Chapter Text
Lucien shoved his way through the trees, heedless of the villagers trailing behind him. “Elain,” he called out, wincing at the odd muffled echoes of his voice that made him sound frantic. He was meant to be helping, reassuring these people, not scaring them further. “Elain, you were right! The leaves are working!”
He stumbled into the muddy clearing, the lake looming dark and ominous, but his gaze went to the golden-haired angel stooped at the edge of it, frantically digging. “Elain?” He approached her cautiously, eager to give her his good news. “You were right, the plant is fever reducing,” he said, his words tumbling out in an excited rush. “I’ve brought help. We’ve got to collect as much as we can.”
Then he cleared his throat, recalling that it wasn’t all good news. “Four other younglings have fallen ill, after Riordan,” he went on, casting a nervous eye towards the humans, who had fanned out along the lakefront and were poking at the various reeds and vines and lilies, trying to locate the right plants for collection. “And there could be more, either now or the next time.”
They need Eos, he thought darkly, doubting that any herbal remedy was much use against such a pervasive, swift disease. But until he could convince them to allow access to a fae healer, it seemed that Elain’s plants were the best shot at controlling the fevers, reducing the chance of seizures and brain swelling, and the likely death that would follow.
Elain’s head turned, and her beautiful brown eyes were brimming with sorrow. “There’s not going to be enough on the banks of the lake,” she fretted, “and if we pluck it all clean, it won’t grow back, and they’ll have nothing for next time.” She turned back to her task, her shoulders hunching, and Lucien’s heart sank into his stomach.
The humans were shouting excitedly to one another, indicating places to harvest or arguing over whether a particular leaf was the right sort, but he tuned them all out, trying to think. Surely there had to be a better way to do this than pawing aimlessly at the mud?
“Elain,” he said, taking steps towards her, careful not to trod any potentially valuable plants underfoot, “this can’t be the only source of it. Where does it grow?”
Elain’s hands were digging frantically into the earth, grasping at any visible snatch of green, and she didn’t seem to hear him in her zeal to find as much vervain as she could. She had hastily bundled all her hair off her neck, and a thin line of sweat trickled down her back, soaking into the thin cotton cloth of her sundress.
“Elain,” Lucien said again, then tugged gently at her shoulders, warm and smooth beneath his fingers.
Her hands stilled in their movements, and he braced himself for the moment that she would shove him away, or cringe from his touch. But some of the tension seemed to release from her, and she relaxed her neck and shoulders a fraction. Like his touch soothed her.
“Elain, tell me where to find more of these plants,” he said softly, desperate to stay focused and not dwell on the fact that he was touching her.
“In the water,” she whispered, in a voice that sounded strangely far away. “You went under the water.”
“Did you See this?” he asked, gently drawing her back from the lakefront, frowning at the glittering dark expanse of the water. Under, she’d said. How could he do it? How was he meant to find which leaves to pick in that murky water? He could barely identify them here, in broad daylight, with Elain here to help him.
Elain let herself be pulled back from the lakeside, going pliant in his grip, but murmured, “You were under so long.”
That didn’t sound like a good outcome at all. And yet, she wasn’t discouraging him. Perhaps it would be all right, then? Or perhaps there was just no other way to get what they needed?
He stared back at the lake, his mind spinning circles. How could he stay under for any length of time?
Then he happened to glance upwards, one of the village wards sparkling golden in the corner of his eye, and then down at his left hand. It was unbandaged now, and in rather good shape considering that he’d exploded it.
The answer came to him then. I’m going to have to use my Day Court powers.
It was the only thing that made any sense. With a bubble of air around him, he could stay under longer - long enough to locate where the plants were growing. He wouldn’t have to dive too far deep, just stick to the areas that received sunlight. And he could make light, too, to see by. He’d done it before, once, Under the Mountain. He’d tried to use his flames to see Feyre better, in her cell, only for a ball of light to appear instead. At the time, he’d chalked it up to Amarantha’s manipulation, thinking she’d messed with him somehow. But no, it was his heritage, his power. He just had to focus, Cauldron damn him.
Or I could just cleave the wards, winnow to the palace, and come back with a half-dozen fae with healing magic. Eos would be the main one, of course, but the rest of the Dawn delegates could help her. Non-Dawn faeries, too, like Tamlin —
He immediately dismissed that idea out of hand. His disappearing suddenly, in the midst of a crisis, then returning with a cadre of powerful faeries, would frighten these simple folk out of their wits. It would look like an invasion, like he was taking advantage of their weakness. They’d finally started to trust him and Elain, even turning to them with confidences and trusting them with the children. If he betrayed that trust by bringing in strangers, he’d be undoing all of the rapport they’d established.
He thought of stubborn old Fallon, who knew he was dying, and refused to seek healing outside the village, or take Lucien’s offer to bring a fae healer to tend him. And Leda, who’d spirited her boy from the village during an outbreak, even though he had cured two children from the sickness, and could have saved many others.
What a fucking waste.
Lucien couldn’t begin to understand the logic, even as he sympathized with their skittishness. They’d rather die than be healed by a faerie.
But a faerie picking herbs from the lake? That, they would tolerate.
“I’m going to have to cleave the wards to do this,” he fretted, keeping his voice soft so that only Elain, with her faerie hearing, could catch his words. “It will make the village vulnerable to outsiders, until they snap back into place or I can re-weave them.” It was a deeply dubious prospect, but he saw no other option. There was no way he could last under the water without his magic. He nervously glanced around behind him, then went on, “Will the children die without this treatment?”
Elain bit her lip, her eyes starting to well up with tears. “Very likely.”
More could die still, if they’re attacked. But he had to act based on the real threat here and now, not some hypothetical future. “I think it’s worth the risk, then.”
She nodded. “I trust your judgment.”
You do? he almost squawked in reply, but caught the words before they could slip out. Take the compliment, you stupid idiot, he berated himself. It’s likely to be the only one you’ll ever get from her.
He flexed his fingers, unease crackling through him. He didn't actually know how he’d cleaved Hybern’s wards, only that he’d been furious and desperate, and his magic had lashed out of him. His mechanical eye skittered over the wards in more detail, trying to see whether they were even similar. They were — eerily so.
Hybern’s magic, here in Summer? It was a deeply disturbing prospect.
He leaned down to roll up one pants leg, then the other, contemplating how he might unleash his magic. He had no technique to speak of, but if he’d done it once, he could do it again. The children’s lives were depending on it.
He kicked off his filthy sandals and began to wade in. The crisp, cool water tickled at the tops of his feet and then his calves, then soaked rapidly upwards into his pants as soon as his knees went under, then pulling at the hem of his tunic, making the sopping wet fabric cling to his skin. He cringed as the muddy ground squished between his toes and then turned mossy, then slimy as he wandered in further.
He shook off his revulsion, then gazed up at the wards arcing over the treetops, and reached out with a trembling hand. Shit, I really don’t know what I’m doing.
He glanced back behind him, to where the humans were gathering along the banks of the lake, wide-eyed and wondering, and then at Elain, who was standing beside them, intently watching him.
Remember, he urged himself. She was plunged in the Cauldron, screaming, crying, and you were trapped, you couldn’t save her —
His chest ached with that old shame and heartache, that desperation that he had to reach her, whatever it took. Lost, she was lost, and he couldn’t get to her. Again he’d been forced to watch as an innocent female paid for the mistakes and cruelty of others.
And not just any innocent female, but his mate.
Anger burned caustic inside him, and he reached out and yanked, as if he could rip a hole in the world straight to Hybern, and throttle its fucking monsters and murderers through it.
The wards surrounding the village pulsed, each strand glittering and then unfurling. His eye clicked at it, trying in vain to track it, and a burst of glorious hot power sizzled through him, making the water around him begin to steam and bubble.
No, not that power, he thought frantically, almost starting to panic. He’d turn this lake into a damn hot spring, if he wasn’t careful.
The water turned bitingly cold again, and he almost sagged with relief, even as his muscles tensed against it.
He seized on another memory, this one from the conference’s opening ball - the bubbles he’d seen jiggling on Helion’s outfit, the one he’d refilled on the dress of that courtier. He could summon air, and reshape it around him, but could he make a bubble large enough to breathe in? He breathed in and out, trying to corral it, almost laughing at himself for his idiocy. Why had he thought it would be that easy?
I could try to just hold my breath, and make more dives under the water. But he wouldn’t last long enough, and he knew it. He’d have to bob up and down under the surface, gasping for air each time, rippling the surface of the water and making it murkier, wasting valuable time in the process.
No. This is the only way. He grappled with the magic, trying to wrestle something useful out of the tangle of powers inside him. He couldn’t look Elain in the eyes again if he failed, yet again —
His ears popped as the air charged around him, as the lake water grasped at his arms and shoulders, as the cries of encouragement from the villagers faded out into a vague echoing roar, and then he was lowering himself into the water completely, the shield of air shoving the water back from his neck and face. Lucien almost cried out in surprise, his own breathing turning loud and ragged inside the bubble he’d made, and then he was plunging into the stillness of the water, the sun’s light vanishing.
Well, that wouldn’t do, not at all.
Summoning light came easier for him, though he was anxious to avoid any hint of heat or fire. He extended his hands, the air bubble keeping him buoyant, and then the water around him began to glow as the magic poured out of him. He stared at it, entranced at the strange underwater world it revealed, the myriad of creatures swimming and scattering, but he had no time to look at them now.
He wasted valuable moments floundering aimlessly, looking for the mudbanks where the plants grew, and then he was shoving against the water, heading for the vines of dark green that crawled along the edges of the banks. He swam up close, trying to peer at the little teardrop-shaped leaves through the distortion of his air bubble. Imagine all this effort, and I grab the wrong plant, what a waste that would be.
He reached out again with shaking hands, kicking his legs to stay afloat, trying to recognize the plants by touch. Fuck it, he wasn’t a botanist, but they did feel like the leaves Elain had collected.
He began to yank the vines out in handfuls, wrapping them around his forearm to keep them from drifting off or sinking into the depths. He gritted his teeth as the magic pulsed erratically, his light fizzling out and then re-asserting, making the water swirl in his vision. Was his control over his Day Court power that poor? Or were the wards trying to re-thread themselves? He’d lose his light and his air, if that happened.
Better hurry, then. His heart pounded in his ears as he wrestled with the vines, his breathing echoing hollow through the cavern of his air bubble.
Is this enough? He had no idea how much of the healing herb he was holding, and couldn’t spare time to find out. He just grabbed more, scrambling to get closer, finding the air bubble a hindrance now that he needed to dive downwards, and then it dissipated with a whoosh, thousands of tiny bubbles pelting his nose and cheeks, and he hastily gulped a last lungful of air, pressing his lips tightly together to hold it inside him.
He kicked, aiming downwards, his lungs burning with effort. Just a few more, then he’d have to surface. The humans would be waiting. And Elain —
Suddenly a sharp pain in his left lung sent him reeling, like a harpoon had speared him. His head jerked downwards, seeking the spot, his lips parting to gasp in shock, but he clamped them shut before he lost his air.
What could have struck me?
There was nothing in the water. No large creatures, no jellyfish. Nothing that could have stung or bitten. He twisted, clamping a hand to the spot, finding that there was no puncture wound. Was he even bleeding? He flailed, the vines trailing around him, encircling his legs, and then he did panic, thinking he’d get tangled up in them.
The water clouded around him, dark, foreboding, and he kicked his feet, pawed the water with his free hand, trying to remember which way was up. The ache in his chest tugged, fluttering strangely, not painful so much as there inside him, yanking him in a direction. He followed it, reaching to what he thought was upwards, a hazy light that could have been the Sun. Just a bit more, you have to make it.
He pushed and struggled, refusing to surrender to the water and the darkness. The village needs you. Elain said so. Elain is up there —
His lungs were full to bursting, but he clenched his jaw against the urge to just let go, and kicked as hard as he could. Can’t die like this, not after everything.
A deeper darkness loomed against the rippling above him — was it land? Could he hoist himself upwards?
He flung his arms towards it, his fingers slipping and then grasping into the mud. If he hadn’t been holding his breath, he would have shouted from sheer relief, which then turned to fear as his muscles shook with effort, as the water clung to him, his body so heavy, so tired, so —
A searing ache spread through his ribcage, a terror bright and strange and wondrous, and then a hand plunged into the water above him, grabbing his wrist with surprising strength.
Lucien breached the lake’s surface, the stale breath whooshing forcefully out of him, his ribcage burning. He coughed and spluttered, then gulped in air greedily, closing his eyes against the sudden glare of the light, his breath shuddering from sheer relief and terror. The leaves felt slick against his palm, the crushed fragments fragrant like citrus. “Take — them —“ he wheezed.
His world, which had been nearly silent, whooshing gurgling water and cavernous air, burst into a deafening storm of shouts and motion. He was yanked forward, dragging mud with him, and the plants were wrenched from his hands before he could release his grip on them. His ears filled with words, excited, frantic, but he understood none of them as insistent hands turned him over and vines were untangled from his limbs.
The commotion retreated, the air growing heavy and warm and still, and he slumped gratefully on his side, shut his eyes, and breathed, and breathed again.
“Did I —“ he rasped. “Are they —“
“Yes,” Elain’s voice said, close to his ear, trembling and sweet.
Elain. Gods, she was close, close enough that the warm heat of her was seeping into his back, her honey and flower scent filling the air. She was leaning over him, smoothing his hair back, one of her hands braced on his shoulder, and he suppressed the delicious shivers that rolled through him with each sensation.
Then she spoke again, scolding, “You were reckless.”