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When Rhys arrived home from the Archeron’s Solstice celebration two hours early with a wave of night-dark power that extinguished half the faelights dotting the garland hanging from the mantel, Cassian knew the holiday was over and set down the frilly bit of salami he’d just selected from the cheese board with a mournful sigh.A glance across the room revealed Az in a similar state, frowning down at a half-poured glass of whisky. The cobalt Siphons he wore on the back of each hand shimmered, readying the killing power that lurked just beneath the surface of his skin, as he placed the decanter and tumbler back on the bar and Rhys stepped out of his dark shroud.
Cassian lifted an intrigued brow; his brother's eyes were narrowed with the same caustic focus he normally reserved for enemies at the opposite side of battlefields.
From her perch in the plushest seat by the fire, Amren took a deep breath, huffed, and shoved herself onto her feet.
“—fuck’s sake,” she grumbled. Cassian caught only the tail-end of her complaining as she stalked from the room, snatching her coat up from a chair by the door and throwing it over her shoulders. She ducked her head back in for only a moment to narrow glowing, silver eyes at Rhys. “I expect my gift delivered to my apartment before dawn, boy.”
And then she was gone.
A moment later, a bit of displaced air signaled Mor's arrival as she winnowed in, frowning in the way she always had whenever she was confronted by idiot aristocrats. Cassian watched closely as she laid a hand on Rhys's shoulder, but Rhys shook his head at her—a single tightly wound motion that made Mor's scowl soften into concern.
"Happy Solstice," Cassian ventured when the tense silence between lasted a beat too long for his comfort. With Amren gone, two timid shadows had edged into the room, creeping toward Azriel. He nodded at Nuala and Cerridwen, and they each lifted a hand in greeting to him. "Mind letting us in on the conversation?"Mor whirled, blinking at him and Azriel as if she was surprised to see them at the party she had spent a full week planning. Then, she looked to the sunken-in cushion on the plush chair and asked, "Where's Amren?""Got one whiff of him and stormed out," Az said, tilting his head at Rhys.Mor stared for a moment longer, her lips pursed. Her eyes went blank for a moment, and then, with a careful glance over her shoulder at Rhys, she clapped her hands together once, twice, and opened her mouth to announce to the room at large, “Rhys found his mate tonight."Cassian whistled. The pool of females to choose from at a party like that was abysmally shallow. "Shit."The glare Rhys cut him might have misted a lesser male.
Azriel snorted, tipping his head toward one of twin shadow wraiths, his face blank. His own shadows were, for once, contained to the dark pockets between the folds of his wings. “And she’s coming here." He glanced to Mor. "Tonight?”
Mor pouted, playful and petulant. “You know, it’s really annoying when you three do that," she admonished, slinking across the room to help herself to Cassian’s wine. He protested, but she held the glass over his head and perched on the arm of his chair, frowning at the twin shadows on either side of Azriel. "No one else ever gets to make any big announcements anymore before you spoil it."Cassian eyed her. "Did we ever?"
Azriel, unbothered, watched Mor take her next sip, his eyes lingering on the red stain her lips leave on the rim of the glass.
Rhys pushed out a sharp breath, unimpressed.
Cassian turned back to Mor.
Who is it? he mouthed.
Mor grinned.
“Feyre Archeron,” she whispered behind a hand.
Shock—horror—dismay.
Cassian cycled through them all, gaping. “The merchant’s wife?”
Cauldron, he’d only met her once, but the female made harpies seem soft.
Mor made a face, crinkling her nose in disgust and sticking out her tongue, and shook her head. The distaste melted away after a moment, but her mouth still did something strange as she said, “His daughter.”
“Ah.” Cassian observed Rhys from his periphery. The predatory stillness had gone, and he was drawing parchment and books and—oh, fuck—a grimoire bound in cracked black leather out of thin air. The ancient tome shivered and shook in his hands, trying to break free, but Rhys bared his teeth at it; the air went cold as the grimoire fell open for him.
Double fuck.
“Well," Cassian spoke to Rhys slowly, carefully, the way he might if he were coaxing a battle-fevered soldier to calm himself before he slaughtered half the camp. Mor held out the glass to him, and he took it with a grateful nod, downing a healthy swig. "She’s not already betrothed, is she?”
That was the way their sort did things, after all, and everyone in the room knew it from unfortunate experience. Azriel's wings rustled against his back, and Cassian kept his eyes locked on Rhys, not daring to glance in Mor’s direction.
But Mor was having none of it. She clicked her tongue, and the sound rankled Azriel’s shadows, which had slipped out from under his wings and started weaving in agitated patterns through the air.
With another wary glance at Rhys, Mor announced, “She’s ten."
Cassian choked on his wine. Mother's tits.Mor puffed up next to him, shooting a smug look at the trio of spies across the room. Azriel simply lifted an obliging shoulder at her.And then, as one, they stilled as the fire dimmed in the grate, all of them turning to watch as the violence bled out of Rhys’s expression and pure, ravening intent took its place. As his brother licked a finger and began thumbing through the pages of the grimoire, Cassian braced himself. A Rhys with his nose in a book was almost as dangerous as a Rhys with a sword in his hand.
He studied Rhys, adding a tiny, untrained mate to that terrifying equation, and his wings twitched. His hand clenched around a phantom blade, and he leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. “So. Do we want to talk about next steps, or—”
“The first step is guardianship,” Rhys cut in, the words clipped.
Oh, shit.
Azriel shadow-walked to the couch set on the opposite side of the low table from Cassian and Mor, seating himself on one side of it, and met Cassian's eyes with a droll look that said, 'Oh, shit,' indeed."Is her home life really so bad?" came a wavering whisper from one of the wraiths—Cassian couldn't tell which at this distance. "The Archerons are quite well off.""I can give her better," was all Rhys said in response, leveling a challenging look at the room before turning back to his books. "She's my mate."Mor wrenched the glass back out of Cassian's hand and tossed back the rest of his wine. He didn't blame her; an Archeron ball was hellish enough without a High Lord chafing against a fresh mating bond thrown into the mix."Her father has already agreed. She's an artist; she'll start at the Academy in the Rainbow in a week," she rasped after she swallowed."Her father's already agreed?" Cassian looked between Mor and Rhys. What in the absolute fuck had happened at that ball? "You found your ten-year-old mate at a party, told her father you were taking her, and he agreed. Just like that?"
“Just like that," Rhys said, the words short, terse. The chandelier over their heads rattled and dimmed as the townhouse quaked, and his teeth ground together. He snapped a finger in the direction of the couches without looking up. “Nuala, Cerridwen, she'll be in the green room. Azriel, art supplies. Cassian, get a puppy from Windhaven's kennels.”
"A puppy." And not just any puppy, but an Illyrian hound. Cauldron, Rhys had lost his mind. "Rhysie, are you su—"
“I have a contact in the Rainbow,” Azriel cut in, rising smoothly from his seat. He brushed a few stray shadows off of the fine jacket he wore for holidays, jerking his head to Nuala and Cerridwen, who vanished. Then he said to Mor, jerking his chin at Cassian, “I’ll take this one to the kennels and return in fifteen minutes.”
Cassian shot a look at Azriel. You're really going to bring a gods-damned hunting hound into this house?
Azriel shrugged. Glanced at Rhys. Shrugged again.
“Well…” Cassian stood, shaking his head to dislodge the light, tickling buzz of the wine he’d sipped all evening. It was lunacy, but Az had the right idea; one look at Rhys revealed his brother staring them down, waiting. So he brushed a few crumbs off of his trousers and lifted the cheese board off of the side table—the dogs would appreciate it, at least.
Mor wiggled her fingers at him as she refilled his abandoned glass. "Give Devlon my worst."
"Yeah, sure," Cassian grumbled. If Azriel was merciful, he'd shadow-walk them directly into the kennels, so he could bypass the camp lord altogether and only have to deal with the crotchety old kennel master. He skirted the writhing darkness at Rhys’s feet on his way out of the room. “Happy Solstice, everyone."