Chapter Text
Part 1: Winter
* * *
It was the beginning of winter when the fox approached the wolf’s den.
* * *
The vines were new.
The last time Lucien had visited the Spring Court manor, the claw marks in the door were the first thing anyone saw. A warning, perhaps, of what could happen if anyone dared to knock. Now, however, tangled vines grew, hiding the gouges—and the door knockers—from view. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought the vines meant that nature was healing the broken manor. But he did know better. Nature was taking over.
Lucien pushed on one of the doors, and it creaked where he pressed, straining against the green vines that clung to it.
“Tam?” he called through the narrow opening. “Tam, are you in there?”
Silence.
He pushed harder, and the vines snapped and snarled as they fell, releasing their hold on the door before falling into a rustling heap at his feet. It even seemed as though they sighed, but he could have been imagining it. The door swung slowly open, so Lucien took a deep breath and tugged at the hem of his embroidered jacket before stepping across the broken threshold.
His golden eye whirred against the dim light, but he didn’t need it to see. He knew the room very well. Or, at least, he used to.
Here was the black-and-white marble floor, once shining, now covered in dust and debris. There was the winding staircase with the oak banister that seemed to be held aloft by delicate vines made of brass, now badly in need of a polish. And there, there used to be a table that held enormous vases of freshly plucked flowers from the garden: hydrangeas, peonies, tulips, roses… The Lady of Spring’s roses.
But that table was broken now. It had been whole once, strong enough to hold a broken body… a winged faerie with no wings…
Lucien shivered at the memory and turned away.
Rosehall Manor was empty, yet full of so many memories… Memories, and ghosts.
Lucien squared his shoulders and looked around for the one that was neither man nor ghost. He was looking for a beast.
“Tam?” he called out again, and his voice echoed. “Tamlin Hawthorn, High Lord of Spring, I seek an audience with you.”
“An audience,” a familiar voice echoed, drifting from the top of the stairs. “How formal of you.”
Lucien lifted his head, but saw no one. His metal eye could see through glamours, but the owner of that deep, growling voice didn’t need one. Not when the manor was filled with so many shadows.
“Tell me: What is the occasion?” the voice went on, though it rasped a bit, as if it hadn’t been used in a while. “I need to know if I should serve wine or whiskey to my guest.”
Lucien swallowed. “It’s Solstice, Tam,” he managed.
“Summer, or Winter?”
Lucien’s shoulders sagged a bit. “It’s Winter, Tam.”
“Ah. Winter,” Tamlin mused distantly. “Whiskey, it is, then.”
Before Lucien could respond, Tamlin called out, “Alis? A glass of my finest whiskey for the Night Court’s finest emissary… What’s that? You say you’ve returned to the Summer Court? As has everyone else in the manor? Oh, yes. Yes, I see.”
Lucien rolled his good eye, but his host didn’t seem to notice.
“It would seem that I have no servants left to serve you,” Tamlin said dryly. “Or whiskey to serve. Or glasses to serve it in, for that matter.”
It seemed to Lucien that the dark shape at the top of the stairs sank down like a cat and crossed its massive paws.
“So, in light of the circumstances, perhaps we should dispense with the formalities, so that you may be on your way… to enjoy the rest of the Night Court’s most auspicious holiday.”
“Tam, this is serious,” Lucien chided. “I need to speak with you.”
“And I need to finish my nap before I go hunting tonight, so make it quick.”
Lucien took a deep, albeit exasperated, breath and shook his head in resignation. “Fine. It’s about Feyre.”
Any amusement in the beast’s voice, however mild, vanished in an instant. “What about Feyre?”
“You haven’t heard?”
“You haven’t told me.”
Lucien spread his fingers wide. “Before I tell you, you should know—”
“Is she dead?”
Lucien sighed. “She’s with child.”
A long pause. “I see.”
“I just…” Lucien lifted his hands, then let them fall. “I thought it would be better if you heard it from me.”
“And I suppose you thought I would be grateful.” There was a sneer in Tamlin’s tone, but it softened when he asked, “Is she happy?”
“I would assume so.”
“And her mate?”
“You already know the answer to that question.”
“Yes,” Tamlin mused quietly. “I am surprised that he didn’t come down here himself to gloat.”
“Rumor has it he was too busy doing just that in the Hewn City last night,” Lucien said wryly, then cleared his throat. “But I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t invited.”
“What a coincidence. Neither was I.”
Lucien’s lips twitched into a smile. For a moment, it was like old times… but his smile faded as he remembered the other reason he had come. “I have business in the Night Court tonight. Are there any messages you wish to convey?”
“If you expect me to offer up my congratulations, you can piss off,” Tamlin snarled, all traces of friendliness gone. “I have nothing more to say; to you, or to them.” The beastly shape rose to its feet. “Now get out, and take your formalities with you.”
“Tam, wait,” Lucien said, starting for the stairs.
A sharp growl stopped him short. “It may be Solstice, but that does not mean you can enter my home uninvited. Do so again, and you will find thorns in your boots. I still have that much power, I can assure you.”
Lucien’s toes curled at the thought, but he reached into his jacket pocket anyway. “It’s just—I have something for you.”
“If this is another message from Night—”
Lucien pulled a small envelope out of his pocket. “It’s an invitation.”
“To what.”
“To a party,” Lucien said simply. “With the Band of Exiles,” he added, and held it out.
There was a long, long pause. “Why,” was all the beast said.
“Because it’s Solstice,” Lucien said gently. “And you’re my friend.”
When Tamlin remained still, and silent, Lucien stepped forward—slowly—and carefully placed the envelope on top of the flat swirled handrail at the bottom of the stairs.
As he stepped back, he continued, “I know I should have given it to you sooner, but… I had hoped…” He shrugged, struggling to find the words. “I thought you might invite me here like you did last year,” he admitted at last.
Now that his good eye was fully adjusted to the dim light, he could see the gleam of the beast’s green gaze as it fell on the creamy envelope.
“To do what, exactly,” Tamlin said flatly.
Lucien shrugged again. “To celebrate. To be together.”
“As we once were?” Tamlin finished mockingly.
Lucien’s face flushed.
“Those days are over,” Tamlin said coolly. “You know that. You’ve known that ever since the night of the Masquerade Ball.”
Lucien took a step forward. “Tam…”
“Don’t.” He said it so sharply that Lucien actually fell back a step. “I am still High Lord, and you do not have my permission to approach.”
Lucien’s jaw tightened. “I thought you hated formalities.”
“And I thought you had business to attend to… at the Night Court.”
Lucien snorted in disgust and looked away. “Very well, if you must know, Feyre invited me to spend the evening with her and her family… for Solstice.”
“Is that right.”
Lucien looked to the top of the stairs, but the rest of Tamlin’s beastly expression was still well-hidden by shadow. “My mate is going to be there,” he said flatly. “I have to go. If there is a chance that someone out there wants me…”
“I never said I didn’t want you.”
Lucien blinked against the sudden blurriness in his right eye. His left eye was always clear. Clear and cold and mechanical. Pity that his heart couldn’t be the same.
Tamlin continued, “I only said it would be best if we… remained friends.”
Lucien swiped away a stray tear from his cheek with his thumb. “Is that all we were?” he asked evenly. “Friends?”
Several—painful—heartbeats passed before Tamlin answered. “The Cauldron has finally blessed you with a mate,” he said quietly. “After everything you’ve been through… You deserve it. It’s what you’ve always wanted—”
“Not always.”
In that moment, the golden thread of fate that bound him to someone else seemed to grow slack. He took a tentative step forward, and Tamlin did not rebuke him.
Lucien reached out and laid his hand on the banister, next to the unopened invitation. “The party is tomorrow night, at Northwall Manor,” he said gently. “It’s just going to be me, and Jurian, and Vassa… Will you come?”
Lucien’s heart rose as Tamlin seemed to be considering it… but it fell when Tamlin finally answered.
“The Spring Court cannot withstand another attack from another Archeron sister,” he said flatly. “Elain is bound to you, just as Feyre is bound to Rhys.”
Lucien shook his head. “Tam…”
“You saw what Feyre did when I tried to sever her bond,” Tamlin snapped. “To get closer to your mate, you helped her. You chose her over me. You chose them both over me.”
Lucien’s chest grew tight. “As if you didn’t choose Ianthe over me.”
Tamlin growled. “I did what I thought was right… for Feyre.”
“So did I.”
Tamlin’s green-eyed glare seemed to glow in the dim light… but even so, he was the first to look away.
“Go away,” the High Lord said quietly.
Lucien blinked in surprise. “What?”
“I said: Go. Away,” Tamlin repeated emphatically. “Go. Enjoy your party. Enjoy what’s left of Solstice.”
Lucien watched in dismay as his shaggy form turned away from the landing. “Tam, wait…”
“What?” the beast snarled. “What do you want from me? A gift? An apology? Fine.”
His heavy paw touched the top of the stairs.
“I’m sorry I listened to the words of a High Priestess that I trusted for centuries,” he snarled, then took another step. “I’m sorry I tried to save the woman I loved from my worst enemy.” With each step, he got closer, and angrier. “I’m sorry I allowed Hybern onto my lands instead of waiting for them to invade. I’m sorry I sent my men across the Wall to be butchered like cattle. And I’m sorry I was a coward and sent you Under the Mountain in my place. If I had just let Amarantha have her way with me at the High Lords’ Ball that night, none of this would have happened.”
Lucien slowly shook his head in disbelief. “You don’t mean that,” he said distantly.
Tamlin’s beastly green eyes stared directly into his own. “Yes I do,” he said quietly.
Tamlin was in even worse shape than Eris said. Gone was his shining golden mane, replaced by matted fur as dull as dirt. His bone-white antlers were cracked and crusted with dried blood from the long thorns sprouting there. He was much thinner, too; his under-eyes and cheeks were hollow, even with the fur.
Lucien slowly reached out a hand to touch Tamlin’s furred cheek. “What happened to you,” he murmured.
Tamlin’s lip curled, revealing his long, yellow fangs, and he snapped, barely missing Lucien’s fingers.
Lucien instinctively jerked away and flexed his fingers, but he knew—deep down—that Tamlin didn’t want to bite him. “I was trying to say that what happened to you is not your fault.”
Tamlin growled at him. “I don’t want your damn pity,” he muttered, then turned away.
Lucien huffed in aggravation. “Then what do you want?” he called out as the beast took the stairs two at a time.
Tamlin was already at the top when he called back, “I want to be left alone, and you can tell your masters that I said so.”
“They’re not—” Lucien faltered, because that’s exactly what they were. As long as Elain dwelled in the Night Court, they could make Lucien do whatever they wanted, like a puppet on a string. That same string—that golden thread—tightened around his ribs, and Lucien let out a tired, resigned sigh.
“Happy Solstice, Tam,” he managed, then gave a slight bow before turning away toward the sliver of fading sunlight still visible through the open doorway.
He might have been imagining it, but he thought he heard something sigh: “Happy Solstice,” before he stepped across the threshold and winnowed away to the realm of the Night Court.
* * *
At his approach, the wolf growled a warning growl, so the fox retreated into the safety of the shadows.
* * *