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"When you've finally overthrown me... when your ambitions bloom, and all your schemes are fulfilled, What will you do then, Eris?"
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Most nights, Eris wakes up in a cold sweat, body twisted in silken sheets stained with fear. For a moment, he cannot breathe, and his hands grasp his throat, intending to claw away at the skin there until he can feel the cool night air of Autumn. He chokes on the darkness, the deep despair that lingers within him until his lungs remember how to breathe and his chest heaves with relief.
Tonight, he reminds himself his father is dead - the severed head of the former high lord hoisted and burned on a massive pyre, the body laid waste and tossed into the sea. Beron would never appear again, ire brandished like a red-hot sword poised to strike. Eris had made sure of that.
Yet, his father's final words echoed in his head as he slipped from the bed, hair tusled with restless sleep. Eris didn't dare catch his reflection in the bathroom, instead cupping the water of a running facet in his hands, watching the liquid leak from the cracks in his fingers as he prepared to splash the cooling liquid onto his face.
He was safe, and yet…
In the days leading to his coronation, sometimes in the middle of holding court, Eris' mind would twist and would see the sneering grin of his father in the crowds of commoners. The former high lord's head cocked to the side in false curiosity at his son finally playing leader. With him gone, would Eris finally craft Autumn to fit a new vision?
Wrapping a cotton robe around him, Eris steps out into the private balcony of his bedroom. The night air curls around him, and he relishes how it feels against his heated skin. It was halfway to winter, and soon, it would be too cold to set foot outside without a wool coat.
In the distance, he can see the Forest House guards make their rounds through the estate, paths weaving in and out of the trees, through the gardens, and up the main entry. Eris had stationed them there, just in case his father's sympathizers bore ash and iron to cross him. So far, however, his imminent reign is met with ambivalence. Eris knows that, like his father, he is a near indomitable force. He feels all of Autumn, the frenetic life of the fauna, the aching of the rot in the woods, the thrumming of all the magic his court possessed.
As he watches the trees shift from the nighttime breeze, he sees a head of red hair walk to the gardens, flames entangled in her hand. She opens the gates and settles herself on a bench. Unusual at this hour.
Eris slips on his shoes and wanders into the empty hallways of the Forest House, eyes darting to every shadow as he makes his way to the entrance. Very rarely did Eris seek out his mother. Only under her gaze did the guilt and shame begin to eat away at him. He remembered the first time he had lied. Or the first time he had hurt his brothers. He recalled the disappointment in her face. The way the corners of her mouth turned ever so slightly down when she realized that despite all the love and care she showed, Beron had won.
Sometimes, Eris swore his mother wore that expression when she knew he was the only one looking at her. How exhausted she seemed. Her sons, the lights of her life, burning so violently under their father's gaze that they could only consume the world around them.
These days, Eris felt like he was going to burn out of control. Beron had been ruthless, his schemes unending. It had been challenging to keep up with what was running through his father's mind. So much so that Eris wondered if it would be worth being high lord at all. Could Autumn be salvaged? Was it even worth it? His father's legacy of cruelty was planted in every corner. Eris wasn't sure he would be able to uproot it, being born of that pain himself.
When he reaches the garden, he is startled by the vision of his mother lounging on the bench, head leaning back, eyes closed, and face relaxed. She is wrapped in a worn robe, her legs thrown over the arm of the bench, shoes dangling from her feet. In this moment, he remembers she is not much older than him. With her eyes still closed, she addresses him.
"It is not often my eldest comes to me," she says. She tilts her head and opens her eyes just enough to see him standing there. It makes him feel small. They both know he avoids being alone with her, the burden of his shame always laid bare before her.
"You're up late," he counters, voice sharper than he intends. His hands slide into his pockets, a habit that he picked up as a child. He worries she remembers this, too.
"I'm enjoying the quiet," she finally says. Eris can read between the lines, can sense the ease with which she speaks, her taking solace in her husband's demise. His mother pulls herself up and sits cross-legged on the wooden bench. She pats the wood next to her.
"Come, sit."
Eris finds himself obeying, sitting next to her, staring back at Forest House. He can see the many rooms, mostly dark save for a few late-night readers or schemers who dared defy the night.
"Today is a big day," she says when he sits in silence. She faces him, smiling, soft and genuine, face framed by her unbound hair, just as brilliantly red as his own. "Are you excited for the coronation?" The way she says it, the tone of her voice, and the melody it carries make him feel young again. He recalls how, long before his other brothers were born, he would tug at her skirts until she lifted him onto her lap, and they watched the fae working the gardens around the home, how she would sing him to sleep when he wouldn't rest alone in his room.
"Relieved," Eris simply replies, ignoring the churning of his stomach.
"I am, too." she says. They sit in comfortable silence for a while until Eris can feel his chest tighten, can feel his lungs seize. He swears he can see his father standing on a balcony watching them both, waiting until-
"Care for a drink?" she says to him suddenly, resting a hand on his shoulder, drawing him back into reality. Now he is back in the garden, alone with his mother. No remnant of his father to be found. The light of her faefire flickers, and she rubs her thumb against him in circles.
"At this hour?" he asks. She laughs at this, her hand pulling away from him to cover her mouth as she tosses her head back. When her laughter subsides, she smiles.
"Whiskey would be good, but I meant to help you sleep."
"I never said I couldn't sleep."
"You never slept well, even as a child," she counters.
Carefully untangling her legs, she stands, holding out a hand. He stands in turn and allows her to wrap her arm around his as he escorts her back inside.
Their walk to the kitchen is long. His mother winds through Forest House, leading him down halls, through rooms he nearly had forgotten existed, past portraits of relatives whose names he never learned. His mother's world is so different from his, yet they had coexisted this whole time. How much had he missed of his mother by serving his father?
In the kitchen, she finally withdraws her arm, giving him a gentle squeeze with her hand, and walks to a cupboard. She seems to float like a ghost, robe dusting the floor. In the dim faelight, the dark circles of her eyes are pronounced, her face thin and angular. She looks so frail, the widow of the high lord. During the day, she wears gowns the color of ash that wash her out, making her into a living corpse. As far as Eris knows, she has shed no tears for her loss.
His mother turns and gestures for him to sit at the table in the corner. She takes her time pulling a clay mug from the cupboard, placing it reverently on the counter. She flits to where the milk is stored and pours a generous amount.
"Why are you here still?" Eris asks, watching her pull a honey wand from the jar and drizzle it over the milk.
"Here?" she asked, brows furrowed as she maneuvers the wand back into the jar without making a mess of the counter. She places the honey back and searches for spices.
"In Autumn. Why aren't you in Day by now?" he clarifies. She knows what he's talking about. Eris watches her closely now, noting the way her eyes widen just so slightly, how her mouth twitches in denial, how she can't look him in the eye.
"Why wouldn't I be here?" She heats the mug with her hands.
"We all know, Mother," he says too calmly. The rumor of her affair was the worst kept secret in their family.
Eris had found out when Lucien was not much older than an infant. He had brought his younger brother to the Kennels to pet his dogs when his Lucien had glowed, a flickering beacon of hope in the dim rot of Autumn. And Eris had crushed it, startled Lucien into crying, and carried the wailing child to his mother. Eris had seethed, had never been so angry at her before. He warned her, accused her of betrayal. How could she have found such joy in abandoning the rest of them?
His mother stops heating the mug with her hands and sets it down before the milk can curdle. Her mouth is pursed as though the unspoken agreement to never mention her infidelity again is still meant to be honored. Eris only complied for her sake.
"You all are my children," she says. When she finally dares to meet his stare, he sees the fire that burns within her, the same that burns in him, in Lucien. "I don't know why you seem to forget that."
"What did you ever do when he hurt us?" he spits out. He's gripping the chair until his knuckles are white.
"You have no idea what I've been through, Eris. I did the best I could." Her flushed face twists into a frown. She's right, but he does have an inkling of what she went through and the scars to prove it. His mother has seen them, saw when he earned them. Did nothing to soothe him. But he drops the subject and gives a long, defeated sigh. He is tired, and it's early in the morning.
Sensing the shift, his mother finally hands the mug to him, and he takes it—a peace offering.
"I love you," she says, barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry too," he says. He sips the drink and savors how the warmth of it seeps into him, the closest thing to a hug he's had in centuries.
"Are you happy now?" she asks him, choosing her words carefully. He hates how he makes her nervous like he's a monster too.
"Yes," he lies. She nods, knowing. She leans over the counter, eyes bright and a rueful smile upon her lips.
"I am here for you," she says. A lie, Eris is sure. "You are going to do great things. Don't let the memory of him stop you." She gives that feeble half-grin he has come to loathe. Her wise words are lost on him.
"Good night, Mother," Eris says. He returns the mug to her and walks back to his room, steps echoing in the silent gulf between them.
His mother stays for his coronation. She leaves the next day.