A Court of Tender Hope

by amarmeme

Summary:

When Mor and Viviane disturb the relative peace of Tamlin's perfect Spring afternoon, he's fairly certain the pair bring disaster with them.

But after Viviane's coaxing lands him in the Winter Court with a problem he's uniquely positioned to fix, he knows what will ruin him.

As always, it doesn't stop him from trying to help.

Notes:

Tags will be updated as we go, for now, this chapter is very much safe for work.

Chapter 1: Emergence

Whenever disaster befell Tamlin, it assumed the form of a female. This time, it arrived in a pair. 

The hazy, late afternoon air of Spring had wrapped around Tamlin like a blanket. At this part of the season, pollen drifted off the trees and coated the land in a fine dust until nearly everything was gold. His own shaggy coat had yellowed while he sprawled out, sunning himself on a lonely meadow hilltop. 

Tamlin had slipped into a state of near-oblivion under the high sun. If he remained stock still, which he was very good at doing lately, the sea of bright flowers would wave and wash over him, hiding the High Lord from the world. 

Not well enough, apparently. Not today. 

A static crack of magic disturbed the atmosphere. For a brief moment, everything pulled violently toward the center of the magical disruption. Tall grasses and leggy plants strained against their roots while his fur stood on end. Ears popping, Tamlin raised his heavy head as two light-haired High Fae appeared from the magical void. The females whispered urgently, as if picking up on a conversation broken by the act of winnowing into his territory. Their bodies angled naturally toward one another in private counsel, a familiarity he only distantly recognized. A memory of companionship.

Reluctantly, Tamlin rose to his haunches, joints aching from disuse. It seemed he'd been on the hill for a long while. 

“Oh, I can’t wait for Rhys to see this.”

Morrigan, the Night Court’s second and its High Lord’s cousin, aimed her gaze at him with piercing determination. “You really make it too easy, Tamlin. I could almost feel pity for you if you didn’t deserve it so much.” 

As she smiled, her canines shone blindingly white in the sun. A sleek dress the shade of midnight skies flowed over her hips, at odds with the surrounding prairie. Mor looked prepared for debauchery, for a night of drinking and revelry.

Tamlin said nothing in response to her goading, yawning wide enough to show all of his sharp teeth. 

After many failed attempts to combat the Night Court’s petty words, he had found it best to let them spit out all their venom at once. No matter which member of Rhysand's court had intruded in his land, by the time they came around from insulting Tamlin to questioning him, he hardly needed to speak at all. Sometimes, a simple sigh would do to send the trespasser away again, or as he still relished thinking about, flopping to his belly in a dusty patch of grass. If he’d once used a bit of his power to force expelled dust down the High Lord’s throat, well, no one really could say. Tamlin was too pathetic to be vindictive.  

“Mor!” The other female elbowed her offensive companion in the ribs. “Not helping!” 

Tamlin considered the other fae female. At least she had dressed practically. The weight and cut of her long-sleeved, silver tunic was far more sensible than a gown, though visibly suffocating in the sun. Already, a bead of sweat slid from her snow-white hairline and around the curve of a pallid cheek. A light shimmer of perspiration gave her the appearance of an apparition, as if Tamlin could blink and at any moment she'd be gone. A simple figment of his imagination. Unfortunately, Mor looked very much tangible. 

Tamlin considered flopping back into the patch of flattened flowers. 

The pale one shot a withering glare at Mor then returned her gaze to address him. In a fully serious tone she said, “I’m here to ask for your help.” 

“No.”

Tamlin lowered to the ground again, resting his snout on his forepaws. He blinked up at the pair before exhaling a great breath of a sigh, the poor prairie plants rippling between them again. The gust of wind rustled the fabric of their clothing with a frustrated snap and blew the strands of their hair together behind them in a united banner of light. Mor slipped her hand down her thigh and Tamlin nearly gruffed in annoyance. 

How predictable. The Night Court always yearned for a fight. Tamlin had a temper, but months of lazing about in the breeze had whittled it down to apathy.

Mor smiled sharply again, speaking with a barely hidden malice. “Give her a chance to explain first. You owe—”

“No,” he growled in lazy warning, punctuating with a snap of his teeth. “Get off my hillside, get out of Spring.”

The Night Court second pressed forward in a rush of annoyance, buttery blond locks swaying into her eyes. The other fae caught her friend by the waist, a pattern of frost spreading over the blue-black silk beneath her hand. The frozen touch worked to halt the foolish march before it could start. Tamlin’s nostrils filled with the rich loam of fertile soil and he looked down, realizing only then that his claws had dug up the earth. 

Why was this court constantly harassing him? Why couldn't they just leave him well enough alone? 

The females turned to each other, the ice-touched one begging wordlessly with the lightest blue eyes he’d ever seen. Desperation touched her fair features, a deep crinkle bisecting her delicate brow. 

He knew her. A memory floated into place – the fae in front of him had snapped at Beron. Nothing the High Lord of Autumn didn't deserve of course, but Tamlin remembered her determination.

His thoughts spiraled away from the pair. The last meeting of Prythian’s high lords bubbled up easily from the depths of his water-logged mind. The gathering had been a farce; Rhysand and his ilk had shown off like undisciplined children, their sticky tempers tolerated for the sake of resolving the war with Hybern. How the Night Court managed to hold itself together despite cramming itself full of precious victims, he could not fathom. Not while innocent fae suffered as a result of that court’s actions. Notably, his court had been destroyed, despite his efforts to scrabble together the best of an impossible situation, but Spring wasn't the only place they'd wrought damage through their distrust. 

But treading down that path of remembrance and hot resentment was treacherous. Already, a heavy weight pressed on his chest. Tamlin felt as eager to forget as Mor was to fight. His palate had lost the taste for bitterness – he would rather feast on the ash of his failures than let those memories surface and swallow him whole. 

And he knew, to the marrow of his changeable bones, that Rhysand would never allow him to truly slink away in regret. But all the same, Tamlin craved the misery of loneliness. Everything good had gone from him. 

While he was lost in reflection, the Lady Viviane urged Mor to leave, demonstrating with urgent flicks of her hands. It was no wonder it took a moment for Tamlin to recall her – Viviane had not been Under the Mountain. Hidden well by her mate, who'd become High Lord of Winter through cruelty and loss, Viviane had managed to escape those long fifty years. Tamlin didn't begrudge her for a moment. She had been lucky to escape what so many did not. What some would never find complete relief from. 

“I don't need you for this,” she continued. Mor, who had also never stepped a heeled foot into Amarantha’s domain, frowned. It pinched her face and Tamlin found he preferred her that way. Outwardly as sour as her insides. Viviane spoke with a teasing twist of her mouth. “This may be the one time the odds are better without you.” 

“I can’t leave you here with him.” Mor inclined the tip of her silky head toward Tamlin, disregarding and acknowledging him all at once. 

The days when Lucien Vanserra smoothed out the distaste of other people seemed a halcyon dream. 

A pang of regret pulled him from drowning in the bottomless pool of recollection. He was a High Lord and he didn't have to listen. He could simply winnow away. But then, before he could muster the enthusiasm, another crack split the air. Finally, by giving nothing, they’d listened. 

He could be alone. 

As the ripple of magic cleared, Viviane stood by herself. Tamlin eyed her warily.

“That ‘get out’ was directed at you, too, First Lady.” 

“Don't First Lady me,” she challenged. “We both know you don't stand on any ceremony around here.”

“Does flinging insults help you secure aid in Winter?” 

“That wasn't an insult, you lazy sack of bones, this is!” 

He pulled himself up to his full height. In this form, Tamlin towered over Viviane. The length of his antlers cast massive, serpent-like shadows over her body and the ground. The upturned soil felt cool against the soft pads of his paws as he stalked closer. Tamlin loomed, blocking the sun, staring down with a disapproving gaze, hoping to set her back. A southern wind rustled through the prairie, evoking a faint, otherworldly howl.

Tamlin didn't want to piss off any of the other High Lords unless it was absolutely necessary. Especially not Kallias, who had no reason to hold ill will toward him. Far too many seasons of Tamlin’s life had been squandered to war, to backstabbing and bickering. To begging and bartering until he felt there were no scraps of decency left in any of their souls. They’d forgotten what High Lords were for. A number of still-tender reasons kept him from ever wanting the burden, but he couldn't shed the mantle now, no matter how many afternoons he spent decomposing on the hillside. 

“I doubt you've heard stories of my patience,” he said, voice rumbling like fallen rocks. Just leave, right now, he wished. I just want to be alone. 

But Viviane didn't back down, rather placed her heels even firmer into the ground and wedged her hands on her hips. “You're no more intimidating than the fuzzy white bears in our stable.” She raised her chin. “I'm not asking for help for myself. I’m pleading for a dear friend—”

He interrupted with a low growl. “If it's Mor—” 

Viviane’s laugh was light like the tinkle of icicles. It did not match the force of her personality. “She’d rather be dead, I'm sure. No, this is someone you’ve never met. They haven't had a chance to dislike you yet.” 

He sighed, scraping at the ground, restless. As much as she bothered him, Tamlin could admit her persistence felt as familiar as his own. If he heard her story out, maybe then she'd feel less of a failure when he ultimately turned her away. At least she would have had the chance to try. To exhaust the last feasible option. At one point not too long ago, hadn't he done the unthinkable to help someone he—

“I can't imagine what you'd possibly have of me.” 

“Luckily for everyone, I have a very active imagination. For a female even.” She eyed him before continuing, expecting an obvious reaction to her provoking statement. He didn't have to imagine where that preconception came from. A tight ball of shame tried to crawl into his stomach. 

“My friend has been asleep for months and we’ve tried everything. It's not a spell we can cleave, healing magic hasn't worked. I've called in every favor I could think of and more.” His skin drew tight over his back at the information. He knew where she was headed, as sure as a sunset. “I was told– I know you can shapeshift others. I think if you shifted her into a—” 

“Stop,” he commanded. “Stop talking.” 

That pleasant, cozy air around them suddenly felt scorching and thin, failing to sufficiently fill his lungs. Tamlin backed away from disaster, fully intending to winnow to a cool glade with the shaded protection of a canopy. His enlarged heart of a beast thrummed louder than the drums of Calanmai. So loud he could barely hear himself speak, in a voice as thin as the air. “Whatever you're planning, stop thinking it.”

Viviane stalked him now, throwing her hands up. “I know she will die like this! Just slip away in her sleep, never seeing a friendly face again, never feeling a warm embrace, never knowing how much we care about her! It's not fair. I know if she was fae, then she might have a fighting chance!”

“It's better this way,” he said, shaking his head. A hollow chime rang in his ears beneath the incessant beat of his overactive heart, like the echo of a haunting, unnatural cry. Tamlin teetered on the verge of running or dry heaving. He breathed in through his nose and out through his clenched jaw. Throwing up while in his beast form was unpleasant, like raking his guts over glass. He preferred not to do it all over her approaching feet. “It's more peaceful than most of us get.” 

“Oh, screw peace! She deserves a life!” 

This female didn't understand what she was asking, but Tamlin could admit to himself that fear had wrapped tendrils around his heart and squeezed. Memories he'd tamped down mixed with the growing guilt until his insides were a mess of writhing, frayed nerves. Under the Mountain, the Cauldron … these were violent, cruel births he did not wish on anyone, not even his supposed enemies. 

His voice shook. “I can't do that.” 

“You're afraid,” she reasoned quickly, tilting her head as if solving a problem. Tamlin nodded, tipping his beastly snout down. As he tried to control his breathing, the small greenery underfoot wavered under his shallow breaths. From the corner of an eye he watched Viviane's hands fall limply to her sides. Defeat didn't fit her right. Like a tattered, borrowed cloak, it hung off her frame and made her look small. Cool relief flushed through his veins though, as if shot directly from her hands. “I didn't think you'd be… afraid of it,” she wondered. 

“I don't want to know what's been said," he grumbled. "But I’m not too proud to admit my own failings.” 

Viviane looked down and nodded her head in a sad little rhythm, quick jerks of her chin against her chest. Tears cascaded silently down her cheeks now, and he turned to give her privacy. Plaintive silence stretched between them. Even as his breathing evened and his heart calmed, Tamlin still felt the ache of empathy there. Perhaps he was not as apathetic as he'd imagined – he too knew the crushing loss of true friendship. 

“I'm sorry for your friend,” he said at last, knowing it to be inadequate, but finding himself unable to frame it in the right words. Loping down the hill, he prepared to box up and bury the pain of the past again. 

“I–” her voice, which had been so strong and clear before, was not unaffected. He flinched, one massive paw off the ground. “I could use your help getting back to Winter. It's a bit foolish now, but I sent my ride away.” 

Tamlin sighed until he felt there was nothing left in his lungs to give. He should have known better. 

Then, putting end to a wretched, overlong season of despondency, he shifted to his High Fae form with a wash of bright light and headed back up the hillside. 

“Well. Let's go, then.” 

 

*

 

Tamlin couldn't recall the last time he'd visited the Winter Court. By all accounts, the fae there kept mostly to themselves, training their furry animals, guarding their border with the middle. Tamlin's shared borders with Autumn and Summer never ceased to cause some issue that needed tending, but if Kallias experienced similar troubles with his southern neighbors, he'd never said a word to Tamlin. 

Annoyed at the obvious trap Viviane had set, sending Mor away, Tamlin winnowed her to the front of her grand palace with his jaw clenched shut. They arrived in an ankle-deep snow drift, Viviane tramping off unperturbed while Tamlin stared at the spectacle before him. 

After running wild for so long, Tamlin had forgotten the splendor in which most High Lords lived. Before he had ruined the manor in his anguish, it had been a handsome house, and bigger than necessary. Next to the seat of the Winter Court though, his home resembled a quaint country cottage. The pure white palace of the Winter Court rose up like a mountain peak, lonely and tipped in snow. Glass windows gently touched by frost lined spiraling towers while a shimmering blanket of white silk covered the land. Up in the mountains, trees were sparse, but sparkled beneath the same sun that had warmed his perfect Spring. Diamonds seemed to dust the top branches of the soaring pines, boughs heavy but holding onto the weight like a precious gift. 

Viviane looked back with a burgeoning smile, wiping the tear tracks from her cheeks. “You'll be coming in to say hello.” 

“I don't imagine you’d give me a choice.”

“Please,” she drawled. “You've already proven you won't listen to me. Come see Kallias at least. Keep up the neighborly alliances.”

“We're not neighbors.” 

Regardless, Tamlin stepped through the last drift of snow into an endless expanse of white marble, his boots soiling the pristine condition of the floors. The lady of the house didn’t appear bothered, briskly moving down the main hall, a fireplace crackling between each pair of windows lining the passage. The palace was warm, if not cozy. Quite the feat for such a sterile interior. 

But just past Viviane ahead, the passage opened into a cavernous throne room. The great room’s vaulted ceiling sloped down from the palace’s tallest spire. Crystal clear glass formed the furthest wall before him, revealing a large gorge beneath the mountain and an endless taiga on its other side.

Positioned in the middle of this grandeur stood a magically preserved throne of ice. Intricate carvings of the court’s history lined the base of the throne, the ancestors of Winter Court supporting its current High Lord. Tamlin could see the appeal of the trick; without a high lord to sustain the magic of the throne, the court would fall. How then, did it still stand? 

Viviane caught him staring at the great room and stopped in her harried flight past it. 

“I did it,” she said, startling Tamlin from his musings. 

“What?” He looked away from the solid, icy seat to find her lip twitching in amusement. 

“While the High Lord was Under the Mountain, I kept the throne frozen for his return.”

“How—”

“How did I escape it, or how did I manage the magic?”

“I wouldn’t presume to ask either of those things,” Tamlin grumbled. 

“But you would think them.” Viviane quirked her lips before stretching up on her toes. She rocked there, then deciding something unknowable to him, bounded off. “Come on.”

The passage continued past the throne room with a sharp left turn. Tamlin looked back only once before making the corner, eyeing the ice with some feeling better left unexplored. Viviane didn't let him linger, a terrible guide, but excellent shepard, ushering him past several large, handsomely attired chambers and two sets of stairs. At the end of the hall she paused before a door so suddenly Tamlin nearly collided with her back, but Viviane slipped through the open archway like a lynx, lightfooting into the room. 

The apartment was neatly attired, with wide glass windows overlooking the gorge and forest beyond. Light blue curtains framed the view, sweeping over the dark wood floor. A fireplace cracked and popped happily on an adjoining wall where piles of mismatched blankets covered the backs of two deep-seated armchairs. Between the comfortable chairs, a low table of gleaming cherry wood hosted a tea set for two, the porcelain so fine it appeared nearly translucent.  

Tamlin nearly backed out, feeling the hairs at the back of his neck rise in alarm. This was not where one High Lord might greet another. 

Beyond the fireplace another doorway beckoned, the room beyond darkened like a secluded pool at midnight. It called to him like a yawning portal, like the buzzing in his blood standing before the ceremonial cave at Calanmai. A tempting mystery for someone more foolish and far less blemished and stained by life. In his youth, Tamlin would have followed Viviane into the second room confidently, but by now he had learned to be wary of the unknown, and even more so of the things that made perfect sense.

Viviane's figure was highlighted softly by a faint beam of light before it disappeared from view. 

There was no valid reason to stay. Kallias would not appear – he was likely not even on the mountain. And Tamlin had done his duty and winnowed the wayward lady back home. He couldn't help but think Lucien would have laughed at this hesitation, chiding him for being so hopeless. Stepping into dark room at the back of a unfamiliar palace was what got you killed (or fucked, but this was not that kind of situation). Yet Tamlin had frozen solid, like the ridiculous yet splendid throne he couldn't stop contemplating either. Logically, he could winnow at will, but his magic felt distant, or resistant, to the thought. He was on the meadow hillside again, degrading in slow degrees, letting his empire fall around him. 

As he dithered, something pressed against his leg. A white fox ran past and Viviane's head peaked into view, hearing the footsteps of her animal companion. The little fox carried a folded note within its jaws, holding it as gently as a kit. Viviane stepped through the doorway to retrieve the message, scratching the animal beneath the chin while she read. The little creature bounded away after she stopped paying it attention, slinking past him again as if it enjoyed the connection.  

Viviane looked up to Tamlin without the liveliness usually present behind her eyes. Tears had streamed down her face before leaving Spring, but now the doors were closing. She had acted alone, and perhaps against the wishes of her mate. 

“They’ll be back in shortly,” she rushed. “Kallias could just winnow in, but I know Nadine will want to go see the bears first. Please, Tamlin. Just give me two minutes?” 

Two minutes could ruin him. 

Still, despite sense, Tamlin cleared his throat, and nodded in assent. 

She swept into the room and Tamlin followed close behind. His eyes adjusted easily to the dark, and Tamlin took in the space with slow consideration, as if every detail would be of great importance later. The blue curtains here were drawn closed, but several skylights cut into the ceiling. Their frosted panes allowed delicate beams of light to stream over the surface of several items of furniture, including a tidy writing desk, a plush chaise with neatly tucked pillows, and against the far opposite wall, a postered bed supporting the sleeping form of a young human with skin as pale as the moon. 

The shaft of light falling against the sleeping woman caressed her face like a doting mother. See how lovely my child is, it said. 

She was lovely, a beauty in gentle repose. 

Motes of dust danced gently in the glow of her light, moved by the steady rise and fall of her breath. A growing ache flushed through his chest, stealing his heartbeat for a stuttering moment. Tamlin could not draw his eyes away from the young woman – her eyes moved slowly beneath pale lids, with black lashes thick and long, matching neatly arched black brows. He wondered, briefly, what color her eyes might be. She seemed peaceful, but tragically so – a fallen soldier crossing over into the Mother's embrace. 

Viviane sat in a chair drawn by the bedside, pulling the human’s hand between her own. Tamlin recoiled at the intrusion – shaking his head tightly in disbelief. Somehow, he had forgotten Viviane altogether.

Now the two minutes had gone. He could return in an instant, safe. Yet, Tamlin heard himself ask, as if from a great distance, “How long?” 

“Since the Winter Solstice. She had headaches for weeks before that, not that anyone else would have known. I wouldn't, had she not told me. Nothing seemed to work – not the willow bark or the healers – I could finally see the pain behind her eyes, but she kept saying it would be fine. 

“On the Solstice she was watching Nadine for us, for a little privacy, you know how—” Viviane blushed, shaking her head. “Anyway, one of the foxes heard Nadine crying and when we came to the nursery, Briar was just laying on the floor.

“I've tried everything I can think of. It's not a spell that Helion could sense. I begged as many healers as Thesan would give me, Rhysand's private healer who’s older than all of us, even Feyre tried.” Viviane paused, watching him, he knew, for a reaction. But Tamlin kept looking at the human, the puzzle at the center of the maze. The maiden in a dark cave. “There’s a presence,” she continued, warier, as if he might still erupt into hysterics, “something growing there – nothing the healers do seems to destroy it. They can keep her alive, but no one wants to risk removing it surgically. Madja shrank it to nearly nothing, but it grew back. I can't help thinking if she was fae…”

Viviane’s voice caught. She looked at Tamlin with a vulnerability he felt he ought not see, not this strong female with a will of steel. “Nothing like this has ever happened to one of us, not like this, not without a great accident or a curse.” 

“And Feyre couldn't do it,” he said carefully. He hadn't said her name in… well, he couldn't remember the last time he'd said it without tears or an aching throat. 

“No. It seems your gift only goes so far.” 

Carefully still, he asked, “Was this her idea? Involving me?” 

Viviane looked away, toward the door. “No, she wasn't quite happy with my suggestion that she try either. Though, she did, of course. After much less hesitation.” 

Than you. He heard the unspoken words. 

He swallowed thickly, less upset than he'd been before. Not now that he'd seen her friend there, silent and still and lonely as the moon. 

Still, there was a point he did not care to cross. Wouldn't – the whole trip was for nothing without it.

“You're asking me to change her into a fae, without her permission.” 

He didn't know Viviane well at all, but he hadn't expected her to stand, dropping the human’s hand and coming over to his side at the end of the bed. She set a palm on his shoulder, slowly, as if wary of spooking him away. He flinched – it had been ages without anyone else's touch and he'd forgotten how to act. 

“Tamlin,” she said, and he did acknowledge her now. Understanding shaped like sympathy lined her eyes, bracketed her mouth. Her tone was patient, like he imagined it must be with her young child. He couldn't find it in himself to be annoyed. 

“If she doesn't like it, you can simply change her back. You could have changed any of them back, you know. If anyone had half a mind at the time they'd have realized.” 

“I didn't think of it,” he admitted shamefully. He hadn't cared at all about whether the Archeron sisters wanted to be fae or not. Getting Feyre back, fixing what he had shattered, it was all he could focus on with Hybern at his doorstep too. 

“Grief makes fools of all of us. But Briar would never be mad at you for trying to help her. She's not– there’s not—” 

She abandoned whatever fraught comparison she was about to make and squeezed his shoulder. “Briar is as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside. More so, if you can believe it.” 

“You say that now,” he reasoned. “You can't know.” 

There's knowing and then there's knowing,” she said. “It all sounds strange when I try to explain how certain I feel. No one else understands, but I hoped you might consider going extreme lengths for a loved one.” A pang of heightened feelings slashed through him and he grunted simply in assent. He did know. 

Viviane dropped her hand, returning to her seat. “It doesn’t even seem that controversial though. You were granted these powers, why would it be so wrong to use them?” 

Her argument made perfect sense to him, of course. Shapeshifting didn’t phase Tamlin – he’d changed friends into animals and took the form of his friends countless times in his youth. And certainly without asking first. He’d sent Andras past the wall as a wolf too and look where that had landed them.  

But that was then, when it was all harmless mischief, or excusable as a desperate attempt to save Prythian. That was before the king of Hybern threw Feyre’s sisters into the Cauldron and now after, Tamlin had absorbed the sole blame for ruining their lives with immortality.

“When this goes bad,” he said gruffly, “they’ll only blame me.”

Tamlin had offered Viviane his throat with that comment, exposed and vulnerable. He shifted, discomforted by this constant, raw wound he could not get rid of.

“I'm sorry,” she said, ignoring the opening to hurt him, to agree how wrong he’d been, choosing to stroke Briar’s hand and offer understanding instead. “This has all been … illuminating, to say the least.” 

Tamlin blinked at Viviane, unsure of how to feel about her sympathy. 

“I understand now why you said no,” she continued, truly startling him now, a kernel of warm affinity trying to sprout. He acknowledged the fledgling thing, surprised by it, but tamped it down. “I don’t pretend to fully grasp what happened to them that day, but I had to try for her. I know this can work.”

He knew as well. The certainty struck Tamlin just as strongly. Transforming her would work, beyond a shadow of doubt. While Viviane had explained what happened to her friend, Tamlin had started to look much deeper at the human, at Briar. Beyond her beauty, which tugged for his attention, he could see the inner workings of her, just as he could with any living creature. There was a heart and lungs and blood, but deeper still, there were the very bonds that made her human and not any other kind of creature. Since childhood, he could identify that essence and grab and twist it at his will until it reformed in the palm of his hand into something changed. 

Something radiant. 

And the darkness on her mind, he could sense it and see it for what it was too – a human sickness, a malformation pressing against her brain, causing the aches and the persistent sleep. If she was High Fae, that sickness couldn’t remain. He wouldn’t allow it to transform along with her. That blight could die along with Briar’s mortality.

Without warning, Tamlin did what had always come so naturally to him. He fixed his mind on what should be different, what should change, and as simply as breathing, willed it into existence. 

Externally, a great, golden light burst out of Briar, setting Viviane back in her seat. The magic of shapeshifting was always more showy than the act of it, and the corners of his mouth nearly drifted up in a smirk at the other fae’s wondered reaction. 

“You actually did it!”

Never had he stared so intensely at a transformation, waiting to see what might happen next. As before, once looking at Briar, Tamlin found it difficult to look away. The room narrowed, his awareness fixed on the rise and fall of her chest, of the flickering of her eyelids. She had been beautiful before, but becoming a High Fae had only heightened that loveliness to an impossible standard. The gentle points of her ears marked her as one of them, but now her skin glowed gently, like morning dew on the fragile petal of a rue-anemone. Her black hair gleamed, pitch dark, yet threaded with light. Tamlin couldn't breathe, too invested in seeing his certainty come out right. 

Her lips parted first, allowing for a sharp inhale. Then, her long lashes fluttered and her eyes shot open, gaze directed up to the ceiling. Brief triumph lifted his heart in a trembling ache of satisfaction, of rightness after an intolerable season of misery.

This was why he had come into the room, why he had not left when he should have done. Whether it was using his magic again or doing something good for someone else, the transformation had further freed him. The risk had been worth it for the weightlessness now loosening the shackles of persistent loss, the lingering fog of endless melancholy. Tamlin had desperately needed a win. 

Nearby, Viviane reacted with some pitched, chirrup of sound, but he hardly heard. The sensation in his chest had swiftly changed, transforming from a surplus of esteem to a growing, gathering brilliance, reaching outward yet also inward. Tugging, until he felt a gasp escape past his lips.

Panic seized Tamlin immediately, his head spinning like a careening top. The narrowing of his focus slid to eliminate the periphery, darkening the edges of his vision. Or perhaps it was the ethereal light shining from the depths of this stranger’s soul that blotted out everything else in the room. She pushed upward on the heels of her hands, sliding back against the headboard for support. Viviane fluttered nearby, mouth opened in a round state of shock, piecing together what Briar had not. What he could not. 

Briar touched her forehead in wonder first, then her chest, leaning forward under the shaft of light again and lifting her eyes from the bedcovers to meet his.

Tamlin tripped and fell into the bottomless depths of blue, the bright, clear color of a spring-fed lake. Tightly strung chords of golden light stretched out between them, reaching desperately, the frayed ends easily mended. The ragged pieces perfectly aligned. 

“Are you alright?” she asked him, the sweet melody of her voice just sinking in while the cord between them snapped. 

Viviane called his name in concern. Tamlin growled, disappearing with a cold, empty crack. 

 

Notes:

This is my first fic in the ACOTAR fandom!

I have gobbled up the little breadcrumbs and need more. Tamlin needs a healing arc, SJM doesn't name characters without some significance, and I will snatch up any hints and run with them.

Whoops, Tamlin tripped and stumbled into making himself a mate. 😚

Chapter 2: Past self

Notes:

Slightly nsfw in the middle, but nothing to toot about yet.

The most remarkable part of waking up was that nothing hurt. 

In fact, Briar couldn't remember ever feeling quite this wondrous before. Inside her resided a round ball of light, warm and safe beneath her ribs. Her first instinct on waking had been to touch her forehead, where the place of pain usually lived, but after, her hand drifted down to find that pulsing, pleasing energy. 

She wanted to hold it in her palm. 

The best she could do was to press against her chest. An insistent tug, as if someone had entwined her heart and yanked on a dangling end of the string, sent her eyes toward the direction of the connection. Hovering in the air was a brilliant, golden cord, stretching to its other half and shimmering like a sunset over the sea. 

It was beautiful. A fragile bouquet of yearning, like flower petals dripping with rain after a long drought, gathered up and protected by a finely woven net. 

All Briar had to do was give in to the warmth in her heart. It told her, you will never be discarded again. 

She wouldn't have to be alone. 

But the beauty of the mating bond couldn't compare to the startling sight of her mate. At the end of the bed stood a stranger, glowing warm with the brilliance of the sun at his back. He was High Fae of course, with long hair the shade of sun-kissed wheat and the locked expression of someone about to faint. The dark of his eyes had eclipsed the verdant ring of iris. An entire forest lived in those receding depths – sheltered and cool like a secret glade, yet also shot through with gilded pinpricks of light, slatting through the leaves. It was a shame to see such pain in something so breathtaking, like Briar had stumbled on a rare, dying creature struck down in misplaced anger. 

As much as she wanted to get up, to throw herself on the stranger, her legs refused. Instead, Briar leaned forward to speak. Her vocal cords were weak with disuse, but she pressed past the discomfort to ask if the male was alright. 

Judging by his pallor, the wide pupils, he could pass out at any moment. 

Briar spoke and the straining cord between them reformed at last. The loss of tension granted instant relief, like scratching an itch, but this reprieve was short lived. With the bond in place, the full extent of her mate’s emotions bore down on Briar. Gut-wrenching fear flooded her veins with ice water. The shocking intensity of raw sorrow was a nerve exposed, and it was his – that lovely fae with the panic of a wild creature.  

Viviane, whom Briar had failed to notice in the disarray, called out a name that she could not hear. Not while Briar's heart strained in her chest, pulse filling her ears with an insistent drum beat that rose with every breath. 

Then, with the recognizable whiplash crack of a winnow, the male disappeared. 

The anxious dread from her mate halved, then lessened further until the pain had reduced to a scratchy ache. Briar felt as if a caged animal had crawled into her heart and wound through the chambers in search of an exit. Though, she thought, it was perhaps worse to be so numb to the true feelings of her other half. The male was off somewhere far away, struggling to breathe and she could do nothing to soothe away the hurt. 

“Briar,” Viviane cried. The call jolted her out of an indulgent sob of frustration, though it pressed against her throat all the same. Briar turned her head regretfully from the spot where her mate had stood, not quite seeing Viviane's comforting face. “You're here, actually here!”

Briar accepted Viviane's hug and leaned her forehead against her friend's shoulder in an attempt to burrow away. The image of her mate breaking in complete dismay would likely haunt her for the rest of her life. 

 

*

 

Nine months. 

Briar had lost so much time to sleep. Nothing punctuated that loss more than baby Nadine, no longer crawling, but toddling, through the family sitting room to reach her father’s knees. 

Briar’s heart ached at the sight, the sweet little child with her arms extended out in trust. Trust that her father would swoop her up if she started to fall, pick her up off her chubby little feet and spin her in the air. 

Kallias’ face was chiseled perfection, but the sharp edges melted with the warmth of love for his family. When Nadine reached his knee with a gleeful burble of sound, he clapped his hands before her, offering endearing praise. Kallias spun his daughter toward her mother. When he looked up and smiled at Viviane with beaming pride, Briar had to glance away, embarrassed by how desperately she wanted to receive such a look from another. 

The sorrowful, fearful turmoil in her chest had since disappeared. She chose to see it as proof her mate was doing better, but she had yet to stop reliving the moment of their blessing and the fear it produced in him. It made it all worse that Briar recognized the sensation keenly; it had been as chilling as the chains that had once wrapped around her limbs. 

But after Hybern's camp, Biar had been lucky enough to live with the most wonderful High Lord and Lady in Prythian. She bore witness every day to the perfect pairing of souls. 

It struck her as fairly concerning then that her mate could possibly fear such a sacred and blessed union. What had happened to him? Why did no one seem willing to comment on the thing thrumming in her chest? 

Briar glanced up from her feet at the sound of her name, and apologized for drifting away. Whether it was the long rest, becoming fae, or having landed herself a mate that distracted her in the moment, Briar couldn't pinpoint. 

It was everything, at once, and all the information she needed to draw a proper conclusion resided with someone else. No one seemed willing to clue her in. All Briar knew was that her attention ricocheted between these monumental, significant changes and she could hardly keep up. 

Viviane had sent little Nadine off on a meandering, yet determined path toward Briar. The child was a blend of her parents in appearance, pale but strong, but with white lashes and nearly silver eyes. Briar had held Nadine through many of the earliest days, had sung her to sleep when Viviane and Kallias needed rest or intimacy. She had known the little fae child well, or she had, before the sleep. 

Would Nadine come to her? Recognize her?

Briar felt like the same person inside, yet everything outside her body seemed polished and scrubbed to look brand new. It was unsettling to know the nails of the house fox on the other side of the palace needed trimming, that there was old pine and young fir burning in the fireplace grate. How could these observations be anything but bizarre? There was a clear schism in her reality, and somehow, it mattered very much whether Nadine remembered her or not. 

“That's right,” Briar encouraged the child, patting her knee. “You are such a fine walker!” 

There hadn't been a spare moment to think, to privately reflect on what had happened that afternoon. And if Briar looked up and caught Viviane and Kallias also holding their breath for proof, then she would break down in tears. Instead, she willed all her love into her gaze, into her heart, coaxing the child in her direction. 

Nadine walked into Briar's outstretched hands and pressed her head against her knee, disappearing into the fold of her skirt. A catch of breath sent Briar's eyes up toward Viviane, whose pale fingers covered her lips. 

“She missed you, too,” Viviane croaked, crossing the room in a rush to embrace both of them in her arms.

Briar sagged, realizing she had held a tension in her spine since waking. How natural it felt, to sink into the offer of comfort. Viviane's hands were always chilly, but once applied felt like a touch of absolute clarity. The snap of winter wind cutting through dense fog. Little Nadine was an icicle, melting against her leg and babbling in innocent oblivion. 

“You too,” Viviane said, whipping her head over her shoulder to admonish Kallias gently. 

To Briar's surprise, the High Lord stood, crossing over to his wife and child. He smiled sadly at Briar before touching her shoulder in solidarity.

“We’re glad you're back.” 

 

*

 

Briar had the pleasure of sleeping in whenever she liked, thanks to her generous hosts. But falling asleep had never been easy. She laid in bed now, eyes closed to the glowing shafts of moonlight slatting across her room. Perhaps this was the natural outcome of oversleeping. Maybe her body had accumulated enough rest and Briar would spend the next nine months agonizingly awake. 

The bond remained silent. 

If she focused deeply, centering on even and deep breaths, she could feel it inside her, curled up and snoozing like a lazy hound in front of the fireplace. She wanted to stroke it, but already regretted the idea of disturbing its peace. 

Instead, Briar focused on studying herself, her changed body, her heightened senses. The chaos of her mind had calmed once she was alone again and no longer trying to keep her composure. She'd had one good cry over the little fox that brought her a biscuit folded inside a neat paper package. The fox had curled at her feet and bore the tears patiently, nipping gently at her fingers when Briar twisted them tightly into a thigh. 

But after she felt much better, even when the plain biscuit had been the most delicious thing she'd ever tasted. 

Briar laid akimbo in the center of her too big bed, stilling her muscles and then stretching them gradually, first her fingers, then her arms, studying each sensation of her new form. All throughout her body she tried, realizing with delight she could move her ears where she couldn't before. When it came to the methodical study of her innermost muscles, clenching on nothing sent an ache of desire washing over her lower half. 

Briar gasped into her pillow, face flushed in embarrassment, realizing that these sensations were more intense too. And here she had done it inadvertently and innocently, trying to know her new body. If this was arousal, all fluttery and decadent, what would coming feel like as one of them? She felt guilty even pondering it, doubting she deserved it, not after spending so much of her life blindly worshiping. 

But the kindling had caught flame at her curiosity and she was desperately needy – canting her hips in frustration. Her cravings felt the same, a wracking need to be caught and subdued flowing through her veins, a fervent wish to be held in place and used thoroughly, a beautiful object of desire. Briar had always wanted to be needed, her love as essential to another as breathing. And so too was the shape of her fantasies. 

In the past, her lovers were fellow cult members, devotees to beauty and perfection and its idolatry in the shape of the High Fae. And a few times, these lovers had brought her close to fulfillment, to feeling as wanted and needed as she desired. But underlying the act of lovemaking was always the knowledge that these men and women were not in love with her, they did not need her, because they worshipped at the feet of the High Fae just as Briar had. 

Now she was one of the creatures she had devoted her love and loyalty to before. And though living with the High Fae as a human had taken some shine off the precious idols, there was no denying they were still as beautiful and wonderful as she had always believed, even more so now that her eyes were opened wide. 

Briar thought of her mate again. Viviane had called him Tamlin, and Kallias had grimaced ever so subtly at the acknowledgement. And neither would tell Briar anything about him other than he had used his magic to turn her into one of them. 

Her chest buzzed with a honey-like happiness, thinking about how her mate had essentially healed her with his own will. Her skin was brighter, yes, but her scars were still there, raised across her chest and stomach, over her thighs. Her hand drifted over the six hatched lines on her stomach, realizing that he could have fixed all the flaws of her mortal body, but had not.  

She chose to believe it was a deliberate kindness. For if she had woken with skin as flawless as a newborn babe, Briar wasn't certain she could have handled the change. It was odd to find comfort in the memory of pain, but those marks were proof she could survive. 

Hand drifting over the gentle slope of her stomach, Briar concentrated on the slick between her thighs, the throbbing emptiness. She touched herself with the reverence she believed everyone deserved. Perhaps in time her mate would worship her, but for now she would worship herself. 

As she fractured in the early hours of dawn, a little flare of spiraling sunlight worked its way through the bond as if in response to a call. It did not take much to break her again. 

 

*

 

Mor was there at breakfast when Briar matched down to the small dining room where the family took meals. It was adjacent to the kitchen, with a swinging door for the staff to come in as they pleased and a large slab of spruce for a table. 

As Mor studied Briar head to toe, gorgeous eyes widening at the gentle points of Briar's ears, she stepped back and sat hard into one of the wooden chairs.  

Across from them, Kallias said nothing, but Briar could see the inner workings there. He kissed Viviane's head and took Nadine off her lap, promising someplace wondrous to his wiggling, delighted child, leaving the females to do their catching up. Briar scooped sugar into her teacup, settling across from Viviane. As she stirred and accidentally clinked her spoon (an insufferable sound!) one of the staff swung open the door to the kitchen. 

“So you decided to get up at last!” 

Briar’s teacup was taken away from her hand before she could raise it to her lips. The offender was Ophie, one of the oldest residents of the palace. Briar suspected she had sent the biscuit the night before. 

“It's good to see you,” Briar said, reaching for her cup. 

Ophie tsked, holding the cup out of reach. The fae was tall and slender, brittle but sharp, like an icicle come to life. When her mouth moved, Briar could hear the screech and crackling of ice shifting. 

“That tea’s not at all fresh, dear. Let me get you a better cup. I’d hate to disappoint those new, High Fae senses.” Briar flushed, but Ophie just chipped her by the chin, saying it wasn’t all bad, just a teasing, and how happy they were to see her lovely face again.

Now Mor was speechless, her lips shifting to frame words only to abandon them later. Ophie was back with a fresh cup of tea that smelled so delicious that Briar’s mouth watered. 

“How do you feel?” Mor asked at long last, reminding Briar that while Mor had always made her uneasy, she wasn't without a good heart. 

Mor was the pinnacle of their beauty and grace all wrapped into one gilded package. There had always been an awe-inspiring aura about Mor that Briar could not decipher, and though it felt less abrasive now that she too was fae, Briar couldn't sustain long conversation with Mor without feeling the cast of her judgment.  

Of course, she said none of that to Viviane. She did not expect kinship to come from Mor just because they had a mutual friend between them. Briar had never felt the pressure to please everyone. She just wanted to please someone. 

Briar took a moment to put into words just how discordant waking had been. Why just minutes ago, walking down from her room, Briar had stopped at one of the etched windows facing the front of the palace and lost herself entirely at the intricate details now revealed.

“It's as if in the patterns of frost on the windows I can read the lines of an ancient, holy verse, etched out for eternity.” 

Mor and Viviane exchanged strange looks, and Briar rushed to explain herself further. It probably made little sense to a fae, given they never experienced anything else. 

“Every detail reminds me how little I saw before. Like I'd been told of things and just believed them without looking past the surface at all. Was I so foolish? I feel as if I must have been.” 

“So,” Mor laughed, voice sparkling, “as introspective as ever.” 

Briar did look inwards a great deal. All she had was herself. Of course she would be in touch with her own feelings. But when Mor said it, Briar wasn't sure how it was intended. 

“I don't regret it,” Briar replied, twisting her pale blue skirt in her lap. “Though you wouldn't be wrong to wonder if I did deserve it. Not after …” 

“That's not at all what any of us thinks. Mor’s just curious because,” Viviane hesitated only slightly, before pushing past the possible discomfort for Briar, “she was there when Tamlin said no at first.” 

He did? Another piece of the puzzle of her mate clicked into place. 

“Not because of you,” Viviane added needlessly. Briar could see there was more she could say, on the tip of her tongue, but Viviane held it at bay. Likely because of Mor. Which was an interesting development – the pair usually shared everything. But instead Viviane turned away from them both and fussed with a cup of tea, staring out the window. 

“Because he's terrible,” Mor said, rolling her eyes. 

Behind her, Viviane's shoulders pressed together, carving a line down her back. A stirring of disagreement rose in Briar's breast. This eager dismissal didn't sit right, but she also was wise enough to recognize she was a child compared to them. You couldn't change opinions by arguing. Arguing with a fae was as useless as worshipping them. No one ever came out feeling any better in the end and you still ended up wrong in their eyes.  

“We didn't get a chance to speak,” Briar replied instead, impressed by the evenness of her tone. Tamlin could be terrible, and horrible. Her heart told her otherwise, but if Viviane wasn't mentioning the bond, then neither would she. 

“That's no loss,” Mor replied, shaking out her hair. “Viviane, you wouldn't mind if Feyre joins us?”

“Have I said no before?” 

“Not that I can recall,” Mor smiled. 

“Then, you can't expect I'll say no now. Of course, I would love to see her.”

Briar brightened at the news. She owed her life to Feyre. Where Mor made her intolerably nervous, Feyre had always made her feel calm. 

The High Lady was younger than Briar and had done so much as a human that her presence soothed out Briar’s most nagging feelings of unworthiness. 

But, as Mor relayed some mental note to her friend, Briar’s scattered thoughts finally caught up to her, and sent her choking over the fresh tea. 

Her mate's name was Tamlin … Feyre … Everything Feyre had done as a human was because of this great love … everyone knew that about her, and him. Oh, she was foolish, Viviane was probably cringing at this connection. No wonder Kallias had excused himself. Briar wished she could escape too. 

Viviane patted Briar’s back as she coughed, and Feyre cracked into the room. Briar was quite tired of that sound, of people dipping in and out of the picture without explaining anything. 

Feyre smiled at Briar as always, but she had not come alone. Looking down at her as if she was a curious insect for inspection was the High Lord of the Night Court himself. 

“Inviting yourself then, Rhys?” Mor stood up and flicked a soft roll in the direction of her cousin’s forehead. Rhys caught it with one hand and took a hearty bite, all while his gaze still fixed on Briar.

“Hello,” she said to Feyre, glancing away from Rhys’ penetrating stare. “No Nyx?” Briar longed for the distraction a child could provide. She was also suddenly curious if their child was flying since Nadine was walking. 

“He’s napping. Elain is watching over him. It would be much worse to wake him.”

“Another time, then,” Briar said, filling space. She didn’t want to talk, didn’t actually care to see Feyre or Mor at all right now, and especially not Rhys. He was handsome and mysterious and too clever by far. Briar dreaded being questioned by the High Lord, but knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. 

She stuffed a pastry into her mouth, hoping it would signal her reluctance. 

From the corner of her vision, Briar could see Rhys smile and tilt his pretty head. His vibrant eyes flashing with confirmation – as to what, she was certain it would become clear in no time at—

“You have a mating bond,” he crooned. 

Both Mor and Feyre stilled. As for Briar, her heart thrummed as quick as a hummingbird’s wings. She felt as small as a hummingbird too, under the eyes of everyone else in the room. 

“It seems you’re a very lucky female,” Rhys continued. “A fae body and a mating bond. How… fortunate. Is your mate around for congratulations as well?”

Briar swallowed a lump of the pastry, which had turned to paste on her tongue. She would not look at Viviane for reassurance, for that would signify there was something amiss. And Briar did not want that to be the prevailing narrative. 

Personally, yes, she could admit that this whole incident hurt her, but it was nothing compared to the feelings that had coursed through the bond from Tamlin. She didn't know him, only knew of him, and not enough to draw the same conclusion as Mor did. And if Mor felt that way, then likely Rhys did too and Feyre—

There was only so much time that a full mouth could excuse. Rhys looked at her expectantly, and she raised her hand in apologies, gesturing to the chewing. 

What should she say? What could she say? Maybe she could pretend to fall apart so as to escape the direct questioning, but Briar was a terrible liar. The cult leaders had always known straight away when she lied – and had been twice as disappointed with Briar than any other child because she was kind and good in all other ways. The expectations of her character had always been high, and Briar felt she could not waver in the slightest. There was no worse punishment than disappointment for an orphan who longed for approval. 

A frenetic energy crackled inside her, like a gathering storm, and Briar was not at all prepared for it. She sat up in her seat, back stiffening, hands and feet tingling. Then there was a flash of uncomfortable pressure against her forehead, and she grew instantly clammy, fearing her sickness had returned. She gasped, hand touching her brow – was the pain returning? Was she doomed to sleep forever? How long would it take before she passed out again? 

All of a sudden, the room blanked out. Briar felt like she was hurtling through the air with no way of stopping, rushing past the world. Her stomach had dropped, her eyes were open but unseeing. Had she passed out again? Was she in another bout of sleep, but aware somehow? Her chest squeezed in alarm – what if becoming fae had only changed the sickness? What if she was now doomed to live alone in her own consciousness? 

Truly, she would rather be dead. Rather would have died in the camp on the chains like her fellow abandoned children. No one would have missed her then, now she would hurt at least Viviane. And her mate… It would have been better to not have a mate at all then to gain one and lose them to infinite sleep. 

The world snapped back into place and Briar stumbled on her feet. She could see again, thank the Mother. Her pulse was still wild, but she could calm herself with deep breathing now that the worst had not come to pass. 

The surrounding field was barren, grass struggling to come up in patches where deep gouges marred the ground. Briar spun in a circle, trying to identify where she'd gone. The air was warm and the sky was full of fluffy clouds, so she wasn't in Winter any longer. In her dumbfounded spinning, she caught sight of cliff’s edge.

Briar stopped in her swivel and fell to her heels. The full range of her enhanced awareness slid back into place – the wind sounded lonely here, the struggling plants beneath her boots were shriveled and discolored. Even the dirt smelled wrong, sterile and sharp. 

Compelled, she walked to the cliff. 

She knew the place, but Hybern’s camp could not hurt her any longer. Not while it was dismantled and the king was long since dead. Briar still had the scars to prove she had been there and survived when Thema and Magdalene could not.

The fall and hot snap of the lash against her skin was easily conjured, the intimacy of a small blade from a soldier’s boot simple to see in her mind, but these terrible truths could not compel her to tears. Briar had grieved. She had given the tragedy the space it required of her, but she would not let it shape her future. 

So then, she reasoned, she had winnowed to the spot of Feyre’s well-timed intervention. Briar had been thinking of it while hurtling through space. Maybe the magic simply took you where you concentrated. 

She stopped when the toes of her boots reached the edge of the cliff. This was Spring, and on the other side of the raging river below was a perfectly flourishing patch of land. Grasses shifted happily in the breeze. Whatever caused the misery here was not spreading, and of that she felt a bit of hope that maybe this patch could recover in time. With a little bit of attention, maybe the scene of her darkest moments could brighten again. 

Another telltale crack split the air around Briar, her skirt fluttering around her legs. Briar expected Feyre or even Rhys sent to retrieve her. But the wind picked up and carried the strong scent of soil after a long-needed rain, rich and loamy, but also bright and fresh. A pleasing, complex scent with layers to unravel. 

She looked over her shoulder. Briar's poor heart clenched, and she wavered on the edge of the cliff like a stumbling fool, shocked to find her mate approaching. Willingly.

Briar caught herself before she could fall, though Tamlin had stepped forward in an attempt to grab her.

It wasn't a necessary gesture, but she wished she would have needed the support. Then his hands would have been on her. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Briar bit her lip at that question, delivered so unfeelingly. But, she told herself, that wasn't fair – she could sense a curious mixture of emotion through the bond. He was anything but unfeeling at the moment. 

“I can winnow,” she said, somewhat unhelpfully. That was not really what he was asking. “I suppose I was thinking of this place when it happened.” 

He frowned. “You've been here. Before.” 

Just because she could feel his emotions did not mean she could decipher them. Briar flinched at the outpouring of contempt. She didn't think it was for her, but given Mor’s comment earlier she spoke carefully. To explain herself properly. But her mate wasn't actually terrible, was he? He hadn't shoved her off the cliff. 

“I was… The soldiers captured me and two other women for entertainment.” She cleared her throat, recognizing the discomfort the next statement would cause. It was better to be honest, though. “My friends died from their injuries. But Feyre found me – she and her sister, and their friend, helped me escape from the camp.” 

The bond flowed with disbelief now, which was easier to handle than his frustration. Briar tried to push reassurance through on her end, but it went nowhere, overwhelmed by the strumming questions between them. 

His face was unreadable, though so good to see again. Briar could have just stood there in silence and stared for a long minute to absorb the details of her mate – the lush curve of his upper lip beneath a perfectly straight nose. The high cheekbones, and smooth brow, and a jawline that could have been carved out of marble by master craftsmen. He was simply the most marvelous and breathtaking sight, and his multifaceted emerald eyes flashed with the same intrigue she now felt.

Her face grew hot, but Briar didn't dare look away. She felt his departure already growing imminent, and mourned it, wishing they could sit and simply speak. But this had become a tense situation, what with Feyre's former involvement. Briar had learned long ago about the curse, about Amarantha and how Feyre came back for this male in particular to save them all. It didn't explain everything, but it did provide her something to think about.

Mother above, nothing came easy. Briar felt small again for a moment, but physically shook the feelings of unworthiness out of her hands. She had been given a bond, she had to be worthy.

Right?

“I remember you now,” he said, and Briar relaxed, letting out a ragged breath. 

But she tried to remember him from that night in the past, frowning in thought, until his brow dipped in response. “I’m sorry,” she admitted, “I don't recall seeing you there.” 

“Ah." Relief loosened his expression to something more neutral and safe. “I was a large bear at the time.” 

“Oh! I do remember a bear! With antlers?” She demonstrated with her hands. When he nodded, a hint of amusement at the corners of his mouth, Briar laughed in delight. “That was you? Well, I don't suppose Viviane and Kallias were there so I can't blame them for not knowing.” 

The hint of levity was gone just as quick as it arrived. What would it take to make him smile? Or even better, laugh? Briar resolved to find out, though she understood it wasn't going to be this day. 

“Who else knows?” 

“About…” 

“The bond,” he said, grumbling. Forced to voice it and displeased by it. 

She tried very hard not to take that personally. 

“Just the four of us, I suppose. Though Feyre and her mate had dropped in on breakfast and—” 

“Don't say anything,” he interrupted, claws emerging out of the tips of his fingers. Was he more bear than fae? Why was he so alarmed? She had been right then, in not saying anything earlier. 

“Rhys could tell I had a bond,” she said. Complicated fear and anger channeled down the very connection at her words. She rushed to add, “but not with you. He asked and I winnowed out before I had to answer.” 

“Good,” Tamlin determined, jaw tightening. “Maybe you should–” 

But Tamlin stopped himself, deciding not to share what she should or should not do, and looked beyond her, above her. Briar wanted to turn and see if there was something on the wind for all he was avoiding eye contact. Then with a stiffness in his voice he said, “Do you think you can get back to Winter?” 

Briar reflected on what had happened at breakfast, the gathering energy, the focus. It was an entirely new skill, but what better way to learn it than now? She had nothing to do, and the longer it took to replicate, the better the odds that the Night Court family would have returned home. 

“I can try,” she said, fully anticipating an offer of instruction.  

Tamlin barely even nodded before disappearing from her side. 

The bond went silent again. 

 

 

Notes:

Briar, have patience, dear heart.

Chapter 3: Look to windward

Notes:

Chapter count up! I've mapped everything out again, and ended up with more plot. Thank you for the kind words and kudos!! You are appreciated!

Of course, Rhysand was already poking around. Tamlin couldn't keep a single facet of his life private. 

Marching off the tainted land of Hybern's former camp, Tamlin winnowed into a hallway with a jarring thud that shook his clenched teeth. One direction down the shadowed hall led to the master suite and the other to a room he did not dare cross into. Tamlin had known it would go this way, eventually. Most likely, Mor had gleefully poisoned the well already, filling his mate with their version of truth one tainted mouthful at a time. 

Annoyed at himself, at them, he rammed his fist sideways into the door frame of the suite he didn't deserve, splintering the wood and cracking the plaster on the wall. The outburst didn't make him feel any better. Nothing ever did. 

But that wasn't entirely true any longer. 

Mating bonds used curious magic, wholly unlike his own. Within the last day, Tamlin had felt signs of her on the other end. Small, tender moments that overrode his loud, emotional outbursts or snuck in to surprise him when everything felt still. Several hours after leaving Winter in a panicked daze, a distant wave of happiness and relief had washed through him, bathing Tamlin in a corresponding calm. Then in the middle of the night, arousal gently stroked the tether, followed swiftly by a sweeter kind of relief. 

Surprised, Tamlin imagined his mate's gentle exploration. Equally moved by the bond, he found himself nuding a stroke of understanding back.

But because of these moments of honeyed awareness, reservation coiled through his guts. He was a High Lord, his parents had been mates – gaining his own wasn’t all that shocking. No, what plagued Tamlin since seeing that shining, vibrant connection between them was that he couldn't think of his lovely mate without also picturing Rhysand and what he might do to hurt her. 

It was a sickness, as tangible and terrible as the malformation he’d found within Briar. Rhys’ intentions, his machinations, were a constant blight on Tamlin's mind. When he'd felt the sheer panic closing in from her side of the bond that morning, Tamlin's first thought had been about what Rhys could have done. And, it turned out, he had been perfectly justified in thinking so. 

But being right did nothing to halt the nausea from chasing up his throat. 

Standing beside her again, fundamentally overwhelmed by rose-petal softness, Tamlin had nearly suggested she come home with him. The surge of protectiveness from the bond exacerbate his own cloying nature, reassuring he could keep her safe, protect her from Rhys. He would triple up the wards and bring back patrols. He would fix up his court and strengthen their position so no one would dare challenge their First Lady, his First Lady, protected by loyalty and strength.

But recent experience told him that plan would ruin them before they had a chance to begin.  

So, against his screaming instincts, Tamlin sent his mate back to Winter. He needed a better plan. 

 

*

 

While Tamlin contemplated how to balance on the fine line between protection and possession, it took no time at all for Rhys to appear. When he showed up the next day, popping up in the front lawn like a dark, aberrant growth, his choice of second confused Tamlin. Following a step behind the irritating high lord was Elain Archeron, clad in a sweet dress with the delicate print of lilac flowers. Her bright, golden-brown hair was brushed back from her shoulders and her doe-like eyes drifted over to Tamlin in gentle reproach. 

Tamlin raised up from where he’d been examining the roots of an overgrown shrub. Spurred by his unchecked rages, wilderness had taken over the house, piercing through windows and winding over the ravages of the wreckage. Progress needed to start somewhere, and while he determined what to do about his court to suit his mate, the manor seemed as good a place as any. He couldn’t stomach the idea of her lovely figure cutting through the decaying carcass of the house, making note of the destruction and where his mind must have been to cause it.

Elain tugged on Rhysand’s black, fitted jacket, cutting off the usual preamble before it could start. For whatever reason, Rhysand seemed inclined to listen to the middle Archeron as she whispered at his side, his brows flicking up in amusement, but nodding in perfect understanding. 

Tamlin considered ripping out one of the thick roots at his feet to hurl at Rhys' approaching head. He wanted him no closer. He couldn't risk him sensing the bond. 

“Did you get lost in my lands again?” 

Elain pressed her lips together in silent distaste, but her hand kept Rhys from stalking forward in his brand of seductive mockery.  

“You can be sure,” Rhys answered cooly, “when one of us enters your lands it's not by mistake. Consider every step calculated.” 

A frustrated rumble rose up in Tamlin’s throat. “What do you want from me now?”

Rhys’ eyes glimmered with wicked intent. “There's nothing I want from you. I have everything I need.” Elain tugged again before Rhys could continue with his tirade. 

“I had a question,” she said, cutting eyes with her sister's husband, head bowed demurely. Tamlin thought she might be liable to bite, this deference all an act. 

“And?”

“I’d like to ask in private.” She tipped her chin. “If that's okay.”

“Are you asking me or your warden?”

Rhys replied with curt irritation, as if Tamlin had touched on the right pressure point. “Elain is free to do what she chooses. Suffocating females is your speciality.”

A growl ripped through Tamlin, claws piercing his skin, elongating into weapons. A wild desire to shred Rhys to pieces, slice out his tongue and stake it on the manor door in warning overtook him. Tamlin could transform Rhys into an insect and crush him under his heel. Or better yet, trap him beneath glass and let him suffocate. But Elain stepped forward, unfazed by the show of anger. 

“Please. I won’t take much of your time,” she promised, hands folded together. 

He could see how this female suited Lucien, the way she used her voice to defang them both. Despite the irritation of being managed, the scrap of friendship that would forever belong to Lucien stilled his hand; the claws retracted, and Tamlin's temper cooled to a low simmer. 

“He leaves first.”

“Alright,” Elain looked over her shoulder. “I will find a way back to the River House,” she said to Rhys. “Thank you.”

“Feyre won’t thank me for leaving you here.” 

As if Feyre's ire was an alluring prospect, Rhys sounded amused, not worried, about this potential wrinkle. Not for the first time, Tamlin wished one of the pair could do him the favor of opening up his mind to let all the thoughts of them drain straight out. 

“I don’t need protection from the high lord,” she said, looking at Tamlin with affirmation of a certainty already fixed. Her eyes held a great depth – a well of dark secrets, plenty of broken bodies lining the bottom. 

“Inside,” he grumbled, squaring his shoulders. 

Tamlin willfully ignored whatever stinging quip Rhys lobbed at his backside – entering the manor with the expectation that Elain would follow. 

The front hall had been splendid once. Now it signified the ignoble state of its owner. Claw marks sliced through the paintings that remained affixed to the walls. These wounded portraits and country scenes had been gutted, their canvas skin hanging in tatters. The broken bones of an entryway table stuck out at brutal angles, indicating its dark and troubling demise. Shattered pottery was strewn across a lengthy sage runner that spawned the room, the vibrant, colorful pieces spread like wildflowers across a meadow. The shards crunched under Tamlin's boots as he picked a place to address his unwanted guest. 

Let her see the mess; he knew Rhys had already shared the state of the manor with Feyre. 

She gazed around, unobtrusive and observing in a way that led him to believe she would recall it all later.

“What happened?” 

Tamlin tipped his head in earnest confusion. Shouldn't it be obvious? Elain Archeron’s opinion meant nothing, though the weight of their shared connection teetered between two opposing ends. She was Feyre’s sister. She was Lucien’s mate. 

Lucien won. This female was the source of discontent with the only male left alive that Tamlin at all trusted, though this was tenuous at best. Without Elain, Lucien would not have left Spring – would not have abandoned Tamlin and agreed to work for Rhys like a desperate child seeking for scraps of comfort. Scraps that this female held at bay. What would Tamlin do if his mate withdrew? He had sent her away, but her blue eyes did not look so hollow, so haunted as Elain's. 

Sympathy for Lucien coursed through his hot veins. Still, he wouldn’t tear open his wounds for Elain to prod. 

“You had a question for me.” He already knew what she would say. “Ask it, then.”

Elain raised her unnerving eyes and quick flashes of her making struck his vision like lightning, long before its thunder could be heard. 

“I understand what you did to Briar. Could you turn me back into a human?”

He spoke over the tight clench in his guts. 

“Yes.” 

It didn’t need to be said that he wouldn’t do that, not to Lucien. 

“Why didn’t you offer after we’d been turned?” 

“And when should I have done that?” Tamlin snapped, irritable for the calm in her voice. “Before your sister destroyed my court or after? Before she turned your mate against me?” 

A little shiver overtook Elain, and she looked away, studying the wreckage again. Trailing roots of a hearty rose bush broke through the floor by her slippered feet. Elain appeared too innocent, too meek. It brought his temperature back up again, this act of naivety. She was cauldron-forged and powerful; even if no one could hear the rumble coming, she was overdue to shake the ground.  

“Did she tell you,” he growled, unable to stop himself now that he'd begun, “how she used Lucien to drive a wedge between us? She would cling to him in her nightclothes, lure him outside his door at night when she knew I would see. As if they had planned to go to bed together and been caught—”

“That’s enough.” 

“For a female who prizes her mate so highly, you would think your sister would respect your bond a bit more. But she didn’t seem to care about what her actions would do to you or to your mate. Feyre only cared about punishment and revenge.” 

“I know that!” Elain said, shaking now. 

Her limbs twitched with fear, a fawn caught in an open field while the starving wolves closed in. They wanted him to be a beast, then fine. He would act like one when they darkened his door with continued accusations. As if Tamlin had withheld a solution from Feyre's sisters out of spite. He'd been out of control at the time, with fear over losing her and anger at Hybern believing he could destroy them all, that he'd never stopped to think what he could do with his own gifts. 

“What has Lucien even done that you'd ask this of me? If you want to break the bond without the burden of making the choice, then I won't help you.”

Her eyes dragged back over to him in pain, the treacherous well filled up to the brim. 

“I didn’t ask for this.” 

None of us do, he thought. What naivety, as if any of the High Fae had true choice in the matters of fate. The sisters proved not even humans were outside the Mother's purview. And, he supposed, his mate proved that too.

Before he could reply snidely, a subdued and controlled voice floated in from the doorway. “Leave her alone, Tamlin.” 

At once, Elain’s face tightened, though her body ceased its quaking. She was still, but calm, though an uncanny distance fell over her as easily as a cloak, like a spectral arm held between her and her mate. Despite the lack of warmth between them, the moment still felt deeply intimate – the kind of separating otherness that only a pair of mates could achieve. Tamlin looked away, discomforted by the raw intensity. 

“Gladly,” he said, prowling deeper into his lair, giving them the privacy he’d have wanted with his own mate. Should he be ready enough to greet her. 

 

* 

 

Lucien found Tamlin by the edge of the starlit pool, well past twilight. The sun had given up for the moon’s chance to gleam in the sky.

Tamlin had spent the rest of the day on the manor, redirecting the errant roots of his anger. He’d wandered from room to room, unable to fix himself on a single spot and see it to completion, but making progress regardless. 

“You didn’t need to scare Elain.” Lucien approached casually, but spoke with a spark of bitterness in his opening. Tamlin was simply relieved to have been admonished. 

“She expected it.” He weighed a rock in his hand before tossing it into the pond. The ripples from the splash disrupted the stars of the silky surface, setting them to shiver as Elain had. “I’m proving their tales true.”

“No one wants to deal with your emotional outbursts. That’s why you’re alone here,” Lucien added, unnecessarily. 

Tamlin grumbled deep in his chest, sorting through the dirt for another hefty rock. He tossed it with a perfect arc and watched the stars blur. It was oddly satisfying. 

“I know what she actually wanted. Mother knows it wasn't your charming company.”

“I'm surprised she told you at all.”

Lucien gracefully descended to the grass, stretching indulgently. Like he hadn't dared to do so in years. Rumpled clothing gave him the appearance of a state beyond tired, as if he’d spent the day cleaning the manor. A person who didn't know better might assume Lucien’s exhaustion was the result of a passionate grapple in the garden with his mate, but Tamlin recognized this weariness came from the soul, not the body. 

“Of course she didn't,” Lucien said. “Elain’s very effective at saying absolutely nothing and conveying everything. I would have to beg to hear a word from her that’s not polite courtesy, and I’ve lowered myself quite enough at this point. I don’t think I can get much lower without you turning me into a worm.”

“I would.”

The sharp bark of a tortured laugh ripped out of Lucien's throat. “That would only give her what she wants and I don’t think I can do that either.”

The declaration struck Tamlin in the chest, right where his own bond whispered the soft refrain of a female far away. And while he didn't know Briar yet, Tamlin couldn't imagine a life where he wouldn't become the lowliest of creatures if his mate asked. Even if she didn't ask. 

Tamlin looked up to the materializing moon and tipped his head back in the breeze. The wind caressed his face like a confidant, tangling the strands of his hair. Even on a lonesome hilltop, he'd never been truly alone, not with the land calling, whispering through his bones. But there was a stark difference in being a High Lord tied to the land and a High Lord tied to his people. Tamlin couldn’t continue on alone any longer. Not if he stood a chance at protecting his mate without driving her away at the same time. Not if he wanted to rebuild the court. One day, he would ask Lucien to return, to grant forgiveness for his temper and how he’d reacted ever since the three of them had returned from Under the Mountain. 

Today was not the day for that conversation. But, Tamlin took an absorbing breath, borrowing courage from the cool wind to fill his lungs and expel vulnerability all the same.  

“I may have… made myself a mate.”

Lucien bolted forward in interest and swallowed a surreptitious comment. “Shit.” His eyes widened with alarm. “Just how did you manage that?”

Tamlin glared at Lucien with preemptive warning. “There was a human.” 

Lucien's metal eye narrowed and clicked softly while he pretended to seal his lips with a gesture. It wouldn't last, but Tamlin didn't want the comparisons to Feyre to start. Not yet. Not ever. 

“She had fallen into an endless sleep. Kallias’ mate came here – she thought being turned High Fae would halt the sickness that kept her under.”

Lucien raised his brows. An endless flow of cutting questions could have slipped from his clever tongue, but he spared Tamlin – for now.

“And it did, of course.”

“Of course.”

“You don’t sound all that thrilled by the result.”

Here was the crux of it – the apprehension had nothing to do with Briar – how could it? He wasn't able to get close enough to her without feeling trapped in a flurry of second-guessing and self-doubt.  

“How are you enjoying your mate?” 

Lucien’s mouth flattened as he leaned back, pretending to be relaxed when he was anything but. Tamlin could see the tension in the other male’s long limbs, his carefully held jaw. The same distance that Elain had welcomed forth fell over Lucien too, as if they shared the same apathy in solidarity. He doubted even Lucien realized how similar they acted, confronted with their connection. 

A thickness swelled in his throat, empathy for this terrible, terrible fate, and perhaps concern that he might share it if he couldn't fix his court. 

“I wouldn’t change it,” Lucien said, weary, challenging Tamlin to speak against this claim. When he held his tongue for an immeasurable stretch of silence, Lucien gave up the stiffness and death pallor and fell back entirely, one arm stretched out, breaking the surface of the pool with his fingertips. His own ripple of anxiety. 

“What’s pathetic is I would rather she hate me than not think of me at all.” 

“It really doesn't seem like she hates you.” 

“You don’t know anything,” Lucien snapped. 

Lucien pinched the bridge of his nose between lithe fingers. Tamlin could hear the scrape of teeth, grinding out the problem. It was a small mercy that Lucien allowed Tamlin to see this version of himself, like a fox tangled in the brush. It meant there was hope in repairing their friendship. Maybe not to what it once had been, but tonight had been a start in the right direction.  

Yet, Tamlin had nothing to say in consolation. The anguish he'd felt after Feyre – he wasn't insensible enough to draw a comparison there. It had been love. To fall so far after its loss – it had to have been caused by true affection. But the brilliant gleam of that love had already dulled like a blade left to the rain to rust. How Lucien managed to stay sane and mostly upright all this time, lingering just on the edge of having everything… Feyre had proved moving on could be as simple as finding someone new, and though he’d taken his time grieving, Tamlin could move on, too. Mates could not. Even if a bond was broken, they were forever connected, suffering distantly. Tamlin wasn’t even sure that making Elain a human again would change that. Once a bond had snapped in place, there was no ridding of it entirely. If left to fracture, it never healed properly. 

“How much did you hear earlier?” he asked, feeling a smidgeon of guilt for pressing into Elain about what her sister had done.  

Lucien let out a dispassionate huff. “It must have been gratifying to finally acquire a sympathetic audience to harangue over Feyre's wrongdoings. You could have been less of an ass when rubbing her face in it, but we both know you're well past the point of manners.”  

“Maybe your manners are the problem,” Tamlin shot back. 

“My existence is the problem.” 

Tamlin doubted that. Elain's quiet relief at Lucien’s appearance that morning seemed to indicate otherwise. But instinct told him Lucien wouldn't hear it, not tonight, not after what he imagined they discussed – or not discussed – before Lucien took her back to the Night Court. 

“What has taken me too long to accept,” Tamlin finally offered, falling on his back, “is that I destroyed myself and my court – hurting the fae I swore to protect – for someone who never understood me to begin with. As if I'd ever accuse you two of having an illicit affair. It's absurd.” 

Lucien went quiet for a rare, long moment. The crickets took over where their conversation stalled. 

“Maybe she did once,” Lucien said quite seriously at last, as if he had considered  this point before. “Perhaps becoming fae changed her.” 

Tamlin let out a low hum, not of agreement, but contemplation. He didn't dismiss the idea, but it felt too neat, too absolving when he knew he didn't deserve absolution entirely.

“Forget Feyre,” Lucien’s voice turning to slight disgust, “she’s truly Rhys’ mirror now. If you want to be understood, then why are you moping around this manor alone? Where is she, Tamlin? Why are you pouring your grievances out at me instead of burying yourself deep in your mate right now?” 

A great growl ripped out of him, surprising Tamlin at how quickly he'd risen to the edge of his temper. He sat up, finding Lucien already reclining there on an elbow with a stupid, provoking expression Tamlin wanted to grind in the dirt.

“Don't you speak about her that way. She's not some easy fuck.” 

His chest thrummed with anger and annoyance. The bond made him insensible – Briar must imagine he was as miserable as they'd depicted by now, feeling such vitriol strum through their bond. Aside from the panic that morning, she had sent him only pleasant feelings while he continued shouting out his discontent.

Would she recoil the next time they met, if they met again? Would she even let him close? Or would it be better to leave her well enough alone? 

A sharp pain struck him across the chest, squeezing his vital organs with terrifying intensity. No wonder he'd been so bitter with Elain before – he saw himself in that distancing she displayed with Lucien. Tamlin was the reluctant mate in this bond. And every day he dithered, the arguments stacked against him would grow higher and stronger until he’d have little hope of impressing her on his own. 

“Not that I want another split lip, but what's your plan then? Reject her before Rhys can find out that she exists?” Tamlin barely flinched before Lucien laughed in dismay. “Cauldron boil me, I’ll never understand your obsession with one another.” 

“It's not just Rhys,” Tamlin ground out between his teeth. Admitting the next part felt like swallowing the sharp remains of the wreckage in his home, piece by piece. “I can't have her here, seeing the manor and realizing how bad I let it get.” 

“Oh, here I was worried you managed to smother her already.” 

“Lucien…” 

The other male raised his hands outward in a placating gesture. “Mates are supposedly alike. I'm avoiding Elain. She's avoiding me. If I wanted to talk about it I could, but I don't.” 

Tamlin nodded. He hadn't forgotten how Lucien's mind worked, how the outer scars, while brutal, couldn't compare to the ones inside. Coming to the manor after feeling Elain's distress didn't change anything. The appearance was courtesy, wrapped in guilt. 

Tamlin felt his anger slip away as easily as it had arrived. 

“Jesminda wasn't your mate.”

“And that human was not her true love,” Lucien replied. “But we get the pleasure of denying ourselves a chance at happiness so we can simmer in our own misjudgment and misery for a bit longer.” 

“How's his house?” Tamlin joked dryly, recalling that Lucien lived in the home of Elain's former fiance. 

“A shit hole. But my problem isn't a fear of showing her my worst.” Lucien peered into Tamlin, setting him in place, artificial eye whirring with perception. “That’s your burden.” 

 

*

 

Late the next morning, long after Lucien had returned to the human lands, Tamlin took a break from repairing the manor to seek guidance from the High Priestesses. He did so with no shortage of resentment, but begrudgingly acknowledged to himself that Spring could not heal with him alone – he needed to enlist the spiritual support of a High Priestess.  

By a touch of fate, the closest temple of High Priestesses was nestled in Winter. Wholly separate from Prythian's Courts, temples were places of sanctuary and great secrecy, and while technically Tamlin could visit the temple at Eirvir without trespassing on Kallias' land, he felt a pinch of discomfort at their new connection and whether he ought to give warning. But since Tamlin didn't have a messenger, nor the patience to send a note ahead of him, he set aside the reservation and went ahead to Eirvir without delay. 

Arriving in the courtyard, boots disappearing in the pristine snow, Tamlin immediately felt hemmed in. On all sides, giant pines older than the fae themselves cast shadows across the sparkling expanse of white lawn. Heavy laden boughs carried the latest snowfall, while each green needle was encased in a chrysalis of ice.

The crisp, clean wind carried a hale and vibrant scent of ancient forests, brimming with life despite the appearance of slumber. The taiga thrived beyond his vision. Out past the gap the temple grounds formed in the forest, birds sang in uneven chorus, while the wolves in their dens played undisturbed by the cautious steps of deer gently grazing.

The great, grey temple loomed above the land. Clad in columns of basalt, the wings of the temple curved up to meet at the dizzying height of a center steeple. Its slim windows had been chiseled out in sharp relief, like holes punched through the rock. Tamlin felt his pulse quicken. A buzz was about the place, a low hum he couldn't place, whether it came from the trees or within.

At the plain front entrance doors made of fell wood, a white fox circled uneasily. Like one of the Winter Court’s messengers, the creature stirred as if waiting for a note to ferry back home. It had tracked a loop into the snow in its impatience, and when Tamlin crept forward, he avoided the fox’s path, stepping over the marks.

It felt hard to kindle any resentment for the High Priestesses while the land hummed with the love of the Mother. The awe of Eirvir snuffed out any emotion that wasn’t holy; like a candle’s flame, his underlying angst dimmed and faded into smoke. He stood at the base of the tall spire and simply gazed up, and while it was no higher than the palace’s great tower, somehow it felt twice as imposing. 

Tamlin had been here only once before, long ago when he was still a child, and not so battered by life that anything grand could make him pause. His father had hurried them along, but his mother had let Tamlin linger out by one of the wings. An animal had streaked into the dense treeline and he'd been determined to seek its tracks, curious even then by the different forms of life in the world. Whether his mother had known or guessed at what his powers might have been, whether she'd seen them before or heard a family story of shapeshifters, Tamlin couldn't fathom a guess. No one had been pleased by the discovery either way. 

The impatient little fox dove between his legs and wove around them as if nudging Tamlin inside. Untethered, he followed the flow like a spring thaw, letting the course of his steps happen naturally. The guiding hand of fate felt comforting where it normally was cold, and he wondered at this oddity, in the heart of coldness itself. That humming came from inside him now, pulled up from the ground as if through the soles of his feet, and he watched in fascination as the fox trotted confidently ahead through the door and into the to the central sanctuary only to disappear around a corner. 

Several priestesses paid him no mind, speaking in clusters of two or three, their blue robes and summoning stones marking them as sisters. The open sanctuary was empty of possessions, stark like a cold winter field, but full of rich detail in the design, from the clean lines of slate tile underfoot to the swooping arches of the vaulted ceiling. Tamlin could have gotten lost in reflection, but instinct told him his path was elsewhere, somewhere close. 

He turned right, following the fox's flight. 

No one stopped him, though a few of the priestesses had begun to acknowledge there was a High Lord tracking wet steps through their temple. Several shy smiles and curious sets of eyes tracked him until he entered a secluded stretch of the wing. Quiet and solemn dormitories laid empty, the tidy rows of neatly made beds faltering his progress. When he stopped at a dead end, Tamlin wondered why he'd been so determined to reach it. At one side was a closed door, and he stepped forward with a ready hand to push through. It swung open the other way by the force of someone coming into the hall, and nearly caught him in the face. Tamlin pulled back in time, thinking only of how absurd he'd been to wander off after a fox like a child full of wonder.  

While he was blinking, regretting his thoughtlessness, out stepped his mate, launching into several apologies all at once. 

“Did I catch you? Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone in the hall. I'm terribly sorry, are you… can I get you anything?” 

“Why would you get me anything?” he asked, not at all what he meant to say, but what was one meant to say when they had created their own mate? There was absurdity and then there was this situation. The two times before had not counted, being unprepared for both, and now he wasn’t ready to address her either, though he knew how to impress upon females, usually. In theory. It had been much easier before getting hurt. “I mean, are you an initiate? Why are you here?” 

High on her cheekbones drew color, a soft pink flush that reminded him of how young and new to all of this she was. Perhaps she had come to the temple for guidance, she was High Fae now. Of course, that would have been the obvious answer, and Tamlin frowned at himself again for asking foolishly. But that was the wrong move entirely, and her blue eyes fell to study her hem instead of his face. Which would not do at all, for he liked her looking at him. 

“I’m not, no. Before the sleep I visited here often, for … clarity. I was scared and—” 

Before he could stop himself, Tamlin reached out and  lifted her chin with a finger. He dropped it almost immediately, but felt the connection soak through his skin, slipping into his bones. She faltered for a moment, the open expression of surprise taking over her features until her blush deepend to a healthy rose. Unprompted, she continued with a much steadier voice, as if his touch had spurred courage to continue. 

“I was confused about a lot. Thallo, that is, one of the High Priestesses here, she was interested in me for what I… was,” here her voice dipped, but picked back up, “and gave me great comfort and reassurance after what happened in the camp. I came here today for the first time since I woke up.”

“And what did Thallo have to say to you now?”

A little sad smile wavered before Briar swatted away whatever thought had entered her mind. “She isn't here, but Anatole – her assistant – was and she fell out of her chair.” 

Tamlin felt a warmth in his chest at her sideways smile, a broad, growing heat from the bond that wasn't unpleasant in the least. There formed an idea, one that brought real optimism into his heart for the first time in ages. 

“And what do you think of this High Priestess?”

“Me?” She pointed at her chest wih a forefinger raised, as if Tamlin could have addressed anyone else in this abandoned hall. 

“The very one,” he teased subtly, ready to assure her again with a touch if needed. Even if not. Standing near at a respectable distance was very difficult, the work of the bond wanting them closer still. 

“I think she’s thoughtful, and patient. Considerate. She never judged me.” 

“I like her already then,” he replied, watching understanding wash over her. She straightened a little further, took her hands out of her skirt, and stepped closer. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood up, a neat shivery rush prickling over his shoulders.

“Can we sit down and speak? I’m not… we haven't had a chance to really address this–” she used her hands to gesture pulling a long sting– “thing between us.” 

“You want to?” 

“Yes. Why, should I not? Do you not intend to act on it or?” She took a big gulp, audibly dry and hard, and looked down again, and Tamlin felt his gut sink to the depths of the ocean. “I'm sorry,” she added,  “I’m an emotional person. Or fae. Or whatever I'm supposed to call myself now. You likely didn't think you'd be dealing with me today, I understand if you need to go.”

“Briar, I should apologize.” Her eyes flashed up to his and he held his breath for a moment, the gratitude expressed in a simple look profound, like a last meal before battle at dawn. He shook his head, mystified by these thoughts, though not distrusting them. 

“I shouldn't have left you alone. This is all probably overwhelming to you and I was only thinking of myself. That's not the impression I want to leave, nor what I believe you deserve. It's… not how I would want to behave, but I wasn’t prepared for you. I'm sorry.” 

“We only just met,” she replied thoughtfully, “I wouldn't expect you to drop everything for me.” 

“And I thought you lived with a pair of mates. That's the very expectation you should have.” 

“They were in love for a long time first. That's much different than our situation.” 

He hummed in agreement. “Briar,” he said, getting her to study him again. Tamlin could tell she liked watching him speak, especially while saying her name. A bit of wonder crossed her face, as if realizing this was not a dream. Part of her probably wondered at least a few times each day. “I very much intend to act on this bond. As long as you feel the same.” 

“I would like that,” she replied, brave hand coming up to take him by the arm, gently. Leading him forward, just as her animal companion, that now made itself known by stretching into a low bow, had done. 

"There's a quiet place just through here if you could spare a little while longer.” 

“Show me. I'm all yours,” he replied, finding it to be true. It felt right, and after only feeling wrong for so long Tamlin let her easily lead. 

Only much later, recalling her every look, her voice, her words, only then would Tamlin realize that Rhys had not once crossed his mind while in her presence.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

The Temple at Eirvir is inspired by Hallgrímskirkja in Reykjavík, Iceland.

I'm so jazzed to get them talking to one another.

Chapter 4: Take aim

Briar was in danger of falling in love too easily.

Frozen in the quiet hallway of Eirvir, her hand tingled where it rested on Tamlin’s forearm. Her tender heart was a childhood bruise that would never heal. It flared in aching imagination, as if pressed on; hoping for secret confidences and low words of praise. But she was getting ahead of herself. Briar didn’t know Tamlin and he didn't know her. 

Despite the logic, her pulse shot upward with possibility. The voices of her past echoed in her ears in sharp warning, singing familiar hymns: you feel much too keenly, child. You believe too easily. Not everyone wishes you well. 

Attuned to every aching beat in her chest, Briar committed to at least keep her head as level as possible and not get carried away. She turned, letting the connection sever between them. She would guide her mate deeper into the chambers of Eirvir and hope that the stark, graceful simplicity of the temple would grant the peace it always had before. 

Eirvir calmed her from the first visit. More than being a Child raised of the cult, more than even being a trusted member of the Winter Court. Viviane and her family were dear, but the Mother’s presence was real and tangible here, like a soothing embrace. 

But now, while Briar’s blessed bond thrived beneath her ribs, the confidence the Mother usually lent her could not overcome the anxiety produced from having Tamlin at her back. She could feel his stare, hot and piercing at her shoulders and pricking like a knife. And how could he not look so intently? With each silent step, the need to turn around and lock eyes with him sizzled in her stomach, leaving her clinging to the edge of her control. Briar’s newly fae fingers twitched and clutched her skirts until the fine fabric creased. The bond hummed through her blood until her body shook with resonance. She was a bell clanged at the mark of a new dawn, vibrating all over the surface while swinging to and fro, her stomach dropping with nervousness. 

The prior two meetings hadn’t produced this amount of disquiet in her, but then, Briar had been flush with his feelings and too distracted to worry over her own. She moved through an empty chamber with a suffering silence, wanting to clear her throat or mumble at the way she felt but dreading the idea of Tamlin hearing her complaint. Her steps came quicker than they ought to if she wanted to look unaffected, but the insistent clamor inside her body made her jumpy. 

Suddenly, calming waves swept down the bond from the other side, lapping gently against the shoreline of her heart. When she focused on the steady pulse of her mate, the anxious feelings were not half as bad. But still, she grew embarrassed knowing her emotions needing tending.  

Fortunately, they’d reached the quiet alcove where she had wanted to bring Tamlin. Two metal racks stuffed with thick, ancient books marked the small anteroom serving as the private library and lobby to the High Priestess’ office. Past them, a small, wooden bench had been notched into a deep recess of the wall, situated beneath a long, narrow window. Briar had spent many moments there waiting for an audience, contemplating how a fae temple could soothe a human and whether or not some of the cult’s learnings carried some truth. 

Her thoughts on the cult were still jumbled. Maybe more so now that she had become what she had worshipped. 

The white kit from the palace darted ahead of Briar. It ducked beneath the wooden bench, turning around and around in a circle until settling down on the floor in a ball. It tucked its fluffy tail beneath its coal black nose and settled in for a long wait. 

Briar’s fingers grazed over the side of a curious glass cabinet. It was all around made of wavy, blue sea glass, except for its clear top, allowing one to peer down at a model ship on display. It was a force of habit for her to run her fingers over the glass and feel the waves, and a warm, fuzzy rightness settled into her as she realized these little gestures were not lost with her transformation. 

She needed that little sign to further settle herself. Briar claimed her place on the bench above the fox and tucked herself into the corner of the recessed seat at a slight angle so she could easily look at him. Her mate was quite tall, she reasoned, and would need the space. The thought sent a jolt of pleasing anticipation through her, especially as her assumption was proven true. Even with her wedged into the corner, Tamlin’s thigh brushed against her knee. Thankfully, the sleeve of her dress was not thick, and with her arm pressed against stone, Briar could lean in for a bit of bracing cold. How could so much feeling come from a simple, accidental touch? 

As he sat, the scent of him filled her lungs. Already, he smelled familiar and reassuring and her brain felt hazy contentment with the reminder of his presence. But when he tapped her knee and offered a simple apology for bumping her, Briar reared back, like how a solid thump there could cause you to kick out.  

At least she hadn’t walloped him in the shin. But the embarrassment of the overreaction colored her cheeks, regardless. She was acting like a scared colt, which was hardly the impression she wanted to give. 

 “It’s a little unfair,” she said, causing his perfectly arched eyebrows to raise. 

 “What’s that?”

 Briar pressed against the wall again. “How the bond should put us together, but also make it so difficult to behave normally.”

 His lips twitched and her chest tightened at the sight. Mate, mate, mate, mate, the bond hummed. It wanted her to climb into his lap, but she just wanted to know what he was thinking. “What is it? What did I say?”

 “It wasn’t, ah—” a flash of chagrin passed over his face until Briar lifted her eyebrows just as speculatively as he had done. Tamlin shrugged a shoulder, as if suggesting he’d attempted to warn her. “Fulfilling the bond doesn’t really require speaking.”

“Oh,” she warbled. Warmth filled her belly as she pictured what fulfilling the bond actually required. Briar cleared her throat at the catch of sudden desire. “No, I suppose not.” 

His eyes were rather green, and quite changeable, she observed, something within her stirring as the irises shifted lighter, richer, as if brushed with gold.

“Why don’t we start with something easy, then,” he said. “Tell me about yourself.” 

Briar took a measured breath. Easy, hmm? Telling her story didn't hurt her, but she knew it had the power to make others very uneasy. Viviane had shifted uncomfortably and, after hearing all Briar could say, had wished to change everything that had happened to Briar. But that wouldn’t do, because Briar would not be herself, and she liked who she was. 

“I’m an orphan,” she replied, noting that Tamlin did not flinch or look upset on her behalf. That was something at least, though she could not yet decipher how the stoicism made her feel. She continued along. 

 “The story goes that an acolyte of the church had gone on a long, rambling walk. He wanted to enjoy the colored leaves of autumn before they bowed down to winter. He walked further afield that day than he ever had before. The way he told it, he had been guided down that path in the forest, as if executing on a plan that had been set long ago. Because there I was, asleep and wrapped up tight in nothing but a plain cheesecloth, hidden beneath a briar patch. 

“It was lucky that he looked. His eye was drawn by the flash of white in the tangle of thorns. I had been so cold, and so pale, he was afraid he was too late. But he tucked me in his jacket and took me back to the Children of the Blessed. 

“No one knew what to do with me. I was well fed and already starting to crawl. I must have been a spring babe; someone had cared for me for two whole seasons. The question was, had I been hidden on purpose so my parents could find me again? Or left?”

She smiled sadly. “When no one came forward to find their little raven-haired babe, the acolytes had already been quite taken with me, apparently. So I was kept and raised in the faith.”

Tamlin's gaze had softened, she thought, but he didn’t rush to apologize as others often had done. “Were there other children there?”

“Oh, because of the name? Yes, but I was the only orphan. I had playmates. We had some education – to read and write and count. Whole families came to the church, but now I think it was because they had nowhere else to go.”

He looked as if he had another question for her, but didn’t want to offend, lips parting, then flattening into a line. Briar opened her hands on her lap. “You can ask me anything,” she offered. “It's really okay. I’m used to much worse, I assure you.”

Tamlin frowned. The tendons in his hands strained and he slouched back, crossing his arms until his hands disappeared from view into his armpits. “They hurt you?”

“In the church? No, no,” she insisted quickly, leaning forward. Instinct influenced by the bond told her to pat his leg in comfort, but she sat on her hands instead. “But other humans didn’t care for us very much. I’ve been mocked and ridiculed many times for what I believed. What I mean is that I’m not afraid to talk about it. Embarrassed for what I had said once, but not ashamed, if that makes any sense at all.”

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” he replied, frowning slightly as if he didn't quite agree with himself. Then Tamlin loosened the tight constriction of his arms against his chest. “And? What do you think of us now that you’ve lived with us?”

She reflected on the question before answering, watching her mate – her mate – study her with rapt attention, his eyes seeking affirmation though he thought he was hiding it. There was so much to learn about Tamlin. Nearly everything, considering the facts could not tell her anything truly meaningful. He was a high lord, but that didn’t say a word about his character. He was astonishingly handsome, but that could not speak to his heart.

He had helped her, though. That meant a great deal to Briar. 

Since no one had wanted to give much context, Briar had resolved to discover it on her own. Coincidence brought them to Eirvir, or, she would have thought before all of this began. Even recounting the story for him, focusing on how the acolyte had felt compelled… Did the Mother have a hand in it even then? And now, studying his features, feeling the heat of him near, breathing in his scent that made her crave a home she never had, Briar felt the Mother maneuvering the paths that would bring them together, unsatisfied by the little progress they had made so far. 

“Some of what we believed was wrong,” she admitted at long last. “But after living modestly for so long, I've gained a set of rooms in a palace and shared meals with a high lord and his family. And sitting next to you now, it's hard to accept you weren't meant to be worshipped.” 

Stomach twisting at the boldness of her words, Briar cheered inwardly at the spike in feeling that wasn't her own. She could unnerve him too. 

“You shouldn't say that.” Tamlin grimaced, face growing pale. “I’m no better than anyone else, worse than if you ask around. What happened to your people was terrible—”

“I’m not one of them anymore,” she pointed out, halting his speech mid-point. She enjoyed a moment of Tamlin’s fluster while he tried to determine whether to continue, jaw ticking. She let her hand reach out and reassure at his elbow, letting him know she was not insensitive to his rather earnest point, but Briar had largely been teasing. It simply had not landed well. Though it did her good to hear him about to defend humans. “I didn’t thank you for that yet either.”

“You don’t have to,” he rushed to add, but Briar shook her head. 

 “I do! I hope I never have the occasion to thank you for something like it again. But gratitude is the bare minimum requirement for someone bringing you back to life, I think. And I know you didn't expect such an added complication in me, but I would have appreciated what you did regardless of the bond. I was a stranger, and you helped me. Thank you for helping me, Tamlin.”

He blinked at her, those changeable eyes soft, like a carpet of dewy grass. “I–” he started, voice sounding so uncertain. “You’re welcome.” 

Briar had the awful feeling that no one had thanked her poor mate in some time. When was the last occasion, she wondered? Had Viviane even managed a bit of appreciation for his helping her? She would ensure her friend said something positive after all the angst she had put Tamlin through. 

Briar’s heart fluttered with her own angst. There was a powerful high lord next to her who could change the form of a creature with a thought, but she still wanted to take his hand and tuck it between her palms as if her touch contained such magic. She wanted to trace along his sharp jaw until he smiled and forgot whatever concerned him. But it was hard to determine how much of this need was the work of the bond and what could be blamed on her empathy. She caught herself leaning forward, off the wall, the warmth returning to her arm. How much did she know about Tamlin after several minutes of quiet conversation mostly about herself? Did it matter? Would he flinch if she tried to reach out?

“Is it always this insistent?” she asked, resorting to acknowledging the truth rather than dancing around it. Briar gathered herself and sat stiff-backed against the wall, their knees no longer in danger of knocking against one another. 

“I wouldn’t know,” he replied. “This is a first for me.” He copied her movements and sat squarely against the wall. Their shoulders touched, the spot burning, but his head was turned to look at her while she stared at Thallo’s closed door. “But it's generally said to get worse before it gets better.”

She returned his searching gaze while letting out a little squeak of dismay at the thought. “Worse? How’s that?” 

He dropped his voice much lower. “Surely you don’t want me to describe it here…”

Or surely she did. The cold stone at her back couldn’t stop the flash of heat through her. Briar bit her lip and gripped her own thighs painfully through her dress. No, she was in the temple, outside of the High Priestess’ office. Damn her upbringing, it did give her some sense of respect for holy ground. 

“No, I think I understand,” she said, lifting from the bench to gain some space. She didn’t anticipate Tamlin getting up behind her, or following her to the blue glass case. Briar tried to pretend he wasn’t standing just there, looking over her shoulder, but that was a pointless exercise because he was there. Just there.  

The back of her neck prickled with his attention again, and she tried to concentrate on the ship in the case. But while her eyes noted the details – the miniature sails, the gang plank, the figurehead of a mermaid – her head swam with such helpful instructions as, kiss him right now and get closer and bask in his scent.

“Why did you come here today?” she asked, turning around swiftly so the edge of the case dug into her back. 

Mother help her, turning around was a mistake, now they were face to face. 

Studying his expressions felt like a lesson in mastering poetry. She wanted very much to excel, but kept getting swept away in the lovely little details. Right now the quick narrowing of his eyes looked like disappointment in the subject change. 

“There's a temple in my lands that's sitting unoccupied. Before the war, there was a High Priestess that had planned on fixing up the temple and making a home of it along with a few acolytes. I blindly welcomed her in Spring, and she ended up betraying Prythian for Hybern.”

Briar knew the story well enough. Ianthe had been at Hybern’s camp, and thanks to Tamlin’s drop of power, Feyre had been able to assume the female’s shape to free her sister Elaine. When Feyre fatefully found Briar on the rack, she'd worn the appearance of Ianthe. But Briar didn't much want to talk about that part of the past, and suspected neither did Tamlin. 

“You want another High Priestess to come occupy your temple.”

“Not my temple,” he corrected gently. “But yes – I've been… neglectful of my duties as high lord. The people of Spring have been without decent leadership and protection since before the war. Alone I don’t stand a chance of convincing the fae to help rebuild the court, but with a priestess there they might be willing to try.” 

Briar’s soft heart twinged. He was so harsh on himself, but more than that, her mate was really alone? Where were his friends? His family? She was an orphan, but even she had Viviane and her family to count on for support. Briar only had two courts to compare against, but both the Winter Court and the Night Court depended on tight bonds to function. Did Tamlin really have no one at his side? 

That didn't sit right with Briar. No wonder Viviane and Kallias had not wanted to tell her a thing about her mate. They were probably ashamed at letting Tamlin fail all by himself. 

Briar stopped fighting herself and listened to her bond-blessed instincts, reaching out for one of Tamlin’s hands and wrapping it in her own. A tingling flood of rightness swept up from the contact. Somewhere, the Mother probably rejoiced, believing her bond one more step to being recognized. 

“I know I'm new to all of this,” she said. “But I will help in any way I can.”   

She seemed to have rendered him speechless, his deep green gaze flickering over their joined hands and up to her face and back. Briar shifted closer. The toe of her boot nudged against his own beneath the shelter of her skirts. The world seemed to vanish except for the space between them. 

“Be careful,” he said in gentle reminder. The words were nearly erotic in how they wrapped around her fully. “You can make your own bargains now.” 

“I hadn’t realized,” she said, voice low. Viviane hadn't gone over that fine point and Briar didn't think to ask. “We don't need to make any bargains between us, though. I’m very easily convinced to help. I'll probably drive you crazy by asking what to do.” 

“You wouldn’t bother me,” he vowed. It seemed like a vow anyway, and Briar smiled sweetly at how quickly he had the assurance on his tongue. 

“And I need your help already. It turns out my newly fae mate knows the High Priestesses here better than I do.”

“You want me to talk to her?” 

Tamlin tipped his head in affirmation, a few strands of golden hair falling forward over his broad shoulder. A strong desire to push her fingers through his hair filled her with a loud hum. Later, she thought. Add it to the long list of intimacies she craved. 

“I should get back. Can I count on you to put in a good word for me?” Briar nodded swiftly. “Then when you see your friend, tell her the fae of Spring Court are in need of her guidance. I'll return in a few days to meet her.” 

That little orphan heart inside Briar's chest, so desperate to be useful, to be loved, swelled. He trusted her enough already to ask something so important on his behalf. To use her connection to help his court and his people. Tightening her hands on his, Briar beamed with a light entirely her own.

“I’ll talk to Anatole now, and I'm sure Thallo won't mind a change in weather! She's from the Summer Court and wears at least two shawls and a blanket in the morning. I’ll get her on my side.” She realized she had squeezed his hand extremely tight. Briar dropped it, knowing he had to go.

“I won't disappoint you,” she promised, excited for a helpful task to accomplish for her mate.

“You couldn't.” He reached out and stroked her chin for good measure. “This task is in much better hands now.”  

 

#

 

By the time Thallo arrived to Eirvir that evening, Briar had already convinced her assistant Anatole and two other priestesses of the plan. With each conversation, Briar’s own enthusiasm grew and grew until she was a bubbling pot of cheer at Thallo’s return. She burst into the office, after knocking of course, forgetting entirely that Thallo had not seen her new form. When the priestess noticed her, she let out a shriek.

“What happened!? When did it happen!?”  

Thallo sprinted out from behind her desk. Her lovely figure swept across the room, skirts of her blue robe swishing between her long legs. The color of the high-necked dress complimented the priestess’ dark skin beautifully, and Briar smiled broadly when Thallo's arms opened wide. Thallo wrapped Briar in a warm hug, which Briar returned just as eagerly. 

“Alright, tell me, then,” Thallo said after a prolonged embrace, cupping Briar's face and turning it side to side. “You look the same as I remember, but somehow brighter? And do I—” Thallo took one hand away to cover her mouth. She gasped in surprise. “Mother's blessings.” 

“Maybe we should sit,” Briar croaked, realizing how much she would have to tell. Anatole had been surprised, but waved away the story in an urgent need to eat, and then Briar had found Tamlin. She hadn't needed to recount the whirlwind events of the last few days until now, but there was no better audience. 

As the two fae settled across from one another in comfortable arm chairs, Thallo behind her desk again, Briar realized with a sudden ache that she wasn’t sure whether to mention Tamlin was her mate. 

At the site of Hybern's camp he had asked her to say nothing – was that still his wish? Why? She had forgotten to ask, distracted by his presence. 

Almost all the enthusiasm of her task fizzled out with a sour twist of her stomach. Briar didn't want to hide this from Thallo, who had been so supportive of her journey, who listened about her life in the cult without an ounce of judgement and who helped Briar seal the emotional wounds of her torture at Hybern's hands. If anyone was to be trusted with this news, Briar would start with this female. 

She took a deep breath, reassuring herself that the next time she met Tamlin, they would talk about important matters. Not her embarrassing past. 

As for what to share with the smiling, patient priestess across from her… Briar wasn't accustomed to lies or subterfuge. She was not about to apply dishonesty here for the sake of discomfort with Tamlin later. And while she knew she risked irritating him, at least his reaction to her act of disobedience would draw a line for how their connection should go. 

“I’m here because of the High Lord of Spring,” she started, watching Thallo’s amber eyes widen in intrigue. “Viviane had a feeling about my condition and you know how persuasive she can be.”

As Briar recounted her second life story of the day, or more accurately, the story of her second life, her conscience felt better, her spirit lighter. She hoped Tamlin would not be upset at the detail she provided Thallo, but that would be another, undetermined day’s concern. 

 

 

Five days had passed since the fateful meeting at Eirvir and in that time, Briar had not heard anything from her mate. She could feel the connection between them strum with tension at odd times, but there was nothing she could do except send back positivity and hope he felt it. But that sentiment became increasingly difficult to access as the days wore on. 

Tamlin had indicated he was all alone, but had that sprouted from a matter of personal preference for the High Lord? Why else would he have not taken up her offer of support? Briar tried to remain neutral, to resist reading into the distance, but anxiety found its way into her head. To combat her nerves she had gone for long walks with her fox friend at her heels, stopping at the temple at least once a day in hopes of stumbling on her mate again. 

“I don’t want to be a burden,” she said late one afternoon to Viviane. A pair of shears in hand, Briar tended to the white roses in the palace's hothouse. “And I also don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I have no idea what to think of this bond. It's only been a week and I’m restless.”

Viviane smirked over her armful of sunflowers, their golden heads more cheerful than Briar could aspire that day. 

“You know what I would do.”

Briar wiped her brow with the back of her gloved hand. “I'm not showing up unannounced.” 

“And why not? Didn't he say he would pursue you? I take that as an open invitation to check up on your mate whenever you please. Especially since you can winnow.” 

Briar felt bad that she could winnow and Viviane could not. But the change had not granted her any other powers, while Viviane could use the same ice magic as her mate. The distribution of magical gifts seemed random, or at least she could not discern the patterns. 

“What if he's busy?” 

Viviane rolled her eyes. “I should hope he's busy. Otherwise he's got no excuse.” 

Briar chewed her lip, clipping off the last shriveled leaf from the bush. It looked perfect again, the roses lush in their full bloom. “And what would my excuse be? What would I say?” 

“Why, hello, Tamlin, you big idiot. I'm here for the taking if you bothered to look.” 

“Viviane!” 

Her friend laughed, bunching her flowers under an arm to pull Briar off the ground. Briar grabbed her basket of clippings and shears and collided into Viviane's side as the other female yanked her too hard. It wasn't an accident, but an invitation to a sideways hug of encouragement. Briar put an arm around Viviane's back and sighed into her collar. 

“I don't think he's an idiot, though he's stupidly handsome,” she said with her face buried in fabric. Viviane smelled crisply clean, like a morning snowfall. Her friend hummed noncommittally in response to the girlish admission, but Briar knew it for a tease. All of the High Fae were breathtaking, more so than the most beautiful of humans, but Tamlin was on another level entirely. It wasn’t just the bond telling her so, he was a High Lord with a warrior's build and a face meant for worship. She hadn't been joking at Eirvir when she told him he deserved it. She would get down on her knees once the time was right. 

“I'm eager to find out how compatible we are in that way,” she admitted, carrying on from her private musings, “but at this point, having sex would just be a way to avoid meaningful conversation. We need to learn more about each other before taking that step.” 

“Good point. Once you do, there’s not much talking,” her friend snickered. As Briar failed to laugh, Viviane sobered. “What's really the matter?” 

Briar pulled back from the security of Viviane’s embrace and held her basket with both hands. What was the problem, really? As she thought, Briar started walking, leading the way back to the palace, knowing Viviane would fall into step beside her. Soon they were leaving the hothouse behind for the comfort of the large kitchen. As they stepped into the threshold of Ophie’s domain, Briar’s still overly attentive senses became overwhelmed by the scene before them. An assortment of baked goods at various stages of creation covered every inch of space. There were pastries bursting with bright, colorful berries, loaves splitting open with decadent herbs, dozens of varieties of cookies and braided sweets, mouthwatering meat pies and fluffy rolls desperate for butter. Her mouth filled with saliva while her head swam, cataloguing scents. 

Viviane steered her to the door, past all the temptations into the family's dining room. 

“It's the Equinox tomorrow,” Viviane reminded her, settling Briar into a chair and prying the basket from her hands. 

“Oh, I’d forgotten. Sometimes it feels like only a week has passed and then I see Nadine playing and I feel adrift again.” Briar peeled off her gloves and set them on the table neatly next to the basket. Viviane waited patiently, quietly, breath held still in a way that was most unlike her. “Sit or do something, please,” Briar begged. “I feel like you're waiting for me to cry.”

“It wouldn't be terrible if you did, you know.” 

She cut Viviane a desperate look. “If I let myself cry, I don't think I would be able to stop sobbing all over you.”

“Briar,” Viviane cooed, dropping the sunflowers on the table and pulling up a chair. She took Briar's hands into her lap and squeezed tight. “I didn't know. Why haven't you said anything?” 

“It’s not like that. I haven't felt this overwhelmed since the first night. I just think it all has finally compounded over the space of a week.” 

“Don't hold it in,” her friend said kindly. “If you knew how often I had to tell Kallias the same… Well, I don't think he’d want me to say actually, but the point remains, you shouldn't avoid feeling for the sake of others. If you need to cry, by all means, my shoulders are sturdy and available.” 

Viviane drew soothing circles over Briar's skin. A little distraction from the fact that baked goods could send her into a tizzy. But it was one thing for Viviane to tell her mate to let go, it was another for her to advise Briar to do the same.

“It’s a little different for me though,” she replied, squeezing back her appreciation. Just talking to her faithful friend was helping to sort the anxiety into manageable boxes. One box for becoming fae. Another for losing nearly a year to sleep. And a final box for the bond. That box was the biggest. 

“You and Kallias know where you stand with one another. If I let go, I’ll be screaming my insecurities to someone I don't know yet. Before we get to understand one another, he's going to think I'm too emotional.” 

“That's absurd,” Viviane said, mouth forming a moue. 

“How? What part? You spent more time with your mate before the bond snapped than I’ve been alive. And you had done the hard work of forming a relationship with one another before your every emotion became apparent without your choosing. 

“I’m not upset about the outcome and I don't want to sound ungrateful. But I've been thrust into a situation I had no reason to believe I’d ever be in.” Briar pulled back her hands, suddenly irritated with touch. “And furthermore, you all act like Tamlin is the kind of person I should be ashamed about sharing a bond with.” 

Viviane began to argue, to shape her pretty mouth to deny or soften the blow, but Briar continued with the proof of their reproach. 

“You didn't tell Mor. Kallias acted like he’d rather eat iron than say a kind word, and Tamlin himself told me not to mention it to anyone! So that's either because he's ashamed of me or because he’s hiding something. And this silence is not helping to convince me otherwise!” 

Her chest heaved. She had gotten carried away. 

Viviane sat back and smirked. Briar closed her eyes for a moment, not wanting to accept that look from the other female. 

“I bet that felt good,” Viviane said. 

“Not really,” she replied, rubbing her chest. “I hate feeling out of control.” 

Viviane scoffed. “Hardly! Look around – nothing was ruined. You should have seen Feyre's outburst when she first got her powers – she tried to, well I don't know if it was an attempt at murder or what, but she choked out Beron and singed Adira. It's been much too boring lately. I hope we have another High Lords meeting soon that's half as entertaining.” 

"That's … unfortunate for everyone involved,” Briar said carefully, not wanting to linger on Feyre. That situation was not one she was capable of dealing with, not this soon. Maybe not ever if things continued proceeding along this trajectory. 

Viviane softened at Briar's slump. “You should know that High Fae emotions can run intense at times. And now that you're one of us, it will likely happen to you. But what just happened, sweet, that was barely an outburst. You've been holding onto your thoughts all week when you should have been talking about them.” 

“I know,” Briar groaned. “But I thought I was fine. I am fine. Probably.”

She put her face in her hands and just breathed, letting Viviane rub her arm consolingly. What a complicated mess. Still, at the end of it, after raising her voice and plucking on that strand of doubt, Briar yearned for that golden connection. What did it make of her that she wanted it even after feeling so ignored? And besides, it was only a week. She was overreacting. Being too emotional. 

“And Briar,” Viviane said, interrupting the spiraling thoughts, “while certain... people may have a lot of things to say about Tamlin, he'd never be ashamed of you. No one could be – we loved you then and we love you now.” 

Briar rushed forward out of her chair and swept Viviane into a hug. She was right. No matter what, Briar did have love and it was right here for her to embrace, free of complications and unwavering in its intensity. Tamlin may have been the solution, but Viviane had never stopped trying to fix the problem.

“I love you, too,” she cried, letting out a few tears at last. 

 

#

 

The Autumn Equinox was not a huge ordeal in the Winter Court, but a subdued celebration with the family and staff. 

The next evening, everyone crammed around the family dining table, which was decorated with autumnal-themed garland, pomegranates, and the dozens upon dozens of baked goods that had been too much for Briar the day prior. But with a little shout, a nice cry and a good rest she was feeling much better, and the joyful activity and onslaught of her senses no longer overwhelmed her. Briar sat back in her chair and watched the proceedings, much as she had done the last Equinox, though this time she was no longer in the grips of a splitting headache. 

Ophie sat at the head of the table while Kallias served her a plate heaping with meat pie and winter potatoes and mixed greens glazed with an onion dressing she could practically taste from the other end. And while the High Lord hadn't cooked the meal (no one wanted that disaster), it did symbolize the appreciation for all the staff did for the family day in and out. 

Viviane's sister Margot had arrived earlier that day with her wife Sadiya, and they now sat next to Briar at the feast table. The two females had married while Briar had been deep in sleep, which fascinated Sadiya to no end. But Briar didn't mind the curiosity. It was incredible she was awake and unharmed and fae, of course. 

Sadiya was dark where Margot was light, with beautiful brown eyes and skin, and hair as long and black as Briar's. They chatted easily while the sisters caught up, discovering that they both had a green thumb and a taste for spicy foods. 

“I gardened a bit while I lived in the church,” Briar said, holding a bowl of currant and rice dressing for Sadiya to dish herself from.“There was little time for hobbies, but growing my vegetable garden felt rewarding. I ate a lot more peppers than is probably advised, but they did so well I couldn't give them away fast enough.” 

“This is a lovely spread,” Sadiya said, passing on the dish to her wife and turning back to Briar. She lowered her voice conspiratorially, “but there's no spice in Winter. I miss the flavors from back home. I've been acclimating Margot to heat very slowly.” 

“Good luck with that. Viviane was sweating when I suggested planting a few green peppers.” 

“They're not even spicy!” both females said at once, laughing together. The sisters looked over, suspecting they were the subject of a joke, but not caring to get in the middle of it. 

By the end of the meal, Briar felt she had made a new friend, collecting another friendly face to converse with who was not originally from the Winter Court. Her adopted family was incredibly kind and considerate, but the Winter Court fae had such different customs from her own. Despite all the love they shared, it could get lonely, feeling like an outsider precisely because she was one.

But then Briar realized her days at the palace were numbered, weren't they? Her opportunities to be with Viviane and Nadine, dwindling. She had lost so much time with them already, and now she would lose so much more. 

Heartsore and not wanting to show it, Briar excused herself from the table to take a moment alone. She walked from the dining room through the hallways of the palace, passing several comfortable sitting rooms for the awe-inspiring view from the throne room instead. The ice throne was an incredible magic feat, sustained over hundreds and thousands of years. She passed by it, enjoying the chill it gave her as she drew close enough to touch. Behind it though was a window overlooking the land, a perfect picture of the wintery taiga with its glimmering treetops, glowing golden in the setting sun. 

Winter Court was beautiful, magical, whimsical. It had been a restorative place of healing for her, and already her chest ached at the thought of leaving it behind. But there was another place calling to her if she listened carefully, letting the quiet hum of the bond fill her head and heart and soul. Briar wanted it so badly it hurt. And not a bond, but romantic love. What Viviane and Kallias had before the bond even snapped, what Margot and Sadiya had without a magically blessed connection. Briar knew what familial love was now, she was so grateful to have it in her friends, but her selfish little heart wanted so much more. It would always want for more. 

What was Tamlin doing now? Was he recognizing the Autumn Equinox with anyone? Or was he alone in Spring, trying to fix things? Somewhere south, out beyond the winter trees and the autumn leaves, there was her mate, going about the motions without perhaps a care in the world for what she was currently doing. 

Briar knew she was needy, and clinging and cloying. But she was also kind, helpful and smart. The fae of Spring didn't know who she was, her mate didn't know who she was, but Briar did. She had value to give, even if it was simply a listening ear. 

It tore at her to consider leaving Winter at all, but her fate was elsewhere. She couldn't wait here any longer or she would go mad from anxiety and doubt. It seemed better to jump head first into the water than to wade in the shallows and try to acclimate to the cold by subtle degrees. 

A week seemed like a reasonable amount of time to wait before pouncing unsuspectingly on her mate, wasn't it? 

#

 

Tamlin was not where she had expected him to be. 

Briar had not packed anything, knowing she could simply winnow back to the Winter Court at the end of the day. Viviane had encouraged otherwise, after Briar had admitted she was taking her advice, suggesting it was probably better if she stayed the night, a few nights. As if she was anywhere close to crossing that kind of stream with her mate. But the fact that Viviane supported the plan made Briar feel certain of it. Following instructions from Kallias, who had shook his head subtly behind Viviane during the entire “pack a suitcase” discussion, Briar tugged on the bond in her chest, smiling to herself at the tug back. She focused on the sensation fully, leaning into the winnow with her fingers crossed and became momentarily displaced from time and space. 

She landed on the front lawn of a glorious manor with soft yellow siding and happy red and pink rose bushes flourishing all along its front. Not a single soul was to be found outside, and when she knocked at the front door, there was no one to answer her either. 

Briar stepped away from the door, deciding to check around the back of the manor. Tamlin had to be somewhere. She wasn't the type to go traipsing into other people's homes without invitation either. Traipsing into rose gardens though… 

If she thought the flowers at front were happy, the ones sprawling out back were joyful. Leaping up over one another in height and color, all shades of reds and pinks bursting from high walls. It smelled incredible, and Briar closed her eyes to draw the soft, gentle sweetness of a rose in high spring into her lungs. But underlying the flowers was another potency she could not deny, the scent of her mate, not so distant from where she stood. 

Briar always had a keen sense of smell as a human, but now she felt like a hunting dog on high alert. She weaved through the high bushes until she found him. Tamlin stood with his back to her, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and breeches clinging to his form in a way Briar couldn't look away from. Thallo spoke to him and saw Briar lurking first, waving one of her arms in a gesture that said, “come on over.” 

Her stomach dropped to her knees when Tamlin turned, his brow creased in confusion. Briar felt her cheeks redden as deep as the darkest roses around her, and she considered whether she could pass as part of the bush, disappearing entirely. 

Why had she decided this was a good plan? What was she supposed to say to him? 

Tamlin spoke to the High Priestess, something Briar couldn't decipher, even with her fae hearing. Her confidant nodded and walked away in the opposite direction. Grinning even! When Tamlin turned back to Briar, he held a very serious expression, like a person who was about to scold their mate for a surprise visit. 

As he neared, her pulse quickened and her palms felt sweaty. Her chest hummed in pleasure though. The boldness that brought her to Spring failed her, because now Briar had no idea what to do. She clasped her hands behind her back and peered up at the High Lord as he reached her. 

Tamlin rubbed his chest, frown softening with concern. “You're still nervous.” 

Briar simply nodded. Of course she was, and of course he could tell. 

“If it makes it any better, I feel it as well,” he offered. But Briar was not convinced entirely, considering he was a high lord and she was barely even fae. When she did not reply, he added to the thought. “You don’t think I can be nervous?” 

“Of course it's possible,” she said, “but I’m no one.” 

Tamlin did not care for that a bit. His green eyes flashed with alarm before snarling a little, a subtle rasp under his breath. “You're my mate.”

Briar realized very quickly where her comment had gone sideways for him. She recalled Viviane's warning about High Fae emotions, and recognized that a mated male took possessiveness to the extreme. Add that to a High Lord’s already protective demeanour and what a perfect storm it became. The bond was likely driving him crazy with feeling.  

“I’m an orphan. I didn't even have a name, they found me along a path. That is all I meant.” 

A flash of anguish that was not her own crossed her chest. His face had grown stormier as she continued digging herself deeper. 

Gruffly, he spoke between nearly clenched teeth. “You matter… just as much as anyone else. No more than me.”

“I know that now,” she replied. “I didn’t always, but I spent a lot of time learning about myself after the war. I didn't have a clue about who I was or who I could even be.”

When he didn't reply when she gave him a beat to do so, she continued. It was better than being simply stared at with such intensity. 

“The first time I went to Eirvir, Viviane had to drag me over the temple threshold. I felt so embarrassed for what I’d believed and done, I wasn’t sure the Mother would even let me in. But Thallo… all the priestesses, they were very generous with me, especially considering I was just a human.” 

In the course of the anecdote he had calmed, visibly relaxing, though there was a warning still in his gaze that told Briar she was going to learn something core to her mate. 

“You don't like it when I speak poorly about myself,” she said softly.

“An understatement," he replied, voice even again. She was glad for him for it. There was nothing quite so frustrating as feeling unable to control your emotions. “I’m sorry if I scared you.” 

“You didn't. You would have been able to tell if you had.” She touched the place where the bond felt strongest, tugging on her heart.  

“And now,” he said, a bit of regret entering his eyes. “I've gone and done what I was most nervous about.”

She reached out then, grabbing one of his hands encouragingly. “And? I hope you feel better seeing it was not anything to worry over.” 

He looked at her with precious amusement, as if she had been Nadine offering up a babble of baby speak. That lasted only briefly. Tamlin stepped closer, as they had been in the temple, and lifted up her hand. His thumb shifted over her wrist, feeling her pulse. His mouth had gone flat, but she luxuriated in the rush of skin contact.

He was no doubt considering a very serious warning about his character, a damning, self-deprecating pronouncement that he would never see as such. And Briar felt inclined after all her conversations with Thallo and Viviane to listen when people told on themselves, but her heart lurched in her chest at the idea of her mate not seeing himself as wholly worthwhile. 

“Maybe, whatever you are thinking can remain a thought for now,” she told him confidently. “And we can talk about something much lighter.”  

“Briar,” he said, sadly, as if dreading what was to come. His thumb still smoothed over her wrist. “You should know, before you decide,” he sighed. 

“There are moments where my temper flares so quick and hot it's as if it's alive. I can't always control it. I wondered if it was fair to you to even consider the bond.” 

Her stomach ached. Even without the connection between them, Briar could tell how shameful he felt. His thumb had not stopped moving against her skin, his voice had gone tight.

“What made you change your mind?”

Tamlin looked into her eyes with piercing clarity and she felt undone. Unmade. As if he had used his magic and took apart all her threads and knots and stuffing, because she was only a doll all along and had no clue she'd been pretending to be a real girl.

“I couldn't stomach the idea of you believing it had anything to do with who you are or what happened during your life. You are someone to me – if you don't have a name, then I'll give you mine. But you need to know. I was already possessive and easily triggered before this bond. I don’t– I can't do this if you won't tell me when I'm hurting you. I can't be certain that I’ll know." 

He cleared his throat and looked away. Her chest filled with so much self loathing she gasped, other hand flying out to cup his chin and turn him to look at her again. 

“We don't know how anything will go, Tamlin. But without you I'd not be here. Remember that. You have a good heart.” 

“You can't possibly know that. And even then, my parents were mates. My father was terrible, vile – everything I swore I would never be and the last time I…” 

He trailed off, protecting those insecurities, but Briar knew exactly what he'd been about to say. The last time he was in love it ended rather poorly. Eventually she would press, and ask about Feyre, and what happened between them, because it was a source of great shame. You only could get better if you talked. Hadn't Viviane just proved that point to her two days prior? No wonder they were mates. 

“I do know.” She took his hand and placed it over her heart, all traces of nervousness gone. Some of the misery lifted and she smiled gently. Briar pushed a bit of hopefulness at him, spiraling it down the bond to chase away the rest of the dark clouds. Why had she been worried about showing emotion? Her mate was just as emotional as she was.

“You can trust me to tell you the truth,” she whispered. “And you'll be able to feel it here.” 

Tamlin tilted his head to study her with genuine longing, the harshness of doubt fading to make room for hope. She knew that look, she wore that feeling on her sleeve every day. 

Trust, her sore soul pleaded, let me trust you. Trust me.

He took hold of the hand that had caressed his chin and pulled both sets of their joined hands in the space between their bodies. Tamlin studied the contact, a spark of amusement in his gaze. 

“Each time we meet it becomes more obvious – I should be much better off if I put everything in your capable hands.”

He raised their hands up and brushed a kiss against one set of her knuckles, then the other. Suddenly the entire world ceased to exist around her, the beat of their bond, the shared connection between their hearts the only sound that could hold her attention, the comforting scent of her mate the only smell. Her senses had been sharpened for this, she thought, to better appreciate the male before her, how brilliantly he was in the morning light, glints of gold shining in his hair and expressive eyes. The overwhelming moments were worth it for the quiet moments like this. 

Damn her logic. Briar was already falling in love so desperately. 

 

 

Notes:

This chapter got away from me lengthwise, but I hope you won't mind more Tamlin and Briar interactions!