Chapter Text
Elain
Elain slipped her fingers deep into the loamy soil and felt the coolness of the earth below the sun-warmed surface. Closing her eyes and lifting her chin to face the light of the sky, she willed her scattered thoughts to coalesce, willed her frantic heart to slow, willed the dense clouds in her mind to part.
It was getting harder.
She knew the others thought it was still some lingering heartbreak for Graysen, some hostility at her new fae body. Though both of those reasons held some weight, it was so much more than that.
It was the strangeness of her own mind, projecting pictures on the wall she couldn’t discern. It was the static rush of thoughts she couldn’t parse, couldn’t process.
It was the crush of a bond she didn’t understand.
She felt at once too much and yet not enough, not anything at all.
Leaning her body back on her heels, Elain drew her skirts up to her waist, exposing the soft pale skin of her thighs, attempting to focus on the whisper of a breeze as it drifted up from the water’s edge and through the poplar trees that edged her garden. She smacked her skin once and then again, harder, watching as the rose-coloured blush bloomed over her right leg.
Inhaling deeply, she dug the diligently sharpened points of her nails into the flesh of her thighs and held her breath, willing the pain to wash over her. Exhaling slowly through pursed lips, Elain watched the ten crescent-shaped arcs of blood pulse for a moment before sealing themselves closed, the fabric of her skin once again flawless and pale.
Hot on the heels of the pain Elain had awoken in herself, the constant ache–the persistent desire to be filled–flared and Elain embraced the distraction of her arousal, allowing one hand to wander further up her leg, stroking the soft, hidden flesh of her inner thigh as she went. Her own fluttering touch was delicate as a butterfly's wings, but sent a pleasant buzz humming through her body and emptied her mind of the chaos–a temporary reprieve.
Two deft fingers parted her sex, and Elain coaxed them through the slickness she found there, not wholly surprised to notice the dampness of her panties or the way her body shuddered with only the lightest of touches. She slipped one finger inside and let out a hushed moan at the sensation, longing for the feeling of something more substantial inside of her, longing for something to fill the emptiness deep within.
Rubbing her thumb over her oversensitive clit, Elain’s body burned with the need for release, for that moment of calm it brought her. The humming beneath her skin intensified as she stroked herself skillfully. With one hand still grounding her to the power of the earth, Elain closed her eyes and tipped her face to the sun, allowing herself to feel the radiant heat in the air around her like a lover’s embrace. With a heaving sigh, Elain found her release, a great rush of pleasure that she knew would be fleeting. Still, she relished in the sensation of it, lost to the world for just a moment, hand slick and core pulsing.
As her pounding heart settled and the pattern of her breath slowed, the earth beneath her knees shifted with the light fall of footsteps. Elain bent forward again, pushing down her skirts and willed the wind to carry away the scent of her arousal.
Exposing their rhizomes to the freshness of the Spring air, she leaned forward to brush the soil free from a patch of irises that had yet to bloom, slipping back into her assigned role of the quiet, complacent middle sister. Feyre approached with a babbling Nyx on her hip, drooling and gnawing his fist. Her face a mask of blissful contentment, Elain smiled up at her–doe eyes wide and empty.
“Elain,” Feyre huffed. The rosy pink of her cheeks shone and her eyes sparkled. Elain pretended not to know why, but Feyre’s love-induced fervour was her most constant state. Long gone was the gauntness of her face, the look of wild desperation in her eyes.
“Feyre.” Elain did her best to exude the placid joy that was expected of her, but she could feel the cracks in her countenance even as she coaxed her face into a smile.
“It’s been days since you joined us for breakfast. Is everything alright? It seems you’re out here from dawn until dusk.”
“Immortality is long, sister, but Spring is still fleeting.” Elain knew her words struck something dark in her sister when Feyre's expression soured, but she looked down at Nyx and squeezed him closer to her for just a moment, no doubt reminding herself that for all she had endured, she had her happy ending.
Elain was still waiting for hers.
Feyre’s eyes crinkled as she looked out toward the river, revelling in the beauty of her land, her home, before casting her eyes down at her sister once more. Elain watched as the joy in them snuffed out, replaced by concern.
“That may be true, but Elain…” Feyre sighed, as if considering her words carefully.
“I know you’re not happy. Not even out here.” Feyre waved her hand at the land around them, the expansive manor on the edge of town with its lovely, manicured garden and white stone path leading down to the river. To Elain, Feyre’s concern felt like condescension–her generosity like pity–and although she knew Feyre meant well, it set her stomach rolling in fury just the same.
“I’m fine, Feyre.” There was an edge to her voice she hoped Feyre didn’t notice, a testiness that would have been better suited to Nesta, once upon a time.
Happy, self-assured Nesta, who was now a world away on a patrol mission with her husband–her mate.
Elain penetrated her fingers lightly into the soil yet again, desperately trying to anchor herself against the wave of tumult she felt coming for her.
Feyre’s eyes churned with an oncoming storm and in them, Nesta’s fury was being reflected back at her through Feyre, the presence of their absent sister with them always.
Especially in moments of conflict.
“That’s just it, Elain. You’re floundering and we can all see it. Just yesterday Cass was–”
“Cauldron, Feyre, must you always meddle?” Elain was in no mood to hear about the conversations Feyre was having with her inner circle, mind to mind or otherwise.
“I won’t force you to take breakfast with us. I won’t force you to even talk to Lucien, gods forbid. But I am asking you. Gently. Just try Elain. For mother’s sake, just try .”
“Isn’t that what I’m doing, Feyre?”
Elain threw up her hands in frustration, sprinkling her fine, pale pink skirts with soil. She couldn’t decide whether she was resigned or angry so her voice came out strangled and breathless, and Elain hated that she sounded as powerless as she felt.
Feyre narrowed her eyes in a discerning look but turned away, and Elain couldn’t shake the feeling she was relaying their exchange to her mate.
Elain’s cheeks burned at the thought.
“Just say what you’ve come here to say, Feyre. I don’t want to keep you from your busy life.”
Feyre’s face flushed with something like guilt, but she relented.
“Nyx has another tooth coming in but I'm out of his teething powder, could you pick some for me in town? I would go but he needs to go down for his nap and–”
“Fine, I’ll go.” Elain might be frustrated with her sister but the truth was, she would do anything for her nephew. The one person in her life who looked at her with something like open adoration, no tinge of judgement or pity.
Defiant, Elain rose to her feet. While she knew her skirts were soiled and there was dirt under her nails, she turned and walked away, before Feyre could utter another word.
–––––
Pushing open the heavy wooden door to the apothecary, Elain inhaled deeply the heady rush of cool air from within. Scented with lavender and verbena, patchouli and orange peel, it was relaxing and sultry and she was intrigued by what might await her inside.
Polygons of coloured glass hung from delicate chains just inside the window, casting the store room in prisms of coloured light. A ribbon of smoke drifted up into the air from a stick of compressed herbs, adding to the sensual mystique of the space. Dominating the room was a counter carved from dark mahogany, its top was pitted and marked from use but well cared for, and it shone under the glow cast from the fae lights suspended above it.
The female behind the counter was a fae unlike any Elain had encountered before. She was tall, perhaps even moreso than Nesta, with broad shoulders and sculpted arms that tapered to surprisingly delicate wrists, all sheathed in an intricate pattern of finespun black lace. A great nest of dark dreads was piled elegantly atop her head like a crown, and the curve of her breasts rose above the low cut of her burgundy gown, shining like the well oiled counter below them.
The female raised a shapely eyebrow at Elain.
“Hello,” Elain was so awestruck she struggled to remember how to properly address a stranger. “I’m err… I’m here on behalf of Feyre. The High Lady, I mean.”
“Ah yes, Elain is it? The lesser seen middle sister. I am so pleased to finally meet you. Teething powder, was it?”
“Yes, that’s correct…” Elain’s voice trailed off as she continued to take in the space, with it’s high, wood panelled ceilings and shelves upon shelves of herbs and tonics in beautiful amber glass bottles and jars. She had never seen anything like it.
The woman didn’t make haste, but moved sensually through the space to carefully portion and package the powder. As she did, she repeatedly looked back at Elain with an exacting gaze, one that brought a rush of heat to her chest and her hand up to tug absentmindedly at the fabric of her skirts.
“That will be it then.” The woman’s voice was low and enchanting, and Elain couldn’t help but watch her lips, rapt, as she spoke.
“Unless, of course, there is something else you are in need of?”
Elain’s breath caught in her throat.
“Ahem. Uh, no Ma’am, I don’t believe there is.”
“Oh, forgive me child, you must call me Madame Beauvais. And you mustn’t deceive me, I can’t read minds but near enough, not that yours is legible to anyone besides yourself. Or is it?”
Elain gaped, struggling to comprehend how exactly she was going to escape this woman intact. In only a few short minutes, Mme Beauvais could see in her something that nobody else–not even a pair of powerful daemati–ever could. Perhaps the fastest way would be giving the woman what she wanted.
Even so, Elain didn’t know how to begin to describe what was plaguing her or how it stole scraps of her sleep, her sanity, day after day.
“Does that sound familiar, child–a messiness of mind? A confusion of spirit?”
Grasping the tendrils of courage, of forthrightness within her, Elain raised her chin to look the woman in the eyes as she spoke.
“I suppose that about adequately describes it. Do you have a potion that will help… quiet my mind and make sense of my thoughts?”
“I don’t think it’s a potion you seek, I have something else in mind. Follow me, child, and we’ll have a… diagnostic meeting of the minds.”
Elain followed Mme Beauvais through a heavy set of velvet curtains into a charming apartment of sorts, featuring great wooden dressers and a beautiful bed that would fit four fae across it. A staircase ascended against a wall into darkness, but Mme Beauvais directed Elain to a table, already set with a carafe of wine just a few shades darker than Beauvais’s silk gown and two tumblers of fine-cut crystal.
Mme Beauvais served them both, and waited until they were seated before she spoke. Taking the opportunity to examine the female more closely, Elain realized the sleeves she had previously assumed were lace were actually an intricate webbing of tattoos, interconnected and delicately crafted.
“What if someone comes in while we’re back here?”
“Oh I glamour the storefront, not to worry. I assure you you’re safe here, Elain. May I call you by your name?”
Elain nodded, wide-eyed and desperately curious. The realization that this was the most alive she had felt in years was not lost on her, and she wondered what else there might be in Prythian that could enrapture her so, could breathe life back into her again.
A furtive smile blossomed on Mme Beauvais’s face, pulling Elain out from the onslaught of her thoughts.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way Elain, but I don’t think there is a potion quite right for your condition. Plainly put, I think you need to get well fucked.”
Elain choked on her wine, and the burn of alcohol lingered in the back of her throat as she struggled to regain her breath.
“You’re still getting accustomed to your fae body, yes? We are much more sexual than humans, you see. More sexual than most beasts even. I can’t think of a better solution to your long list of complaints than for you to indulge in the needs of your body. The simplest answer is often the best one, Elain. And this is the best one.”
“I’m not sure I could, even if I wanted to.” Elain’s heart pounded so hard, she feared it would awaken the bond that currently lay dormant in her chest.
Mme Beauvais’ eyes narrowed.
“And why might that be, my child? You’re beautiful and a little sad perhaps, but I see a wildness in you that ought not be tamed.”
“I–haveamate,” the words tumbled from Elain before she could restrain them, the wine making her limbs feel loose and relaxed, and so too her lips, it seemed.
“Of course you do, dear, as a sumptuous thing like you should. I’m sure there is a great story that comes along with it, this bond of yours.” Mme Beauvais quirked a devious smirk, not put off in the slightest.
“I’m not ready yet to have any sort of relationship with him… certainly not in my current condition.” She gestured a hand toward her head, delicate pale fingers tracing through the air like the wings of a dove. “Even so, I feel a sense of loyalty toward him. How could I risk being intimate with another when he is there… waiting?”
“Mind what I said about fae, Elain. If your mate isn’t yet taking care of his own needs, it’s only a matter of time. If there is no relationship yet between you, how could you fault him for that? How could you fault yourself?”
Elain looked down at her hands, picking at the bit of skin along the edge of her thumbnail.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, “It just doesn’t feel right.”
“Hmm,” Madame Beauvais peered into the dregs of wine and herbs in the bottom of her glass before her dark, discerning eyes locked on Elain’s yet again. “I’m a seer, Elain, but not as you are, my blossom. I see into the soul. The things that haunt you, the things you desire…”
Elain shivered against the skittering of the woman’s presence, like fingers running along the knobs of her spine.
“The things you wouldn’t even dare to dream. And what I see, I use.” She shrugged and flashed a smile that was all sharp, white teeth. “So no need for flimsy excuses or duplicitous distractions. They won’t sway me one way or the other, and I detest having my time wasted.”
Elain thought back to the moment in the garden, thighs quaking and her own hand slick with release. Her core throbbed once again in response. How might it feel to be touched by another?
“I… I wouldn’t want to be seen, for anybody to know it was me. I couldn’t bear for my sister–or him–to find out about this.”
“I am not a hack, Elain. I am skilled at what I do. You’ll be fully glamoured and furthermore, I’ll provide a tonic which will temporarily numb the effects of the bond… we couldn’t have him questioning a rogue burst of pleasure late in the night, could we?”
Cursing under her breath, Elain flushed with the knowledge that Lucien likely knew how often she pleasured herself, and thanked the mother he at least wouldn’t know how she did it–or what she thought about while she did.
“We’ll have to seal it with a bargain, child, but my end includes the protection of anonymity… any chance of anyone finding out could only be the result of carelessness on your end. I promise you five nights with a stranger here, under the cover of darkness and disguise. Once those five nights are completed, we can discuss further treatment if necessary… but I doubt there will be any need for it.”
Although Mme Beauvais spooked Elain somewhat, she found she trusted her implicitly and respected her immensely. She saw Elain, not as a delicate rose or a porcelain figure but as a woman–a female, with great emotional capacity and desperate physical need.
“Well then,” Elain’s voice rang out louder than she was used to, and clear as a bell, “it’s a bargain.”
A bright, stinging rush of pain shimmered over the skin at the top of her spine, subsiding quickly to a pleasant prickling sensation that made Elain squeeze her thighs together with anticipation.
With a touch of hand that was authoritative yet gentle, Mme Beauvais led her to a set of interconnected mirrors, and Elain’s skin shivered at the contact. Angling her body and draping one side of her gown over her shoulder, Elain looked into the mirror before her and saw her own back reflected in the mirror behind her.
Centered between her shoulder blades along the top edge of her spine, was a breathtakingly delicate tattoo of an almond blossom–a flower symbolizing stupidity and indiscretion… but also of hope.