A Storm of Flames and Deceit

6. Unstoppable

"Anything," I reply, meaning it.

"Do you think my father will come for me?" She asks quietly, biting her lip nervously.

I hesitate before reaching out to stroke her cheek comfortingly, her burrowing into my touch. "He might," I answer honestly. "I can't promise you'll never see him again."

"I want to see him again," she answers, rolling her head to the side into my palm. "I want vengeance."

"You'll have it," I vow. "Even if you never see him again- which I sadly doubt- every day you live the life he robbed you of, you take revenge."

"You think so?" She smiles softly into my hand.

"I know so," I reply, watching her lashes fan angelically across her wine flushed cheeks. "Nephele?"

She does reply, already asleep against my thigh, mumbling softly with a smile on her lips.

...

If Nephele remembers anything the next morning, she doesn't say anything as she walks into the kitchen, fresh out of a bath, rubbing her eyes. I silently pass her a glass of water, not looking up from my paperwork when she thanks me.

"What's that?" She asks groggily, leaning over my shoulder, her lavender sweet scent hitting me like an afternoon rain shower. I clear my throat.

"Expense report on the military camps," I tell her. "They're ready to be moved back into their original camps from the militia sights they were occupying, but the cost of doing it discreetly might take a dent out of our budget considering I dropped the taxes on low income citizens."

"I assume your father kept them nice and high for the poor, making sure the rich didn't have to dig into those deep pockets of theirs?" She sets her glass of water down, still standing so close its maddening.

I nod. "Yeah, the rich aren't too happy with me these days," I shrug.

"Must be doing something right then," she chuckles, picking up the paper. "Why all the discretion? I'm sure there's plenty of reasons- but why?"

"Moving an army draws a lot of attention," I reply. "To other courts- even allies- it garners concern. To nobles, it raises the question why I had so many men in hiding. Makes it look like my father's death was pre meditated."

"Nobody likes premeditated," she agrees. "Self defense is much more comforting in a High Lord."

I smile wryly. "Yes, I suppose," I laugh quietly. "And there are certain enemies- domestic and abroad- that I still worry over intercepting our men."

"Domestic," she turns the word over on her lips, sitting on the counter beside me. "You mean your brothers."

I nod. "I don't think they're stupid or influential enough to do anything," I reply. "But if they played their cards right, they could be a real pain in my ass if they bargained for protection with the nobles. I'm sure they hate slumming it in hiding anyway. I don't believe this is the last we'll see of them."

She frowns, resting her face in her hand. "What?" I ask.

"Something happened yesterday," she tells me quietly as if she only just remembered. "At the Night Court."

"What?" I grit out. If someone hurt her...

"Nobody hurt me- if that's what you're thinking," she seems to answer my thoughts. "I just..."

"What?" I ask softly.

"What do you know about the house of wind? About its wards?" She asks me, directing her attention to my gaze.

"I know that it's wards are as ancient as any palace," I reply. "More ancient than anyone really knows. It has always been that way just as other buildings that are sacred to the land. It's power exists in pertinence to its High Lord. So long as he or she lives, the wards cannot be broken or overstepped."

She smiles awkwardly, scratching the back of her neck. "I may have overstepped," she mumbles.

I blink. "Overstepped what?" I ask dumbly.

"The wards," she tells me. "Unless Rhysand is dead- which I seriously doubt- I somehow winnowed through the wards without even feeling it."

I blink again, trying to understand if I'm hearing her right. She buries her face in her hands. "Say something," she begs.

"Even Rhys himself can't winnow through those wards," I mumble uselessly.

"That's what Cress said when she informed me I wasn't supposed to be able to do that," she brushes her hair back from her face, distressed. I wish I could reach out a soothing hand to her, but I know it wouldn't be received well.

"Who all knows that you did this?" I ask.

"Just Cress," she tells me. "I convinced the others that I took the stairs. They seemed to believe it when I implied that there was simply no other way I could've gotten us there."

"Good," I reply. "They can't know."

"Why?" She whispers. "What's wrong with me Eris? I'm not supposed to be able to do that."

"Nothing is wrong with you, Sweetheart," I say, taking her hand then. To my surprise, she lets me. "You're stronger than the others. Even stronger than Rhysand and Feyre. It makes you threatening. I want them to be afraid of you, but I don't want them to fear you."

"Do you fear me?" She asks quietly.

"Absolutely," I reply in an instant. "But not in the way they would. What you can do doesn't scare me. If I'm being honest, I've had theories about you for a while."

"Theories?" She echoes.

I nod. "On our wedding night, on the night my father died, you were injected with faebane," I explain. "But the effects only lasted you less than a day each time. On a fae triple your size it would last at minimum four days."

"Was I just born different?" She asks, appalled.

"Yes and no," I reply. "Of course you were born powerful because of your mother's lineage- but I think this resistance is less by nature and more by nurture."

She frowns. "I don't follow."

"You spent most of your life powerless- in a state of weakness. Faebane literally lines your veins to this day," I trace my fingers along her lavender tinted veins, her skin tingling with electricity beneath my finger. "You lived in a cellar that was warded like a vault for two centuries, and now, you're in the world: unbound and more powerful than ever."

"What are you saying Eris?"

"I think your body has become resistant to limitation," I tell her, meeting her storming gaze. "I think a day will come when faebane and wards cannot stop you from your vengeance. You took in so much faebane that you are becoming immune. You lived in wards so long that you are beginning to exist around them," I tell her, mystified with the woman in front of me for all the strength that she has, tangible and intangible. "I think you are slowly becoming unstoppable."