Chapter Text
The only bookstore open at all hours of the Night Court’s eternal dark was the Librairie des Amoureux located deep in the Palace of Ivory and Ink. It was the fourth corner shop of a four-way centered with a fountain from which flowed ink, papers nearby for the late-night stragglers, those on a rush to jot down a note or a letter that would be deposited in the delivery service of the first corner. It was often emptier than the other palaces, frequented by frantic students, scholars, and on occasion, the High Lord.
However, another common visitor was the haunted Nesta Archeron. She lingered outside the bookstore, drunken and sallow without a clue of where she was or what she was doing. The books sang to her, the Librarian found. The Cauldron-born didn’t come in, not once, till a night when she stumbled into the palace with bruised wrists and teeth still dripping the blood of a presumptuous male.
“Rather ridiculous, isn't it?”
Nesta met the Librarian’s eyes, “Pardon?”
The tall, raven-haired woman continued on. “Males,” she drawled, examining her dark blue nails—which could have been claws with how long they were, her orange eyes glowing in the deep dark of the night. “They create ridiculous rules of courtship for females to follow then break the rules themselves. Was it similar for humans?”
“It was,” Nesta confirmed, arms hanging by her sides aimlessly. “Why are you speaking to me?”
The Librarian arched a brow. “I want to offer you a job,” she stated calmly. “And a better home, safer too, if I’m correct.” Nesta’s silence confirmed to her that she was, indeed, correct with that assumption. “You’d be paid fairly and your only condition would be one drink per evening and one per afternoon.”
“That’s it?” Nesta said in disbelief. “I don’t know what you see in me, but you are wrong.”
So the Librarian did. Those orange eyes with the sharp-edged oval irises scanning over the state of the female in her torn dress, tangled hair, sunken eyes and weak body. “I see a female in a war-torn state,” the Librarian said quietly. “A female that deserves better. The female I was.”
They waited a beat, then two, then many more till Nesta swayed and relented. “Fine,” she nodded. “But what is your name?”
The Librarian had already turned her back to the female when she tilted her head back, a smirk curling at her lips, “Call me Lilith.”
So Nesta followed her in, entirely unaware of the eyes tracking her.
The River House by the Sidra was bright and brilliant, the onset of Winter bringing no decay to the doorstep of the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court. In Night’s deep blue day, a sun somewhere far away, they lay in bed, sleeping well into the weekend. However, the High Lady didn’t sleep, not as she thought of her errant sister.
“Feyre,” her mate groaned, arms tightening around her. “You think loudly, darling.” Feyre kissed his hand in silent apology, mouth grimacing. “It’s Nesta,” she admitted to her mate. “She stopped spending entirely, except for a lunch or pastry here and there—I don’t know what she’s earning from.” The insinuation, a haunting one indeed, woke the High Lord from his slumber as well.
Rhysand shifted, mate still in his arms as he lay flat on his back and opened the curtains with his magic. “We’ll have to ask Azriel,” he declared after contemplation. “He’ll know if it is legitimate or not, at the very least.” Feyre snuggled into him, contented with that answer enough to let her day go on peacefully.
“A healing student wants a book on childbirth methods for babes with wings,” Nesta dropped a stack of books in front of Lilith at the counter, midday moon shining brighter than usual. “I’ve looked but I couldn’t find that.” Lilith hummed, standing up and reaching for her bookshelf that Nesta titled as the ‘magical’ one. She traced her fingers over a few books then paused on one, eyes glowing, and pulled out exactly the book Nesta wanted.
“Here,” Lilith passed it over, examining the stack of books. “These are from Illyria?” Nesta nodded, a wisp of her hair escaping the loose clipping at the back of her head. “Recipes and warfare,” Nesta told her. “They didn’t send anything from the women—females.” Lilith’s mouth tightened into a line, the only sign she ever gave of displeasure. “I’ll talk to my contact,” Lilith decided.
Nesta nodded and set the book aside for the medical student, moving onto her reorganization of the children’s books. During the days, it would mostly be empty, filling up during the late afternoons after schools and the weekends. They loved her, though she’d never understand why, and Lilith gave her the children and adolescent sections to take care of as her own. The second floor of the shop was exclusively limited to staff and select members among the clientele, which Nesta figured was because of everything on witchcraft. Velaris was open-minded but some superstitions remained through generations.
“I have a new grimoire you should read,” Lilith commented after the store emptied, sitting on the couch in the children’s section. “It’s centered around necromancy.” Nesta pushed away the last of the books into the shelves and stood, slanting her an unimpressed look, “I’m not a witch.” Lilith snorted, “Every fae is, to some extent—and you? There is a reason Amren dislikes you.”
“She dislikes me because I do not train my magic and drink my days away,” Nesta pointed out. “Not because I supposedly have power.” Lilith arched a perfect brow, midnight blue as her hair and pitch black at night. “You’re quite the paradox of powers,” she remarked wryly. “And you no longer drink your days away.”
Nesta said nothing, dropping onto the couch beside her, “What do we have tonight?” The other female sighed, waving a hand lazily and summoning a floating paper in front of Nesta. “The preparations for Starfall,” she explained. “Are always hectic amongst us. Llewellyn will be providing food, luckily, and a few others will be attending. Starfall means more to us, you know?”
Nesta did not, in fact, know.
“When Starfall occurs,” Lilith began. “There are gates opened amongst the realms. This provides power to those creatures that exist as a result of things that belong to not one realm but all, such as the Cauldron, which created witches, warlocks, werewolves and vampires. Our sects tend to celebrate differently, but we are the same in our preparations and the extra boost of power we receive on the day.”
“What are the celebrations like?” Nesta questioned, turning her body to face the older female. Lilith shifted, tucking her feet onto the couch and facing Nesta as she spoke. “Ostara is the common name,” said Lilith. “Us witches and warlocks celebrate by coloring and decorating eggs, planting seeds, and then we perform a blood magic ritual in acknowledgement of the balance between light and dark. Some witches that wish to declare for light magic instead of dark will do their declarations on Ostara. Fertility rituals are also common, and we celebrate as a commune—together.”
“Are the witches in Velaris holding separate celebrations?”
“We are too small a community,” Lilith smiled ruefully. “We celebrate with the other three sects, so you will meet many of our larger community when we do.” Nesta nodded, biting her lip as she was lost in thought. Both females straightened when the door opened, the bell ringing and Lilith narrowed her orange eyes in a strangely feline manner before lithely standing and sauntering to the entrance, Nesta behind her.
“Shadowsinger,” Lilith crossed her arms over her chest. “What brings you lawful ones to my corner?” Azriel’s eyes flicked to Nesta, inclining his head in a greeting that she returned. “I’ve come to speak to my High Lady’s sister,” Azriel said to Lilith. “May we have a moment in private?”
“No.”
Nesta was surprised by the sharpness in Lilith’s tone, it was normally her that was curt and short, not the other way around. Azriel seemed taken aback as well, but something in the female’s tone stopped him from arguing as he turned to Nesta. “Your sister invites you to Starfall,” he told her. “It will be at the House of Wind.”
Nesta scowled at the mention of the suffocating House, “I’m working that night.”
He blinked. “It’s Starfall.”
“Perhaps your shadows borrow too much of your hearing, Shadowsinger,” Lilith clipped. “She’s working.” Azriel looked between the two of them and pursed his lips, bowing his head and leaving without another word. Lilith watched his shadows linger, then flicked a wrist and they scattered, leaving her with a smirk.
“Back to work, Nesta,” she said. “We’ll be busy tonight.”