Daylight

Chapter 20

Feyre called up the stairs several hours later that dinner was nearly ready, though Lucien's stomach turned at the idea of food. Granted, his stomach hadn't stopped turning since this morning at the House of Wind. When he saw the utter hurt and betrayal on his mate's beautiful face.

His mate.

He felt like he didn't even deserve to call her that after today. He had sworn to himself and to her sisters that he would never, ever hurt her. And then he had. He'd been stupid and careless, saying something that he didn't even mean, let alone believe. He'd gotten carried away as they'd teased each other and now she was suffering for it.

Well, they were both suffering but she was the one who didn't deserve to be. His heart ached like it had the first time he'd seen her at the House of Wind. She'd wanted nothing to do with him then. He thought of trying to call out to her several times throughout the day, but never did. She had made it clear that she hadn't wanted to speak to him. Had wanted nothing to do with him, now too.

He scoffed at his own stupidity and shook his head. He never seemed to make the right call. When he ought to speak up, he was mute and when he ought to hold his tongue, he could never leave well enough alone. This day could have gone so differently if he'd only known when enough was enough.

When he'd woken up this morning, her scent had been all around him. He'd breathed it in deeply, letting it fill his lungs. She had visited him in his dreams again, only this one had felt so real. Oh, how he'd wanted those dreams to come true.

Slim chance of that happening now, he told himself bitterly.

He eyed the boxes that had been delivered from Deidre's shop while they'd all been up at the House. Since he'd already decided he was skipping dinner, he figured he might as well see what the seamstress had made for him. If he hadn't been such a pompous fool, he could probably have convinced Elain to come help him open them.

The very first box he opened made his stomach flip. On the top of the pile was a jacket, much like the one he'd wrapped around Elain right after she'd come out of the Cauldron. It was finely embroidered with orange stitching and the color... the color was almost the exact shade of Elain's doe-brown eyes.

Damn that woman. Is she a dressmaker who moonlights as a matchmaker?

He couldn't endure going through the rest of the parcels now. Not if every damned garment was designed to complement the person who was so upset with him right now.

The air in his room felt stuffy and suffocating. He went to the window and pushed it open as far as it would go. The sight of Elain's little garden beneath it made his heart drop.

"Oh no."

Her garden, the place that brought her true joy, was in shambles. Flower petals were strewn about, some stalks were totally bare of petals, and the little section where she'd planted fruits and vegetables was flooded. Evidently, the meager protections that had been placed on it hadn't been strong enough to withstand yesterday's storm. He hoped she hadn't seen it yet. She would be devastated.

He turned back to the dozen parcels that littered his bed and began digging through them, hoping that Deidre had seen fit to make him something comfortable and sturdy enough to work in. Finally, he found a pair of trousers that looked closest to the ones he used to wear in the Spring Court and a rough spun green tunic. He tossed those into the chair in the corner, along with a pair of supple leather boots.

Lucien glanced at the clock, and seeing he still had time, snatched open his door and took the stairs two at a time.

Feyre looked up, startled at his abrupt appearance in the foyer.

"Finally, I called you at least three times."

"Not hungry," he said in a rush. "I need to take care of something. I'll be back shortly."

He caught a glimpse of Elain at the table, though she wasn't looking at him. She was looking miserably through the pane glass of the patio door at her ruined garden.

Damn it.

Without any further explanation, he darted out the front door, Feyre and the others staring at the spot he'd just disappeared from.

He found what he needed in town quicker than he thought. Like all the other shops, the merchant had tried to put it on Rhys's credit but Lucien had insisted on paying for this himself. Even though he'd been gone for less than half an hour, when he got back to the townhouse, the sitting room was empty. He spotted a note on the table and snatched it up.

Gone out for drinks and dancing. There are leftovers in the kitchen if you're hungry. - Feyre
P.S. You're a dumbass.

"I know, Feyre," he muttered. "I know."

Back in his room, he realized there was nothing more he could do until morning and upon that realization, his adrenaline seemed to vanish.

He slept fitfully, barely getting more than a half-hour of sleep at a time. Every time he managed to fall back to sleep, he was plunged into total and complete darkness, tormented by the sounds of Elain screaming and sobbing as she was forced into the Cauldron echoing inside his head.

🍂

He woke before dawn covered in a cold sweat. He might as well have gotten no sleep at all for all the good it had done. He got up and went into the bathing room to splash cold water on his face.

Lucien dressed quickly and stalked through the hall, down the stairs, and out the front door without making a sound. Retrieving Elain's garden tools, he got to work. He picked out the parts that looked salvageable and left them alone for the time being. Elain had a more delicate hand and keener eye for this sort of thing, so he'd probably leave that to her.

He hoped his instincts were right on this. He'd been wrong so many times before that he wouldn't be surprised if him trying to help only made things worse. As he worked, he realized he might be intruding on some private hobby that was meant for her and no one else. But it was too late to stop now.

By the time he'd dug up all the ruined and broken plants, the sun had risen and was beating down relentlessly. He cursed his luck that this would be that one day of autumn that was uncharacteristically hot. Probably some indirect retribution from the Mother for him being an insensitive ass yesterday.

Lucien noticed movement inside the house out of the corner of his eye but never stopped working. His shirt had completely soaked through with sweat. He wished he'd used the leather Elain had given him to make more leather ties for his hair last night; it kept falling into his face and getting in his way.

Fucking hell, it was hot. It should not have been this hot in autumn. It wasn't even midday yet. He figured he would catch shit for it later—especially from Rhys and Cassian—but at that moment he didn't care and peeled off his shirt, tossing it onto the ground. He instantly felt better. He quickly braided his hair but without something to tie it off, he didn't expect it to hold long.

He wasn't sure how, but he just knew the exact moment that Elain saw him in her garden and began watching him. He tried not to think about her sitting inside the townhouse, scrutinizing his work in her happy place.

He worked until the garden was completely clear of debris and the soil had been tilled and prepared for fresh seeds and trimmings. Peering over his shoulder when he heard the patio door open, Lucien's heart leapt to his throat when he saw Elain step outside.