A Court of Hells and Stars

Chapter 3: In My Enemy's House

Apparently, three traitors were more than I had needed. My success was so great Amarantha felt compelled to send me on another mission only days after the Summer Solstice. My job was simple; get under his skin. 

I strolled leisurely through the halls of Tamlin's manor, knowing that he had already sensed my arrival the moment I'd winnowed onto the grounds. I walked into the dining room, the layout of the house still familiar to me after all this time.

Nothing much had changed about this place in forty-nine years. Not the house, nor its owner. Tamlin looked exactly as I had seen him last, that ridiculous golden mask still stuck fast to his face. Lucien hadn't changed much either, though the scars still hidden under his fox-faced mask seemed to have healed over. 

I stopped a few feet away from Tamlin and gave him a saccharine smile. "High Lord." 

Tamlin didn't rise from his seat at the head of the dining table. He glared at me, his eyes so full of loathing it was a wonder he didn't just attack me now. "What do you want, Rhysand?" 

I smiled, putting a hand to my chest in mock pain. "Rhysand? Come now, Tamlin. I don't see you for forty-nine years, and you start calling me Rhysand? Only my prisoners and my enemies call me that." Damn, it felt good to pick a fight with him. While he may have been the loophole that could stop Amarantha, I still hated him. And I could tell he knew that, too, from the way his fists clenched against the table. 

My smile only grew when I turned to Lucien, who was standing by the window, arms crossed. "A fox mask. Appropriate for you, Lucien." 

"Go to Hell, Rhys," Lucien spat, his features contorted in anger. 

I laughed without humor. "Always a pleasure dealing with the rabble." I turned back to Tamlin, electing to ignore the emissary for now. "I hope I wasn't interrupting." 

"We were in the middle of lunch," Tamlin said. His tone promised violence if I stayed much longer.

"Stimulating," I drawled. 

"What are you doing here, Rhys?" Tamlin snapped. 

"I wanted to check up on you. I wanted to see how you were faring." I examined my sleeve for a moment, picking off nonexistent dirt. "See if you got my little present." 

"Your present was unnecessary." 

"But a nice reminder of the fun days, wasn't it?" I clicked my tongue slightly and looked around, noting the simple grandness of the room. "Almost half a century holed up in a country estate. I don't know how you managed it. But," I turned back to him, schooling my face into forbidding calm. "You're such a stubborn bastard that this must have seemed like a paradise to Under the Mountain. I suppose it is. I'm surprised, though: forty-nine years, and no attempts to save yourself or your lands. Even now that things are getting interesting again." 

"There's nothing to be done." Tamlin's voice was low, his eyes aimed down at the table.

I could hardly bear it, standing here and looking at him admitting defeat so easily. Why don't you do something? Why don't you fight? I hated him, yes, but even I knew that Tamlin wasn't this weak. Someone had to fight against Amarantha's tyranny, and if he wouldn't... 

Well, I was already risking everything to protect the ones I loved. I wasn't sure I had any more of me left to ruin in the name of good. 

I walked closer, dropping my voice to a murmur. "What a pity you must endure the brunt of it, Tamlin-- and an even greater pity that you're so resigned to your fate. You might be stubborn, but this is pathetic. How different the High Lord is from the brutal war-band leader of centuries ago."