The moon rose high over the riverhouse that night, bathing the mansion in her eerie white light. The Sidra ran steadily beside it, illuminating the face of the house so that the grand doorway glowed, dancing on the faces of the Night Court's inner circle as they arrived.
Everyone Rhysand cared about was seated at his table that night, the faces of his friends and family stretching all the way down the polished marble. Azriel and Elain had returned from their mountain cabin, where they always hid when the court became overrun with visitors, even Amren had graced them with her presence. Though her daughter was, of course, already busy back at her own court, it seemed Varian could never miss an opportunity to sneak his paramour into a dark corner at these family events. Or was it the other way around-?
Wine from his cellars flowed all night. He had begrudgingly relinquished the good bottles at Mor's behest - since this feast was in celebration of her coronation, he could hardly refuse.
Cassian was already red in the cheeks by the time he called for a toast, raising his glass as their family fell silent. "The rest of Prythian has already had their chance to honour the Morrigan-"
"Oh sit down, you bumbling oaf!" Mor tugged at his jacket and he stumbled, spilling red wine all over Diana, who jumped up with a squeak to a chorus of laughter.
Cassian regained his composure with a grin, tipping what was left of his drink to Mor beside him. "Tonight, let's raise a glass to the new High Lady of the Spring Court. Long may she reign!"
"Long may she reign!"
The hall erupted in cheers and clinking silverware as Mor rolled her eyes. She didn't yet radiate with the strength and promise of a High Ruler, but Spring's land and titles were now hers. It wouldn't be long before its power followed - of that Rhys was certain.
When the cheers died down and conversation resumed, Mor caught his eye, smiling sadly. "I do love the Spring Court, truly," she sighed. "But this is the longest I've been home in so many years. I'll be sad to leave again."
"Cut the act, your ladyship," Cassian snorted, turning to his brother. "She'll be rushing back to see her lady lover tomorrow morning." he cooed. Rhys couldn't help a laugh as Mor aimed a sharp slap at Cassian's back that sent him spluttering wine all over the table.
"Really you two," Rhys smirked, waving a hand over his own shirt and the marble. The stains vanished instantly, though Mor looked as though she might be contemplating another blow. "For a Lord General and the Lady of Spring, you act like bickering children."
Feyre's dulcet voice caressed the inner walls of his mind. Speaking of children...
Rhys' attention wandered a few seats down as he caught the flash of silver in his peripheral. He glanced across the table to his mate, who raised an eyebrow. Your turn.
"Luna." Rhys called, catching a brassy head of hair from behind Bella, who laughed.
"Sorry Uncle Rhys," she smiled, the effect much like her mother's coy smirk. "I was only going to give her one cup."
"You don't have to cover for her Bella," Rhys chuckled. "I know Luna's more than capable of spinning her own machinations."
A pair of blue eyes popped up from out behind Bella, blinking innocently at her father. "It wasn't for me!" she protested, pouting. Her wings, which had folded to hide her sneaking, peeled back to reveal a silver goblet brimming with wine. "I was going to take it to Xander," Luna insisted. "He looks sad."
Rhys turned just in time to see his second son sit up and become conveniently transfixed with his dinner. He gave Luna a stern look. "You're very clever, young lady," he said, wagging a finger at the girl. "But your brother can take care of himself. Go and see if Nyx needs help with the baby."
Luna looked outraged. "But-!"
"It's nearly your bedtime anyhow." Rhys coaxed, standing from his seat. He was vaguely aware of Luna holding her ground with a huff, but before he had cause to worry, Feyre was by her side, sending a pulse of reassurance down the bond.
Rhys caught a knowing smile tug at Xander's lips as he slid into the seat beside him.
"I'm fine, Dad."
Rhys refilled his cup. "I know. Although, you could do with keeping your mental shield a little better guarded."
Though he wasn't probing, he practically felt the snap as Xander's walls rose and locked, a fortress of smooth obsidian. The younger fae let slip a rare scowl, as though hiding his internal emotions had pushed some irritation through the cracks. But his father knew better than to scold. Xander was the kind of male one could never take at face value - every twitch or grimace was the result of a thousand tiny chain reactions going off inside his mind. Much like tremors in the earth, those watching the surface could never guess just how much had to be stirring beneath to prompt even the slightest of displays.
It was why Rhys had entrusted Xander with so much responsibility, despite being so young, despite being his secondborn. He was too much like his father, and, for better or worse, it made him a very valuable asset to the Night Court.
Rhys settled for a neutral statement, testing the waters. "She's a strong girl, she'll be ok."
Xander released his tension with a sigh, taking a sip from the cup he had poured.
"And," his father went on. "I would bet half our fortune that Eris will keep a much closer eye on her from now on."
"That's what I'm worried about." Xander grumbled.
Rhys huffed a laugh. His younger self would have felt Xander's pain keenly. When you're that age, freedom feels like the ultimate goal - nothing comes before it.
"Perhaps a tighter leash is better than none at all." he pondered. That won a dark chuckle from Xander, whose eyes reflected the light of the chandeliers in radiant indigo. "I think mother would disagree."
Father and son laughed together at that, and though Rhys knew he couldn't, a part of him wondered if Xander might have felt his mother's wave of affection sailing across the room. As a father, he wanted to coddle the male, to tell him that Fiona would come back, and that everything would work out. But as a leader, as his Lord - he knew it was too late for that.
Xander had outgrown beautiful lies a long time ago, far earlier than his siblings and cousins. Perhaps too early.
"You might never see her again." Rhys went on, quieter now. "I know that's not what you want, but I'm afraid it's a very real possibility, and one you have to prepare yourself for."
He wasn't sure how he'd expected his son to respond to that, but the smile that Xander gave him still came as a surprise. It was a smile much older than he was, one that understood pain and loss far better than a fae of his age should have been able to.
"I know," Xander said. "I only hoped I might be able to give her a chance - a way out. I was always aware how slim that chance was. And I knew it was inadvisable to involve myself in the first place. It's just that, despite my better judgement...somewhere along the way I started to believe that it might actually happen. That we might have been able to save her." He lifted the cup to his lips again, this time drinking deeply as the chatter and laughter of their family echoed around them. "It was nice to believe."
*
Hours later, when the moon had begun her descent over the riverhouse, the eldest of the inner circle drank their way into the drawing room, where they began their time-honoured tradition of swapping stories by the fire. The children petered off to bed one by one, groaning that they were old as the hills and repeated the same tales time and time again. So when the logs were no more than embers smouldering in the grate, only the Archeron sisters and Illyrian brothers were left. Amren and Varian had long given up any pretence, and didn't bother to make any excuse before they scrambled to the nearest bedroom.
After a lull in conversation, when Azriel and Cassian were beginning to doze, Nesta locked eyes with Rhysand from across the cushions and carpets. Sharp as ever, it seemed she had been waiting for a chance to launch her line of enquiry, and she wasted no time in getting to the point.
"What happened to the foxes, in the end?"
Cassian blinked an eye open. No one had to ask who she meant.
"They've gone home." Feyre explained. "Fiona to the Autumn Court, and Riordan to the Day Court."
Mor was swirling her wine around in lazy circles, watching the splash of red against the glass in the firelight. "Good." she said simply. "They didn't belong here anyway."
Instinctively, Rhysand glanced at Feyre. Though the look they exchanged was more than knowing, her eyes advised caution. Crossing her legs in the old leather armchair, she fixed her friend with a firm stare.
"They belong just as much as you do, Mor." Feyre's voice was quiet, but the words made Mor's spine stiffen like a steel rod. Azriel stirred in the corner.
The atmosphere of cozy calm dissipated - despite the hissing of embers in the fireplace, something cool had crept through the room. Mor's brown eyes filled with suspicion as they flicked between the two mates.
Feyre sighed. "It happened while you were away, at the Spring Court - I guess a lot of stuff happened while you were away," she added. Rhys was watching closely, taking inventory of the intensity in her stare, the way Mor's finger was tapping against her knee in a laughable facade of absent-minded nonchalance.
Feyre continued.
"Elain and Lucien had...an affair. A brief affair, but not one without consequences." she glanced to Elain across the room, who lowered her eyes. Without hesitation Azriel slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. She looked up, that delicate thing, and gave him a weak smile.
Feyre turned her attention back to Mor. "Riordan is Elain's son."
Brown eyes blinked twice. There was silence for a moment before Morrigan released a breath.
"I see."
"I don't think the boy knows," Feyre told her. "He said as much while he was here - but it's up to Lucien and Elain...if they ever want him to know."
Mor seemed not to be listening. She leaned back into the sofa as her gaze slid to Azriel. "And you knew about this?"
The shadowsinger nodded in confirmation, his fingers stroking Elain's waist. This wasn't news to the rest of them, but it was still difficult to remember. Azriel had been their glue then, eternally patient, endlessly calm as they worked through the little rift Elain had ripped in the fabric of their circle. She buried herself further into him, as though the watching eyes of her family brought back all the pain and humiliation of the affair. But it wasn't her that Rhys was watching.
"When I met with Eris-" He picked at a piece of lint on his trouser leg, speaking slowly. "He said something to suggest that Fiona might belong too."
The air in the drawing room stilled as Rhys and Mor locked eyes. He could feel Feyre's confusion tugging down the bond, but pieces were snapping into place faster than he could keep up. That day Eris had parted with one final jab - a slight at Rhys and his motley crew. Or-
Feyre could feel his doubt, was asking to be let in. Her thumb appeared on his knee, stroking comforting circles as she tapped at his mental walls. Mor just stared.
That frustration overwhelmed him just as it had that day. This time his moral compass was spinning wildly, the rushing of blood in his ears drowning out his mate's voice as an odd, disturbed look began to dawn on that golden face.
Mor put out a hand, as though it might stop what came next. "Rhys-"
Without thinking he was there. The thorny hedges that formed her shields went up in smoke as he strode past without so much as a flick of his wrist.
Rhys was vaguely aware of Feyre shouting somewhere far away, of Mor's hands trembling as she felt his presence, dark and determined inside her mind.
He moved like a shadow through her memories, though they weren't hard to find. She knew what he had guessed, and the past came swimming up to him, begging to be released. The edges of the images were stained, as though the secret she carried had tainted them, blackened the corners and furled the tips. As though someone had tried to burn them, destroy them.
Rhys reached for that pool of faces. The moment he broke the surface he was struck by the force of emotion brimming in the memory, threatening to spill.
It was revulsion.
Rancor burned in every frame - it was jarring to buzz past clips of smiling faces and interlaced fingers while feeling such icy wrath buried between the slides. His outstretched hand reached further and they came into focus -
The Spring Court in ruin, a century ago, when Mor had first taken up the post of restoring Tamlin's estate, uniting his people. Odd details stuck out, like missing pieces of a whole; blossom on trees, empty marble hallways, an overgrown rose garden, covered in thorns.
Then he appeared -
Eris
- but younger, with a fuller face and broad shoulders, the picture of a young High Lord. He was smiling, not snidely, and his eyes glowed without a hint of malice. Rhys shivered in real time as sensations crawled across his skin - the feel of his touch, the taste of his lips - he was feeling them as Mor had...and the feeling was disgust.
But there was more there. Though she felt wretched inside she grinned from ear to ear, the act stretching her face until her laughter sounded hollow. Eris didn't seem to notice, and his eyes became clearer, brighter, radiating affection even as hers darkened with a sick, wicked purpose.
The images changed and blurred, as though she was trying to hide them from him even now. But some scenes were clear.
A bottle of brew spilled on a nightstand and a steady bump, growing against a desperate wish that it should not, that it could not. The tang of fear assaulted Rhys's nostrils, acrid in a dark room. Mor's voice ripped through the night, screaming curses at that mound of flesh.
Then Eris appeared again, his face alight with a joy that Rhysand knew well. A baby's cry sounded in a silent room. A shrill laugh warbled, echoing against porcelain.
Images blurred beyond recognition. Ink - paper - wheels - the whinny of a horse.
The sounds merged into one long wail and then everything faded to black.
Rhys returned to the drawing room, his ears ringing as he stood over Morrigan's cowering figure. His breaths were coming hard and fast, and rage lay unconcealed in every line on his brow. Cassian yelled something unintelligible from a league away. Only one sound came to him clearly.
"Rhysand-"
Feyre was before him, utterly livid. He didn't bother to explain. He grabbed the hand she'd been tapping at his walls and yanked her inside, slamming the memories he had stolen into her.
Her face fell and she turned slowly on her heel to face Mor, now looking aghast between them as the truth sank in. Rhys could practically see her rifling through her mind, mouth open in horror as she realised what he had taken.
It was Feyre who broke the silence, her voice trembling as she spoke the truth aloud.
"Fiona is your daughter."