Sweat slicked her skin, an almost unbearable amount of heat beating down on her. Before them—her and Morrigan—Cassian and Rhysand sparred, Azriel off on some mission. They were shirtless, muscles gleaming in the sun as their swords darted forward in lightning movements. Eblis watched with fascination as Rhysand’s arm rippled and the long blade he held slashed against Cassian’s block.
“Why is it so hot out here,” Morrigan moaned. Eblis sighed in response, sliding further into the shade of a small, stretched piece of fabric. The relief was immense. “And why do we have to watch the grown bat boys spar?”
Cassian said, through his teeth, “You were supposed to be sparring with us.” His hair was plastered against his forehead even though it had been pulled back into a tight bun. The tattoos on his shoulders—Illyrian tattoos, proving his strength and resilience—twisted with his movements. Sparks flew.
“Sparring with you and Rhysand? What, like a threesome?”
Eblis sputtered a laugh, Mor grinning as even Rhysand faltered in his movements with a startled cough. Cassian took the opening with an efficiency honed through centuries of bloodshed, even as he grinned.
“It can be whatever you want, Morrigan,” he replied, the strike of steel on steel almost drowning out the sultry warning. “I’ll beat your ass either way.”
Mor stuck out her tongue.
Cassian mimed the movement, even as his eyes were solely focused on Rhysand’s movements. She bit her lip, trying not to smile. To see them act so relaxed was strange, even more so as her brother and the General fought with live steel, not bothering to stop even for the sharpest of nicks and cuts. It was dangerous, and beautifully deadly, and Morrigan had stuck her tongue out at him despite how very lethally he sparred.
“Don’t look so surprised, Eblis.” She startled, straightening as Cassian addressed her. “Morrigan is just as petulant now as she was when we were younger.”
“Oh, bug off.” Mor leaned back despite the challenge in his voice, taking a sip of some cold, lemony concoction. She wasn’t sure if there was alcohol in it or not.
Rhysand lunged, and said, “That’s your only comeback, cousin?” Cassian took a step back, wings flaring for balance even as he advanced on the male once more.
“Of course it is,” Cassian said for her, between one pant and the next. Eblis suddenly realized they were egging her on, trying to get her to spar with them. Mor stiffened beside her. It was working, apparently.
“You’re tearing up the grass.” Eblis turned to the new voice, flapping her shirt against her chest for any breath of a breeze. She paused as she found Amren; a loose shirt cut off at her navel and some short pants cladded her olive skin gracefully. She didn’t seem the least bit hot as her dark curtain of hair was tucked behind sharp ears. “Why are you sparring on the lawn and not at the Estate or even the House of Wind? Too lazy to walk now?”
A wide circle of grass in the lawn of the Townhouse was scuffed, some clods of dirt churned up from blades parried sharply enough that they slid into the ground. Neither of the males seemed to care about it, nor Amren’s taunt.
Cassian bared his teeth in an estimation of a grin. “We were thinking about tearing up the grass here anyway. Feyre wanted that pond from the Summer Court right? With the koi fish?”
Rhysand rolled his eyes good naturedly. “She had a chance to implement it while designing the Estate.” He then called a halt in the sparring, their blades falling apart instantly. Rhysand gulped down cold water, much as Cassian did. “Was there something you needed, Amren?”
“You.” Rhysand quirked a brow. Amren folded her arms, manicured nails too sharp for comfort. “I would like to discuss something with you,” she continued before sliding a silver gaze to Eblis. “Why don’t you spar with Cassian in the meantime, girl?”
She was shaking her head before the female even finished. The General of the Night Court grinned anyway, a challenge in his gaze. “C’mon, Lis. We’ll use wooden swords.”
Lis. She hadn’t heard that pet name in five long centuries.
Eblis looked down at her clothes as Rhysand and Amren departed. “I’m hardly dressed for sparring.” Indeed—she was wearing a thin shirt with short sleeves and even a pair of pants she’d cut to be about mid-thigh to combat the heat. Certainly nothing she should be fighting in. Not to mention that she didn’t want to spar.
Morrigan laughed. “We’re right in front of the Townhouse. I’m sure there are some better fitting clothes for you to wear.”
“It’s too hot to get on leathers or anything,” Cassian said, and he settled his sword on the grass some distance from the small circle of space they’d deemed the boundaries. “I’m not sure where to get wooden swords though.”
“I could get them from one of the houses,” Mor offered.
Eblis sighed, standing in defeat even as she was struck with an idea. “No need.” She’d been practicing with Azriel the past few days since the incident with the Hewn City, and she was suddenly very capable of using her magic even while she was dog-tired and near to collapsing. She would not be captured when she was weakest again.
Almost excited to show off, she held her hand before her and wiggled her fingers. Shadows swept to her call, and in her palm the shape of a dark, rippling sword took shape, the hilt cold and formless. Adding a small slice of her night magic, and the blade became solid.
Cassian raised a brow. “Fancy.” His siphons flared bright red, and he then held his own weapon made of swirling, almost translucent ruby magic. She’d seen them create arrows and shields with that magic before, but never an actual weapon to use.
Mor cursed, and said, “Why do you guys get all the cool tools?” Cassian grinned while Eblis laughed.
“Make sure your blade is dull,” Cassian then said, turning to her. She suddenly regretted her decision as the full breadth of Cassian’s broad shoulders, muscled body, and deadly sword pointed towards her. Eblis felt way out of her depth.
A shadow swept across their forms, and before the Illyrian could advance, Azriel landed between them. His hazel eyes danced with amusement at the scene.
“What’s going on here?”
Eblis’s toes curled in her boots at his voice. So soft and playful and challenging. It made her cheeks burn even as she tried stuffing the emotions away.
“Well, if you hadn’t interrupted,” Cassian shot back, “I had just convinced Eblis to spar with me.”
Azriel slid a glance to her. “Really?” She took a deep breath, the shadow sword in her hand dissipating quickly as she lost her focus. “Sorry to bother you, then, but I must take Eblis.”
Cassian rolled his eyes up to the clear blue sky, the sun playing against his dark strands of sweat-slicked hair. “Why do my partners keep being taken away?”
Morrigan laughed. “Because you suck at fighting. You’ve been spending too much time with Nes.” Cassian’s eyes sharpened in playful warning, and he beckoned her with a finger. This time, she rose to his challenge, her hands pulling her hair back from her face even as the male discarded his magic sword and picked the real ones up again.
“To make it more even,” he crooned to her, and the battle sparked between them as soon as Morrigan had the steel in her palms. They moved with just as much deadly efficiency as Rhysand and Cassian’s sparring had, and Eblis was glad she wasn’t the one facing the brunt of those muscles. Even though Mor handled it with a sleek grace she was envious of.
Azriel pulled her aside with a smile to his family, and she shook the thoughts from her mind. “What is it, Azriel?” she asked.
“Elain’s birthday is in a week. Feyre has invited you to go shopping with her in advance.”
She blinked. “What is a birthday again?” She recognized the word, but couldn’t quite remember what it meant.
It was Azriel’s turn to blink with disbelief. “It is a celebration of the day you were born,” he answered. He started to lead them away with a curious glance to her.
She frowned, and said, “I thought fae didn’t do that, being immortal and all?”
“Elain wasn’t always fae, Eblis.”
“Ah,” she said, embarrassed, “right.” From what she’d heard in Hybern—very little to say the least—both Elain and Nesta had only been Made a year prior by the King and the fabled cauldron of magic from the history of creation. Mortal women had gone in, and immortal females had been spat out. She didn't know how they’d come to be there in the first place, only that it had caused some very interesting developments in the war; namely that Tamlin had succumbed to the King and his forces because of this and allowed them entrance into Prythian.
Azriel shook his head, shadows writhing around his shoulders and wings as always despite the heat. “Nesta will be going along with you, as well.”
Eblis nodded, sighing. She hadn’t met her yet, but she was the eldest sister of Feyre’s. And supposedly the most feisty. It might be...troublesome to handle her. She shook her head to rid of the thought and turned to the Shadowsinger. “Why were you gone this morning?”
“Were you worried?”
Her cheeks burned. “No. I’m just curious.”
“Hm,” was all he said, turning his face to the sun. She didn’t realize they were already within the throes of Velaris, fae swirling around them with their shops and stalls. Gleaming bits of glass cast colorful reflections across their path. She breathed in the smell of salty, yet spice-scented air. “I was handling Keir this morning,” Azriel finally responded as a cool breeze swept past them. The whole street seemed to pause to accept the gentle kiss before the heat blazened them once more.
Even so, her stomach coiled. “What’s going on with Keir now? Did he not appreciate his plan being foiled?”
“He remains silent on the matter. But I mostly meant handling him because he is refusing to let me search for your attackers.” An inch of icy sharpness danced in his voice. Her attackers. But rather than thinking of that, she only thought of the night of dancing, and the careful conversation they’d shared. One where Azriel had admitted he loved her, and she had had to push him away.
She forced herself to take a deep breath and smile. “I’ve only met Elain once and it was cut very short. What should I get her?” she asked, clearly changing the subject. Azriel only glanced down at her in acknowledgement of the fact before considering her words.
“She is kind, and gentle. Anything would please her, no matter what you get.”
“Thought so,” she sighed. “I suppose I’ll have Feyre to help me.” Azriel nodded before waving to someone. She glanced up in time to meet Feyre’s gaze, as if she’d been summoned by her words.
Their High Lady smiled, a loose and flowy dress swaying along her knees. “Hello, Eblis—Azriel.” Both inclined their heads respectfully. “I can take her from here, thank you, Azriel.” He nodded, wings flaring as he prepared to take flight. She sent a cool spread of shadows across his nape in goodbye, much at the same time he did. They’d begun doing that almost unintentionally since he’d started training her Shadowsinger abilities—it had become a matter of habit by that point.
Whether Feyre noticed or not, she did not say. With the thought of Azriel on her mind, she joined her High Lady’s side. “Could I try something?” she asked politely.
Feyre raised a brown-gold brow, but nodded. Awkwardly, before she could lose her bravo, Eblis clasped the female’s hand.
Calloused. Warm. Slightly sweaty, yet firm. Feyre glanced down in surprise before smiling at her, eyes wide with astonishment. “Have you gotten over your fear of touch?” she asked, almost incredulously.
Eblis separated their palms, and struggled to not wipe it on her pants. Feyre’s touch lingered along the creases of her hand, her fingers. Like a phantom grip she couldn’t shake. It made her skin crawl slightly, goosebumps raising along her arms. I didn’t throw up or run away, she assured herself, before responding to Feyre.
“Not quite. But I am...trying. It seems as I build more trust I am more capable of fleeting contact.”
The female nodded, her hair braided back and away from her face except for a few strands that framed her cheeks which bobbed with the movement. “I do not know if Azriel warned you, but we are waiting on my sister, Nesta.” Eblis dipped her chin in a nod, surveying their surroundings. “Mor betrayed us and has already picked a gift out for her, so she wasn’t invited today,” Feyre then said with a pout-smile that made warmth flare in her chest. Eblis, much as she had been at the Townhouse, was startled into laughter at the camaraderie of the Night Court. She didn’t think she would ever get used to it.
“Well, she has been pulled into sparring with Cassian and might be regretting her choices now.” Feyre grinned.
Right as a third figure joined them. Nesta.
Both Eblis and Feyre’s sister sized the other up, some sort of tension arising suddenly. Nesta had the same brown hair and blue-gray gaze as Feyre, but one far sharper and colder than the female’s. Her cheekbones were high, face shadowed and her hair braided into a crown along her skull, the pointed ears prominent against the mass of soft-looking tresses. A dress of pale blue draped across her shoulders and brushed her ankles, but despite the feminine clothing, there was a sleek strength similar to Mor’s build. It seemed if the female wasn’t wearing the gown, she would’ve been wearing Illyrian leathers.
And, among her scent of cold flames and molten metal, was that of wind-kissed petrichor.
Cassian’s smell.
Feyre spoke into the quiet of their trio, and said, “Eblis, this is my older sister, Nesta. Nesta, this is Rhysand’s younger sister, Eblis.” They nodded to the other stiffly, something sparking between them. Nesta’s blueish gaze was sharp upon her.
“My sister speaks highly of you.” Such intentional, probing words. But Eblis turned to Feyre with a raised brow, trying to ignore the immaculate tone of her sister. “Not that one.”
“Oh, then Elain?” she asked, trying to be polite despite the way she seemed to ruffle her skin.
Nesta nodded. “You have impressed her far deeper than one meeting should have allowed,” she continued, but only turned to scan the stalls. “It was around this area that she was shot by one of your...followers, right?” Eblis didn’t even flinch as she assessed the stretch of street they stood in much as Nesta did. She nodded after a moment, remembering the clattering of clay pots against the cobbled road as well as the scream of fleeing people. She wondered, briefly, what had happened to those four unfortunate attors.
“It would appear so,” she said finally. Feyre watched them precariously, but Eblis only searched her memory for something to speak of in the stilted silence. She studied Nesta’s tall shoulders and stiff spine. “How has Cassian’s training been for you?” She only vaguely remembered being offered to train with the male and the Archeron sister, but she was glad that it was there for something to talk about—and also glad she had denied it.
Nesta stood a little taller. “Quite fine.” She almost winced at the barbed words. She’d have thought that bringing up the female’s mate would’ve made her soften a little, but it seemed to do the opposite. Eblis let the conversation drop.
“Alright,” Feyre said hesitantly, as if sensing they were finished, “let’s go get Elain a present, then.”
They started walking along the stalls, studying small baubles and items. Eblis said, to perhaps break the stiffness a little more, “I’ve never gone gift-buying, let alone given a gift in a very long time.”
“That’s right, you were in Hybern?” She tried to hide her surprise at Nesta’s follow-up response, having expected Feyre to lead more than anything. She just nodded. “I suppose you wouldn’t be walking freely unless they trusted you, of course. But that is up for debate.”
Ah. Not quite a calm conversation.
“Nesta,” Feyre admonished. The female only curled a small corner of lip before deliberately looking at a random item. Eblis bit the inside of her cheek.
She found herself wandering over to a glass-maker’s counter that she’d noticed before to avoid Nesta, even though she became enraptured by the small baubles. The sun filtered through each item differently, some with bubbles in them and some the sleek, completely transparent glass that one could look through easily. She eyed the different colors and shapes and sizes, her gaze inevitably catching on the small flowers with gems encrusted along them. One such was a bright valium red with petals that curled away from the center gem of honeyed brown. The tip of each section was kissed by sun-yellow.
It was a brooch, and it was no larger than the palm of her hand.
Eblis picked it up and held it to the light, and the colors splashed along her face delightfully. Feyre joined her side, already smiling as she inspected the piece.
“That is quite beautiful,” she murmured, gently taking it from her hands. She admired it as well, and the owner wandered over.
“Thank you,” they beamed. It was a male; his hair was long and satin green, his skin a pale leaf to the dark shade of his straight locks. In his eyes, it seemed spring was a bountiful prospect. “Do you wish to buy this piece?”
Eblis bit the inside of her cheek. “Could you give us a moment?” She still had no money, and she had yet to find a way to pay Jaquelin back for her dresses. The thoughts jangled embarrassingly in her head.
The owner nodded and slipped away to another client, and Eblis turned to Feyre. “I was thinking about working in the Library,” she proffered instantly. The Library was a vast underground haven filled with several levels, hundreds of bookshelves, and even more books. Priests kept the place in order, but not normal temple priests—ones who have suffered, and been traumatized. Females, mostly, but there was the rare male who roamed the sloping levels that spiraled down to the base of the huge granite mountain. On the top was the House of Wind, another of her brother’s many homes which was only accessible through flight, one thousand steps, or through winnowing which was keyed into the bloodline of Night. It would be the perfect place for her to settle in and be out of the way. And it would be a job; one that would help her pay for her own living.
Feyre gave Eblis a long look, brows furrowed. “You could also work for Rhysand—as a Shadowsinger like Azriel.”
She shook her head, and said, “I would never be fit to do that. I know it’s a waste to let these skills go...but I can’t think of myself fighting or...killing people.”
“It’s not all killing,” Feyre responded thoughtfully. She weighed the glass flower in her hand. “But I respect your wishes. I’ll talk to Clotho—the head priest—and mention it to Rhysand.”
She nodded gratefully. Eblis was relieved to finally have a potential source of income, and she would not have to live off her brother any longer. Not that it was a problem; she just refused to be a burden on them.
The owner returned, and Eblis paid for the flower brooch, asking to have it specially wrapped. She held the item delicately as she followed Feyre around Velaris, Nesta somewhere along their heels or sometimes in front of them as she danced from shop to shop, searching for the perfect thing. The sun was still a sharp knife of perspiration on her back and her head of black hair, enough so that she specially asked to make it down to the distant beach and the inlet of the Sidra. There, the wind from off the ocean was a buffeting force, but she welcomed it as it dried her skin and sprayed her with salty water.
Feyre watched the roiling water, eyes distant.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Eblis began, and Feyre looked down at her where she had settled on the sand, “but I know so little of you and your sisters. Everyone else I...have a history with, and yet you three are new. I very much want to get to know you better.” Her fingers fidgeted with the beautifully wrapped glass brooch.
“Hm,” the female said, and she sat down next to her, dress brushing softly against her legs as the wind blew it sharply. Feyre gathered the fabric in her lap. “I guess it all started with Tamlin.”
She leaned forward, getting better access to see Feyre’s face. “I saw the way he looked at you in the Winter Court,” she said, and the High Lady sighed. “I could understand how he looked at Rhysand, but to you? You are far too young to have any part in that bad history.”
“I’m only twenty, so you are correct.” Eblis blinked. Twenty? So young. “I used to be human just as my sisters were, and we lived in the human lands right next to the forest with the wall. We...lived in poverty.” A flash of solemnity and pain, her blue-gray gaze too young to hold such emotions. It was strange to think of herself older than this female. By centuries. “I hunted to keep our family alive; me, my sisters, and our father. But, I killed a beast knowing full well it was fae. He was large—a wolf, with yellow eyes and thick fur I sold the next day at the market. His name was Andras.”
Eblis turned to watch the ocean once more as Feyre’s face softened into one of sadness, the words flowing over her. This was her history; this female of only twenty years. Eblis had lived far longer than her, and yet she had already been through so much. Rhysand’s mate. His night and sun and the one the world had deemed strong enough to weather his own wretched story.
Feyre continued with a small glance behind them, Nesta joining them as she said, “That was when I met Tamlin. He demanded retribution for killing his soldier, and I was forced to live with him or be killed in the wilds of Prythian. I didn’t know it then, but Amarantha had had the fae under her iron palm, and Tamlin under a curse.”
Amarantha; the Hybern General Eblis had heard of. Her name was both revered and feared for what she had done, even if in the end she had done it for reasons other than to serve her King. Revenge.
“The Spring court had to wear masks for seven times seven years, and he had to fall in love with a mortal who had killed one of his prized men with hatred in their heart. I was that person; and I fell in love with him, deeply and quickly. He was the male to protect the weak mortal in a world of danger, who had swept me away from poverty and gave my family wealth and a name again. But his time was eaten up quickly—he sent me back to the human lands when Amarantha snatched him away to Under the Mountain.” Her words stumbled a little, but she cleared her throat and continued with a strength Eblis could not be surprised to hear, “I returned to his court, and found it in ruins. A former maid—Alis—told me where to go. There, I bargained to save all of Prythian; just for three tasks.
“I completed those tasks at great cost and yet Amarantha had played me with the wording of our bargain. She...she snapped my neck, right as I figured out how to break the curse.” Nesta stared at her lap with a face devoid of any emotion, though the expression was close enough to sadness for Eblis to feel her eyes burn. Her High Lady had suffered greatly. Perhaps just as much as she had.
“That was when she was Made,” Nesta continued softly; far too softly for someone who held iron in her heart. Her perception of the female changed drastically within those few words.
Feyre nodded after a long breath. “I suffered trauma, and fear, and I could not sleep a whole night without throwing up long after the events had passed. I could not be in a tight space. I could not be underground. I could not stand the color of red—so like blood and Amarantha’s hair as it was. My innocence was slaughtered, and Tamlin did nothing to help me. He let me suffer, and pretended as if everything was alright. And yet, we were to be wed.”
“By that bitch priest Ianthe.” Eblis’s gaze danced to Nesta’s as she spat the words. The sand was suddenly too warm beneath them as the female’s hatred swelled.
“What happened?” she murmured, unfolding her legs so they stretched before her. The tide of the ocean reached forward, just barely grabbing onto her legs before sweeping back.
Feyre smiled softly. “Rhys and the Night Court saved me,” she said simply.
Nesta snorted and added, “Tamlin did not like that. He bargained with fucking Hybern to get her back as if she were a toy and in the process offered I and Elain to be test dummies for the cauldron. Because, you see, those bitches of mortal Queens had joined Hybern’s side as well like—”
“Language,” Feyre said, laughing softly despite the tragic events. But everything clicked in her head. Tamlin hadn’t given up his lands after they’d been Made; he’d done it because they’d been Made. Part of the bargain he’d created to get Feyre back. Her anger boiled in her blood, and she was suddenly very happy the male’s family had been killed centuries ago, even if the events had no correlation. But…
“Rhysand apologized to him still for the death of his family, even if he did not deserve it,” she said.
Feyre nodded. “Tamlin…he did not do what he did intentionally. He loved me the only way he could, and it was no longer enough for me anymore. It doesn’t make what he did right, and I’ll forever curse him for forcing my sisters to go through something like that—but we have forever to hold a grudge. And sometimes, even for immortals, forever is too long a time to let hatred fester. Tamlin tortures himself enough as it is for what happened, and what he lost. And that is enough for me and Rhysand.”
Eblis sighed, looking down at the flower in her lap. “So Elain killed the King of Hybern to...get back at him? Such a gentle lady, spilling blood.”
“The King of Hybern killed our father.”
“Elain killed him before he could then kill Nesta, and Cassian,” Feyre then finished for her sister. Nesta’s lip curled, eyes haunted. She was the eldest sister, but much as her other sisters, she seemed to have nightmares of her own. Many of them.
She nodded slowly. “Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry for all you had to go through, and I’m glad you both found your mates and your happiness in the end.” She squinted up at the sun. “Gives me a little hope, I guess.”
“I have not found my mate,” Nesta barked. Eblis startled, turning to watch as Nesta jumped to a stand in a spray of sand. The calm, reminiscing female had disappeared very suddenly, the wash of memory seeming to have been dashed away from her. She had spun away before Eblis could even correct herself.
She winced as she glanced at Feyre. The female only shook her head and stood. “It’s time we go anyway.” Eblis pushed herself up, carefully holding the flower in her palm still. For Elain—fierce Elain, who had killed a King to avenge the death of her father and protect her sister. She was very suddenly something of a role model for her; to be someone so keen to protect and yet averse to death, her scent kissed by flowers and eyes a honeyed light to follow. She was so much more than Eblis could ever be. Much as Feyre or even Nesta were. Her dark past no longer seemed so impossible to withstand.
“A week from now, we will be gathering in the Townhouse to celebrate her birthday,” Feyre said, unaware of her thoughts. “Nothing too fancy. Just some food and drinks and presents.”
Eblis’s feet trudged through sand until they met the cobble of Velaris’s roads. At her side, Feyre’s head snapped up.
***
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