#illyrian!oc

The third wasn’t particularly her favorite option, but between the three choices? It seemed to be one the Cauldron was favoring. 

How long had it been? Weeks? It had to have been that at least. But she couldn’t tell. There was nothing in that Cauldron damned cell that would help her tell, or even hint. The only thing that allowed her to have an idea of time was when the autumn court soldier would come by with her food. Never anything substantial. Just enough food and water to keep her alive. 

She could feel the weakness of it effecting her. She could only a few days in after her first interrogation. It was the classic beating. The threats. Urging her to share what her High Lord has been up to. What her brother had been up to. 

But she didn’t utter a word. She hadn’t spoken a word, not to them. Unlike her smartass brother, Elara always knew when to keep her mouth shut. Though that always seemed to piss them off more. 

But it told her one thing.

Beron was paranoid. 

Why? She was still trying to figure that out. The concussion didn’t help either but that wasn’t the point. It didn’t matter what she knew if she couldn’t get out.

But that was the hard part wasn’t it? Her eyes could barely stay open those days. Exhaustion settling deep into her bones. Her wings, though cut up, they were still in tact, sagging behind her. Her dark hair matted, sticking to her forehead, covered in dirt and grime. 

Cauldron she really needed a bath. And Madja. And Rhys. Mor. Az. Cassian.

It wasn’t unusual for them all to be away for weeks at a time. Whether it be Cassian to the camps or Azriel when he would be away on a spying mission for Rhys. 

A pained breath left her cracked lips, her head rolling forward, her chin resting against her sternum. It had been hours since she had been fed. Almost a day. Maybe a day? 

Her mind was growing more and more cloudy each day. Weaker. None of it was good. The longer she waited. The longer she was held there the more difficult it would be to escape. 

Her hands flexed slightly against the chains that bound them at her sides. The same ones where her emerald green siphons would be. But those were taken too. Everything was taken. Her blades. Her two Illyrian daggers that were always at her waist; gifts from Azriel. And her Illyrian sword, Avisra; her gift from Cassian. 

She wasn’t sure where they were, but she wanted—needed—to get them back before she even thought about escaping.

It was times like this where she really wished she had some of Rhy’s fancy powers. And it was times like this where she hated it, but she felt completely helpless. Weak. And for once in a very long time….hopeless.

“For an Illyrian warrior…” a voice crooned, breaking the silence of the damp cell, and clearing the running ongoing thoughts that ran through Elara’s head, “I’m surprised it only took a few weeks to get you all broken and quiet like this,”

Her hazel eyes dragged their way up. Looking from the floor under her, all the way up to spot Eris. Heirs to the Autumn Court. And she wanted nothing more than to smack that stupid fucking grin on his stupid face.

“C’mon, little bird. Don’t you want to go home? I doubt you want to stay here with me for longer than you need to,” he taunted, walking across the cell to where she was bound to the stone wall. His hands were comfortably tucked in his pockets, his boots echoing off the floor.

Elara just glared at him. Hating him, first of all because she fucking despised the guy. And she didn’t forget what he had done to Mor; who had grown to be like her own sister. And just like Cassian, Elara became incredibly protective. So she gathered up whatever moisture was left in her dry mouth and *spat* at Eris and staring him down.

Eris’ amusement flickered away, like snuffing out a light. Quick and instant. He wiped away the spit before reaching up and grabbing her cheeks with his hand, causing her lips to pucker.

“I’m trying to help you get out of here. If you stopped being a stubborn brat you’d see that.” He growled before gripping her face tighter and letting go with such force, her hair jerked sideways.

“So I’m going to give you this one chance. I’m going to leave the door unlocked. And you’re going to have about….ten minutes before the next guards come for your interrogation. Good luck, little bird,” 

Eris turned on his heel stalking away from the Illyrian female. His expression blank, though Elara couldn’t see it. Though the last thing she saw was a wave of his hand, leaving the door open. 

And the next thing she knew she fell to her knees. Her torn leathers scraping against the cold and dirt stained ground. 

Her eyes widened in disbelief as she pulled her sore arms close to her. Her wrists red and raw. But free.She didn’t think twice after that, stumbling to her feet, she let out a groan as her body screamed in protest. Cuts, bruises, burns littered her skin along with grime and dirt and sweat.

She sure was a sight to behold.

She stretched out her wings, thanking the Mother that they were unharmed. A few cuts here, but nothing that would hinder her ability to fly. Her wings weren’t the biggest. And she may not have been the strongest. But by the Cauldron, she was fast. Faster than her brothers. And being fast was all that she needed.

Tucking her wings then tightly to her back, she waited for her vision to stop swimming before she moved through the dim corridors of the Autumn Court dungeons. Or at least what she assumed it was. 

Though before she could find a way out, she needed a few things. 

She needed her weapons. Her daggers, sword, and siphons. 

Barefoot, clad in torn leathers, she pressed herself against the cold stone walls, her every sense on high alert. The air was thick with smoke and the scent of blood—not hers, not this time. The guards would notice her absence soon when they came around and she needed to be long gone before then.

The hallway opened into a larger chamber, the dim torchlight barely cutting through the darkness. And there, at the far end of the room, she saw them.

Her daggers. Her sword.

Relief and adrenaline surged through her veins as she staggered toward them, ignoring the way her vision swam. 

Almost there.

But then, she stopped.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

The metallic scent of blood was stronger here, more pungent. It wasn’t just the lingering stench of violence. But was fresh.

Elara’s hand reached for the hilt of her sword, but she hesitated as her eyes darted around the room. And then she saw them.

The autumn court guards.

All three of them lay sprawled across the floor, their bodies still warm, throats slit cleanly—too cleanly. There was no sign of a struggle. No sound of a fight.

Just silence.

And then—movement.

The shadows stirred before she could react, curling at the edges of the room, slithering toward her like living things. Her body tensed, instinct screaming at her to *run*, but a familiar presence swept over her, dark and comforting all at once.

Elara turned sharply, her heart still hammering from the adrenaline.

Azriel stood at the other end of the room, his siphons glowing faintly, shadows swirling around his boots like a second skin. His scarred hands were relaxed at his sides, but there was a sharpness in his hazel eyes—a fury barely contained.

She exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“Az.” Her voice was hoarse, relief thick in the single syllable.

His gaze swept over her, assessing, calculating. He didn’t miss the bruises and raw red skin on her wrists, the cut above her brow, the way she swayed slightly as if her body was on the verge of giving out. Her usual tawny skin was now a concerning paler shade.

Then, with a single, slow blink, he said, “Took you long enough.”

Elara huffed a tired laugh, though the sound was laced with exhaustion. Her body now relaxing as she felt the security of her brother, “You could have gotten here sooner.”

Azriel stepped forward, his movements fluid, silent—always so damn silent. “You seemed to have things under control.”

She rolled her eyes, but when she went to grab her daggers, her hands trembled. Azriel saw it, of course he did, but he said nothing. Instead, he reached out, gently pressing one of the blades into her palm. The weight of it was grounding.

Elara tightened her grip around the hilt, her fingers flexing as she forced her breathing to steady. Now wasn’t the time to break. She could do that in the privacy of her own room. Maybe while in the bath. After her report to Rhys. Swallowing she then fastened the siphons to the back of her gloves. 

“Cassian?” she asked after a moment, her voice quiet. Trying to remain steady. Trying to remain the warrior she was trained to be.

“He’s waiting.” Azriel’s expression didn’t change, but there was something softer in the way he spoke, in the way his shadows curled toward her as if offering comfort. “Rhys sent me ahead.”

Elara nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Azriel reached for her sword, fastening it to her back with swift, efficient movements, as if sensing she didn’t have the strength to do it herself.

She should have said thank you. Should have let herself lean into the comfort of his presence. But she only nodded again, steeling herself.

Azriel watched her carefully, then, in that quiet, steady voice of his, he said, “Let’s go home.”

And this time, Elara let out a breath of relief, because home had never sounded so good.

It wasn’t long before she bathed, changing into some comfortable clothes. But her mind kept wonder back to how she got home in the first place. It was almost infuriating that she didn’t escape on her own. No. She wouldn’t have been able to break out of that cell by herself. Not without his help.

Him. Eris. The heir to the autumn court. Went and helped her. Why? She had no idea. And she went over it hundreds of times in her head, almost as if she missed something. Anything, really. Though what stuck out was his last words to her before he left.

“Good luck, little bird,”

~~~~

The night air was cold as Azriel pulled them through the shadows, the tendrils of darkness wrapping around them like a second skin. Elara clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay upright, but the exhaustion was creeping in, threatening to drag her under. Her body ached, bruises deepening with every breath, but she refused to let it slow her down.

She had fought her way out of that cell. She had survived. She could make it home.

Azriel’s grip on her arm was firm, steady—grounding. The first tingling of comfort she’d felt in weeks. Three weeks maybe? It seemed to have been that long according to what Eris hinted at.

“Almost there,” Azriel murmured, his voice cutting through the stillness between them. But his grip tightened slightly on her, urgent, eager to get her back home. 

She swallowed hard, nodding even though her legs trembled beneath her. Shadow traveling had always left her disoriented. She didn’t do it often, always opting for flying. But after everything she had been through, it felt like her bones were being pulled in a hundred directions at once.

The wind shifted, and then, in an instant, Velaris came into view. The soft glow of the Sidra, the twinkling lights of the city—home.

Elara barely had time to process it before they landed just outside the townhouse. Her knees buckled, her balance slipping, but before she could hit the ground, Azriel’s arms were around her.

“Steady,” he murmured, holding her against him.

She gritted her teeth, frustrated by the weakness in her limbs. “I’m fine.”

Azriel huffed quietly, unimpressed. “You’re barely standing.”

She wanted to argue, but before she could, the door to the townhouse was wrenched open.

Cassian.

His face was a storm of emotion—anger, worry, relief all crashing together as his gaze landed on her.

“Elara.”

She barely had time to brace herself before he was there, his arms wrapping around her tightly. The impact sent a fresh wave of pain through her ribs, but she didn’t care.

She let herself sink into the warmth of her brother’s embrace, let herself breathe for the first time since she had been taken.

“I’m fine,” she murmured against his shoulder.

Cassian pulled back just enough to cup her face, his eyes scanning every bruise, every cut, his jaw tightening. “You are *not* fine.”

Before she could snap back, more figures appeared in the doorway.

Rhys. Mor. Amren. Her family. 

Their eyes were sharp, their worry evident, but Elara could barely focus on them before Cassian was turning on Azriel.

“What happened?” His voice was low, dangerous.

Azriel didn’t flinch. “Autumn Court ambush. She escaped on her own. I tracked her before they could find her again.”

Cassian’s fists clenched at his sides, fury simmering in his hazel eyes. “They’re dead?”

Azriel gave a slow, cold nod. “Every single one. That I saw at least.”

Elara swallowed, watching as Cassian’s shoulders tensed, his breathing heavy. But then he looked back at her, and all the fight drained from his face.

“I should have been there.” His voice was barely more than a whisper.

Elara shook her head. “You were. I just had to find my way back.”

Cassian exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before pulling her in again, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Then, Mor was there, stepping forward with soft but determined eyes. “Let’s get you inside.”

Elara wanted to protest—wanted to tell them she was fine—but her body betrayed her, her exhaustion catching up all at once.

Azriel’s hand brushed against her back, a silent reassurance, before Cassian lifted her effortlessly into his arms.

She didn’t fight him. Didn’t argue.

Because for the first time in weeks, she was safe.

“Though I am curious. How, exactly, do you plan to keep your family from interfering? From that brute of a brother of yours, at least. I’m sure he will be protesting against the whole thing. Finding this female is important. I can’t risk having him or anyone else in our way. Or threatening my life,”

“I’ll handle it. All you just need to behave while you’re in Night Court territory.”

“You’re making demands now, Little Bird?”

“It’s not a demand, it’s—”

“A promise? How very generous of you.”

“If it keeps them from gutting you the second you step foot in my Court, then yes. I promise I’ll keep them off your back if you don’t give them a reason to kill you.”

“You promise, hmm?”

“I do.”

A promise. Not just words, but a promise. But it wasn’t just a promise she had made with him. No, she made something so much more dangerous.

A deal. 

A bargain. 

A bargain to keep him safe as long as he didn’t cause trouble. And since she was part of the Night Court? That bargain was inked on her skin as proof of such a promise. Which also meant that he too had some sort of mark as a reminder.

“I—” Elara swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, flickering to Mor. She ever felt this kind of panic before. Panic from such a big mistake that could cost her everything if it went wrong. “I didn’t mean to.”

Mor’s fingers flexed around her wrist, her voice dropping to something dangerous. “What do you mean you didn’t mean to?” Mor never used that tone before. Never with her. With Rhys? Yes. Cass? Of course. But Elara? Never. And it made her heart sink further into her chest.

Elara’s stomach twisted violently. The guilt of the realization quickly eating away at her conscious. “When I agreed to help him. When I told him I wouldn’t let anyone in our court hurt him as long as he didn’t do anything to deserve it—” Her breath shuddered out. “I must have…” She trailed off, staring at her reflection as the realization sank in like a stone.

She had unknowingly sealed a bargain with Eris Vanserra.

A sharp ringing filled her ears. How had she been so careless? She had spent her life keeping her emotions in check, swallowing down every reckless impulse, every wild, foolish mistake. And yet, with him, with that arrogant, smirking High Lord’s heir, she had bound herself without even realizing.

She could still hear his voice, that sharp amusement laced into his words when he’d looked at her and said, “She offered.”

Had he known? Had he felt it in the moment? That magic curling around them like an unseen tether, sinking deep into her bones, tying them together in a way she couldn’t yet comprehend? Had he been mocking her this whole time?

A shiver ran through her, something foreign and uneasy settling in her stomach. That sneaky, slimy, cunning fucking bastard.

Mor’s golden-brown eyes flickered with something close to fury, but beneath it, there was something worse—betrayal.

Eris had been the main character in the worst part of Mor’s life. The chip in the agreement with the Autumn Court and the Hewn City. She had been mutilated and left at the border bare. Elara never forgot it when Mor told her once she was old enough to know. And here she was. Having made a bargain with that very same male.

“Elara,” Mor breathed, her voice a mixture of exasperation and disbelief. She turned away, hands on her hips, pacing like she was trying to contain herself. As if she was holding back her anger, holding back from taking it out on her. “Rhys is going to lose his shit.” Her voice a deadly quiet. 

Rhys. Azriel. Cassian.

Her stomach dropped.

They would never forgive her for this. Not only had she agreed to help Eris, but she had unknowingly bound herself to protecting him in some way. Protecting Eris, from her family. 

And now there was magic—undeniable, binding magic—to prove it.

Her brothers would be furious. Cassian would rage, Azriel would retreat into a silence colder than steel, and Rhys… Rhys would look at her with that quiet disappointment, the one that had always cut her deeper than any reprimand.

A shudder wracked through her, slithering down her spine. 

Mor ran a hand through her golden hair, her jaw tightening. “We’ll fix it,” she said firmly, like she was trying to will it into truth. “There has to be a way to undo it.” She turned quickly on her heel to face Elara. A new focused look in her eye. Delusion.

Delusion from the truth. Trying to deny what was so clearly marked on her skin until they both agreed that they completed their bargain and wished to end it. But until that was mutually agreed upon? It would remain there. And anyone that would believe otherwise is foolish. 

Magic didn’t bend to the whim of anyone. No human. No God. No fae. No Cauldron. It was a force greater than anything else in any world.

Magic was its own master. They all knew it. But Mor seemed to ignore that simple fact. 

Elara clenched her jaw. “You know it doesn’t work like that, Mor.”

Mor’s golden eyes burned with frustration, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “Bargains can be broken.”

Elara let out a short, humorless laugh. “Not this one. Not unless he agrees to end it.”

Mor’s lips pressed into a thin line, and Elara could see the denial in her expression, the way she was desperate to fight against the truth. But there was no fighting this. No breaking what had been sealed in magic older than the very Courts themselves. Not unless he agreed to it.

Magic did not care for regret.

“I cannot accept this, You cannot just accept this,” Mor snapped, stepping closer. “Eris—he trapped you into this. You didn’t choose it.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Elara bit back. “Magic doesn’t care how it happened. It only cares that it was done.”

Mor shook her head, pacing now, her boots clicking against the marble floor. “There has to be a way. A loophole. Something.”

Elara exhaled sharply. “There isn’t. The only way out of this is if he agrees to break it, and do you really think Eris Vanserra is going to do that?”

Mor didn’t answer. Because they both knew the truth.

Eris was too smart. Too calculating. He wouldn’t have made a bargain unless he was certain it would benefit him. He wouldn’t let her go without getting exactly what he wanted.

Elara’s stomach twisted, but she forced herself to keep her voice steady. “I’ll deal with it. I’ll handle it,”

Mor stopped pacing, staring at her. The very person who had grown more like a sister than anyone in this world. As close as two sisters could possibly get. It didn’t matter that the had different blood in their veins. They were sisters in every way it mattered.

“You shouldn’t have to, Elara.”

“Well, I do.” Elara met her gaze, unflinching. “And if you keep acting like this can be undone, you’re only going to make it harder for both of us. I. Will. Handle. It.”

Mor clenched her jaw, her entire body radiating frustration. Anger. Helplessness.

But there was nothing she could do.

Nothing either of them could do.

Then Mor straightened, her voice quieter but no less firm. “If he tries anything—anything—you tell me. I’ll fucking rip his throat out.”

Elara simply nodded.

Mor studied her for a long moment before sighing. “I need a drink.”

Elara let out a breath. “Get one for me, too.”

Mor nodded once before striding out of her room, her golden hair catching in the dim light as she fled the room.

And Elara—Elara just stared in the mirror at the mark on her back, up her neck. Mocking her while her skin burned with the weight of it.

She was going to fucking kill him.

~~~~~~

The next morning, Elara was already in the sky before the sun had fully risen, the wind sharp against her face as she pushed herself harder, faster. The early mist covering the city of Velaris and the surrounding mountains of her home. 

Her wings ached, still stiff from how tense she’d been all night. Sleep had been impossible. Every time she closed her eyes, all she saw was the swirling ink of her bargain tattoo reflected back at her in the mirror.

Her bargain tattoo.

With Eris Vanserra.

The rage simmering in her blood was the only thing keeping her warm as she angled toward the Moonstone Palace.

She flew down quickly, landing on the open balcony. The smooth moonstone doors parted before her without a sound, allowing her entry into the palace’s hushed halls. The moment she crossed the threshold, the coolness of the marble floors seeped through her boots, a stark contrast to the ever-present warmth of her own power simmering beneath her skin. The deep green of her siphons flickering and flaring, matching rather well with her raging temper.

The corridors were vast and eerily silent, bathed in the last remnants of night’s shadows. The only sound was the faint echo of her steps against the polished floors, the occasional flicker of silver lights casting elongated shapes along the high ceilings.

The entire palace exuded quiet, untouchable elegance—walls of pale stone reflecting the soft violet of the lingering twilight, archways adorned with delicate carvings of stars and celestial creatures. Magic thrummed in the very air, woven into the foundation, into the way the palace seemed to breathe with the rhythm of the sky itself.

Her focus was locked on one thing.

The eastern wing—where Eris had been given his chambers, far removed from the main portion of the palace.

As she made her way through the halls, she could already feel him. That quiet, simmering heat that clung to the space, a presence she could never quite shake. The faint scent of embers and crisp autumn leaves filled her lungs, growing stronger with every step.

By the time she reached his door—a beautiful dark wooden door with soft swirls and floral carvings—she didn’t wait.

Didn’t knock.

Didn’t think.

She didn’t hesitate before slamming it open. The wood hit the wall with a satisfying crack.

Eris, who had been standing by the window, turned lazily, brow arching as he took her in. His auburn hair reflecting the early morning light as it crept through the open window. His smirk was already forming, like he had been expecting this. Like he had known she was coming.

“Good morning, little bird.”

Elara slammed the door shut behind her, the wall rattling with the amount of force behind it. And a part of Elara was surprised the door didn’t completely come off the hinges.

“We’re breaking it.”

Eris tilted his head, finally looking at her. The early morning sunrise casting a soft, warm glow over his sharp handsome, stupid features. “Breaking what?”

Elara stalked forward, “This. The bargain.” She said moving her hair out the way to show the very end of the tattoo as it wisped away into the darkness of her hair.

Eris leaned forward slightly, studying the mark with a faint, mocking hum. “Ah, yes. That.” He hummed and turned, picking up a tea cup that resided on the little side table by the window. He lifted it to his lips and took a slow sip. “No.”

Elara’s fingers itched to throw something at him. “No?” she echoed, voice dangerously low. Turning back towards him, her hazel eyes narrowing down at him.

Eris sighed, as if she was exhausting him, and set his glass down on the table beside him. “Why would I do that?”

Her blood was boiling, her nails digging into her palms. “Because you tricked me into this—”

Eris raised an unimpressed brow. “Did I? Now, now, little bird. If we’re going to be working together, the least we can do is be honest with ourselves,”

Elara clenched her jaw. Yes. He hadn’t said the words, hadn’t pushed her into making the bargain, but he had orchestrated it. Had given her no other choice.

“You don’t want this,” she snapped.

“Oh, but I do.” He spun on his heel in one fluid motion, and Elara immediately took a step back—not out of fear, but because he was suddenly too close, heat rolling off him in waves. “I went through quite a bit of trouble making sure you got out of that cell, Birdie. Risked quite a bit. Why would I throw all that effort away?”

Elara’s pulse pounded in her throat. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

Eris smiled, slow and razor-sharp. “You keep saying that as if you didn’t take my help. Are you trying to convince yourself otherwise?”

Her breath hitched. He had her there.

Eris tilted his head, his molten gaze flickering over her face, lingering on her lips for a fraction too long before meeting her eyes again. “The bargain stands.”

Elara felt her fury spike, like fire licking through her veins. “I will not be bound to you.”

Eris tsked, stepping even closer, until they were nearly chest to chest, until she could smell the faint trace of embers and cedarwood on his skin. “You already are, little bird.”

She hated that nickname. Hated the way his voice wrapped around it like silk.

Elara glared up at him. “I’ll find a way to break it myself.”

Eris smiled, but there was something dark beneath it, something unreadable. “You could try.” He lifted a hand, and before she could stop him, he traced a single finger along the mark on the back of her neck. A faint pulse of magic sparked at the touch, sending a shiver up her spine. Goosebumps rising on her skin.

Elara yanked back like he had burned her. “Bastard.”

Eris laughed softly, the sound maddeningly amused. “I do enjoy it when you call me that.”

Elara’s hands balled into fists. “You’re insufferable.” She wanted to do nothing more than wipe that smirk right off of his stupid arrogant face.

He winked. “And you’re predictable.”

Elara hated how her pulse quickened at that. Hated how he stood there, utterly unbothered while her entire world had shifted without her even realizing.

She took a breath, steadying herself. “You did this all on purpose,” she hissed at him, her temper rising more and more with each syllable.

Eris tilted his head. “You really think I would go into an agreement with your and your court without security? Without ensuring I was going to be safe? You truly believe I would go into the depths of your court, with the risk of your family backstabbing me? Absolutely not. So what was the best way for me to ensure my immunity? Well, I did safe your life, so walking you into a bargain was the best way to do that. And now we’re bound by it, little bird. That’s the price of your loyalty.”

Safe. Was that all he’d cared about? Protecting her from her family? His safety? Or was he using her just to get what he wanted—what he always wanted? 

No. Of course that’s what was happening. Eris only ever thought of himself. And he had used her to ensure that he got what he wanted. To find this female. And safety. Immunity from the Night Court. 

“Don’t you dare act like you weren’t playing me this whole time,” Elara growled, her wings flaring behind her, shaking with the anger that was building up in her chest. “You knew damn well I’d make that promise to keep my family safe. You used me.”

Eris’s eyes narrowed slightly, but the smile never wavered. “Oh, little bird, of course I did,” he said so smoothly, “besides you offered yourself freely. Though I only helped you keep your word. You made a promise, and I ensured you followed through.”

Her heart thundered in her chest, the bitter taste of betrayal swirling in her mouth. He had played her like a fool. And she had let him.

And now as long as Elara had her promise to keep Eris safe, he was untouchable. 

And that alone was the final straw.

Eris barely had time to react before Elara’s fist connected with his jaw. 

A satisfying crack echoed through the room, followed by a sharp grunt from the male as his head snapped to the side.

Elara shook out her hand, ignoring the sharp sting in her knuckles. It was absolutely w orth it.

Eris exhaled slowly, rolling his jaw as he turned back to face her. His golden eyes burned with something sharp—amusement, irritation, something else she couldn’t quite name. He ran his tongue over his teeth, testing for damage, before his smirk returned. 

Eris grinned, as his hand came up to rub at his jaw. “Careful, Elara. Keep this up, and I might start thinking you like putting your hands on me.”

She bared her teeth. “Fuck you.”

Elara turned on her heel, storming toward the door and out of his room without another word. Without another glance behind her. She didn’t trust herself not to punch him again—and her hand already throbbed enough.

~~~~~

By the time she made it to the House of Wind, her knuckles were screaming. Usually she threw punches better than that. She knew how to properly punch before she could read or write. But this?

Eris had gotten the best of her and her temper. There was something about him that just completely got under her skin. And the fact that Eris knew that too? Irritated her to no end.

She stomped into the kitchen, yanking open the icebox and grabbing a handful of ice before pressing it against her bruised skin. A sharp hiss slipped through her teeth.

“Please tell me you didn’t punch a wall again,” came Cassian’s voice from the doorway.

Elara turned to see her brother leaning against the frame, arms crossed, wings tucked in. His hazel eyes flicked to her hand, then back to her face, already filled with exasperation.

Elara rolled her shoulders, her wings flexing with irritation as she looked back down to her hand, “No. I punched Eris.”

A beat of silence. Then, “ Finally. ”

Elara snorted as Cassian walked over, reaching for her wrist. She let him inspect her hand, even as she muttered, “I should’ve hit him harder.”

Cassian smirked. “I’m just impressed you didn’t break your damn fingers. You know, with all the bone he has in that thick skull of his,”

Her lips twitched. “It was a satisfying punch.” 

“You’re going to have a bruise on your hand to show for it,” Cassian pointed out, his tone teasing but laced with concern. “You should have taken it easy.”

“I didn’t exactly plan for it to end that way,” Elara muttered, feeling her cheeks flush slightly. “But the urge to knock his smug face off was… too strong.”

Cassian laughed, a rich, booming sound that filled the quiet kitchen. “You’re just like me when I get frustrated with someone. But you don’t pull your punches like I do.”

Elara shot him a look, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve seen me fight. You know I don’t need to pull my punches. Sometimes, they land perfectly.” 

“True,” Cassian said, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “But you know, little sister, there’s more to life than punching your way through problems. Though I admit, it’s a good start.” Elara finally let out a breath, leaning back against the counter, her shoulders sagging slightly. “I’m just pissed off that I’m stuck in this position in the first place. Had I been more careful I never would’ve gotten captured, and he never would’ve helped me, and we wouldn’t be fucking stuck here,” she huffed out in a breath.

Cassian’s expression softened, and he reached over, gently squeezing her shoulder in that quiet assurance that always helped, “I know. But that wasn’t your fault. None of it was. You were just doing what you had to, to survive. Any one of us would have done what you did. But you’ve got this. You always do. You’ve got us. You’ve got me,”

She met his gaze then, grateful for the comfort, even if she didn’t always show it. Illyrians weren’t necessarily the most warm and fuzzy group of Fae. And it wasn’t like either of them had particularly warm and fuzzy childhoods. But they both learned what it meant to be family, what it meant to be there for each other. They learned what each other needed and it just worked.

“Thanks, Cass.”

“No problem, little sister,” he replied, giving her a wink. “Just don’t make a habit of punching everyone in the face. I know we’re not exactly known for our subtlety, and it’s going to catch up with you one day.”

Elara snorted, the tension in her shoulders finally starting to ease, just a little bit. “I’ll try to remember that.”

It was the reassurance she needed coming from the simplest of gestures. For the first time in a long while, she allowed herself a moment of peace. With her brother by her side, all of them, and Mor, she could handle Eris.

And maybe with them, she’d figure out how to get herself out of this damn mess.

She just had to tell them about the bargain first.

Elara rolled her eyes. “By two minutes.”

“Two minutes that could mean life or death,” he countered smoothly, arms crossing over his chest. His golden eyes flickered, a subtle challenge hidden beneath the amusement in his voice.

She snorted. “Dramatic much?”

Eris only smirked, but there was something sharper behind it, something that told her he was just as eager to get moving as she was.

Without another word, he stepped closer, reaching for her.

She barely resisted the instinct to flinch when his fingers wrapped around her wrist—warm, solid. A tether she still wasn’t used to. Her body tensed involuntarily, a muscle-deep reaction she hadn’t quite shaken, even after all this time. His presence, his touch, the way he invaded her space like he had every right to it—it grated against her instincts.

But she swallowed it down, steeling herself as his other hand settled lightly at her waist.

“Hold on, Birdie,” he murmured.

She bristled at the nickname, her glare sharp enough to cut—but before she could snap at him, the world twisted and collapsed around them.

The wind howled as Eris pulled them through the space between realms, the crushing, disorienting sensation of winnowing settling deep in Elara’s bones. It was a strange, stomach-twisting thing, like being flung through the air and yanked back at the same time. She had done it before, but something about the way he did it—fast, efficient, as if he barely had to think about it—left her feeling even more unsteady than usual.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it ended.

Elara sucked in a breath, steadying herself as her boots hit solid ground. She always hated winnowing. She hated the way the world around her warped and shifted. She hated how disorienting it all was. She much preferred flying. But Eris, being the absolute princess he was. Absolutely refused to travel any other way.

Though she admitted it was faster to travel to the outlining villages of the Court, she didn’t like the way she had to touch him to do it. She hated how he smirked when she gripped his arm, and practically threw it away from her once she could. Hated the way he smirked. Hated it all.

Around them, the dim glow of dawn bathed the quiet village in soft golds and purples. It was a modest place, tucked into the valleys of the Night Court’s lesser-populated territories. The buildings were simple but sturdy, built from dark stone and carved wood. Smoke curled from a few chimneys, the scent of fresh bread and morning fires drifting on the crisp air.

She rolled her shoulders, adjusting to the new location, before giving Eris a sharp look. “Next time, warn me before you drag me through space, Vanserra.”

He only smirked, entirely unaffected. “I figured you could handle it, Birdie.”

She glared at him, but he was already scanning the village, his smirk fading into something more calculating.

They were here for answers. Okay, maybe not answers. But at least a decent place to start.

Elara inhaled deeply, trying to sort through the scents carried on the wind. The one they were looking for—she didn’t know what she would smell like, but she knew what she wanted to find. Magic. Fear. Something that stood out.

Nothing immediately jumped at her.

Eris had already started moving, his steps purposeful as he approached the nearest cluster of buildings. “We’ll start with the inn,” he murmured. “Travelers talk, and coin tends to loosen lips.”

Elara fell into step beside him, instinctively scanning the streets. A few villagers were already out, setting up stalls or preparing for the day, their wary gazes flickering toward them before quickly looking away. Not unusual. Even in a court as vast as Rhysand’s, two well-dressed strangers appearing out of thin air would always draw suspicion.

She leaned in slightly, voice low. “What exactly are we asking? We can’t just go around demanding if anyone’s seen a runaway female with power.”

Eris hummed, his expression giving away nothing. “We’re not looking for her directly. We’re looking for trouble.”

Elara arched a brow. “You’re going to have to be more specific. Trouble finds us wherever we go. You especially, Vanserra,”

A flicker of amusement crossed his features before he elaborated. “If she’s here—or if she’s been here—someone will have noticed. Strange occurrences. Missing people. Unexplained power. Energy. If she’s hiding, she’s either doing it well or she’s making mistakes. Either way, someone will know something. It’ll help give us somewhere else to start.

Elara considered that as they reached the inn’s entrance. A dingy two-story, rickety building. The wooden sign above the entrance swayed slightly in the breeze, the paint worn but still legible: The Crescent Hearth.

Eris pushed the door open without hesitation, the scent of roasted meat and ale greeting them as they stepped inside. The inn wasn’t large, but it was well-kept, a handful of tables scattered across the main room. A few patrons lingered near the bar, while a tired-looking innkeeper wiped down a counter.

Elara caught the way conversations dipped the moment they walked in. They were being watched. Measured. She wouldn’t doubt that word of their arrival would spread fast. They had to work faster.

She leaned against the doorway, letting Eris take the lead as he strode toward the innkeeper, all easy confidence.

Elara didn’t miss the way the older male straightened slightly, as if sensing that this was not a male he wanted to offend. Smart. For once.

Eris offered a practiced, easy smile, his stance relaxed—but not careless. “Quiet night?” he asked, voice smooth, as if they were nothing more than weary travelers making conversation.

The innkeeper’s sharp gaze flicked over him, then to Elara, assessing. “Depends on what you call quiet,” he said gruffly, wiping down the counter.

Eris nodded as if he understood, glancing around the dimly lit tavern. “Place like this must hear all kinds of things,” he mused, voice casual. “Stories, rumors. Some worth ignoring, some worth remembering.” He let the words settle, watching the innkeeper’s reaction. “And sometimes, those stories are worth something to the right ears.”

The innkeeper’s hand stilled on the cloth. Suspicion flickered across his face, but so did interest. After a moment’s hesitation, he exhaled and jerked his head toward a door in the back. “If you want to talk, best do it in there. Too many ears out here.”

Eris didn’t move right away. Instead, he studied the man, as if weighing whether to trust him. Then, with a glance at Elara—a silent signal to stay sharp—he stepped forward.

Elara scanned the room once more, noting every exit, every glance that lingered too long, before following.

The back room of the inn was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from a small, flickering lantern mounted on the wall. The scent of old wood and pipe smoke lingered in the air, along with the faintest trace of something metallic—perhaps spilled ale or something less innocent.

The innkeeper shut the door behind them and gestured to a small table in the center of the room. “You want information,” he said gruffly, settling into the chair with a weary sigh. “I might have some.”

Eris didn’t sit. He remained standing, hands clasped behind his back in that effortless way that made him look like he belonged in a throne room rather than some dingy tavern. Elara, on the other hand, slid into the seat across from the innkeeper, her sharp eyes studying his face, watching for any sign of deception, her wings tucked tight behind her.

The old male leaned forward slightly, as if he were about to impart some great secret. “Few nights ago,” he began, voice low, “there was… an incident. Something unnatural.”

Eris arched a brow. “Go on.” He said, his voice bored as ever.

The innkeeper’s fingers drummed against the table. “Couple of my regulars said they saw something—said there was this girl in the village square late at night. Said she wasn’t from around here. Young, traveling alone.” He hesitated, then leaned in a fraction more. “They claimed she was glowing.”

Elara blinked. “Glowing?” She asked. Not in surprise, but almost as if clarifying in pure bored disbelief.

“Aye.” He nodded. “Said she had power spilling off her in waves, and the air around her shimmered like starlight. But by the time anyone tried to get close, she was gone.”

Elara exchanged a look with Eris.

It wasn’t impossible. She’d seen magic manifest in strange ways before. But something about this wasn’t right. It was almost too easy.

Eris tilted his head slightly. “Why didn’t you report this?”

The innkeeper’s lips twisted into something bitter. “Report it? And bring the High Lord’s attention down on my village? We don’t need that kind of trouble. It’s not like he spends much time with the concerns of villages like our own. ‘Sides, the girl disappeared. If she wanted to be found, she would’ve stuck around.”

A reasonable enough excuse. And yet—

Elara frowned, trying to piece it together. It sounded… almost too convenient.

She could feel Eris studying the innkeeper just as closely as she was.

He hummed, his tone light but laced with quiet authority. “And these regulars of yours—would they be willing to speak with us?”

The innkeeper hesitated. A flicker of something passed over his face before he quickly masked it. “No,” he said. “One left town. The other won’t talk to strangers.”

Liar.

Elara’s jaw tightened, but she forced her expression to remain neutral. The innkeeper was hiding something—whether it was out of fear, greed, or simply to throw them off, she wasn’t sure.

Eris exhaled, clearly arriving at the same conclusion. But he didn’t call the male out on it. Not yet. Instead, he reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a few gold coins, setting them on the table with a quiet clink.

“For your trouble,” he said smoothly.

The innkeeper snatched up the coins with practiced efficiency, his fingers closing around them like a starving man clutching his last meal.

Eris only smiled. “If you think of anything else, we’ll be staying in the village for a while.”

The male nodded quickly, his shoulders easing now that the conversation was ending. “Of course.”

Eris turned for the door, and Elara followed. But as she passed the innkeeper, she paused just long enough to murmur, “If you’re lying to us, we will find out.”

The way his throat bobbed as he swallowed told her all she needed to know.

Then she was striding after Eris, stepping back out into the cool morning air.

Elara waited until the door shut behind them before saying, “He’s full of shit.”

Eris crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “You think?”

Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Either he’s covering for someone, or he’s trying to send us in the wrong direction. Or just making a quick coin,”

Eris considered that. “So what now?”

Elara didn’t answer right away as they left the inn and went back outside. She glanced around the village square, eyes scanning the streets, the rooftops, as if something might reveal itself to her. The sun slowly creeping over the hills and tree tops surrounding the outlying village.

Then, finally, Elara said, “Now we find out what he didn’t tell us.” She nodded towards the village center, where the merchants were finishing setting up their stalls for the day. If talk were to happen, this would be the place.

The market was bustling with activity, the sun rising higher in the sky and casting a soft golden glow over the village. Merchants were setting up their stalls, the vibrant colors of fruit and vegetables mixing with the earthy smells of fresh bread and roasted meats. The air was thick with the sounds of bartering and laughter, punctuated by the occasional shout of a merchant calling out the quality of their goods.

Elara and Eris had chosen to split up, both of them scanning the scene for any hint of unusual behavior or whispers that might lead them to something useful. Eris had winnowed out of sight, slipping away into the shadows of the village while Elara meandered through the market, her wings folded against her back and her gaze sharp.

As she moved from stall to stall, she admired the simple wares and exchanged polite pleasantries with the merchants. She asked questions about travel, about the weather, and even about the state of the road to the neighboring villages. She kept it casual, her words light, but her mind was working quickly, analyzing the faces of everyone she spoke to.

“Anything I should avoid around here?” she asked one vendor selling brightly-colored scarves, leaning slightly over the stall as if she were genuinely interested in the goods. “I’m just passing through, but I’d hate to end up in a spot of trouble.”

The woman behind the counter raised an eyebrow but smiled warmly. “Ah, well, we’ve had some strange folks wandering through of late, travelers and all that. Nothing dangerous, but I’d keep clear of the forest path that runs along the far end of the village. Strange happenings,”

“Strange happenings?” Elara repeated, pressing for more.

The woman lowered her voice, leaning forward. “Some say it’s the old ruins, something lingering there. But I believe it is just bandits praying on travelers for a coin or anything with a shine. If you’re traveling, I’d steer clear of that area, especially at night.”

Elara nodded, her interest piqued, but she didn’t linger too long. The woman had no more information that was of immediate use. Bandits or raiders weren’t new or helpful. Elara had learned what she needed. She walked away, her eyes scanning the crowd as she moved deeper into the market.

The scent of spice and fresh bread curled through the air, mingling with the sharper tang of burning oil from the lantern stalls. Vendors called out their wares, their voices rising above the hum of conversation and the clatter of hooves on stone. She let herself slip into the rhythm of it, letting the noise and movement settle her mind.

But as she passed the pottery stall again, something about the delicate, cracked vase the woman had been holding caught her attention. It had a beauty to it—fragile yet detailed, the kind of craftsmanship that spoke of years of skill and patience. She turned back toward the stall.

“I don’t suppose you made that vase yourself, did you?” Elara asked, her tone light but curious.

The woman looked up from the work in her hands, her frail eyes blinking as if surprised by the question. “Aye, I did,” she rasped, her hands trembling as she placed the vase down, almost protectively. “Been working clay since I was a girl.”

Elara nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “It’s beautiful. The design, the cracks… it’s like it tells a story,”

The woman’s eyes softened as she looked at the vase, and that’s when Elara felt the air shift. Something in the woman’s gaze had changed—darker, sharper, as if she was no longer seeing the pottery but something deeper.

Elara had seen war. Had been covered in blood, had walked through the aftermath of battles, her ears ringing with the screams of the dying. She had stood before things darker than nightmares and walked away unscathed.

And yet—this old woman, with her shaking hands and hollowed-out eyes, sent something cold trickling down her spine. Sent her wings shifting. Goosebumps rising on her skin.

It wasn’t fear. No, not fear. It was something worse—recognition.

The woman’s eyes were too clear, too knowing, as they flicked over Elara’s face. And though Elara played it cool, her face impassive, something coiled tight in her chest.

“It’s not the pottery you need to worry about, girl.”

Elara kept her breathing steady. Didn’t flinch, didn’t shift, even as the woman’s voice—rasping and dry—curled around her like smoke. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she replied evenly.

The woman’s fingers clenched around the vase she held, the fine cracks in the clay deepening with the force of it. Her mouth moved, forming words too quickly, too feverishly.

“The skies will darken, and the light will falter. The lost one will return, and when the shadow falls upon you, you will know who you are meant to be. The chains will break, the bond will form—he will be your salvation, and the end of everything.”

Elara’s heart thudded, slow and heavy.

The bond. The chains. The end of everything.

It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

Yet, the world suddenly felt… off-kilter. Like she was standing on the edge of a precipice and the ground beneath her feet was beginning to give way.

Elara stayed perfectly still, her soldier’s instincts keeping her rooted. But the air around her felt thick now, pressing against her lungs, against her ribs.

And then the woman lunged.

Her gnarled fingers locked around Elara’s wrist, pulling her forward with a strength that shouldn’t belong to someone so frail.

Elara’s other hand twitched toward a blade that sat on her waist. But she couldn’t cause a scene. She couldn’t hurt this old female. But something about her instinctively told her she wasn’t just an old female. Not with the way she looked at Elara.

The woman’s fingers were like ice, her grip trembling but unyielding. Her breath fanned against Elara’s skin as she leaned in, her eyes wide and wild, pupils blown out like a starless sky.

“You must know the truth,” she whispered. “It’s already written. The skies are shifting, child. Beware—beware of what’s coming for you. It will change it all. The power. I will save or kill us all,”

A storm churned in the woman’s gaze, something ancient and untethered, and it unnerved Elara in a way she hadn’t felt since she was a child, curled beneath a tattered blanket in a war-camp, listening to the wind howl like a dying thing.

Elara should’ve yanked her wrist away. Should’ve shoved the woman back, done something.

But she didn’t.

Because—deep down—she wasn’t sure she wanted to break the grip.

“Mother!”

The shout cracked through the market like a whip.

Elara snapped back to herself, stepping away just as a broad-shouldered male rushed forward. He grabbed the woman’s arm, his grip firm but careful, and gently pulled her away.

The woman’s fingers slid from Elara’s wrist. Cold lingered in their wake.

“I’m so sorry,” the male said quickly, his face flushing with embarrassment. “She’s… not well. She speaks nonsense most days.” His voice softened, lined with frustration, but also with sorrow. “Please, forgive her.”

Elara barely heard him.

The woman was still staring at her, muttering under her breath, though her words had lost their shape, dissolving into nonsense. But her eyes—those dark, haunted eyes—never left Elara’s face.

“It’s alright,” Elara managed, forcing a tight smile, though she wasn’t sure anything was alright.

The son nodded, guiding the old woman away. She went without protest, her head tipping back toward the sky, her whispers trailing behind her like a ghost’s touch.

Elara took a slow breath. Then another.

Her fingers flexed at her sides. Her wings twitched involuntarily.

She should shake it off. Walk away. Forget about it.

But the woman’s words echoed in her skull, sinking their claws in deep.

Eris spotted Elara slowly walking, eyes distant, and sighed dramatically. He pushed his way through the crowd toward her, his steps deliberate and mocking as he finally called out, “Birdie, What’s going on? You look like someone just took your favorite dagger away,”

His head tilted and his eyes narrowing at her when she didn’t seem to responds. With his eyebrows furrowed, he tried again, “Elara?”

She snapped back to attention at the sound of her name. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she forced herself to focus.

“What?” she muttered, her voice a little sharper than she intended. “Did you find anything useful?”

Eris raised a brow, crossing his arms and leaning in slightly, as if inspecting her. “I was about to ask you the same thing,” he replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “You’ve been standing there like you’re waiting for an inspiration from the broken pot there,” he said, nodding towards the cracked vase the woman had been holding.

Elara’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t respond to the jabs. Instead, she waved her hand dismissively, trying to shake off the lingering discomfort gnawing at her chest. “I didn’t find anything useful. Some ramblings about raiders, but that’s nothing new. We should move on from this town.”

Eris sighed a bit as he nodded, putting his hands into his front pockets, “So no cryptic clues, no hidden treasures, no obscure prophecies about this female’s inevitable rise to world domination?” His voice dripped with feigned disappointment. “What a letdown. And here I was hoping to get something out of this.”

Elara couldn’t suppress the roll of her eyes. “You know how it is. People love to talk, but it’s all useless chatter. We’ve spent enough time here.”

Eris snorted. “You’re telling me. At this rate, the only thing we’ll be leaving with is a headache from all the nonsense. Lead the way, then, little bird,”

Despite the sarcasm, there was a certain edge to his words—maybe not concern, but something close to it. Elara’s discomfort hadn’t gone unnoticed, even if he wasn’t about to admit it.

“Right behind you,” Elara muttered, setting off toward the edge of town, ready to put the strange encounter behind her. She could feel Eris following, the weight of his gaze on her back, but she refused to acknowledge it. She had enough to deal with than to worry about his snide remarks.

Still, the words of the old woman continued to echo in her mind, wrapping tighter around her thoughts with every step she took. And she couldn’t help but turn it over and over in her mind.

What in the Cauldron’s name did it all mean?