The Witching Hour (Rise of the Valkyries)

Chapter Two

Mera descended the spiral staircase of her childhood home, her footsteps muffled by the plush velvet carpet that wrapped around each step.

The stairs were crafted from the same dark wood as the wine barrels they hid in the basement, a rich and warm hue that complemented the rustic charm of the home. As she made her way down, Onyxia's heavy paws echoed loudly against the wooden steps, causing the staircase to creak and groan under her weight.

"Come now, Onyxia," Mera scolded, "You know how much Rhiannon hates having you indoors. Outside, you go."

Despite Onyxia's reluctance to leave the cozy warmth of the home on this cold winter day, Mera knew she had to follow the rules. As much as Mera may have wanted to leave Onyxia be, on a morning as important as this one, she couldn't risk annoying Rhiannon.

Mera made her way to the kitchen, checking that her bo-staff was still in the hallway closet. She knew better than to think Arien wouldn't try to sneak it into his belongings, to use it during his Rite. The use of weapons were, of course, against the rules. But any weapons they made during the Rite were allowed, and if he managed to sneak her bo-staff in without the Custodestars noticing, he could claim he'd made it. But the staff was still there, glimmering as the morning sunlight hit the swirling patterns she'd carved into it.

Mera was looking forward to a hearty breakfast but as she entered the kitchen, the smell of cinnamon and apple pancakes filled her senses, making her mouth water. The rustic wooden table was set with plates and silverware, and Rhiannon was standing at the stove, flipping pancakes with ease. The morning light was streaming in through the window, casting a warm glow over everything in the room.

But as her eyes drifted to the corner of the room, she saw Azriel leaning against the cabinet, his arms folded across his chest. The tendrils of darkness that tended to whirl in his wake seemed to be lurking in the shadows of the kitchen. He looked uneasy, almost as if he was remembering something uncomfortable.

Probably their last encounter.

Mera tried to shake off the feeling of frustration laced with longing as she walked towards Rhiannon and Azriel. But as she passed by Azriel, she couldn't stop the memory that forced its way through her mind, his hot breath against her neck, making her flush for a moment.

"Shall I send a gift basket to the high lord to thank him for granting you a temporary leave from your duties?" Mera asked, breaking the tense silence that had settled in the kitchen as soon as she'd walked in.

Rhiannon was aware of the tension between her son and her oldest Ward, but she had chosen not to intervene, fearing that she might be forced to take a side.

"Mera," she cautioned softly, without turning away from the pancakes. Mera's tone threatened the peace Rhiannon had fostered.

She could feel the weight of Azriel's gaze upon her, but she refused to meet his eyes. She didn't want to see what emotions lay behind them, whether it was a smoldering heat or an impassive mask. His unreadable expression only added to the tension that hung thickly in the air between them. The last time they had been together had been disastrous, and she had no desire to revisit that painful chapter of their past.

She grabbed a glass of water and leaned against the counter, trying to ignore the way Azriel's eyes seemed to follow her every move.

Rhiannon, tending to the sizzling pancakes in the pan, asked, "So, Tamlin is demanding reparations?"

Mera upended the glass of water before settling into a seat at the table and began buttering a slice of toast.

Azriel spoke with his usual chilling tone, "He wants some money and a girdle that had once been in Spring's possession for eons."

"What's the reason behind his demands?" Mera asked, savoring a bite of her toast that was now adorned with a layer of sweet juniper berry jam. If Rhiannon wanted peace, Mera would do her best to give it. As long as Azriel behaved, she would too.

"He's saying that Feyre knew about the approaching war with Hybern and decided to get revenge anyway, leaving his court vulnerable," Azriel replied a hint of disbelief in his voice. She didn't need to look at him to know he'd rolled his eyes.

"That's what she did though, isn't it?" she asked, continuing to chew on her toast. Mera's arms were folded as she leaned back on her stool, one hand still holding the toast to her mouth. "From what I've heard, you and your friends were aware of the brewing war for months, and when your friend's wife returned to Spring, she was fully informed about the war. Feyre's decision to raze it and the consequences that followed are entirely her fault."

"I'd argue that it is his own fault. If a newly-human-turned-fae girl can upend your entire court after your callous abuse and mistreatment of her, then it is your own fault." He shrugged, rustling his wings slightly.

Mera barked a laugh, "Well, I guess we can't all have a group of loyal friends who prioritize us over their own flesh and blood, can we? Oh, if only Tamlin had his own little 'Court of Dreams."

"What do they have to do with this?" Azriel narrowed his eyes. Whatever tether he was using to restrain himself was pulled taut.

"Oh please," Mera rolled her eyes, "Without her powers, all Amren is capable of is degrading everyone around her and offering barely helpful criticisms. Morrigan is a barely functioning alcoholic who can't stomach the city she is in charge of and single-handedly keeps the lights on in Rita's Bar. Your high lady and her sisters have god-level powers that they've used to domesticate themselves with. And don't get me started on the predator you call a high lord or Cassian, the least respected Illyrian in the Night Court who holds the name-only title of General of the Illyrian forces. 'Court of Dreams' seems like the perfect name for a group of hypocrites who refuse to wake the hell up."

Her assessment of them was at least half a century old, but the rumors all suggested that nothing had changed for any of them. Aside from the fact that Amren no longer scared anyone, and Mera had never actually met Feyre or her sisters, it seemed unlikely that she was wrong.

Rhiannon slammed the plate of pancakes on the table, the sound grabbing both Mera and Azriel's attention. She fixed her hazel eyes on Mera's golden ones and spoke in a stern voice, "Enough. I'm sure Onyxia needs to be fed."

Mera shoved the rest of her toast into her mouth, glared at Azriel then stormed out of the kitchen, restraining herself from saying anything rude to Rhiannon—who, by all accounts, would not deserve it. It was Azriel who deserved all the anger and malice that Mera harbored for him. She knew he would take it all in without ever flinching.

She'd made it to the front door when she heard Arien's loud footsteps echo down the stairs. He rushed into the kitchen, completely oblivious to Mera standing in the doorway. Azriel was in the kitchen, nothing else mattered. She rolled her eyes, making her way to the front porch. It hurt for a moment, realizing that Arien hadn't even noticed her standing there.

The sound of Azriel's voice in the kitchen had caused Arien to light up with excitement as if it were Starfall all over again and a special gift was waiting just for him. Mera couldn't fault the little boy for adoring Azriel, but it still stung. It hurt that in the division between her and Azriel, Rhiannon would take his side because she was his mother. And Arien, who was too young to understand the situation, would choose to idolize the man he aspired to be like.

Mera stepped out onto the front porch, alone with her anger, and walked towards the highback seat swing. She settled onto the padded seat of the swing, adjusting the skirt of her dress so that she could cross her legs on the seat as she scratched the top of Onyxia's large head. She could hear birds chirping and the distant sound of a river racing towards the vast ocean, one of the few rivers lucky enough not to be frozen. The soft cushion of the seat beneath her and the gentle swaying motion of the swing were soothing. Onyxia let out a low purr of contentment, and Mera knew she had to stop before she let her feelings ruin Arien's day.

"He'll be gone by sundown, Onyxia," Mera whispered to the purring cat. "We can hold it together until then, can't we? We can pretend he is just...Arien's role model. Azriel means nothing to us."

It was a lie, of course. But it was the only way Mera would get through the day.