of the utmost animosity, his teeth gnashing together.
“Is that true?” he demanded, looking straight at Helion. Slowly, the High Lord removed his hands from his face.
“I…It’s possible,” he finally croaked out.
The anger on Lucien’s face became even more pronounced. “It’s possible ?” he repeated in a low growl. Then he turned to Feyre. “You knew about this?”
“I suspected, yes,” she said, her voice rather hoarse.
“For how long?”
Briefly, she closed her eyes; when the youngest Archeron sister opened them again, tears swam in the blue depths.
“For a while,” she answered honestly. “That’s why I came here. To tell Helion of my suspicions.” She grimaced. “Of my very strong hunch.”
“Why did you wait so long to tell me?” Helion asked angrily. “We’ve been together for hours today, doing nothing of importance.”
“I was working up the courage.”
“The courage?” Helion repeated incredulously. “We spent three hours petting the pegasi, for godssake!”
Elain turned to her sister. “You saw the pegasi without me?” she practically wailed.
“Now is not the time, Elain,” her sister hissed. Elain closed her mouth. She had a point.
“You didn’t think to tell me before, perhaps?” Lucien said angrily to Feyre, his voice harder than she’d ever heard it. “As your longest friend here in this Fae world, you didn’t think it was something I deserved to know?”
“I had to know if it was absolutely true before I told you,” said Feyre pleadingly. “I know I messed up. I know I should have been more proactive about getting to the bottom of it. But if you believe anything, you must know that I had no intention of hurting you—of hurting either of you,” she added to Helion. “This is not how I wanted you to find out. And I’m so, so sorry for it.”
Lucien scoffed and then directed his attention to Elain. And while the anger blazed in his eyes for a brief moment, the longer he looked at her, the dimmer that flame became, until suddenly it was replaced entirely by an undeniable exhaustion. A tiredness that seemed to emanate from his very core.
“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked, once again speaking without truly thinking about what she was going to say.
But she knew she’d said the right thing when he nodded right back at her. “Yes,” he answered.
“Go to the Night Court,” Feyre said. When Elain met her gaze, she saw both her younger sister and High Lady staring back. “Please,” she added softly.
Elain nodded once. Where else would they go, after all—the Mortal Manor, where Vassa and Azriel were, two people she was hesitant to speak to for different reasons, and where they would not be expected to return so soon? The Autumn Court, where Lucien wasn’t even a full-blooded heir, if the crazy secrets revealed in the last few minutes were to be believed? Where else besides the Night Court would they be safe?
She nodded stiffly at her sister. Lucien crossed the room and grabbed her hand.
The last thing she saw before they winnowed away was Ishira staring at her with a meaningful look on her wise, ageless face.
Talk to the Queen , the Flame Keeper mouthed. Then she tapped the center of her chest three times.
Before Elain could do so much as blink back, they were winnowing away, twisting between the folds of time and space.
Mere seconds later, they stood in the foyer of the River House. Dropping her hand, Lucien let out a bone-weary sigh. Her heart clenched in sympathy at the defeated look on his face.
She straightened up. “Wait here,” she said. A few minutes later, she returned to find him still standing in the same spot, clearly not having moved even an inch in her temporary absence.
She held up two large bottles of wine. “Want to forget about all this shit for a little while?”
The corner of his lips turned up in the smallest possible smile, but she was thrilled—a smile was a smile, and she had succeeded in putting one on her friend’s face against all odds.
“I’ve never wanted to forget anything more,” he replied.
***
A few hours and several bottles of wine later, Elain and Lucien were wonderfully drunk and roaming through the Night Court garden. It was full of winter blooms, which naturally were not as bright and vibrant as their summer cousins, but she found them just as enchanting. She wasn’t sure who had been tending to the garden in her absence and was equal parts pleased and sad about it—pleased that the plants were being cared for, sad that they thrived just as well without her. She knew it was a silly thing to be sad about, but she couldn’t help it.
Thankfully, she had much more important things to worry about. Like the red-haired male at her side, who was significantly drunker than she, and had taken to singing randomly at the top of his lungs.
“Stop!” she said at the end of a particularly painful rendition of "The Fae Who Got Away," even as she laughed at his antics.
“You don’t like my voice?” he asked, mock-offended.
“No, I do not tend to enjoy the sound of a dying squirrel.”
He laughed loudly in response, then started swaying slightly.
“Ooookay, let’s find a place to sit,” she said, tugging him toward a nearby bench. He plopped down, uncorking the half-full bottle in his hand and chugging.
Sitting next to him, Elain curled her legs beneath her and gazed up at the sky. It was quite late in the day, or perhaps early in the morning; it had been early evening when they were still at the Day Court, though that had been hours ago, so she couldn’t imagine what time it was now. But she wasn’t tired at all, the wild events of the day keeping her mind busy and her stimulation piqued.
“What am I supposed to do next?” Lucien asked out of nowhere. He seemed to have shed the drunken lightness like a second skin and now wore a forlorn and dejected demeanor.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he took another gulp of wine as he gathered his thoughts, “What in the bloody hells am I supposed to do next? Do I tell anyone? Do I tell no one? Do I start referring to Helion as Daddy?”
The snickered together, though Lucien’s expression sobered up quickly.
“Do I let my mother know that I know the truth of my heritage, the truth she has kept from me all my life?” Some of his sadness was replaced with anger as he shook his head. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell me.”
“She was trying to protect you.”
“I know that. Gods, I know that. Doesn’t make it hurt any less, though.”
“No. No, it doesn’t,” she agreed quietly.
For a while, they both sat in silence, sipping on wine and lost in their own thoughts. Soft Fae lights were strung through the branches of the trees that formed a sort of canopy above the bench, casting a warm glow over them.
“You should ask the voices in your head what I’m supposed to do,” Lucien said.
She gave him a sad smile. “I don’t think it works like that.”
He sighed and faced her fully. “I didn’t think so, either. Worth a try though, eh?”
She smiled wider. She admired her friend - she really did. Even in the face of such a life-changing discovery, even after finding out that his entire existence has been a half-lie, he still tried to keep things light and humorous. Sure, it was most likely a defense mechanism, but she liked it all the same.
Elain was suddenly distracted by his eyes. They were really quite enchanting, one russet, one gold and mechanical. She admired them for a moment unabashedly, feeling as bold as the wine she’d been drinking all night.
“You’re staring at me,” he said.
“I am,” she agreed. It would be silly to deny it.
The enchanting eyes in question widened at her response. “What?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious.
“You almost never look at me. At least not like that. Not so…fully.”
She blinked, his honesty scalding as boiling water. Just as painful was the knowledge that there was a kernel of truth in the statement. Whether it was the wine or the guilt she felt, she decided to return his honesty with a little of her own.
“I know,” she replied finally. “I am...sometimes I look at you, and I feel like I am drowning.”
“Drowning in the cauldron?” Lucien asked quietly.
Elain stilled. Breathe , she reminded herself.
“Yes,” she whispered. “That, and also just drowning in you .”
“I can relate to that,” he said, shifting a bit and glancing away. A thick swallow worked its way down his throat. “It’s strange, isn’t it? To feel so connected to someone that you don’t know that well?”
She nodded in response, watching two fireflies circle each other. “We know each other now, though,” she said. “But you’re right. It was so strange to feel that…that tug in my belly, that indescribable pull, the very second we made eye contact that night. It feels like that moment just changed everything, you know?” She was talking mostly to herself at this point, contemplating and reflecting on how that evening in Hybern had turned her entire world upside down. But here she was on the other side, still alive, still moving forward. Stronger and surer of herself than ever before.
Lucien’s soft voice pulled her from her contemplation.
“Elain,” he said. When she looked at him again, she was shocked to see tears falling swiftly from his one good eye. “I have never truly apologized for that night. Though I swear to you that I had no idea Hybern was planning on doing that to you and your sister…” He inhaled sharply, and through the bond she felt his guilt, heavy and suffocating.
“I am so sorry. For the Cauldron. For the things I said when the time was clearly not right. For all of it.” He was still crying, his regret palpable. Unconsciously, she reached out and grabbed his hand. Watched as he froze when she began rubbing her thumb over his palm in small, soothing circles.
“I forgive you,” she said. “I forgave you a long time ago, actually.”
He smiled then, gratitude glowing in his eyes, and she found herself smiling back. They continued to smile at each other as Lucien intertwined his fingers with her own. The fae lights hanging overhead reflected against his brilliant crimson hair; for a moment, he looked luminescent.
“Growing up Fae…you hear about mates as if they are legends,” Lucien mused. “Myths, practically. That might not make sense to you, since both your sisters are mated, but it’s true. Mates are so rare, so precious. I never expected to find mine. And…and after I met Jesminda, I never really wanted to,” he admitted in a rushed whisper, as if he didn’t know if he should be mentioning his deceased lover.
“I heard what happened to her,” she said quietly, watching as Lucien stiffened. “To your…to Jesminda.” A pause. “I cannot imagine the pain and sorrow you endured. That you continue to endure. As someone who has lost a loved one, too…I know that just because they are gone, it does not mean the love you feel for them is gone. If anything, it just exacerbates it. Brings it into higher definition.”
The red-haired male inclined his head. “Exactly,” he said. “It took decades for me to even look at another female after her death. And it took even longer for me to feel anything more than lust or physical desire for one.”
“When I became Fae, and Greyson did not want me anymore, I was convinced I’d never love again,” she confessed. Almost involuntarily, the corners of her mouth turned up. “How glad I am that I was wrong.”
Something flashed in Lucien’s eyes at that, and maybe if Elain wasn’t so tipsy, she would’ve realized her slip-up. Would have realized the danger of her words. Would have realized she was a liar and a sneak and a spy , and she had just accidentally divulged a threateningly-personal piece of information. For either Lucien would assume she was talking about him… or he’d discover she was talking about someone else.
As it was, though, Elain did not realize any of this. She continued smiling in blissful unawareness.
Lucien’s face had gone rather slack. “It was you, you know,” he breathed.
“What?” she replied, just as breathlessly, taken aback by the sudden intensity in his gaze. They were moving closer together, their chests nearly touching, drawn like magnets. She could count every freckle on his nose.
“You were the first female that made me realize I could…could feel that way again. Could love again.”
Elain sucked in a breath, apprehension mixing with something different, something far more dangerous. The rational half of her brain told her to run. The other half—the half ruled primarily by the aching in her chest that had been there since the day of Cassian’s healing—begged her to move closer.
“I took one look at you,” he whispered, “and I just knew.” Her heart was pounding. Those words...wasn’t that what every girl wanted to hear?
They were so close now she could taste his warm, sweet breath. What would it hurt, she thought, to give in to this? To finally allow that thread within her to pull her toward what it so clearly wanted?
Just one kiss, she thought, head heavy with wine and want. Just one kiss, to see what it was like.
But as she began to close the distance between them, her eyelids drooping down in tandem with Lucien’s, something caught her attention. Their two figures, bent forward and nearly intertwined, were backlit against the fae-lights, creating a shadow that spanned across the ground.
Shadow .
It was with a great, heaving gasp that she pulled away, her entire body suddenly cold. Her hands covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. She would have liked to say it in a normal voice, but her throat didn’t seem to be working right.
Confusion and hurt warred across Lucien’s golden face. All he said though was, “It’s okay. I’m the one who should be sorry.”
She shook her head vigorously. “No. No, you shouldn’t. Please, don’t apologize to me.” She stood up. “I have to go.”
Without waiting for a reply, she raced away, thankfully encountering no one else on the way. When she finally reached her bedroom, she collapsed on the bed, stuffed a pillow beneath her face and screamed.
Why couldn’t she just be happy with Lucien? Why did the sight of a goddamn shadow make her feel guilty for nearly kissing someone who was as single as she - the same someone that the stupid godsdamned Cauldron had decided was meant for her?
If she was smarter, if she wasn’t so drawn to an emotionally unavailable shadowsinger who had yet to explicitly admit his feelings for her, none of this would be an issue. If she didn’t let her heart make every damn decision, she wouldn’t be feeling so hollow and helpless. Wouldn’t have hurt someone else in the process.
Fucking Azriel. She should have known she'd never be able to get him out of her head.
***
Elain remained at the Night Court the next day, opting to return to the Mortal Manor the day afterwards in order to spend some much needed time with Nyx. Feyre had arrived back from the Day Court at some point the previous evening but had wisely given Lucien some much-needed space, so Elain still didn’t know how the rest of her conversation with Helion went.
Speaking of the red-haired male, Elain had not seen him since her disastrous departure in the garden. She expected he was avoiding her. She certainly could not blame him for that, and was secretly glad of it—she, too, needed some time to consider just how to approach the situation. Merely thinking about their almost-kiss had her stomach hurting like she was about to start her period (which, ever since she turned Fae, was quite possibly the most painful thing she’d ever experienced).
Thankfully, Nyx was the best cure for her stress. After a day full of belly kisses and baking cookies and trying to keep him from flying into the walls (she succeeded, for the most part), she felt infinitely better, and tucked Nyx into bed that night with a weight lifted off her shoulders.
She had just entered her bedroom and was looking forward to washing her face and curling up with a book when there was a light knock at her door.
Assuming it was Feyre with Nyx, who almost always requested multiple goodnight kisses from his Auntie Elain, she opened the door with a playful smile on her face.
It vanished almost immediately as she beheld Azriel.
“What are you doing here?” she asked breathlessly, hating the way her mind went to the previous night with Lucien, beneath the fae lights, and even though technically nothing had happened…heavy guilt churned through her belly.
The corner of his jaw ticked nervously. “Well, Lucien arrived back at the Mortal Manor early this morning. Said you and Feyre were in the Night Court and then left immediately after to go gods-know-where.”
She nodded slowly, then frowned. “If you’re here, who’s guarding the Mortal Manor?”
“Mor,” he replied, surprising her. Then, to her greater shock, he blushed. “I, well, Vassa seemed like she could use a girl friend to talk to, and I’ve always thought she and Mor would get along great, and Mor has been wanting a break from Valhalla for a while now -”
“So you set them up,” she asked, unable to stop the corner of her mouth from turning upward as Azriel blushed even deeper, the high contours of his cheeks a dusty rose color.
Her good humor was short lived as she remembered the awkward tension that still lingered between the two of them. The small smile on her face disappeared, replaced with wariness.
Sensing her change in demeanor, Azriel grew somber. “ Elain,” he said in a rough voice that reverberated through her body all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes.
She closed her eyes. It was truly unfair how his very presence affected her so significantly. She was trying so, so hard to be aloof. Cool and collected.
Thankfully, despite his affect on her, she said nothing. She would not give him the words he so desperately sought. He knew better than to expect her to fill in the blanks for him.
“Can we talk? Please?”
“We are talking,” she replied evenly.
“Somewhere else.”
“Why?”
“I want a chance to apologize. In depth, this time.”
“Apologize for what?” she said calmly, lips slightly numb. “The cruel and unwarranted words you said to me, or the way you threw my insecurities back in my face?”
Azriel swallowed. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Yes, all of that.”
She gave no reaction, just continued to look at him with those big brown eyes.
“Elain, he said again, and maybe he was a selfish bastard for using her name (because he knew the effect it had on her), but he would do anything to win her back right now. Would throw all his cards on the table.
“Do you remember that day in Rosehall? When I told you why my mother cannot speak.”
“Yes,” she said after a moment.
“I never finished the story.”
She blinked, her surprise evident, but she remained silent.
“I’d like to tell you now, though. Will you please go somewhere with me to hear it?”
“Where?”
He held out a hand. She eyed it for a long moment.
A thick swallow worked its way down the column of his elegant throat. “Trust me?” he asked quietly, a vulnerability in his expression that she’d never seen before.
Oh, gods. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, feeling her resolve crumble around her.
Besides, there was only one honest answer.
She opened her eyes. And she took his hand.
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