Chapter Text
Spy. Seer. Scout.
The garden was her sanctuary.
The churning of cool soil between her bare fingers was akin to an act of worship.
The ground allowed her the peace and patience to self soothe. It connected her not only to Prythian and all the creatures in it, but to her old life. Her old body. Everything before the cauldron.
Elain stared hard at her earth caked fingers. The white strip of skin that laid beneath the iron engagement ring Graysen had given her was finally gone. It had only been within the last year that Elain had truly given up any hope of returning to her old life.
She could finally acknowledge that there was never much of a life to return to.
Shortly before Nyx was born, she had taken a lone walk around the city and tossed the loop of pearl and diamond into the Sidra. A final goodbye to the man she had been set to marry.
The man she now struggled to recall.
His handsome human face was a hazy blur of brunette hair and cobalt colored eyes.
The strong, stoic body she had once laid with seemed impossibly small and frail compared to the immortal fae and illyrian warriors she was now surrounded by.
She could no longer hear her name on his lips.
Every sentence she tried to recount was far off, as if underwater. The very words she used to hang onto like scripture now beat against her temple and threatened a headache.
Had she ever truly loved him or had she just tried to do what she could to save her family? She couldn’t hunt like Feyre, or command like Nesta. She couldn’t even harvest enough to save them from starvation… But she could have been a quiet little wife for a man with money and power.
Her chest felt hollow as the thought dropped into her gut like a ball of lead.
-
Elain was pulled from her musing by the sound of a giggling child. Nyx ventured through the greenery of the garden, followed closely by a leisure clad, and barefoot Feyre. Rhysand sat back in a patchwork of clovers and watched his family with cautious contentment.
Elain suspected with all she had heard of his time under the mountain, and everything she had seen when she was ripped from the cauldron, that Rhysand while overjoyed by everything he had come back to and built by was still prepared for it to all be snatched from him at a moments notice.
-
Her vision passed over the budding family to the High lords’ Illyrian brothers.
Both men had been banished from the House of Wind for the evening to allow Nesta and her friends to have a quiet night in.
Elain felt a pang of jealousy in her chest. While she was proud of Nesta for all the work she had put in, and was happy to know she had found her people, she still mourned the loss of her place next to her elder sister.
One day she hoped to be able to mend their relationship.
She knew she was still worlds behind both her sisters. It wasn’t until she had thrust the blade into Hyberns neck that her healing had truly been able to begin.
“Ey’ Az!”
Cassian and Azriel were running through what appeared to be a set of practice drills.
Neither were in a place for discipline. Cassian seemed to be goading the Shadow singer into letting off some pent up energy.
Elain stole a glance towards the mysterious illyrian and felt her face heat up.
Months after the solstice Elain had finally summoned up the courage to truly confront the spymaster. She understood the difficult position he was in with her mating bond to Lucien, and Rhysand needing to maintain alliances.
Perhaps if they hadn’t been in the throes of War…
The hurt had eventually ebbed away and the pair hadn’t allowed themselves to be alone long enough to recreate that evening's amorous tension.
As if he heard her thoughts, the shadowsinger glanced up and caught her gaze. His eyes, while a warm hazel felt cool and indifferent until he registered the heavy blush that fanned across her face and chest.
The chilled greenery instantly helped to quell the heat that pulsed through her palms as she ripped her attention away to refocus.
A playful spar broke out between the warriors and Elain chanced another glance.
Nothing was getting done today.
Two bodies of exposed golden skin, marred with scars and decorated with intricate tattoos moved together. It was powerful and intimate. An intimacy bordering on platonic eroticsm, not that Elain knew much about that personally.
She allowed the loose strands of her hair to cover her burning face as she attempted to return to her task.
She felt another set of eyes on her and knew they belonged to Feyre. Her sister didn’t disapprove of her desire for Azriel, but was aware that the politics of war were far too delicate for something unexplored.
Feyre also had too much respect for the mating bond, and the new Night Court emissary to let Elain intentionally break his heart.
She felt a gentle flutter down the mating bond. It seemed that acknowledging the sly fox summoned him. The seer peaked through her hair and watched two pairs of legs round the side of the estate and into the garden.
She recognized the distinct walk of the man the cauldron had tethered her to. His dark work boots were scuffed from travel, not battle.
His clothes were pristine unlike the illyrians and their fighting leathers. His dress was similar to Rhysand. Despite being the last in line to rule the autumn court, Lucien carried himself importantly and without ego.
The neutrals and gem tones of his clothes clashed with the dark and metallic threads typically seen in the Night Court. Besides her, he looked like the only one of the circle who belonged in the garden on aesthetic alone.
A pang of something settled in her chest when her eyes fell away from Lucien and to the woman he was chatting with.
Elain had never before been bothered by the skin Mor displayed, except in this moment. Her shimmering silk slip of a dress plunged well beneath her sternum, exposing perked and shapely breasts that seemed to defy gravity. The fabric snatched in at her waist, and the hem dropped just below the generous curve of her backside.
The wine hue of her dress perfectly complimented her flawless cream colored skin, and unbound curls of golden blond.
Her signature red lips split into a flirtatious grin. Elain gnashed her teeth together at the sound of Morrigan's high false laugh in response to something Lucien said that she hadn’t caught.
The weight in her chest dropped into her stomach as Mor’s hand caressed Luciens' chest with an overly familiar show of affection.
The middle Archeron sister shoved down the festering feeling in her gut with a series of sharp pats to the soil.
Was it jealousy?
No. It couldn’t be.
If she had wanted Lucien she could-
Could she, though?
She had been so cold to him. For years.
The emissary seemed to have grown more comfortable with his place in the Night Court and now gave Elain a wide birth. He still brought her trinkets from his travels, and she occasionally caught him watching her out of the corner of his russet eye, but no longer did he aimlessly pine for her.
She had grown to miss what had turned out to be moments of comfortable, companionable silence. He wanted to be near her and while she never spoke more than necessary, he still sat at the counter pouring over maps and notes while she tended to her duties.
He stopped doing that in recent months. If he found himself alone with her he was quick to excuse himself apologetically.
She hadn’t figured out how to tell him that she had grown comfortable and secure with his presence. Enough so that she desired it.
She couldn’t blame him though. She was running out of excuses to avoid him just as he started to pull back. Was it too late to open that door again? Even just a little?
Elain sighed and moved to the next bed of flowers that needed their evening tend.
She felt the weight of a new gaze on her. Feyre had turned back to Nyx and was scooping him away from the still wrestling warriors.
She looked up and locked eyes with the emissary. She was suddenly very aware of how disheveled she must look compared to Mor. Her loose gardening dress was bunched at her knees while her bare feet and arms were coated in a generous amount of soil. Her normally soft and smooth tresses were a tangled braid that hung limply over her shoulder. Her face was not obscured enough to pretend she hadn’t noticed him.
Despite the bond, she was unable to read his expression.
His non enhanced eye shown bright like amber, complimenting the gold of his taken one. His grin was a ghost against the serious line of his lips. His brows were quirked in a curious way.
Neither looked away while they both intently studied the other.
Had she accidentally sent something down the bond? Had he been able to sense how insecure Mor made her feel in that moment?
He sent nothing back but his lips pulled into a slight, genuine smile.
“Luc’, I’m tapping you in. Rhys doesn’t want to mess up his hair.” Cassian called across the garden to the emissary. Lucien lingered for a moment longer, his head tilted slightly to one side before he broke their connection and turned towards the General.
“As long as you promise not to pull mine.” The scarlet haired fae chuckled as he waltzed over. His dark fingers worked to tie his own sweeping tresses back into a high messy knot.
Elain distracted herself with a search for her garden shears, while out of the corner of her eye she watched Lucien grip the hem of his emerald tunic and pull it over his head.
The dimming light of the lazily setting sun did nothing to diminish the glow of the dark, toned muscle of the three men.
Luciens’ skin was a rich jeweled clay hue. He was the darkest of all of his siblings, contrasting greatly to the rose white of the eldest, Eris.
Elain had seen who the lady of the autumn court truly loved, and how the emissary was the only one to come from that union. She was sure he didn’t know, and it wasn’t her secret to share. She only knew eventually it was going to be something of great importance.
The men began to move. The illyrians skin was a deep, earthy bronze. Bright from their hours training outside, every inch kissed by the sun.
“Let’s see what those autumn court assholes have taught you!” Cassian called as he arranged a spar between Azriel and Lucien.
Elain noticed that this had caught the attention of Rhysand. Though he wasn’t participating, he stepped away from Nyx and Feyre and stood next to his General to survey.
Azriel was thicker, his muscle heavier and more defined. Elain watched the muscles of his chest ripple slightly with each carefully controlled breath. His hair was disheveled and his skin spotted with sweat.
His face was neutral, and his wings, like his shadows, were pinned back and restrained.
Lucien, though slightly taller, was more slender. His body was well defined, and his muscles showcased the swiftness and wit of his nature. Each hard line of flesh that pulled along his back, slipped easily into the next.
Elain followed the corded muscles that ran along his spine as they disappeared beneath the line of his trousers.
Seeing both men, beautiful, bare and so incredibly focused caused another wave of heat to nearly level her.
Elain pressed her thighs together tight and hummed distractedly to the flowers as she began their prune.