Elain leaned against the curtained archway in her bedroom, staring out across the river toward the Pegasi pasture. She was having a difficult time calming herself down after the argument with Lucien, her heart rate thumping too quickly with the adrenaline of confronting him.
It was so rare for Elain to fight with anyone; it felt like she had expended all her energy on the sheer strength it had taken to speak her mind. Sighing, she allowed her body to slide down the column, slumping onto the cold marble, her skirts pooling around her as she hugged her legs toward her chest, resting her forehead on her knees.
She felt exhausted.
And hollow.
She realized, pressing her forehead into the cotton fabric of her riding skirts, that she had no desire to rush back toward her mate, either to reconcile OR to continue the fight. It was like she had nothing left but empty indifference, both toward how he felt about her, and how she felt about him. She just didn't care if he was angry, or felt guilty, or thought she was silly or crazy, or rude. It didn't matter anymore.
Because they were already going to be together.
The Cauldron had decided it.
And Elain was trusting the Cauldron.
So it didn't matter how many spats, or arguments, or failed riding lessons happened between them. It was already written in the stars: they were mates.
Sighing, she rose from the ground, breathing out a curse word, her eyes scanning her room. Who in the hells had said she was beloved by the Cauldron? Because unless she was in an abusive relationship with the damned magical artifact, this "blessing" felt like a curse. Her eyes drifted across her room, landing on the nightstand beside her bed, stacked with volumes she had requested from Helion's library for reading material during the past month in Patras.
And sitting at the top of the pile was a scholarly tome on the history of Shadowsingers.
Elain recalled the first night reading the book after an evening spent with Lucien and Helion, the latter who had entertained them with stories of how he came to be the High Lord of the Day Court. Returning to her rooms, spent from the conversation, Elain had been pleased to see her requested books placed on the nightstand. She began reading immediately, tucked deep into her comforters, and did not leave her rooms until the following afternoon when she had turned the final page.
To say that the tome had impacted her was an understatement.
It had shaken her to her core: the words, jumping off the pages and falling into the darkest parts of her imagination as she learned the horrific truth of what it was to be chosen by Shadow.
Because Elain learned that to become a Shadowsinger, one must endure horrific torture, depravity, and pain. These acts of violence and persecution must occur during the formative years of a Shadowsingers life, most often when they are children. And because of this fact alone, Shadowsingers are a rare occurrence, even in the magical fae realms, for the sheer depravity one must endure to find the Shadow their only friend and company, yet survive, it is often impossible. It is common for these children to pass away or be killed before reaching adulthood, due to the extreme trauma and torture they had been subjected to.
Violence. Depravity. Torture. Pain.
It was unbearable to read, and to imagine Azriel suffering as just a child, unable to escape the imprisonment and evil, and from his own family, as Feyre had mentioned one time in passing... it was the worst thing Elain had ever imagined.
She had spent that day in her bedroom, crying and clutching the book, her mind unable to release the images of his suffering, her soul filled with gut-wrenching pain at his agony. She imagined him resting his head on her lap in her gardens, stroking his soft hair as he told her of what he endured, finding her a safe place to land, someone who would listen. She found herself wishing that he would someday trust her enough to open up even the darkest side of himself.
She heaved a sigh, striding toward her armoire and stripping off the sweaty riding clothes as those words began echoing through her mind as they had for the entire past month he had been gone.
"...because you're gods-damned beautiful..."
A shiver went up her spine, and she slammed the armoire door closed. This was madness. Sighing, she yanked on one of her peach gowns, tightening the waist and pulling her hair from its coiled braid. Maybe a visit to the garden would help her shake these thoughts away.
ﾟ☆: *.☽ ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ☽ .* :☆ﾟ
Azriel had been minding his damn business and doing a damned good job of it when Feyre had suddenly announced over late-night whiskeys with the Inner Circle that a month without Elain was a month too long.
Looking up from the last bits of amber liquid in his glass, Azriel's eyes caught on Mor's, a mischievous gleam sparkling at the edges as Feyre continued her speech.
"Mor has given me the best idea: Calanmai in Patras. Let's surprise Elain and get away for a day or two." Feyre beamed at the group as if she had just invented happiness itself.
Azriel rose, sauntering across the living room and plopping on the arm of Mor's chair, putting a hand to her back. "I think that's a splendid idea Fey. We should all go." He dug his hand into the back of Mor's shoulder blade, causing her to yelp and smack him before nodding her fervent agreement.
"Sounds fun." Cassian leaned back, stretching his arm behind Nesta's head. "Nes and I had fun in the alcoves last time."
"Cassian!" Nesta smacked his arm and grinned wickedly. "I mean, a LOT of us had fun in the alcoves last time."
And if the death goddess had turned to smirk at Azriel, the Shadowsinger would never know because he was expertly avoiding eye contact as if she was a bogge herself.
"I've been meaning to ask Helion for some more information on Koschei, so sure. Sounds good." Rhys chimed in, squeezing his mate's hand.
"No working on holidays!" Feyre complained, folding her arms across her chest and throwing Rhys a mock-pout. "Calanmai is our anniversary, and therefore, a holiday."
The Inner Circle collectively cocked their heads as Feyre continued. "We met on Calanmai. Remember? 'There you are, I've been looking for you?'"
Rhys broke into a smile. "I remember," he teased. "I just like to hear you say that line back to me."
"Ugh, get a room." Amren drawled from across the room, tipping her wineglass back to her lips while still tossing a warm smile toward her High Lord.
"So it's settled then." Feyre sat up straighter, perky at the idea of seeing her sister. "We're going to Patras."
"But can we include a little bit of work? I was supposed to have a meeting with Vassa and Jurian the day after next." Rhys drawled, rubbing his mate's back.
"Why not! The more the merrier!" Nesta chimed in, shooting Azriel a dark smile. "I believe Vassa would want to see Lucien anyways."
And trying to avoid the subject of the fox, as well as any prying looks from Rhys, Azriel rose from his seat beside Mor, throwing out a desperate change of subject. "What do you say we fly instead of winnow?"
"We'd have to leave right this second to accomplish that." Cassian laughed, standing and striding toward his brother. "So how about we make it fun."
Rhysand rose from his seat as well, joining Cassian and Azriel in the center of the room, his brow arching playfully, and hands shoved deep in his pockets.
"Winner gets to..." Cassian began before his voice dropped off, angling his head toward the arched ceiling and stroking his dark beard in consideration.
"Choosing a prize is too difficult for males who have everything at their fingertips." Mor whined, swirling her glass and crossing her long legs at the knees. "How about we go by punishing the loser."
Rhys smiled at her. "My cousin makes an excellent point." Then, aiming his smile toward Feyre, he purred. "I have all the prizes I could ever want in life."
Azriel rolled his eyes, but could not help a smile of his own from warming his face as he saw the happiness radiating from his High Lord. Rhysand deserved all the happiness in the world.
"Alright, then the LOSER has to..." Cassian's voice boomed loudly before dropping off again into thought as his finger took up station stroking his beard.
"Oh come on!" Nesta interrupted, standing from her seat and slamming down her crystal whiskey glass on the marble coffee table. "I could have flown to Patras in the time it's taking you fools to make this bet." She sauntered closer to the males, her eyes sparkling. "I say, that the loser, the one who touches the center of Helion's courtyard last, has to run naked through the middle of the Calanmai party BEFORE the freaks of the Day Court have started stripping off their clothes."
"I don't know," Mor countered, uncrossing her legs and rising from her seat, folding her arms in front of her with a cocked hip. "It seems like that would be more of a treat for these fools than a punishment. Just another opportunity for them to show off their muscles."
"Mor's right. Seeing me in the nude is NOT a punishment." Cassian smiled wickedly at Nesta.
"I've got it!" Feyre jumped up from the settee. "The loser, the one who touches the center of Helion's courtyard last, as Nesta said, will be forbidden from winnowing or flying for the following week."
The eyes in the room precariously turned toward Azriel, no doubt wondering if the punishment was still in playful territory, or if it hit too close to home. His mind flitted toward the years in the dungeon, chained to the stone and forbidden from stretching his wings... forbidden from flying.
"That is indeed a punishment." He responded, his voice dark and grave, their expressions falling into saddened frowns as Feyre's face began to flush as she realized her mistake.
"So when we're in Patras, you guys have got to let me know what it feels like... " the Shadowsinger drawled, backing away from them, their eyes shooting toward him in confusion. "to be a gods-damned loser... because honestly... I wouldn't know." And with the challenge in the air, he smiled darkly and launched through the open window and into the starlit sky, his brothers tumbling and laughing after him, wings stretched, smiles wide, with only the skies before them.
ﾟ☆: *.☽ ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ☽ .* :☆ﾟ
Sandrielle found Elain in the garden shortly after she had begun weeding and seeding a patch of soil in a raised garden bed near the hibiscus plants.
"It's Calanmai today." The Priestess said to Elain by way of greeting.
Elain smiled. "Is Helion throwing a massive religious party for it? When my sister was in Spring... well, she told me they get kind of wild on Calanmai."
Sandrielle chuckled, lowering herself to a kneel slowly before working the ground beside Elain's swift hands, weeding the thorny plants and sorting them into piles.
"No temple sex here if that's what you're wondering. Just a typical Day Court party. Will you be attending with your mate?" The Priestess turned toward Elain whose face had darkened, the beaming smile dropping from her face.
"Are things not progressing?" Sandrielle didn't typically pry, but Elain felt comforted by the question and strangely eager to open up to the older female.
"I fear that I may not have it in my heart to truly love him." She glanced at Sandrielle, deciding to bear the whole truth. It was the only way she would get useful guidance. "There is another male whom I cannot let go of, no matter how much time I spend with my mate."
Elain half-expected Sandrielle to balk at her in shock, offended on Lucien's behalf, or scandalized that a lady like Elain would harbor an illicit love. But the Priestess simply nodded her head, the swift movement of her hands not even pausing in minor surprise. She seemed to be all ears— open and ready to listen.
"He is... different from my mate." Elain continued, her voice lowering. "He is a Shadowsinger."
Elain watched as Sandrielle's face betrayed a momentary expression of recognition, of what a Shadowsinger was, and the inevitable characteristics and history one must have in order to become such a powerful fae. She looked back down toward the garden bed, digging in with her finger to make small holes for the seeds Elain had resting by their feet.
"And does he love you?" The simple question rang out into the hot Day Court air.
"I'm not sure," Elain answered honestly. "But he is powerful and good, and beautiful." Her voice dropped to a whisper on the last word, emotion rising up the length of her throat, a ball of tension causing her to swallow. "I'm positive the Cauldron has someone in store for him."
Sandrielle nodded slightly, reaching toward the burlap sack of seeds they had resting between them, grabbing a handful, and placing one in the small holes she had dug.
"But what if the Cauldron has someone in store for him the way it had someone in store for you my dear: a fae, though compatible in theory, incompatible in practice." The Priestess did not look up from her work as Elain pondered the words.
Taking a breath, Elain thought of Nyx, and a sad creeping feeling embraced her chest, causing her shoulders to slump. "I don't think I'm compatible with him either." She spoke the fear quietly, her heart thudding in her chest. "He is winged."
"Ah." Sandrielle nodded, finally pausing her work to face Elain. "And you think he wants offspring?"
"I don't know," Elain replied honestly again, her thoughts falling from her tongue before she had a moment to consider them. "But I feel selfish taking the opportunity away from him. I feel that I would be preventing him from finding his true mate AND becoming a father."
Sandrielle nodded in understanding as Elain's thoughts continued to pour forth. "And though I've often daydreamed while holding my winged nephew, that one day I would hold a winged babe of my own... I know it is simply not possible. My younger sister died birthing my nephew and had to be resurrected by my older sister whose magic is now spent."
"I see." Sandrielle rose, her knee cracking as the ligaments pulled her upright. Brushing her hands together, she wiped the dirt from her palms and reached toward Elain, helping her up as well. "For you to consider this male so carefully; to think of his desires and future before your own, it is clear to me that you certainly love him."
"I only want what is best for him. He deserves everything good, and happy and beautiful... and I'm not sure that..." Elain's voice dropped off, a choking sob reaching her mouth.
"You're not sure that YOU'RE what's best for him." Sandrielle nodded, taking Elain toward her chest, embracing her, and rubbing her curled hair. "I understand child. I understand. It is painful to love, especially to love with a sacrificial heart."
Elain merely whimpered in response, curling into the Priestess' warm robes, her sobs shuddering as she let her tears fall freely. She had always wanted to be comforted in this way by her mother but had never felt such closeness with the cold woman who raised her. But here, in these linen robes, Elain felt warm and accepted. It was so safe. So comfortable. Like the Priestess could take away all her problems and dry all her tears.
Elain stayed in Sandrielle's embrace for a moment longer before drawing back and offering a watery smile. "Thank you."
Sandrielle smiled, patting her on both shoulders. "There is a natural yin and yang in this world. In the skies above, the earth below, and even within our heart's desire.
Elain pondered the question as the Priestess linked arms with her, leading her through one of the many paths in Helion's ornamental garden. "So it is not strange that I, a fae with such little life experience, one so young, who has struggled with such little pain, would desire a male is a Shadowsinger?"
Sandrielle looked out across the courtyard, reaching over and squeezing Elain's arm with her other hand. "Who says you have not suffered my dear? To be Made by the cauldron... I cannot fathom such severe pain and agony."
Elain only nodded in reply, realizing she was unwilling to discuss what she had experienced in the Cauldron. The tears over Azriel had only stopped a moment ago.
"I think if I was a fae who had experienced such agony that I had become a Shadowsinger," Sandrielle began, her voice dark. "Then the very type of fae I would desire to spend my life with would be one like you my dear. You give golden light wherever you go." She smiled down at the younger female, her voice warm with affection. "It is not always the loudest or the most powerful who truly impact those who are hurting the most. Your warmth, kind heart, and quiet presence could be the soothing balm this Shadowsinger needs."
Elain smiled weakly, allowing Sandrielle to guide her back toward her rooms in silence, her thoughts heavy with emotion. When they reached the halfway point, Elain bid the Priestess goodbye, promising to meet back the next day for more lessons in the garden before she continued walking toward her chambers, deep in thought.
It was possible that Azriel wanted to be with Elain as much as she wanted to be with him, she mused.
It was even possible that what Sandrielle had described was true: that Azriel indeed benefitted from Elain's quiet presence.
But how could she take his future just because she wanted him? How could she prevent him from achieving a true mating bond? How could she stop him from becoming a father?
Would it truly be worth it to him, to give up so much, just to be with Elain? It's not like she was a warrior or a great magician like her sisters. She didn't wield heavy magic or fighting skills, or even the DESIRE to fight. All she did was tinker in the gardens as Rhys would say! Wouldn't Azriel, a dynamic and complex male, get bored of a female like Elain? Wouldn't he tire of her mundane routines, desiring something or someone more dynamic for himself?
Her thoughts pulled toward Morrigan.
Even if those two were not together, Mor was still a female who had captured Azriel's interest for five centuries, and Elain was completely and totally different from the confident blonde. Where Mor charmed, Elain smiled silently. When Mor was flashing a sword and a dagger in battle, Elain was crying in a tent over her idiotic human ex-fiancé.
Ugh.
This was all too complicated.
Which was why the Cauldron had chosen Lucien for her. He was handsome, unattached, and available. The Cauldron knew that he was kind, intelligent, NOT winged, and NOT a Shadowsinger. And besides... Lucien was already bored of her gardening, so they had even surpassed that hurdle.
Yes.
Lucien.
She was here to court Lucien because it was too damned complicated with Azriel.
But, she thought bitterly, it had become too damn complicated with Lucien too because they couldn't manage to find anything they enjoyed doing together.
Realizing she was nearing her rooms, Elain took a corner, passing down a corridor and through a curtained archway, her eyes catching on the carved marble statue near her room. It was one of Helion's fertility goddess depictions, the fae female's breasts heavy and aroused, completely bare, as she leaned back in a seductive pose, her legs spread before her, beckoning. And though the statue had caused Elain to blush initially, after living in Patras for a month, it had simply become part of the daily landscape.
But today, as her eyes scanned the female's pose, an idea came to her.
If things were complicated with Lucien because they had not yet found an activity they enjoyed, then perhaps she should invite him to participate in an activity as old as life itself.
Sex.
She would seduce her mate, tempting him to bed her, and HOPEFULLY spark this mating bond once and for all.
Or at the very least, wipe away any and all memories and desire for Azriel, extinguishing the forbidden love and moving on once and for all. Maybe she truly just needed to unlock the physical side of their bond: to kiss him... smell him... to have him draw up within her the sensations that Azriel had.
Though to be honest, she had felt aroused by Azriel without him doing a damn thing to her.
But nevertheless.
Grayson had found her lovely enough to propose. Azriel had at seemed interested in the times they had drawn close... hells, Helion had called her the jewel of Prythian, complaining more than once that Rhysand had been "selfishly" storing her away in Velaris, depriving the nation of her beauty.
If she could earn such compliments and attention from other males, then certainly she could attract the sexual attention of her OWN mate: a male biologically designed to fall into her charms.
This would work.
It had to.
Because she couldn't be selfish and she couldn't resist the Cauldron.
Squaring her shoulders, she swept into her bed chambers calling for Nuala and Cerridwen.
"I need you two to do me up for the Calanmai party tonight." The wraiths nodded their heads in unison, stepping closer to begin unraveling Elain's braid, but she raised a hand, pausing their movement.
"But I need it to be done Day Court style ."