Fireless

Chapter 2: Cobalt

[FIVE MONTHS BEFORE]

Eris Vanserra had grown up underground, but he most certainly did not belong here.

The entrance to the Hewn City was carved into the cold grey stone of a great mountain high above the tree line, with no signs of life except for the towering door and the armored sentries who guarded it. The inside, however, was grotesquely opulent, every inch of the interior city carved with swirling ornamentation. Stone flowers curled around gargoyles with bulging eyes and tongues, flanked by depictions of High Fae creatively shedding blood from and fornicating with every manner of faerie and human alike. Ironic, since neither of the latter were allowed inside, but the carvings were from long before the current High Lord's rule.

The Forest House, Eris's mostly-subterranean home in the Autumn Court, was warm with wood panels, grand fireplaces, rich fabrics, courtyards tended by his mother, and colored glass skylights. But here, there was nothing but the slow drip of water as it ran down the ornamented buildings to meet in rushing streams that were themselves carved into the stone floor. Nothing here was truly living except the bodies writhing in time to the distant, drumming music—dancing in ecstasy, humping in shadows, flinching in pain, begging for mercy. All shrouded with cold, pale faelight.

There wasn't even any firelight. No life-giving, warm, golden fire, except that which ran in his veins. A damp, cold loneliness enveloped Eris, even as bodies poured out of buildings to watch the Autumn Court retinue approach the castle.

And judging by their pointed ears and ethereal beauty, every one of those bodies was that of a High Fae. No lesser faeries lived in the Hewn City—even the servants were High Fae—and no humans permitted within the borders of the Night Court at all. Such was the basis of Beron's attempt at an alliance with these decadent monsters. The Night Court and the Autumn Court were the only courts of Prythian that had completely outlawed humans, casting even their mixed human-Fae descendants from their borders. Which meant that with the other courts plagued by growing unrest among humans and half-Fae, free and enslaved alike, their courts were easily the two most stable in Prythian.

An alliance forged of Night and Autumn would be powerful indeed, but the price was high: Eris's own hand.

He followed his father into the largest, most ornate building within the mountain—a castle, the seat of the High Lord of the Night Court. Beron had drilled the importance of this meeting into him endlessly for the last few weeks, but as Eris confronted each beautiful face of the Night Court nobility, all regarding him with impassive judgement, all he could think about was what they must see looking at him.

He was hopelessly gangly—tall for a full-grown Fae, let alone one his age, and he was growing so fast that no amount of physical training could build enough muscle to keep up. That was the first thing most people noticed, and the second was his rich auburn hair, which he kept short enough to tuck into a helm for training. The dull-haired Beron loved to remind him how lucky Eris was to have inherited his mother's hair—beautiful and striking, Fae through and through—because it outshone his face. His father's face, really. Eris would be considered passably handsome someday, if Beron's looks were any indication. But there was something ever so slightly off in their features, if one knew what to look for. In private, Beron never passed up a chance to note that Eris's jaw was slightly uneven, his nose too long, his face lacking in ethereal symmetry. Just like Beron's. It was the reason why Autumn's High Lord and heir were never seen in anything less than perfectly tailored, elegant jewel tones. Stylish, beautiful, vain—a perfect distraction from their imperfect features.

And then, of course, there were other features that Beron found so shameful, any sight of them was likely to send the High Lord of Autumn into a calculated but fiery rage. Eris glanced at his mother, who was following a few steps behind him, and said a quiet prayer to the Mother that neither the tiny brother swaddled in the Lady of Autumn's arms, nor the twin babes growing in her swollen belly, would ever know Beron's wrath.