#so technically yes

“How can we help you?” asked a female voice coming from the inside, her pale face reddened by the heat. She had long dark hair, like many inhabitants of the Night Court, but unlike the angry grunts they always sported, she had a wide smile painted on her full lips, which led people to trust her almost blindly. More often than expected, people considered kindness a sign of harmlessness, but Eris saw its potential even Under the Mountain, and although they were all very busy not to become the entertainment of the evening, he used that period to offer favours and promise protection, thus building an impeccable network of spies scattered through all Court. Beron had even complimented him on his cunning, and to say it didn’t happen often was an understatement. Obviously, he hadn’t braved the elements just in hope of receiving further praise from his father, the approval of the High Lord of Autumn something he no longer aspired to since the first lashes he received as punishment for not being horrible to Lucien, who at the time was little more than an infant. He would’ve reported something to the Small Council, to justify his absence from the Forest House, but they would’ve been half-truths and lies wisely woven to give the impression of knowing more than them. Not too much, though, or the most loyal Lords would’ve started to get suspicious. Honestly, he would’ve sold them all if it had served his purpose, but first he had to take care of a couple of matters, and Anthea sitting on the unstable stool in the shop was his means to solve at least part of them.

“Any news on my brother?” Eris asked as soon as the door closed behind him, trapping the smoke and the smell of sweat inside. As if the two guests hadn’t been present, the blacksmith returned to his chores, and the High Fae poured a glass of coppery liquid for her employer.

“Still far away, unfortunately. A real shame, if you ask me: his tips are much more useful than the change the Illyrians leave me,” she replied, leaning with her elbows on a small table with a worn wooden top.

“I’m not surprised,” Eris muttered, his eyebrows furrowing. He didn’t like the fact that Lucien worked for Rhysand, but if he was in the Courts, Eris was at least able to try to keep him safe, even if he hadn’t been much help the last time his little brother really needed him.

“Besides, those who spend a lot on wine tend to be more useful to me as a spy than as a maid,” the female went on, mischievous.

“Tell me that stupid bat let something slip from his large mouth at Rita’s,” Eris urged, the shadow of a grin spreading across his angular features, “it would brighten my day, and only the Cauldron knows how much it’s needed.”

“Not him,” denied Anthea, dampening his enthusiasm, “but someone very close. The High Lady is pregnant, and the child has wings.”

Eris’s eyes widened in shock. He hadn’t seen Feyre much, but he remembered her narrow hips and thin frame, the figure of someone who grew up malnourished. She wasn’t going to survive the birth, even with the best of healers constantly by her side. He wondered if Lucien knew, if he was ready to lose the girl for whom he betrayed his best friend, but he quickly put the thought aside. His brother was an adult, he made his own choices, and although he suffered too much for Eris’s liking, he also knew how to get back up on his feet, and certainly losing the High Lady wasn’t about to give him the final blow.

“Do they intend to get rid of it?” he asked, cautiously. It wasn’t easy for the Fae, and many would’ve considered it sacrilege, given the difficulty with which new children were born, but it was possible.

Anthea shook her head, clearly disagreeing with the decision.

“I don’t intend to be in the proximity of the High Lord when he loses his other half, and you should make sure that whoever needs to leave the Night Court does it in time, or he may vent his anger with a cruelty we cannot even imagine,” she warned him.

One face immediately sprang to his mind, the elegant high cheekbones and the unwavering determination in her eyes, but she wasn’t the only one in danger of ending up chained somewhere in the Hewn City. Eris knew that the Night Court’s true centre of power wasn’t the place that inspired Amarantha in the construction of her gloomy home, but he suspected that the Shadowsinger conducted his most imaginative interrogations there, in a hole forgotten by the Mother herself.

“It will be done,” Eris agreed, “and you’ll have your place here, where you can choose what life you want to lead, as promised.”

“You haven’t heard the rest yet, though,” she teased him, a light of amusement illuminating her violet eyes. If the heir of a High Lord could’ve afforded to have friends, she certainly would’ve been one.

“The eldest of the sisters brought the myth of the Valkyries back to life along with some priestesses and an Illyrian,” revealed Anthea, and Eris was sure his heart skipped a beat. The Valkyries died because of the Illyrians’ cowardice and he was certain that history would soon repeat itself, with the impending war against a Death-God.

“Do you think that’s a good thing?” Eris asked, trying to push aside his worries.

“It might or might not, it all depends on the girls’ willpower. It could also do good to your brother’s Mate, even if the Spymaster already hangs around her for too much for my taste.”

“I hope there were no accidents,” he replied, serious. Many things could’ve happened if Azriel hadn’t simply been nice to Elain, but that was a possibility he didn’t want to ponder at the moment.

“Is the Morrigan still in Vallahan?” he asked instead, moving on to gathering information that would interest his father.

Anthea nodded: “She’s struggling to find a way to convince them to sign the new treaty.”

Eris almost rolled his eyes. She wasn’t cut out to rule, much less to negotiate or dominate the battlefield, and although what she did had cost him dearly, he was grateful that she’d offered herself to the brute to break their engagement. In time, he would’ve felt nothing but resentment towards her.

“Very good, if that’s all…” Eris began, but before he could get up the female grabbed his wrist.

“They spend many nights together, but everyone sleeps in their own rooms,” she concluded, gravely.