A Court of Survival and Motherhood

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 5

☼☀︎︎☼☀︎︎☼

☼☀︎︎☼☀︎︎☼

Seated across from Feyre on a small sofa, her older sisters stared —and waited.

She said, "Where is Father?"

"In Neva, he left yesterday, good riddance," Nesta said, naming one of the largest cities on the continent. "Trading with some merchants from the other half of the world. And attending a summit about the threat above the wall. A threat I wonder if you've come back to warn us about."

No words of relief, of love—never from her.

Elain lifted her teacup. "Whatever the reason, Feyre, we are happy to see you. Alive. We thought you were—"

Feyre pulled her hood back before she could go on.

Elain's teacup rattled in its saucer as she noticed her ears.

Her longer, slender hands—the face that was undeniably Fae.

"I was dead," Feyre said roughly. "I was dead, and then I was reborn—remade." Elain set her shivering teacup onto the low-lying table between them. Amber liquid splashed over the side, pooling in the saucer. And as she moved, Nesta angled herself—ever so slightly. Between her and Elain.

It was Nesta's gaze she held as she said, "I need you to wake mother, and I need you to listen." They were both wide-eyed. But they did.

Andrea was sleeping when she heard Nesta's soft voice, "Mama, Feyre is here." Andrea immediately bolted up but winced at the sudden movements as her ribs ached. "She's here?" Andrea asked her daughter excitedly—Nesta gave her a hesitant nod "She's here, b-but mama, she's Fae."

"What? How is that possible?"

"I don't know but she needs our help and I don't know if we should do it," Nesta said, nervous and panicked about the consequences of having Fae in their home. "Don't worry, my flame, I will never do anything that will risk any of my daughters." Nesta, hearing her mother's nickname for her calmed down—her mother called Nesta the flame to her icy water, Elain the rose to her thorns, Feyre was the stars to her darkness, and in turn, Andrea Archeron was all her daughters' sun—the one that shined brightly and radiated warmth, the forgiving sun that was so beautiful, it hurt to look at her blinding beauty.

Nesta helped her mother walk down the stairs to the drawing-room and as soon as Andrea saw her daughter, she ran to her, not caring about her bruises, and embraced her, stroking her hair while whispering her name like a prayer.

When the two were done, they moved back to the chairs and sat in silence for some time until Feyre told them her story. In as much detail as she could endure, she told them of Under the Mountain. Of her trials. And Amarantha. She told them about death. And rebirth. She didn't tell them about Tamlin—not wanting her mother to hear of what he did. And how she broke her promise.

It was Elain who at last said, "You—you want other High Fae to come ... here. And ... and the Queens of the Realm."

Feyre nodded slowly.

"Find somewhere else," Nesta said. Feyre turned to her, already pleading, bracing for a fight.

"Find somewhere else," Nesta said again, straight-backed. "I don't want them in my house. Or near mother and Elain."

Feyre turned to her mother for support but Andrea shook her head sadly, "We can't. I love you, my star, you know that but it will put our family at great risk. Find another house to use. This is our home and I will not risk it."

"Nesta, mom, please," Feyre breathed.

"There is nowhere else; nowhere I can go without someone hunting me, crucifying me—" "And what of us? When the people around here learn we're Fae sympathizers? Are we any better than the Children of the Blessed, then? Any standing, any influence we have—gone. And Elain's wedding—" Andrea said to her daughter.

"Wedding," Feyre blurted.

Elain's face was pale, though, as she looked at her ring. "In five months," Nesta said. "She's marrying a lord's son. And his father has devoted his life to hunting down your kind when they cross the wall." Your kind. "So there will be no meeting here," Nesta said, shoulders stiff. "There will be no Fae in this house." "Do you include me in that declaration?" Feyre said quietly.

Andrea immediately denied it —shaking her head "Of course, not sweetheart, this will always be your home but I can't risk your sister's marriage." I can't risk your father's wrath, was left unsaid.

But Elain said, "Nesta, Mother."

"Nesta, mom," Elain said again, twisting her hands. "If ... if we do not help Feyre, there won't be a wedding. Even Lord Nolan's battlements and all his men, couldn't save me from ... from them." Nesta didn't so much as flinch.

Elain pushed, "We keep it secret—we send the servants away. With the spring approaching, they'll be glad to go home. And if Feyre needs to be in and out for meetings, she'll send word ahead, and we'll clear them out. Make up excuses to send them on holidays. Father won't be back until the summer, anyway. No one will know." She put a hand on Nesta's knee and took her mother's hand in her own.

"Feyre gave and gave—for years. Let us now help her. Help ... others." Nesta and Andrea studied the dark ring on Elain's finger, the way she still seemed to cradle it. A lady—that's what Elain would become.

What she was risking for this.

Feyre turned to her mother but she was looking at her eldest daughter who gave her a silent nod, letting her know she was okay with it, so Feyre met her mother's hesitant gaze. "There is no other way."

Her chin lifted slightly. "We'll send the servants away tomorrow."

"Today," Feyre pushed. "We don't have any time to lose. Order them to leave now."

"I'll do it," Elain said, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders before she strode out, graceful as a doe, and Andrea followed Elain to help her after kissing her other daughters on their foreheads.

Alone with Nesta, Feyre said, "Is he good—the lord's son she's to marry?"

"She thinks he is. She loves him like he is." Nesta replied

"And what do you think?"

Nesta's eyes—her eyes, their mother's eyes—met Feyre's.

"His father built a wall of stone around their estate so high even the trees can't reach over it. I think it looks like a prison."

"Have you said anything to her?"

"No. The son, Graysen, is kind enough. As smitten with Elain as she is with him. It's the father I don't like. He sees the money she has to offer their estate—and his crusade against the Fae. But the man is old. He'll die soon enough." "Hopefully." A shrug.

Then Nesta asked, "Your High Lord ... You went through all that"—she waved a hand at Feyre, her ears, her body—"and it still did not end well?"

"That lord built a wall to keep the Fae out. My High Lord wanted to keep me caged in." Nesta quieted for a minute before glaring at Feyre "Don't tell mama of what happened with your high lord. She will be heartbroken."

Feyre agreed, giving her a nod.

"But why? He let you come back here all those months ago."

"To save me—protect me. And I think ... I think what happened to him, to us, Under the Mountain broke him." Perhaps more than it had broken her. "The drive to protect at all costs, even my own well-being ... I think he wanted to stifle it, but he couldn't. He couldn't let go of it."  "And now you are at a new court."

Not quite a question, but she said, "Would you like to meet them?"