Chapter 9 — Feyre - A Court of Splintered Harmony

I’d forgotten how bitter autumn could feel in the human lands. Like death loomed all around, waiting with frozen hands to snatch away any kernel of warmth and life.

Only a few years ago, I’d dreaded this chill in the air. Had felt nothing but terror at waking to that first frost sparkling on the dried grasses beyond our cottage. There had been nothing I could do to stop that lethal, oncoming winter.

Lucien seemed to be doing his best to keep his companions from feeling that growing cold: a preternaturally large fire crackled in every hearth of the small manor house—without wood—and each room was toasty to the point of suffocating.

But Vassa, perched by a window in dire need of a cleaning, gazing out at the setting sun, didn’t seem to mind the heat. Not surprising, given that she was currently in her firebird form, barely more than a flame given shape herself.

Jurian had rolled up his sleeves, though, and now stood at the large desk by the far wall of the study, poring over the map that Rhys and I had spread across the surface for us all to survey.

The harsh lines of Jurian’s face remained set in a scowl. “I would have thought you, at least, Rhysand, would remember how little the other side cared for diplomacy during the last war.”

“We had to try,” Rhys said from where he leaned against the desk.

“You’ve been trying for nearly two years,” Jurian said. He stabbed a scarred finger on the map, right where the wall had cut through the continent. “It’s done nothing.”

Standing on the other side of the desk, I jerked my chin at him. “I didn’t see you at the negotiating table.”

Jurian snorted. “Because I knew it’d be pointless.”

“They also wouldn’t have deigned to meet with him,” Lucien said across from me, frowning at the map, golden eye clicking.

Jurian scowled again, but said nothing.

Az was supposed to have conducted this check-in, but Rhys had told me yesterday afternoon that given all that was happening, we were to go in his stead. There was something else to it—I could sense it—but Rhys didn’t elaborate. When he was ready, he’d tell me.

And frankly, I was glad for the excuse to get out of Velaris, though my mate had informed me only after we’d winnowed here that Amren was at the Day Court. Apparently trying to avoid me, too. Fine.

A flash of light drew our attention to the window where Vassa had perched, revealing a sun now below the horizon line, and a flame growing and stretching into—

“Honestly,” Vassa said, human form appearing, clad in a mix of suede and leather clothes that had seen better years, “I wouldn’t have agreed to meet with Jurian, either—certainly not with that haircut of his.”

Jurian rolled his eyes at her teasing, but once again stayed silent.

Vassa nodded to me, then to Rhysand, a twinkle in her cobalt eyes. “Not being able to speak while these two idiots talk about important things is agony.”

Lucien threw her an exasperated look. “You had to wait all of three minutes from their arrival to when the sun set.”

Vassa brushed aside the comment, coming to stare at the map. I noted where her eyes fell first: the massive, sprawling lake in the center of the open Fae lands on the continent.

“Koschei is indeed pulling the territories’ strings,” Vassa said, recalling the update we’d given them upon our arrival. She fingered a frayed corner of the map. “I can confirm beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is true. He’s long done that to amuse himself.”

“We need proof, though,” Rhys said. “Real, tangible proof.”

“Like what?” Vassa asked. “My word isn’t enough?”

“I wish that it were,” Rhys said gently, straightening from his casual pose. “But for the Fae territories to be convinced, we need someone who doesn’t stand to benefit from his downfall, someone not enslaved to him.”

“Is this any different from what he’s done before, though?” Vassa asked.

Rhys pointed to each of the three territories, then the vast stretch of open Fae territory below, in turn. “Yes. He’s pushing them into this invasion. That goes beyond mere amusement. And we need to know why.”

“I don’t think the territories required much encouragement from Koschei to do that,” Vassa argued, utterly unafraid of the High Lord in all his glory before her. Her jaw tightened, though, as she looked back at the lake. “But if Made objects, particularly evil ones, are stirring, wanting to be found . . .” She nodded distantly. “Yes. That would certainly imply that Koschei is making a move to escape from his lake—at long last. He wants an arsenal.”

“It could be that our enemies are well aware of his intention to liberate himself,” Rhys said. “And the threat it would likely pose to them, even if they uphold their side of whatever this bargain is. They’re seeking the box that contains his life-thread so they can use it to control him, should he prove . . . unwieldy.”

“Then find it first,” Jurian advised.

Now Vassa rolled her eyes. “It is impossible to find. Koschei hid it himself—and I’ve never heard him utter so much as a hint as to its whereabouts.”

“What is a life-thread?” I asked. “Did you ever hear Koschei mention it when you were at his lake?”

Vassa shook her head. “No. Never. But life-thread or not, if your enemies seek the box, they go on a fool’s errand. It cannot be found. And when Koschei discovers their treachery, he will make them pay for it, lake or no lake.”

Even Amren, for all her talk of urgency, hadn’t suggested hunting for the box as a solution. She must have understood it to be as impossible as Vassa had just declared. Not that I was going to ask Amren anytime soon.

“It all ties together somehow,” I said. “Koschei pushing for this invasion and wanting to be free of his lake. Why he’s doing it now, when he would have had the perfect opportunity during the Hybern War while we were all distracted. And what does he stand to gain from this particular invasion? We need to find out before it bites us in the ass.”

Not missing a beat, Rhys clarified, “But first, we need to obtain proof that Koschei is manipulating Rask, Montesere, and Vallahan so that the other territories pressure them to back down. And we need to stop Koschei from escaping his lake and attaining whatever Made items are now stirring.”

“Stop him—not destroy him?” Vassa asked.

“Ideally destroy, but I’ll take just stopping him for now, if that death-box of his truly can never be found.” I put a hand on her arm. “Are you any closer to uncovering a way to break your own curse?” I knew it was a sensitive subject, but I had to ask.

Lucien winced. Even Jurian glanced warily to Vassa. But the queen—former queen, I supposed—lifted her chin. “We’ve had an endless stream of shamans and soothsayers coming to the house. None of them can make heads or tails of my curse.”

At her resigned sorrow, I really should have let it drop, but I found myself asking, “Your fellow queens sold you out to Koschei, but why was he interested in you in the first place? Why bother with any of the females he has trapped there?”

“Beyond being a narcissistic monster?” Jurian quipped. Lucien grunted with agreement.

Vassa’s eyes slid to the far east of the map. For a moment, I thought she might ignore my question, but then she said, “My distant ancestor was the Fae female who trapped Koschei in the first place. All the females now trapped in his lake are descended from her. All human, all with that mere trace of Fae ancestry. In his delusion, he believes some key to his freedom lies with us. Our ancient bloodline. And . . .” Her voice sharpened with anger. “He also takes sick pleasure in trapping the descendants of the female who cursed him. As if it gets back at her in some way.”

“That’s despicable,” I breathed.

“He’s despicable,” Vassa said. “He’s nothing but a creature of hate and greed and rot.”

“Have you returned to Helion to have him try again to break your curse,” Rhys asked.

Vassa ran a hand through her shoulder-length red hair. “I did. Or rather, I begged him to come and take one more stab at it. He swaggered down here a few months ago, took one look at me, and said it was a lost cause.”

It was an effort not to inspect Lucien’s face for any sign of discomfort. Had he been present for this encounter?

He still doesn’t know, Rhys said into my mind. That Helion is his true father. Let’s keep it that way.

Why? I shot back down the bond.

Because it’s valuable information that should be wielded at the right time.

You’re such a schemer, I accused him.

Always.

“Vassa has to be mindful about who to approach regarding her curse,” Lucien explained, golden eye whirring as it scanned over the map. “The moment Koschei learns she’s trying to break the enchantment, he’ll summon her back.”

“You have a bargain, though,” I said to Vassa. “You’re allowed to be out in the world for some time before returning to the lake.”

Vassa’s blue eyes darkened to stormy seas. “Yes, but I also agreed not to try to break the curse.”

“So if Koschei learns she’s broken her promise, he’ll break his,” Lucien finished gravely.

I knew firsthand how powerful Fae bargains could be. Knew that if broken, the binding magic could exact a terrible price.

Rhys cleared his throat. “Tell me something, Vassa: When Koschei let you leave . . . did he say why? It couldn’t have been out of the kindness of his heart. So why agree to it at all?”

Vassa traced an idle finger along the river that flowed from the western coast to Koschei’s lake. “Your father, Feyre”—her words thickened with what I could have sworn was grief—“was very good at bargaining.”

My heart twisted a bit. Like it did every time I visited the lone stone marker on that grassy hill outside Velaris.

“But what is the benefit to Koschei?” Rhys pushed. “Why allow you out, when it was clear that you would help us, the very people he would later send Briallyn after?” My mate angled his head as he turned to Lucien. “Did anyone in your party give him something in return?”

“Koschei received nothing,” Lucien said darkly. “He seemed to find it amusing.”

I studied the vague depiction of Koschei’s vast lake; not the one near Briallyn’s palace, where Cassian and Azriel had encountered an apparition of the male. But rather the true place where the death-lord resided. Only a tiny marker indicated where his castle lay. No other details—though they would need to be filled in. Along with many other things. As if thinking the same thing, Rhys said to Lucien, “I wasn’t aware you got close enough to him that day to be able to tell such things.”

“I didn’t,” Lucien conceded. “I saw him only briefly, and from a distance, but I could hear his laughter echo over the lake.” He nodded at me. “Your father was the only one of us brave enough to get close. Koschei’s very presence seemed to drain all joy, all courage, all hope.”

His throat bobbed, “But your father was so desperate to help you and your sisters that he overcame his fear of the death-lord. He loved you that much.”

There was pain in his words—perhaps for the fact that he’d never had a father who cared about him the same way. Even if it had taken my father until the very end to try.

But Rhys said to Vassa, “You’ve been near Koschei often, though.”

Vassa shook her head. “Koschei kept back—used magic to amplify his voice across the lake. I believe he liked to remain out of sight so that we’d imagine the worst. So that we’d picture our darkest nightmares. Merely his voice could drive some of the other girls into trembling sobbing fits. He’d sometimes send whispers on the wind through the trees just to torment them.”

Rhys’s mouth pressed into a tight line. “Could I look into your mind? To see for myself?”

Vassa went completely rigid. Lucien and Jurian both eyed her carefully—protectively.

“No,” Vassa said, paling so much that her freckles stood out like splattered mud. “I—I’m sorry, but I . . .” Her hands shook.

This warrior had charged into battle for us, stood toe to toe with my mate and never backed down, but this request was clearly beyond her comfort.

“I’ve had one too many faerie creatures . . . touching me with their magic,” Vassa explained. Her fear shoved itself up my nose.

Jurian laid a scarred hand on her shoulder. He turned damning eyes on Rhys. “She’ll tell you what she knows, but no more—nothing more invasive on your part.”

I faced Lucien in time to see his throat work while he, too, scented Vassa’s lingering terror. Lucien said, “She doesn’t even have to do that if she doesn’t wish to.”

I tucked away my interest at that protectiveness and instead said gently, “If you do, though, you could just tell one of us—you could talk to Mor, even.” I offered her a smile. “People tend to like her best.”

“I take offense at that,” Rhys said, and I could tell the humor was for Vassa’s sake.

To help further lighten the atmosphere, I pointed to my mate. “You’re too slick. Az is too scary. And Cassian would likely wind up getting us into a second conflict at a time when we can barely handle one.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me at all,” Lucien replied—perhaps an attempt at humor for Vassa’s sake as well.

But Rhys said to Lucien, amusement banking slightly, “If Vassa can’t tell us anything new about Koschei, that leaves you, I suppose.”

Lucien shifted. “Aren’t I already your human emissary—”

“We need proof of Koschei working with our enemies. Beron has made it known that he’s more than open to Koschei’s influence. Koschei likely knows we’re working against him, so if he makes his move within Prythian, it will be soon. I want you in the Autumn Court, waiting for that moment. And I want you to use this”—Rhys reached into his pocket—“to capture your memories of it for the world to see.” The Veritas orb landed on the table with a soft thud.

I couldn’t conceal my shock. Neither, it seemed, could Vassa or Jurian.

“He could be killed if Beron finds out, Rhys,” I protested.

Rhys waved a hand. “Not if he’s in the Autumn Court under the right circumstances.”

“Like what?” I demanded.

Rhys again leaned against the desk as he said to Lucien, “You still technically work as Tamlin’s Second in command. Tamlin has a record of allying with enemies at great cost to Prythian’s safety. It won’t seem strange to anyone if suddenly Tamlin sends his Second to the Autumn Court, seeking a way into this unholy alliance with Koschei.”

It was my turn to shake my head. “Tamlin will kill him if he finds out—”

“Tamlin is too busy running about on all fours chasing after rabbits and squirrels to notice what’s happening beyond his borders. Or what his official Second in command does on his behalf. And the people of the Spring Court are too busy trying to scrape a living out of the land to care one way or another who rules them or what they do.”

“You’re insane,” Vassa said unsteadily. Lucien appeared inclined to agree. “Who, exactly, are you trying to fool here?”

Rhys stabbed a finger to the inset of Prythian on the left of the map. “Tamlin has the only court that lost land after the Sundering War. It makes sense that he, as its High Lord, would leap at the chance to reclaim his ancestral borders. At least, it would make sense to someone like Beron, who would then divulge all the details—the proof—we need.”

Lucien gazed at the Veritas orb on the table, face grim. Thinking it over.

My mate’s plan wasn’t a bad one, but something like guilt pricked my conscience. “I thought you were trying to . . . help Tamlin.”

“If I had years, yes.” Rhys’s hand moved from the map to grasp mine, squeezing gently. It was all the reassurance I needed that he knew what lay within my heart. “But things are accelerating faster than I anticipated. If Tamlin needs to wallow in his bitterness and despair, then let him. It provides the perfect cover for his Second in command stepping in for more important duties.”

Lucien gaped at Rhys like he had ten heads.

I said to my mate, my attention again snagging on that inset of Prythian on the map, “That amounts to treason for Lucien. And if our involvement is found out, any trust we have with the other courts is gone.” No matter that the same could be said about Eris. Yet if Eris were caught . . . I wouldn’t necessarily miss him.

Rhys said into my mind, Eris can’t manage it—he’s not ready, and stands to lose too much within the court. Cassian said the meeting earlier today wasn’t productive.

Rhys jerked his chin toward Lucien. “This is all with your consent, of course.”

“You want me to pretend to be doing Tamlin’s bidding,” Lucien said, low and disbelieving. “To walk into my father’s house and lie to his face—lie to a High Lord on behalf of another High Lord? Who would believe me?”

Rhys didn’t smile. “Everyone knows how loyal you stayed to Tamlin during the decades with Amarantha.” I hated the sound of her name on my mate’s lips. “Your father witnessed it during those last months Under the Mountain. And Eris, I know, has not been reporting on how badly Tamlin has been faring lately.”

I didn’t want to know the particular details about that. Not really. Half of me was glad to let Tamlin suffer. The other half . . .

Lucien slowly shook his head. “How did you get Eris in your pocket?”

I snorted. “If you ever see Nesta dance, you’ll understand.”

Lucien’s brows rose high. I added, “That’s a tale for another time, and if you go to the Forest House, you cannot mention it—don’t even attempt to talk to Eris about it.” “Believe me, I have no intention of talking to Eris at all.” Vassa cut in, leveling a cool stare at us, “So you want Lucien to play spy at the Autumn Court—and betray his own High Lord in the process.”

“Doesn’t seem too much of a stretch for you,” Jurian said with a grin to Lucien.

Lucien glared at him, even as his mouth tilted upward.

“I know it’s a great deal to ask,” Rhys said. “But we need any scrap of proof we can find. We need allies—here and beyond Prythian. A united Prythian is important, yes, but we need other territories willing to stand with us. And for that, first and foremost, we need proof.”

Lucien’s eyes again fell upon the map. I didn’t fail to notice the way Jurian and Vassa seemed to angle themselves closer to him—as if they’d form a defensive wall against Rhys and me, if need be.

“Let me think about it,” Lucien said, each word heavy, almost exhausted. “I’m inclined to say yes, Mother damn me, but let me think about it.”

Vassa eyed him but said nothing.

“Of course,” Rhys agreed, “but do it fast. The territories are beginning to move—we have until spring at the latest.”

“Spring?” Vassa asked.

Jurian answered for my mate. “Magical armies they might be, but they’re still somewhat bound by the limitations of nature. They’ll travel as far south as they can into the open Fae territories, camp for the winter, and move at the first thaw of spring when the passes open. The terrain between there and the nearest human border is treacherous even in the mildest of weather.”

I nodded and said to Jurian and Vassa, “If you can make contact with the humans on the continent, with whatever sway you have . . . warn them as best you can. Advise them against raising an army.”

“So they can be slaughtered?” Vassa shot back.

I didn’t flinch. And to his credit, before I could form my own reply, Jurian explained calmly to the female, “So it does not give the Fae any sort of justification to march on them. The Fae territories can twist everything to their advantage—even the humans’ raising of a defensive army.”

Vassa’s eyes heated with blue flame. “So what do we tell them to do? Sit and wait to be killed?”

“I wish I knew.” I pointed to the lower half of the map, where the wall had once stood. “They could flee farther south, perhaps, but the Fae will find them there, too, eventually.”

Rhys added to Jurian and Vassa, “You two are perhaps the most qualified to figure out a path for the humans. You occupy a space between the Fae and human worlds. We will, of course, offer any resources you need.”

“The humans won’t take them,” Vassa declared. “Not from Fae.”

But it was Jurian who countered darkly, “They will when their children are poised to be enslaved or killed.”

Vassa curled her lip in disgust. At the situation or at what she’d have to do, I didn’t know. She rolled up our map without further word and shoved it into Rhys’s arms.

There wasn’t much left to say after that, and Lucien showed us to the front door. He’d put up wards around the house, not that they’d be effective against Rhys or me. We could have winnowed right out of the study if we’d wanted to. It seemed polite, however, to use the front door.

On the threshold, the chill night ahead looming like a wave, I turned to Lucien. “Are you really up for it?”

He’d left the Veritas orb on the table—he hadn’t touched it, but also hadn’t given it back.

Lucien’s russet eye was weary. Resigned. “Do I have a choice?”

“Yes,” I said. A few steps into the night, barely more than a shadow, Rhys paused to watch us. “You’ve helped us so much already. What we’re asking of you is . . . beyond dangerous.”

A shallow, noncommittal nod. “And yet,” Lucien murmured, “it won’t really change anything, will it?”

I knew exactly what he meant. With Elain.

“You never know,” I offered.

He gave a small, sad smile at my half-assed attempt at positivity, golden eye whirring. And it was so horrible to even consider how he might be feeling that I blurted, “Come to Nyx’s Naming Day party on the Autumn Equinox. It’s not really a party, just a ceremony and then a luncheon with a few of us, and we’re not even really celebrating the Equinox, but . . . you should come.”

Rhys’s surprise sparked down the mating bond, but he kept silent.

Lucien considered us both warily. “You’ll allow me near your son?” We hadn’t until now—we hadn’t allowed almost anyone, especially Fae males, around Nyx. Reason told me I was being utterly irrational, but every Fae instinct roared at me to keep him tucked away for as long as possible. Bringing him to my art classes was as much as I was willing to do. And I’d learned enough about motherhood so far to listen to my instincts.

“I mean, I might not let you hold Nyx,” I admitted, “but yes. You should come. You can stay the night at our house.”

Rhys’s shock only increased. But I wasn’t about to let him talk me out of it, which I could feel his eagerness to do.

Lucien was risking everything for us, and to just take and take from him and not offer anything in return, not to show him any sort of gratitude or welcome . . . it didn’t sit right. And there was really only one thing that Lucien desired: a chance to see Elain. Nothing more.

That, at least, I could offer him.

So I said, “The ceremony begins at ten at the city temple. But come over to the river house any time before that to get settled in.”