Daylight

Chapter 17

Feyre had known. He should have asked Bryaxis how long she had known. But it hardly mattered. Feyre had known. That thought repeated in his head until he was all the way back to the surface and out of the library.

The storm was still raging; they would be spending the night at the House of Wind.

He'd hoped that by the time he had gotten back to the House he'd know how he wanted to confront Feyre, but he was still just as lost as he'd been at the bottom of that library. He didn't know what he wanted. He wanted to be alone but having all night to do nothing but mull over what he'd learned threatened to drive him mad. He wanted to be around people but worried that he would explode and chew out the first person who spoke to him. If it was Nesta, that might be both therapeutic and disastrous.

Elain. He needed Elain. Even if she couldn't make sense of this, as he couldn't, her presence was automatically soothing. Being around her would calm the raging inferno that lived within his soul and was now threatening to burst free. The power of fire... that he most definitely did not inherit from Beron. Which meant it had to have come from his mother. His mother...

She had never even indicated she knew the High Lord of Day, much less had an affair with him. Lucien shook his head in irritation. He had so many questions that were battling for attention inside his head. He couldn't make sense of any of this. His fingertips burned as that fire struggled to be contained.

Elain. Where was she?

He stalked through the house in search of her. The first people he encountered were Cassian and Rhys, both of them leaning back in chairs with their feet kicked up on the table. Two glasses of whiskey and a bottle sat between them. Cassian, whose face had regained the color it had lost upon drawing that short straw, leaped to his feet at the sight of Lucien.

"You survived!" Cassian exclaimed with obvious relief—though he paled again upon seeing Lucien's gaunt expression. "But you look like hell. What happened down there?"

"Have you seen Elain?" Lucien ignored his question entirely. He thought about asking where Feyre was, but Rhysand was no fool. He could see something had troubled Lucien down in the library and asking where the High Lord's mate was in his present state was not wise.

Rhys slowly lowered his chair until all four of its legs were resting on the floor and slid his feet from the table. He rested his hands on his knees and said, "Azriel took her to her garden."

"But... it's pouring!" Lucien objected, forcing down nausea from learning that while he was down in the darkness making small talk with his worst nightmares, Elain was with another male where she was happiest. Her happiness is what matters, he reminded himself. He also reminded himself that she didn't belong to him. She belonged to no one and was free to do whatever she liked and with whomever she chose. But it still hurt.

"Her garden has a shield of magic protecting it from any adverse weather," Rhys explained.

"You seriously look like hell," Cassian broke in. "Can we get you anything?" His voice was heavy with concern. It seemed that by volunteering to take his place, Lucien had gained favor with the Illyrian general.

Lucien eyed the bottle of whiskey on the table. Cassian followed the gaze of Lucien's metallic golden eye and scrambled to pour a hearty serving. He handed it to Lucien, who downed it in one gulp.

"Fuck, what happened down there?"

At his question, Lucien remembered—Rhys had also known.

Lucien's russet eye darkened. "Can I speak to you? Alone?"

Lucien expected Rhys to ask why or to demand he speak in Cassian's presence, but he merely gave Lucien a curt nod.

All the same, Cassian passed a nervous glance between Lucien and Rhys and said, "I'll be... somewhere else."