A Storm of Flames and Deceit

XXVIII. Queen Mongering

Nephele
It's like someone flipped my head inside out as I get dressed. My brain throbs, and my heart beats too fast. Flashes and visions come back to me as I dress in a sweater and leggings, my fingers twitching with nervous sparks. I throw Eris' blazer on over top of the outfit, hoping to look presentable when I don't even feel like moving.
Not to mention I'm freezing.
Eris shakes out his fingers when he had reached for my hand, breathing a sharp and pained breath, accidentally receiving a sharp metallic shock, the noise singing through the air.
"Sorry," I wince, wrapping my hands up in my sweater, holding his hand through the knit fabric instead. "Better?"
"No," he replies shortly, digging my fingers out of my sweater. "Now we're good." At least I don't shock him this time when he squeezes my hand, pulling me to the meeting room.
I'm not quite sure what has changed with him. He has become so... affectionate in the past day, physically. Nothing has quite changed between us emotionally- we're still the same Eris and Nephele. The only difference is that he seems to be having a harder time keeping his hands to himself as of late, and it is becoming a two way street.
I suppose we're under constant surveillance here in the Night Court. We can't quite afford to slip up in front of them. Not when we already put on such a flawless performance.
Not when it was time for act two.
"Are you sure you're okay?" He asks me quietly, presumably because the inner circle waits around the corner and can certainly hear us. I nod.
"I'm fine," I reply, giving him a weak smile. "A distraction will be nice. My brain kind of hurts, but the thought of going to sleep is nauseating."
He nods, understanding as we turn into the meeting room. The inner circle waits, discussing in hushed tones and isolated groups about what they've learned, furrowed brows across the board.
Now that Rhysand and Feyre have dug the truth from my mind, there's no limit to what the nine of us can talk about in regards to my father. And- if we decide to do so- there's no limit to how many people the inner circle can tell of the affair, considering none of them are bound to the same wards that we are as family of the General and High Lord.
"Let's get started," Eris says, bored and authoritative as he pulls me into his lap once again, me letting myself be a bit more cocky. I curl my legs over the arm rest, tipping my head against his, looking as smug as a sprite with my arms around his neck affectionately. "We've waited long enough to have this conversation."
"What's complicated?" Cassian shrugs, his broad shoulders leaned against the wall. "We kill both of your fathers."
"I wish it were that simple," I laugh darkly. "But you can't just kill the General and expect the army to fall dead. If you cut off one head, two more take its place."
"An ancient proverb," Azriel says, studying me handsomely, sizing me up as a threat. As an ally. I'm reminded that at one point the plan had been to flirt with him, to use him to make Eris jealous. By the cauldron, I'm glad I got out of that. He's exceptionally intimidating, though I suppose Eris is far from approachable himself. "So we must ask who might fill the power vacuum in Hybern."
"There aren't many appealing options," Mor admits. "All the known political and military figures in Hybern were fairly loyal to Hybern and his policies, and I expect most of them are in hiding."
"That's what my sources say," Eris confirms. "They also claim that most of the fae left in Hybern aren't high fae and are feral with freedom."
"Anarchy," Amren muses, perched on a half wall. "Sounds delightful."
"Not when people are dying," Feyre refutes, sitting beside her mate, twin looks of worry on their faces. "Hybern needs a ruler with power. Enough power to unify a nation, but not corrupt it."
Eris' fingers tap restlessly on my thigh how they do when he is thinking and scheming, a buildup of energy and thought. It's like a code I cannot read. All I can make of it is that his mind is moving.
"Who leads Hybern is irrelevant if we can't destroy those who believe in his crooked ideologies," Lucien points out from his spot beside the fireplace. "As it is, it's ridiculous that the land is still named Hybern, even after King Hybern has died."
"The land hasn't gone by a different names in the past," the ancient one says. Amren. "Before it was Hybern, it was Creagach, rocky island."
"Then that's what my land should be called," I say decidedly. "Because frankly, I want Hybern to die entirely, his legacy dead with him." There are murmurs of agreement across the room.
"What sort of soldiers does your father have access to?" Cassian asks, ever the General. "How many could you anticipate would turn?"
"It's not so simple," I wince a bit. "Father has many soldiers who are normal fae. Who make their own choices of their own volition. Who are capable of of deserting him the same as they are capable of fighting for him."
"But?" Feyre hedges.
"But," I reply, glancing at Amren. "You heard her. Rocky Island. The land itself was gifted with its own enchantment of defense that can be called upon anywhere. As a gift for my father's loyalty, Hybern granted him physical control over the rocky terrain, a power sacred to our land. With this ability, my father can conjure men from rock, indenturing them into servitude and soldierhood. He can bend them to his will to fulfill his needs as general. They can take the form of men, and are only his to command."
"So he has an infinite army?" Mor echoes dryly. "An army of stone?"
"Pretty much," Lucien replies.
"I don't understand," Feyre says, puzzled. "Where were they during the army?"
"There was an Oracle," I reply, recalling information that I had not yet told Eris and Lucien. To be fair, they hadn't asked, and I had been so dismissive of it until now. "My mother's family is ancient as the earth- that is why I have so much power by inheritance. Her mother was an Oracle, and she told my father a fortune in place of a dowry when he received my mother. She said that the king would fall, regardless of intervention. She spoke of someone in our bloodline being capable of claiming that sway, of ruling the rocky island. That's why my father let himself abandon Hybern as soon as the war begun, taking his men. In fact, that is probably why Hybern lost because my father believed a reasonless premonition from some old hag. Or perhaps it is because my father doesn't have a loyal bone in his body and would have always preferred ruling himself."
Eris' fingers stop moving upon my thigh, like his mind has stilled, for once. He's not alone. The room has quieted substantially, and when I look at him, he's staring at me with parted lips. I snort, rolling my eyes. "That is- of course- if you believe the ramblings of terrifying old women who bite the heads off of birds for sustenance and sharpen their nails with knives each night," I hedge because surely none of them are taking this seriously.
They are all awfully quiet though.
"You," Eris breathes, breaking the looming silence.
"Me?" I raise a brow.
"You will rule Creagach," Eris says plainly, a gleam in his eyes.
I actually scoff. "I thought you of all people wouldn't believe in goosetellings and fables," I nudge Eris playfully, but he doesn't laugh.
"Oh, how convenient," Rhysand chuckles dryly, concern in his violet eyes. "You will marry the future ruler of Creagach. I suppose that makes you King and High Lord."
"Let's slow down," I say, laughing uncomfortably at the pure tension stretched across the room like a sheet. "Humbly, what qualifies me to be the Queen of an entire nation? The ruling Queen? And no one ought to say some broken prophecy."
Eris ignores my self doubt- which doesn't even feel a little misplaced considering that I have absolutely no merit to govern anyone. No authority. "You saw her mind," he counters to the room defensively. "You saw her heart. You know she's good and fair."
"It is not her that we question," Cassian mumbles.
Eris sets his jaw, but I laugh. "Cute of you to think he controls me," I tussle his hair, tilting my head at him. "I suppose our act was quite good."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart," he murmurs, and I laugh.
"But this whole conversation itself is irrelevant because as much as I like bossing people around, I think I might lack the credentials to command an entire island," I roll my eyes. Entertaining this was ridiculous. I was marrying a prince, but I was only ever going to be a figurehead. It's all I'm cut out for, really. What do I know about politics? I've been in a cage for two centuries.
Sure, I had my wits, but what good were they for me? I don't want to be the one who has to decide. I can't be.
"She certainly is powerful enough to rule," Lucien points out, and I shiver.
"It was her who made Prynthian storm for seven days and seven nights," Azriel says quietly, reminding the room. I stare at him, wondering if he ever tires of being so handsomely stoic, and Eris' grip on my thigh seems to tighten as if he could read where my mind wandered. Possessive asshole. Maybe if he fucked me, I wouldn't be so wound tightly.
"I say we stall this conversation anyway," Mor interrupts. "Creagach isn't even liberated yet, and we have no reason to draft a ruler right now."
"And I'm inclined to believe such a choice belongs to the people of the isle," I put in. "Not a group of strangers from across the sea."
"Fair point," Feyre concedes. "I motion that we hold a trial for Beron with all of the High Lords. We can hold him accountable diplomatically."
"Diplomacy might not cut it on this one," I reply, sorry to refute her. "If my father receives even the faintest inclination that his asylum has been compromised, him and his men will be out as quick as lightning, and he won't let himself be found then. Not unless he wishes to be found."
"So it is the General who must be stopped first," Cassian says. "Not Beron."
Eris nods. "But we need more time," he replies. "I have several companies on men who are loyal to me, but I need to gain the favor of the Lords as well. They are a good bit more difficult to win over considering they've been my father's lapdogs for years."
"He's right," Lucien agrees. "They're not like the people who hunger for change. The lords are well fed, pacified by privilege."
"We'll just have to find another way to pacify them," I reply, shrugging simply. "Or plow them over if they stand in our way."
"Now she is beginning to sound like a Queen Mongerer," Amren says in quiet amusement.
I don't know how to reply, so I make myself comfortable in Eris' lap, trying to warm myself up as a chill works down my spine.