Hyacinth (Tamlin's Healing Arc)

Chapter Twenty One

The vegetable soup simmered on the crackling fire, filling the kitchen with its enticing aroma.

Echoes of guffawing and howling reached Cin from the paved area by the garden. To let out some of the smoke and heat on this chilly night, she had left the door ajar.

"Smells amazing," hummed Mendes, entering the kitchen with an empty jug. The ruckus in the garden was courtesy of Bron, Hart, and their merry men. Engrossed in a card game, they had fashioned a table using four rocks and a loose floorboard from Bron's bedroom. Judging from the scoffs and groans, someone seemed to be cheating. If Mendes hadn't been standing before her, Cin might have suspected him.

"It's just vegetable soup, nothing too spectacular," she replied, glancing over her shoulder. As she added more rosemary sprigs to the pot, she caught a glimpse of Bron through the window. He sat upright, his gaze tracking Mendes, though his words were directed at Hart. Cin wondered if there was a flicker of distrust in her brother toward Mendes. Then she corrected herself—maybe it was her own trust that wavered.

She rolled her eyes and refocused on stirring the pot, facing the hearth once more. Whatever happened between Bron and Mendes—because something was always happening—it had nothing to do with her.

"So," Mendes cleared his throat and settled into the creaky wooden stool he claimed, "How's the esteemed High Lord doing these days?"

A sneer tinged his voice, a sneer Cin hadn't associated with Tamlin in a long while. Mendes didn't genuinely care about her response; he only asked because it was something she was involved in. "He's doing a lot better now. He's eating cooked meals, taking baths. He's even moved back to his Manor."

"Living in a ruined Manor isn't much of an accomplishment, though," he snickered. Cin had chosen not to disclose Tamlin's visits to Calla, not yet anyway. Mendes had no right to know about Tamlin's progress, and listening to him ridicule the strides she was proud of stoked her anger.

"It's not ruined anymore, thanks to none of you," she snapped at him, never breaking her stirring rhythm. "I've been helping Tamlin repair and restore it. Just this week, we finished clearing the vines and revitalized the Rose Garden. We also cleaned up the front courtyard."

Mendes sighed, realizing he had upset her. Nevertheless, Cin pressed on. "Not that any of you care, but he's started visiting the villages again. They haven't been welcoming, but he wants to help. He needs to start mending the chaos and pain in this court, somewhere, somehow."

"Yeah, I know about the visits," he replied monotonously, leaning against the chair's backrest. "But it sounds like you have a plan."

"I do. To help him recover from what happened, I had to create one," Cin replied, folding her arms across her chest. She shouldn't have to justify herself like this. As a spring fae, she expected Mendes, at the very least, to desire the presence of his High Lord, who should answer for his crimes.

"And is your plan working?" Mendes inquired.

"Not yet, but if things go as they should, Tamlin will have the wraiths on his side by the end of the week," Cin responded, offering Mendes a proud smile. She wouldn't disclose how desperately she wanted her plan to succeed, how badly she needed it to. Nor would she reveal her concerns that failure could lead to Tamlin losing himself once more, with no guarantee of return.

Instead, she emphasized her unwavering certainty that Tamlin would regain his former self in no time.

"In your vast expertise," Mendes tilted his head, attempting to decipher her expression, "do you believe it's even remotely possible for Tamlin to come back from what he did? Can he make enough amends to move forward?"

"Yes," she affirmed without hesitation, leaving no room for doubt. She had to believe in his potential. She refused to let the Cauldron, the Mother, perceive her doubts and fears. Tamlin possessed capabilities beyond what others attributed to him.

Cin eagerly anticipated the day when he would guide the Spring Court into its Golden era. She knew he would. "He still has a long way to go, but he's a million miles closer than when I found him."

"All thanks to you, no doubt," he replied, referring to her earlier jab. "Everyone should have a Cin in their life."

"Oh, I'm not so sure about that," she scoffed. "Bron would definitely disagree with you."

"Maybe," Mendes sprung to his feet and filled the jug with water from the kitchen faucet. "You know, you're strong-willed enough to take the title from Tamlin if you wanted. Feyre proved that you don't need the Cauldron's power to become High Lady. You just need the desire and, of course, to love the right person. It works in your favor that those who know you already adore you. I imagine winning over the court and its High Lord won't be much harder."

Cin immediately dismissed the thought. "Too many people have already tried to do that to him, Mendes. I won't be the next traitor in that long line."

"But aren't you doing that anyway? Showing him how to win back his people? You could do it on your own. You clearly know what you're doing."

"I don't want to win the court over for him. I want him to do it himself. I'm simply nudging him in the right direction. These are his people, and he is our protector."

"Hey," he raised both hands with palms up, "I'm just calling it as I see it. If you don't want it, don't take it. But don't pretend that assuming control of Spring would be difficult, especially considering how feeble that fool is."

"Is that what the villagers are telling you?" Cin narrowed her eyes, and the soup in the pot seemed to bubble louder. "That he's weak? And a fool?"

"They say he's unwelcome, yet he visits nonetheless."

"They all seemed quite welcoming when he was providing them with gold and food," she rolled her eyes at the hypocrisy. They preferred he stayed away but gladly accepted what he offered.

"Why wouldn't they be?" Cin replied, her voice tinged with frustration. "Tamlin has already exposed this court to such vulnerability that the fae barely have any dignity left. The refugees have no desire to return, and those who couldn't leave are forced to forge new lives. They would gladly swallow their pride if it meant fulfilling their needs."

"He wants to help, Mendes. That's all he's trying to do," Cin's voice weakened as she lowered her gaze. Tamlin, like everyone else, was swallowing his pride in an effort to assist.

"It's not enough, Cin," Mendes retorted, pushing away from the kitchen sink, thread in hand. "He will never be enough for the Spring Court."