Eris
I'm not sure what time it is when she winnows home, but I know I'm nearly asleep on my pile of papers in the living room when she snaps in, startling me awake. She squints in the darkness. "Eris?" She slurs, swaying a bit on her feet.
I frown, slipping to my feet. "You're drunk?"
She doesn't answer, still looking me over, glancing at the papers scattered across the sofa, the bleary look in my eyes. "You stayed up for me?"
It's answer enough. She is drunk, but I'm glad she had fun. The smile on her face tells me enough. "Of course, I did," I yawn, raking my fingers through my hair. Like I could go to bed without knowing she got home safe. "We should get you to bed." I hold out a guiding hand which she promptly ignores, wrapping her arm around my neck, leaning her head on my shoulder.
"Lead the way, Hot Stuff," she says astutely, drawing a laugh from my lips. I missed her condescending nicknames.
"So you had fun then?" I ask, leading her towards her room. She nods eagerly.
"They're all so sexy and badass," she muses woefully. "But don't worry, Eris. I didn't flirt with them. I'm a loyal woman." Shes teasing, but it still warms my soul so much that I smile at my feet.
"Good," I reply to her because she won't remember this tomorrow. "I don't know what I would do if you finally got smart and realized you deserve better than me."
She steals my glasses, sliding them clumsily onto our face. "Do I look smart now?" She slurs cutely, batting her lashes in attempts to see out of the frames.
"Incredibly smart," I murmur, watching her straighten them over her pointed ears, an adorable look of concentration on her face.
"You won't let me walk into a wall, right?" She asks.
"Of course I won't," I reply, tucking her hair behind her ear as I guide her into her room.
"Good," she grins. "Because I can't see anything with these on."
I laugh, taking them back, slipping them into my pocket. "You ready for bed?"
She shakes her head. "No," she pouts, sitting on the edge of her bed. "Stay up and talk to me. I don't want to go to sleep."
I know she is only willing to talk to me because she's too drunk to be mad, but still, I sit, keeping a distance between us that she quickly closes, scooting closer. "I stayed for dinner and drinks with the Valkyries," she admits. "I think I might've drank a little too much."
I chuckle quietly. "I couldn't tell."
"Good," she nods seriously. "I wouldn't want you to think I'm irresponsible."
"Anytime you want to let go," I tell her, even though she won't remember it. "Know that I've got you."
She smiles, laying her head dramatically in my lap, startling me with the contact. With the seconds, I melt into her as she looks up at me. "You have really pretty hair," she smiles, playing with a strand that has fallen over my brow. "Have I ever told you that?"
"No," I chuckle. "And I doubt you'll remember telling me come morning."
"You'll remember," she points out, playing with the rings on my fingers, draping my hand over her waist.
"I will," I reply distantly.
"I'm going to be mortified," she whines. "At least I won't wake up butt naked and covered in glitter though."
"What?"
"Long story," she chuckles shutting her eyes as she smiles, still playing with my fingers. "Can I ask you something?"
"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."