A Court of Rage and Fire

Chapter 16

If this was not joy—if joy was truly unattainable for Eris Vanserra, and this was the closest he would ever reach—perhaps this would be enough. He whirled around the dance floor with Nesta, flowing easily through the whims of each jig and reel, his long hair streaming out behind him and tiny wisps slipping from her braid-and-flower crown. Her softened hair and the unrestrained smile on her face were unlike anything he had ever seen of her, but just as beautiful as the severe and imperious female whom he had brought to the Autumn Court. There were few prescribed steps to Autumn Court dances, unlike when they had danced to the formal music of the Night Court. Even in the High Lord of Autumn's Great Hall, the music was fast and reckless and soulful, all fiddles and pipes and drums and voices melding together to pull heartstrings and move feet.

Nesta's body had begun to minutely sway to the exuberant music as soon as they entered the Great Hall, dressed in matching forest green velvet with gold embroidery, golden torques around their necks and gold-and-emerald drops in their ears. She'd barely made it through dinner. Of course Nesta smiled and nodded and greeted all fifty or so guests politely—she was too well-trained in society not to participate as was expected of her in that formal part of the evening. She even managed a long conversation with Eris's maternal grandmother, Ailsa, a white-and-strawberry-haired Healer—perhaps the best in Prythian—who had offered to return to the Hewn City with Elain and allow Rhysand to prise open her mind to determine if she was to be trusted near Feyre (and Velaris, for that matter, as Ailsa still did not know the City of Starlight, which Eris only even knew existed from his alliance with Rhysand and Keir, would be her final stop). It was a generous wedding gift to her eldest grandson's new wife, one that Eris suspected his mother had requested after learning that Nesta was to soon become an aunt.

But her head had continued to bob with the music and her eyes always dragged back to the dance floor as if in a half-trance, and when dinner was finally replaced by spiced wine and hot coffee and little cakes, she positively glowed to lead Eris toward the musicians for the first dance of the night.

With the second song, most of the others joined them, coupled for some songs, in careening groups for others. Nesta grinned to see her friends, Gwyn the auburn-haired priestess and Emerie the brunette Illyrian, breezily dancing together, and joined them for many songs, but she always made her way back to Eris.

After dancing for what seemed like hours and an instant, there was one song, in particular, where the musicians seemed to express admiration for Nesta's skill and and the ability of Eris to keep up with her. The band continued to increase the complexity and intensity of the melody with each repetition, the drummer driving the beat faster and faster, until the other dancers cleared out to watch Nesta in all her magnificent form. Eris kept pace with moves that only allowed her to show off more, golden fire streaming in their wake on the dance floor. They finished with an extravagant flourish, in which Eris spun Nesta and caught her with a kiss.

The next song the band struck up was much simpler, to give everyone a chance to catch their breaths and return to the dance floor. But Nesta turned to Eris, sweat dotting her brow like tiny diamonds, and said, "I think I need a little cold air."

"Do you want me to accompany you?" he asked.

Nesta shook her head, a wicked glint in her steel-blue eyes. "I don't think your presence will do anything to help me cool down...or entice me to return to our party, even with such glorious music."

Her hand lingered on his until they had stretched too far to touch, then she strode toward the outside door, swiping a glass of cold, spiced wine on the way.

Without Nesta's presence to draw all of Eris's attention, he regarded the lively room. Beron milled around the Hall, conversing with his highest-ranking nobles and watching the revelers with narrowed eyes. Lucien and Elain did not dance, but sat awkwardly at the dinner table and picked at their cakes while Ada and Ailsa attempted to make conversation with them. Despite his own happiness, it saddened him to see his mother not dancing, but he knew she would not dare dance with an unrelated male in Beron's presence. So he decided to invite her to the dance floor himself—not even Beron could reasonably deny her a dance with her own son at his wedding. One of his brothers should have had the decency to already do so, with Eris attending to his own wife, but Alvis and Hollis were drunk and jostling each other to secure dances with the most eligible younger Fae there, and Regis was chatting animatedly to Emerie and Gwyn.