A Court of Rage and Fire

Chapter 13

It had been three years since Ada had last seen Lucien Under The Mountain. And before the few, masked glimpses over the course of Amarantha's reign, during which Beron had of course forbidden Ada from even acknowledging Lucien's presence, it had been over three hundred years.

The brothers returned to their mother muddy and flushed from the Spring Court—though Eris was decidedly pinker than his darker-skinned younger brother—knowing that Ada's fury would have been truly infernal if she were not their first stop in the Autumn Court, mud and all. Besides, indulging their mother with the pleasure of fussing over her grown sons was the sole exception to the infamous Vanserra vanity.

Eris stood back as mother embraced son, tenderly and tearfully. He watched as Ada took Lucien's face in her hands and said words he did not try to hear, allowing them their private moment, the end of centuries of separation. He carefully composed his face in an expression of benevolence, not his usual mask of the stony prince but more of a mildly pleased lord.

Still a mask nonetheless.

It wasn't that he was unhappy. He was happy. Reuniting Ada and Lucien had been one of his foremost goals for centuries. And it wasn't that their reunion was happening in a way that was wrong—though this certainly was a long way from his plan to kill his father, find a way to control the middle brothers, take the throne, and personally release both Ada and Lucien from Beron's grasp. Nor was it that he was jealous of Lucien's favor with their mother. Eris had long ago accepted that he was to be his father's son, and any resentment toward the attention that his younger brothers received was weakened when the first crop of them, still children then, were scattered to be raised by cruel relatives during the first war with Hybern. The remainder of that resentment utterly disappeared when, almost a hundred years later, Hollis and Lucien were born just a few years apart and Eris had learned what it was to feel protective of something besides his dogs. He had not even been jealous when Lucien was ignored by Beron and emerged as Ada's favorite son, the one who got to be coddled by her rather than shipped off for fostering, like Alvis and Regis and Cletis and Floris had been, or personally shaped by Beron's cruel hand, like Eris and Hollis.

No, it was that, behind his cool mask, Eris was utterly joyless. Had never felt anything remotely like this tearstained, laughing embrace between two souls that had longed for each other for centuries. And likely would never, if the last five hundred thirty-five years were any indication of how the next thousand would go. Joy, he always assumed, was for younger siblings, and people like his mother who could only survive horrors like Beron because they were so naturally inclined to high spirits.

The closest he had ever experienced was dancing with Nesta. It had been exhilarating and exciting, to lose himself in the music and keep pace with such a glorious, fierce creature, one who strangely did not display an ounce of fear or scorn toward him. But had that been joyful? He wouldn't know, with nothing to compare it to.

As if she heard his thoughts, Ada's arms were suddenly wrapped around Eris, who stiffly reciprocated as his mother softly murmured, "Thank you. I don't want to know what you did, but...thank you." Eris smiled thinly, knowing that it was Lucien who was most likely to bear whatever cost Beron put on his return. Then Ada pushed him to arm's length, and said, loudly enough for Lucien to overhear, "If you're wondering where your bride is, she has moved into your house. Go find her...after a good bath." With a wink, Ada herded Lucien toward the brothers' wing, muttering that he needed the same.

Eris hoped that for poor, skittish Elain's sake, Ada only meant the bath.

✦✦✦

In the grand bed in Eris's loft, Nesta dozed, lightly and fitfully as she usually did. So it was no surprise when she was half-roused by the soft weight of one of the smokehounds climbing into bed with her.