Chapter Text
Elain hadn’t been living in the sprawling river house for long, but she knew its nooks and crannies intimately. Her favorite spot was a lonely corner of the entry’s balcony, where the cushions of the wingback chair had molded to her shape from how she spent every morning there, silently observing as the household woke up.
A door clicked open downstairs. Elain sat up straight and sucked in a breath.
Rhysand.
When he stepped out of his office and under the skylight, Elain saw him in her mind. Walls separated them, but he appeared to her as clearly as if she was seeing him with her eyes. He faded away after pulling the door shut behind him in the washroom. She stood from the chair and tip-toed to the railing, where the cone of sunlight pouring in through the glass ceiling was brightest.
A minute later, she heard Rhysand leave the washroom, and he appeared in her mind before she had to think about watching him. She smiled with pride at how much her sight had improved. It used to exhaust her, how much she had to focus and check light sources, but after weeks of practice with Nuala and Cerridwen, it had become a reflex.
Rhysand walked into the entryway and halted when he stepped out from under the balcony. Elain froze, imagining herself disappearing into the glare. He scanned the bottom floor of the foyer then looked up, his gaze lingering on the chair Elain had just left. He wore a puzzled expression that she could not decipher. Her thoughts scrambled for an excuse why she was hovering on the balcony in case he spotted her, but he glanced right over her.
Elain had no time for relief before Amren arrived at the front door. Rhysand opened it before she knocked.
“What’s wrong?” Amren asked after taking one look at him.
Rhysand ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. It feels like someone is here.”
Rhysand often didn’t see Elain under normal conditions, when she wasn’t trying to be invisible. The High Lord hardly gave her any thought, even when she was standing right in front of him.
But Amren would search for whatever presence Rhysand felt. Elain sensed how anxious she had become since losing her powers during the battle against Hybern. Amren had gone from an unknown creature of indescribable power to barely High Fae, and she compensated for that lack of protection by constantly seeking potential danger. She concealed her uneasiness well enough that the others didn’t notice, but as long as Amren was standing in the same light as Elain, Elain could sense every emotion.
“You and Feyre should go to the cabin for a few days,” Amren said after looking around the foyer, completely unaware of Elain. “You work too hard. You’re starting to imagine things.”
Rhysand grumbled something in response and shooed her down the hall.
Amren escorted herself to his office, taking her feelings of doom and paranoia with her. When Amren shut the door, she broke the connection Elain had to her. The light in the office came from the south facing windows, and without the foyer light mixing with it, Elain could not see Amren or sense her emotions.
Curiosity begged Elain to search Rhysand for a clue about what had him so on edge. The sunrise was complete–the sun was high enough in the sky that it flooded the foyer with more than enough light for Elain to connect to him, but she never tried to explore his emotions. Not until she had more practice would she try to touch the High Lord, whose daemati gift would warn him of an intruder.
She’d have to wait until he was occupied with his guests before she tried to shimmer down to the main floor.
It was Nuala’s idea to call it shimmering, because Elain flickered like a star as she shifted and disappeared into the light. It had only been a few weeks since she discovered her strange new ability, but she had mostly mastered the transition between here and there. She could shimmer quickly enough that it appeared as if a single sparkle had reflected off a shiny surface.
Once she was downstairs, she could make it to the door of Rhysand’s study and shimmer inside. If there was enough light from the office windows mixing with the hall light between the cracks of the door, she could mold herself between the two sources until she was wholly on the other side. Then it would be a matter of staying in the light and hoping no one drew the curtains.
As long as there was light, Elain could hide in plain sight.
She scented Nesta, but Nesta was not invited to this meeting—Elain smelled what was left of her sister on Cassian as he entered the manor. She cringed and tried not to dwell on why Nesta’s scent was so strong on him. Of all the things she had to adjust to since becoming High Fae, the overwhelming scents of sex and arousal made her most uncomfortable.
Rhysand and Cassian exchanged a brief hello, then joined the others in the study, closing themselves off from Elain. She knew Azriel had been in there since before Rhysand woke up. She had barely been awake when she sensed Azriel’s shadows disturbing the light in the foyer as he moved from outside to inside without using the door. It was by watching and feeling him move that she discovered what Azriel can do in the shadows, she can do in the light.
She gave them a chance to get started with the meeting before shimmering to the bottom of the staircase. Then she tried to imagine Feyre’s painting of their father that hung on the wall next to the office door, but all she could think about was the line she was about to cross.
This would be her first time spying.
She was spying on the High Lord of the Night Court.
She could have been in the human lands with Graysen, with a baby in her belly and a crew of servants at her beck and call, if she hadn’t been snatched by the beast of Spring Court and dragged through the Cauldron. Elain was meant to live the simple life of a human lord’s wife, but here she was, living in her brother-in-law’s home—the most powerful High Lord to ever exist. Elain didn’t even know what a High Lord was before—
You are ready for this, Cerridwen gently encouraged. Nuala stood at her side upstairs at the other end of the hall. Elain could see and hear them in her mind, but they could not see or hear her. They hadn’t figured out how to establish a two-way connection, but the twins’s wraith abilities must have alerted them that she was stuck at the bottom of the stairs.
Elain wiped the sweat off her brow, suddenly emotional at how thankful she was for Nuala and Cerridwen. They had been her friends since she arrived in Velaris and had stayed by her side when everyone else left Elain by herself, clueless how to help her. Nuala and Cerridwen had sensed the Cauldron may have given something to Elain, while the others focused on what Nesta had taken from it. Elain’s friends knew more about her than she knew about herself. They were the first to ever challenge her to take risks.
Infiltrating an Inner Circle meeting was certainly a risk. Elain breathed in deeply through her nose and exhaled slowly through her mouth, and tried again to imagine her father’s portrait. That’s where she needed to go.
A second later, it was done. She stood in the hall just outside Rhysand’s study. Their voices were muffled by the wall between them, but Elain could understand enough to know they were talking about Feyre.
“She knows the labor will be difficult, but not that it might kill her,” said Rhysand.
Cassian asked why he hadn’t told her, but Elain did not exert herself enough to hear his explanation. She had expected them to be talking about politics and court drama, not Feyre’s pregnancy. Perhaps this meeting was too personal for her to listen in on. The last thing Elain wanted was to accidentally say something that would reveal she knew too much, then have to explain how she came to know such details. For all everyone in the Inner Circle knew, Elain had lost her powers during the war against Hybern–if she’d had any powers to begin with.
“I can’t tell her. Not yet.” Rhysand’s voice cracked. He swallowed a sob before continuing, “I’m doing everything I can to find a way to deliver the baby safely.”
Elain’s stomach dropped as the weight of Rhysand’s despair hit her. If the High Lord could not find a way to safely deliver his own mate’s baby, then what hope did Feyre have?
She had the urge to interrupt the meeting and declare that she had seen her sister in a vision, propped in bed with her face twisted in labor pains, but with a healthy baby boy on her breast.
Sometimes when she was in direct sunlight, Elain had glimpses of scenes that hadn’t occurred yet. They had been limited to scenarios she was already familiar with, such as eating dinner together or strolling through Velaris. But she had seen Feyre nursing her baby before Feyre told her she was pregnant. Elain wasn’t sure if Feyre even knew she was with child. Nuala and Cerridwen insisted that she not discuss the vision with Feyre or anyone else.
“What if by telling her, you alter the chain of events that must occur in order for her to have a safe delivery?” Nuala had soothed Elain’s panic at keeping such a secret. “Feyre and Rhysand must navigate this on their own. And how would you like to explain that you are a seer?”
Elain did everything she could not to have to explain her visions or other abilities. She saw how everyone reacted to Nesta’s powers—how they were threatened by her and quick to blame her for not understanding how to live with them. It had barely been a year since the sisters were transformed into High Fae. Was it Nesta’s fault that she had more power than she knew what to do with?
Of course, Nesta had made plenty of questionable choices and pushed everyone away. Elain would never find herself lusting after strangers in a seedy tavern, bringing a new body to bed each night. But what would Feyre, Rhysand, and the rest think about how much time she spent under the sun, consuming its energy so that her power grew stronger? Would Rhysand kick her out if he knew she was spying on him?
“How often do you keep secrets from him?” Elain once asked Nuala and Cerridwen.
“We see and hear many things, and we tell the High Lord what he needs to know. He has never pressed us for more details. Even he knows the dangers of knowing too much.” Cerridwen’s response was the only thing that kept Elain from charging into the office and putting Rhysand out of his misery.
Her mouth suddenly tasted bitter. Pure and powerful magic had just been unleashed. Elain strained to listen through the wall. Now that raw magic pulsed around them, she was hesitant to shimmer into the room.
But then Nesta’s name was mentioned.
“Nesta created new magic blades.” Azriel sounded shocked and terrified.
“Which is why Nesta—” Amren spit the name off her tongue, “must not know about them.”
Elain had to get into the room—had to see these weapons for herself. She closed her eyes and melted into the light that leaked from the office through the threshold. The office light felt different than the hall light, and she followed it until there was no trace of the hall light. When she opened her eyes, she was standing at the end of Rhysand’s desk, no more than an arm’s length away from touching him or Amren.
Her breath hitched and her heart beat wildly, but none of the meeting attendees stirred. Elain looked over her shoulder to check the placement of the sun. She had hours before it began to set and the night moved in.
Elain stared at the blades laid out on the desk alongside Rhysand, Amren, Cassian, and Azriel. Nesta unknowingly Made these. Just by hammering the iron, her power was infused in them. Amren explained that it had been more than ten thousand years since a weapon had been Made, and the last great blade had been wielded by the last High King of Prythian.
Elain’s blood turned to ice. She had not heard any mention of a High King since the night she was stolen and chained up in Hybern’s tent. He had dragged her by the hair and held her over the Cauldron, her face inches away from its swirling black waters, demanding that she tell him what she saw before he drowned her in it.
“With these three blades, you could make yourself High King,” Amren proclaimed.
Elain felt like she was back in the enemy war camp, stripped naked and forced into the Cauldron again , trying and failing to claw her way out as Hybern used his wicked magic to hold her under. As her lungs filled with water, the vision became clearer: Rhysand sitting on an elaborate throne, a crown of black gold on his head and an unfamiliar sword in his hand, declaring, The seven courts of Prythian are now one.
She had never told anyone what happened in those hours she spent in Hybern’s clutches, not even Nuala and Cerridwen. No one ever asked. It was as if they all forgot that Elain had been held prisoner and kept with the Cauldron.
Upon closer inspection of the longsword Nesta had Made, Elain recognized it as the blade Rhysand had wielded in her vision. Bile formed in her throat.
Amren said, “You are the most powerful High Lord to have ever existed, Rhysand. You have been given three Made blades. Why share power over Prythian with six other weakening courts? Why are you so afraid of taking what is yours?”
“I did nothing to deserve my power. I was born with it, and I will use it to protect what is rightfully mine, and what is rightfully mine is my family and my court.” Rhysand slammed his fist onto the desk. “I will hear no more of this High King nonsense.”
Amren refused to back down. “Do you think it is a coincidence how the Cauldron Made Nesta and brought her to you, and how Nesta Made these blades which were then brought to you? The girl has no idea what she is capable of. These blades were Made for you, Rhysand. Nesta is a conduit for you.”
Elain would have thrown herself at Amren if it weren’t for Cassian’s warning snarl. Did Amren really think that Nesta was in the Night Court to serve as Rhysand’s personal weapon maker?
If Rhysand is so powerful, if he is indeed destined to become High King, then why can he not Make his own sword? She wanted to scream at Amren and spit in her face.
Amren ignored Cassian and said to Rhysand, “Nothing is a fluke. Feyre is here, and she has the power of all seven High Lords. Nesta can raise an army of the dead and slaughter kings. Elain…”
If only Amren knew that she was in the room. In one quick stride, Elain could have her hands around Amren’s neck and squeeze the life out of her. Elain could drag her out of the chair then shimmer out of the manor. Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel would have no idea what happened. By the time they found Amren, she’d be dead in the gutter. The bloody vision had Elain stumbling backwards, but she caught herself before crashing into the bookshelf. Was she capable of such a thing? Could she shimmer with someone else—could she kill someone?
“...We do not know what Elain is capable of.” Amren’s murmur was laced with disappointment. She knew everything. Had seen and lived through everything, but she did not know Elain.
A smug grin pulled on the corners of Elain’s mouth. Nuala and Cerridwen were right: keeping her abilities a secret was a wise choice. There was power in remaining a mystery, and she was content to keep the Inner Circle guessing forever.
“Enough!” Shadows curled behind Rhysand, casting a gray cloud over the room. Elain scrambled toward the window, ready to shimmer outside to escape the High Lord’s darkness. Her shield was quickly disappearing, but she spared a final glance at the blades before fleeing. Nesta’s blades. Elain would never bow to Rhysand if he used them to put himself on a throne.
Rhysand’s rage continued to boil over, the office growing darker by the second, as Amren and Cassian debated whether or not to tell Nesta about the weapons. Elain felt herself being pulled out of the cloak of invisibility, watching as shadows formed around her feet. This was a dangerous game, testing them to see how long she could stand there before anyone noticed her.
But they did not notice her.
No one ever noticed Elain.
