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Elain Archeron was a bad singer. She knew it. That didn’t stop her from singing to herself whenever she could. But she was bad.
She was a skilled, if unimaginative fortepiano player. She hadn’t touched the instrument in ages, but she had hoped that she would remember how to play if she wanted to. So she wasn’t entirely hopeless. She had a sense of rhythm, she wasn’t tone deaf. She had a good ear. But a bad voice.
Ever since she was young, Elain had trouble remembering lyrics or poems. She was expected to memorise sonnets and quotes, so she could dazzle potential suitors with her wit and her knowledge of the classics. It was a requirement of every young lady from a good family, who’d hoped to find herself a good match in marriage–her ability to speak to literature, skillfully throw quotes around, and pepper her speech with snippets of poetry.
Her governess would snap at her, even when Elain was still a young girl. All because she couldn’t remember the Ballad of the Wall by heart. It had 119 stanzas and Elain was only nine years old. One would’ve thought that a nine year old would’ve been granted some grace, and not expected to remember an epic saga of brave humans who fought the evil Fae, but that wasn’t the case. The governess scolded her when Elain couldn’t recite a portion of the poem before bed, and then tattled on her to their tutor. That resulted in Elain not receiving bread rolls at dinner, and no lemon cakes for a week.
Upon further reflection, Elain decided that she hated that governess. Not as much as Nesta hated her, but still. She hated that they always punished her for things that she couldn’t control, and that the punishment was usually around food–withholding dessert, or reducing her meals from three to two.
She swallowed hard, remembering.
Her inability to memorise poems led to her inability to remember lyrics to songs. Which was frustrating, because she enjoyed singing. But perhaps it was for the best–her singing was bad enough that it would be cruel to subject others to it. Besides, she didn’t know many songs and the ones she did, she messed up the verses anyway. And she made them up as she went along. For a long time, she confidently sang "There's a bathroom on the right," instead of "There's a bad moon on the rise". In another song, she sang "...it doesn't make a difference if we're naked or not" instead of "...if we make it or not". When Nesta overheard the wrong lyrics, she made fun of her. It was done in a cruel way. And Elain never sang in front of her family again.
She dragged her heavy watering can across the garden. Water splashed on the ground, but Elain didn’t care. It was a gorgeous day. Calanmai had just passed–a day of dancing and revelry. She made herself a flower crown, and danced with other unmarried women–sorry, females–around a flower pole. Supposedly, because she was mated (bleurgh), she shouldn’t have been included in the dancing. She didn’t care though. She could dance and sing along to the songs, and no one paid attention to her. Besides, it also made her forget about what was happening all around her. Fornication. She couldn’t even begin to consider that her sister and her brother-in-law were performing some kind of sexual ritual down in Hewn City. Apparently in front of their Court. The thought alone made her shiver. As High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court it was incumbent upon them to ‘bless the earth’ for the upcoming year, so it would bring forth a fruitful harvest. The way that they guaranteed this was through sex. Something about ‘spilling of seed upon the ground’. Oh gods. Oh gods. She shook her head, trying to vanquish the images from her imagination.
She danced and she sang with abandon, and she ate rhubarb and strawberry pies and drank mead and ale, and absolutely, definitely, certainly did not wonder if Azriel was in Hewn City too. Participating in the Rite. Spilling his seed. With willing females.
It was the mead. She was sure of it. Too much fairy ale, and too much revelry. Because why else would she think such thoughts about him? Why would that worry her? Why would the possibility of him being with another female filled her with desperation and rage?
However, she didn’t need to worry after all…She had spotted him at some point. He cut a solitary figure, though his shadows were nowhere to be found. He simply stood by one of the stands, a tankard of ale in his hand, his eyes firmly planted on her. She might have been mistaken about that–surely she was–but it seemed like he was watching her. She could’ve sworn that sometimes, she felt like he was always watching her. Sometimes, she felt his gaze on her even when he was nowhere near. But that was probably her overactive imagination.
Today, May 5th, the sun was shining and it was beautiful. Her tulips blanketed a swath of her garden, tall and proud and dazzling. She was also very proud of all the vegetables that she managed to plant–thick leaves of rhubarb sprouted atop of bright red stems. Beds of strawberries. Sweet peas curling in the sunshine. There was asparagus, both green and white, and she took special care with it. She wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t because it was Azriel’s favourite vegetable. There were also flowers everywhere.
She was singing to herself, peppering the song with curse words loudly, the watering can heavy and splashing everywhere.
“Gods, your singing is even worse than your cursing!”
A deep gravelly voice startled her into a loud scream.
“Shhhhh,” he whispered, but not before she doused him in water from her can.
“Cauldron’s Cock, what are you doing here? Lurking like a creep?!” she hollered in horror.
How would you feel if you suddenly came upon an enormous winged male who was lying on the ground between the flower beds?
“Cauldron’s Cock?!” he burst out laughing. A sound so unusual and so strange coming from him, that it even gave her pause. Azriel, Shadowsinger and Spymaster of the Night Court did not laugh like that. “Haven’t heard that one before!” he exclaimed, as he sat down and attempted to wipe the water from his sodden shirt.
She lurched towards him, and began brushing her hands all over his torso, in a vain attempt of drying him off. She didn’t even realise what she was doing until she caught his amused smirk.
"No, no, please continue,” he welcomed, leaning back on his elbows.
“Ugh!” she cried out and almost fell back on her hunches. He reached out quickly and steadied her by wrapping his arm around her lower hips. Absolutely inappropriately.
“What are you doing?!” she exclaimed, flustered and still unsettled by his sudden appearance.
“In general?” he shrugged, "existing, I suppose.”
“Uh, stop it,” she tried to wiggle out of his hold. “What are you doing here?”
“Sunbathing,” he explained. “I thought it was obvious.”
“It’s not obvious!” she hissed. “Not at all. It’s not obvious that you’d be lounging here and scaring me.”
“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to scare you. But I come here quite often, for some peace and quiet.”
Hmm.
“You do?” She was surprised by his admission.
“Yeah,” he nodded and then sat back up. But just as she began to relax, he pulled on the strings that kept his shirt in place around his wings and then pulled it off in one swift motion.
“Oh by the Mother!” she gasped. “What are you doing?”
“Thought that this would be obvious too. Taking off my damp shirt,” he said like this was normal.
“No, no,” she skidded back, “please, put it back on!”
“Why?” he wrung the shirt out. “Does the sight of my naked body disturb you?”
“No! Not at all,” she announced proudly and crossed her arms on her chest. Mostly to hide the puckering of her nipples. She hoped that he didn’t notice it.
His body bothered her. It bothered her very much. It disturbed her.
He was muscled and scarred and so big, he swallowed the air around them. And so beautiful. So damn beautiful.
“So you come here to sunbathe?” she asked again, trying to think of anything to fill this tense space between them.
He nodded.
“I like being here. It’s my favourite garden,” he made a wide gesture with his hand.
That made her blush for some reason.
“Besides,” he added and then stretched his wings out.
Oh goodness. They were large wings. By far the biggest that Elain’s ever seen. Bigger than Cassian’s. Longer somehow. Just…bigger.
“This is the one place where I can listen to your horrid singing.”
Her mouth popped open.
“Excuse me,” she began saying, outraged, but he waved her off, like she was a nuisance.
“No, no, don’t even start,” he bubbled his lips, “there is no excuse. Your singing is pretty atrocious. Besides, how can you mess up the lyrics so badly? I didn’t think that was even possible!”
She scrambled to her feet, but he quickly reached out and pressed her back down.
“My singing isn’t bad!” she shouted.
“Pfff…it’s so bad, it scared my shadows away,”
Shit. His shadows were nowhere to be found.
Now, she needed to think whether they always disappeared or only now. She couldn’t recall.
“Gwyn,” he continued, “you know, Nesta’s friend,”
“Yes, I know who Gwyn is. What about her?” she asked dryly.
“She is a Lightsinger, you know,”
“No, I don’t know what that is.”
“A creature of sorts. I don't even think that she knows it herself. I do. But I am not sure anyone else does. Anyway, she sings beautifully. My shadows even dance around her. They love it.”
“Well, I am so glad for Gwyn and your shadows. I hope they are very happy together,” she all but snarled, and attempted to get up again, but still, he held her in place by her knee.
“Let me go!”
“No,” he shook his head. “I don’t think I want to.”
“What do you want then?”
He looked at her, the sharp planes of his beautiful face softening somehow. Maybe it was the sunlight. To her surprise, he drew his finger over her cheek.
“I want to stay here,” he told her. “And I want to sunbathe. In your garden. And most of all, I want to listen to you sing.”
Her breath caught in her throat and she gasped softly.
“Put your shirt back on,” she whispered weakly.
He smiled.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I like the way your eyes watch me. The way they like my body.”
“I don’t like your body,” she mumbled. It sounded false even to her.
“No, you do. You like all of me.”
“That’s presumptuous.”
“Yes, but it doesn’t mean that it’s not true.”
She bit her lip, not knowing what to say.
“Did you enjoy Calanmai?” he asked then. His fingers were still tracing patterns over her face. She looked down and ripped a few dandelions from the ground.
“It was nice,” she breathed. “I enjoyed the food and the dancing.”
He hummed and then confessed,
“I wanted to dance with you.”
“Really? Why didn’t you?”
“Someone is always watching,” he shrugged. “But then I also enjoyed watching you.”
She glanced at him beneath her lashes.
“You are telling me many things that you aren’t supposed to tell me,” she noted quietly.
“Are they surprising you?”
“Hmm. I don’t think so. I like hearing them.”
“Well, I like brown-eyed girls with golden hair and terrible singing,” he chuckled.
“My singing isn’t so bad,” she insisted.
“I beg to differ. But that’s alright. It still counts as my favourite singing.”
“How can it, if it’s so ugly?” she scoffed.
“I don’t know. I can’t seem to get enough. Want to dance with me now?” he proposed suddenly.
She blinked at him, surprised yet again.
“There isn’t music,” he reminded him at last.
“Then we’ll make our own,” he smiled and got up. Then he extended his hand to her and bowed his head formally. “Lady Elain, may I have the pleasure of this dance?”
She laughed quietly and took his hand. He lifted her easily to her feet and she stood in front of him. The stunning expanse of his bare chest was in front of her eyes and she couldn’t help herself when she placed her palm on his pec.
“Only if you accept this flower crown,” she joked awkwardly, waving a dandelion wreath in front of him.
“With pleasure,” he bowed his head again, and she placed the crown on his head.
“A High Lord in your own right,” she murmured, looking up at him.
“Just yours,” he whispered, taking her hand and placing it on his shoulder. “Just yours is enough for me.”
And then he sang. His voice was lovely–husky and deep, like whiskey and darkness given sound. She whooshed a breath, but then lay her head on his chest.
This was right. It felt good. It felt perfect.
Because truthfully, she couldn’t stay away either.
She listened to him hum and sing an unfamiliar song and she remembered what he told her when she was still a human woman and he was the most beautiful Fae male that she’d ever seen.
“You truly were born hearing the song of the wind,” she whispered.
The sun’s golden rays jumped around the tulips. Birds chirped.
Elain Archeron danced to the song that was as old as time, woven together especially for her from the threads that were spun by fate and choice from the very beginning.
And the Mother smiled a secret smile upon them on that sunny morning, on May 5th.