Tradition and Blood—Part Two
Read the previous part here.
He'd ignored them since he arrived with his delegation.
Listening to their bickering was a bore. He had a city to rebuild, a Court to fortify, and a foreign army to kick out. Too much was going on, and the last place he wanted to be was here, but Cresseida thought he should show.
"What if you're the only High Lord not present? You shouldn't be left out of these things, you should know what will be said in that room."
Which is the only reasoning that could have brought him here. And now that he was here, he had to admit: she was right. Tamlin spying on Hybern, the Cursebreaker having the powers of the High Lords...these were things he needed to witness firsthand. He'd been hoping Tamlin wouldn't show at least, but he was here. There would've been no excuse for him to miss out.
Cresseida was right, and yet he wanted to be anywhere but here.
It all made his blood boil. Seeing the banned Illyrian grin broadly in a challenge to Varian as if he were untouchable, as if it were some small thing he did, destroying that building. As if it were nothing to destroy the homes of hundreds, take the lives of dozens, after some roughhouse flying. But he should've known better. Look at the brute's High Lord, casually speaking of melting minds and that farce with Winter's children. How stupid did he think they all were?
It was excruciating, sitting across from those marked for death, unable to so much as touch them. Thesan declared such displays off-limits. And yet there they were, the Night Court...exceptions to nearly every rule in Prythian it would seem. So far their delegation has attacked Autumn — twice — and Spring. Where were these so-called wards of neutrality then? If they could do what they did to Eris and Tamlin and Beron and his Lady, why couldn't he reach across the table, seize hold of their blood, choke them from the inside out, an—
"You're steaming, Tarquin."
Cresseida's quiet voice pierced through the fog. He blinked it away, and tried to relax. He ignored the looks he knew he was getting. The way he'd been staring at the Cursebreaker masquerading as High Lady, there could be no doubt who was drawing his ire.
“I wondered where it went—that little bit," Helion mused. "So small—like a fish missing a single scale. But I still felt whenever something brushed against that empty spot. No wonder you made her High Lady.”
“I made her High Lady,” Rhysand said, “because I love her. Her power was the last thing I considered.”
Tarquin was starting to feeling nauseous, blinded by his hatred of it all. He pushed against the wards with just a bit of his magic, but it was as he thought. They couldn't winnow directly from the chamber.
He didn't think he could make it all the way to the spot they winnowed in from without erupting.
Helion asked Tamlin, “You knew of her powers?”
Tamlin watched the Cursebreaker and her mate carefully. “It was none of your business,” he said, directed to them all.
“The power belongs to us," Beron seethed. "I think it is.”
"Thesan."
It was the first time Tarquin spoke during the meeting. All the bickering halted at his quiet voice.
Thesan looked perplexed, and maybe mildly alarmed at the revelations unraveling before them all. "Yes, Tarquin?"
"Lift your wards."
Rhysand began to speak. "I don't believe that's nec—"
"Now."
The chamber went silent. The Cursebreaker moved, intent on reaching his side. "Tarquin, we're here to talk all this out. If you could just—"
"If the Lady of Night wishes to address me, she will do so properly. I am Lord Tarquin of Summer. Lord Tarquin will suffice casually, but formally I am known as High Lord of Summer." Tarquin sneered at her. "I know it hasn't yet been a year since you've arrived in Prythian, my lady, but this is how things are done. Be grateful I am teaching you, since it seems your mate is too busy terrorizing the lands to do so. Thesan, lift your wards."
At that, Rhysand bristled. "Feyre is High Lady. She is owed the respect you give to any other High Lord in this chamber."
"Didn't you just say you made her High Lady? Gave her that useless title? I don't have to tell you that's not how it goes."
"It is if I declare it is."
"Is that so?" He turned to Cresseida. "Princess of Adriata, you are now High Lady of Summer. I declare it to be so. Stand and address the chamber." He turned back to Rhysand. "Now address her as such."
The Cursebreaker tried to speak once again. "Tarquin—"
His power pulsed, and the chamber shook violently.
"I will not tell you again, Cursebreaker," he whispered.
It was Kallias who spoke next. "Easy, Tarquin. Let's not do anything rash."
He laughed. He laughed so hard, his sides began to get stitches. "Rash?" he asked. "Let me tell you what's rash. Requesting entrance to my Court only to steal from me was rash. Further destroying my Court that was still recovering from the attacks of your master was rash, Rhysand."
He turned on the High Lord of Night, stalking toward him. Rhysand didn't move from his spot, but the faces of those in his delegation grew pale as he took step after step, each one rocking the chamber.
"I invited you into my home. I ignored the stolen bride of Spring. I ignored your threats to Cresseida. And in return, you did as you always did. What you wanted."
The Cursebreaker tried to step in front of her mate, only for him to push her behind him. "We only did what was necessary."
Tarquin looked over to Tamlin. "Is that what you told the citizens of the Spring Court when Hybern destroyed their homes and killed their families? Is that what you told the families of those Winter children? My Court was destroyed, Rhysand, several times over. My people still remember the last attack you launched on Adriata under Amarantha, who you served to protect your Court. You saw the buildings and the streets while you were there. And then you have your mate steal from me, allow her to destabilize the land while foreign hostiles were present for some petty grudge, and for me to now learn she used my own power to do it?!" He looked over at the woman in question. "That was how you got through my wards."
He didn't say what else he was thinking. That was why I felt whole next to you, why I wanted to be around you so much. Not because you spoke to my soul, but because you stole it.
The Cursebreaker refused to meet his eyes. "We had no other choice. You don't understand. Tamlin locked me up—"
"How I wish I could lock you up right now!" Tarquin roared. She jumped back, as did many others. Tarquin couldn't remember the last time he raised his voice like that, the last time he was so angry that the hiss of the sea serpent underlayed his own voice as he spoke. He felt positively murderous. "Your fiancé locks you in your mansion out of some misplaced desire to protect you, take that up with him! Shave off his hair, kick him where it hurts, hell, lock him up and see how he likes it! Don't become a war criminal twice over! Do you think something as stupid as being locked in a mansion justifies the damage you've wrought? Don't you think so many families right now could wish they were locked in the Spring Manor instead of dead, killed violently as a result of your careless actions? But as long as your starlight city is fine, nothing else matters. That's what it was for 50 years, why should that change now? The rest of us can die violently, live in fear, never know peace, as long as the Night Court is safe, is that it?"
She was openly crying, but he couldn't force himself to care.
"You say we had the same dream? What dream was that? To lay two Courts open to invasion while the Night Court remained pristine? To complain about some enemy using the Cauldron to subdue and kill us all after stealing the only thing that could neutralize it?"
Helion started. "The Book of Breathings?"
"We used to house half of it in Summer, until Rhysand brought his High Pet in to steal it."
Even Beron couldn't make a mockery of that. "Are you completely mad, Rhysand?!"
"We needed it," he said cooly, unremorsefully.
"I would have given it to you!" Tarquin yelled. "If we had arrived here and the Courts agreed, I would have handed it over!"
At this, Rhysand could say nothing.
Tarquin was trembling. Steam filled the room, and pearlescent scales littered his skin. "Thesan, lift your wards."
"There must be some way we can move past this," the Cursebreaker said, her voice shaking and catching on her words.
Tamlin scoffed. "Maybe all the High Lords can bring back all of my citizens, or at least the ones whose bodies are intact. I'll consider it then."
That brought Tarquin up short. He almost forgot. He pushed past Rhysand and grabbed the Cursebreaker's arm. Rhysand protested, but he was quickly held back by Tamlin. Keen to get his revenge for earlier, Tamlin's fangs and claws and horns came out. They began fighting in earnest until, with a swipe of his claws, Tamlin's magic connected. Where Rhysand once stood, there was a fish, flopping on the ground.
"Rhys!"
The Illyrians were kept at bay by Varian and Cresseida, who used her magic to freeze their blood. They stood still, fighting through her magic, screaming the Cursebreaker's name. She was terrified, openly crying, but he wouldn't kill her. Not today.
Instead, he pulled her closely and stared into her eyes, searching her soul for the piece of her that was him. After a moment, he found it—bright and shining, blue as the depths in the afternoon sun. He found it, and he recalled it into himself.
She screamed as it left her.
When it came back into himself, and he once again felt whole, he turned to the room full of shocked faces. "The blood rubies have been issued for the current High Lord of Night, his Lady, and his second-in-command. They are marked for death, and death will find them. If I were you, I'd get your kernels of power back before it does."
The Morrigan cried out, the thought too much to bear. "But won't that kill her?"
Helion said quietly, "Probably not, so long as one remains."
"I don't care what it is you wish to do, so long as I am not here for it. Lift your wards, Thesan. I will not ask again. Unless you would rather I change here and now."
Thesan dipped his head in understanding. In his heightened state of power, Tarquin felt it when the wards lifted. Before he left, he looked back at Cresseida and Varian. "You two stay for however long it takes for everyone who wants their drop back to take it. Then come back to Adriata immediately."
Then he winnowed away, the gale of a summer storm left behind where he'd stood.
Tarquin, High Lord of Summer and Serpent of the Sea, whole again, for @acotardeservesbetter and her beautifully written Tradition and Blood fic.
STOP 🥺
10/10 would sit on his face, thank you so much!
