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Names held power in Prythian. Gwyneth Berdara was incredibly aware of this. Berdara was her mother’s name, and her mother’s mother’s name - it had been passed down the women of her family despite it being the last name of a lesser Fae while Gwyn herself was only one quarter lesser Fae at most.
Gwyn had lived her entire life pulled between her blood and her name - the lure of the water of her lesser Fae heritage, how the moon pulled the blood in her veins and how the smell of the sea lifted from her skin when she was angry, or scared, or homesick, perpetually at war with her Higher Fae background, unknown as it was.
Gwyn knew her grandmother had seduced an Autumn Court male, that Gwyn’s mother was the perfect mixture of the flames of Autumn and the water of the river, and Gwyn and Catrin had embodied either side of that battleground. Where Catrin was always at home in the water, her webbed fingers flexing and the “birthmarks” on her neck wriggling with glee as they took in and filtered water, Gwyn had always been more at home on land, climbing trees and making a home in the jeweled canopy. And if her pupils elongated, if her fingers grew slightly more clawed and her teeth just a touch sharper…well, Catrin would never tell, and her mother had passed long ago enough that Gwyn needn’t worry about her opinion.
When Sangravah was sacked, and Hybern’s general dragged her sister before her, Gwyn didn’t weep. Catrin stared at her, tears falling from her identical blue eyes, while the general took the sharp edge of a knife to her neck just where her gills fluttered faintly.
Catrin died like the “Fish” the general spat at her, and what came after… Gwyn had wished she died like Catrin for a long time. Living was much harder.
But Gwyn had been saved by Azriel and Mor and taken in by the Night Court, had been allowed to work in the Library to regain her strength and comfort and sense of self, and had been able to reclaim her power by training as a Valkyrie and becoming a Carynthian.
Gwyn had made a life for herself in the Night Court with Nesta and Emerie, and if she occasionally missed the way the wind whistled through the trees and her fingers itched for something she couldn’t name, Gwyn would just ignore it.
She had everything she could ever want after having everything stolen from her. She was not going to throw it all away on her blood and an inheritance she never had in the first place.
So life went on in a rhythm of training and working and singing and laughing and occasionally longing for something she never dared to name. This all changed the day when Gwyn came face to face with Eris Vanserra, the Heir to Autumn.
Gwyn had met Lucien, formerly Vanserra but apparently Spell-Cleaver, a few times when he joined morning training. He looked Autumn enough, with red hair just a few shades darker than Gwyn’s own, and a warm brown eye that reminded Gwyn of the bark her mother used to tell her Autumn’s trees boasted of.
Gwyn had never seen it herself, but more and more there was a longing to leave the Library, to go and see the world again . And she never wanted to leave more when the Heir to Day and former Emissary of the Night Court would regale her, Nesta, Emerie, Nesta’s sister Elain, Cassian, Azriel, and whichever priestesses wished to join for lunch with tales of his travels through Spring, Autumn, Summer, Winter, Day, Dawn, and the human lands. His joy would shine from him so brightly as he discussed the places he’d been, as he told jokes and basked under the attention of his mate that Gwyn could feel it like heat against her cheeks.
There was an ease between her and the former Vanserra immediately, a camaraderie born of red hair in a sea of blonde and black, and a desire for the trees in which they had first found home .
That was all Gwyn had thought it would be - a friendship, a comfort, a kinship built on longing for something they could no longer have. Until Gwyn had met the Heir to Autumn for the first time.
She had seen him by total happenstance. Gwyn had been training with Nesta and Emerie when Azriel had suddenly tensed and moved to whisper furiously to Cassian. “Shit,” Cassian’s voice rang out, and immediately all movement came to a swift halt. “We need to conclude training now for today. Priestesses, we will be gaining some company very soon in the form of our High Lord and High Lady, as well as the Heirs to Day and Autumn. If you would like to leave, you are welcome to do so.”
All the priestesses save Gwyn herself turned immediately to disappear into the House of Wind and back into the Library below. Gwyn would be lying if she said she didn’t want to do the same herself, but she was a Valkyrie, a Carynthian. She would not be cowed by a male she had never met before.
So Gwyn waited with Nesta and Emerie, breathing through her discomfort and dread as they waited for the arrival of some of the most powerful High Fae in Prythian.
Eris Vanserra was as unlike his half-brother as could be possible with shared DNA. Where Lucien was all warmth, inviting mischief and good-natured charisma with skin kissed by the sun, Eris was cold, aloof, a flame burning cold. With red hair as dark as blood and skin the color of pale birch, Eris’s amber eyes glittered with an inner flame even as his face remained blank of all emotions. The cruel twist of his lips and dismissive sneer were the first thing to see about him, but the way he held himself deliberately relaxed, the way his eyes took in the entirety of the room and took into account every prospective entrance and exit, the energy that seemed tightly leashed just beneath his skin–
Eris Vanserra was a male built of control, who showed others his desire for power and penchant for cruelty, but hid the fire that simmered just below his skin.
Gwyn knew that energy, knew that anxiety, felt that power thrumming just under her own skin.
Not for the first time, Gwyn wondered if her ancestor had been a Vanserra, but just as quickly as she thought it Gwyn dismissed it. Why wouldn’t her grandmother claim that inheritance if she had succeeded in bagging a Vanserra?
While the High Lord introduced her, Emerie, and Nesta as the next coming of the Valkyrie, the Heir of Autumn’s eyes paused on Gwyn and lingered. But while Gwyn would normally shrink back from an unknown male’s scrutiny, this gaze wasn’t sexualizing her, wasn’t objectifying her. This gaze was assessing , taking in her Illyrian weapons and leathers, her fiery hair, and her teal eyes. The Heir to Autumn cocked his head to the side, his smirk widening, as he clearly dismissed whatever the High Lord was saying now. Gwyn cocked her head to mirror his, arching an eyebrow and smirking herself.
Eris smirked, tapping his ringed fingers on his elbows, and suddenly the High Lord stilled and turned to her as well. “Gwyn?” High Lord Rhysand called softly, “could you please come over here for a moment?”
Nesta cut her a sharp look, concern in her gaze even if nothing but bland curiosity showed on her face. Gwyn ticked her eyebrow up once more, scratching lightly at her chin to signal all was well as she moved toward the High Lord and Heir.
“Gwyneth Berdara, this is Eris Vanserra, the Heir to the Autumn Court,” High Lord Rhysand stated, purple eyes tracking her face for any sign of discomfort.
Gwyn felt a subtle tapping inside her head, and barely suppressed a shudder as she let the High Lord speak to her mind to mind. If you would like to leave at any time , the High Lord spoke, just think to me and I will make it happen. You may be a Valkyrie, but you are still a Priestess of the Library and your safety is most important .
Gwyn sent her thanks to the High Lord before focusing in on the Heir to Autumn, who was smirking at her delightedly. “Hello, little Autumn,” Eris purred, and Gwyn’s brow furrowed.
“I’ve never lived in Autumn, sir. I lived my whole life before here in Sangravah,” Gwyn replied politely, curling a hand against the pommel of her dagger for comfort.
“And yet Autumn is in your veins, little Valkyrie,” Eris continued, pushing away from the railing to circle around Gwyn predatorily. “Who’s your father? Or is it your grandfather?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Gwyn answered dutifully, tracking the Heir’s circuit all around herself. “My grandmother was dead long before I was born, and if my mother knew she never told us before…before she died.”
Eris came back to where he became, staring at Gwyn intently. Abruptly, Gwyn felt the temperature began to rise and saw a shimmer around the Heir’s fingers out of the corner of her eyes. However, when she turned her head to see it more clearly, the shimmer was gone though the heat remained.
“You have fire in you, little Valkyrie,” Eris murmured almost to himself, and Gwyn felt the heat abruptly cut out. “You felt it just now, didn’t you? Autumn’s power?”
“The heat?” Gwyn blurted, chagrined when Eris chuckled meanly and nodded. “That’s Autumn’s power?”
“Fire, heat, light - Autumn’s flame can manifest in many different ways,” the Heir confirmed absently before turning toward Night’s High Lord. “Rhysand, do you have a candle handy?”
“A candle?” Nesta scoffed just behind her shoulder, and Gwyn barely suppressed a flinch at how close the other female was. Nesta was as silent as Death when she wanted to be.
“A candle would be the simplest way to verify whether… well, to verify.”
Gwyn got the sense that the Vanserra was deliberately holding something back and choosing his words incredibly carefully. By the way Nesta’s eyes narrowed, Gwyn knew the other female had caught it as well.
“I have one, Heir Vanserra,” Elain’s light voice cut through the tension like a knife, and immediately all attention turned to her. Lucien had been intensely silent, so silent that Gwyn had forgotten entirely that he and his mate were there at all. Yet Lucien stood observing silently at his mate’s shoulder while she extended a thin, new candle to the High Lord. Rhysand nodded, a small smile on his face as he softly thanked the female before extending it to Eris.
With candle in hand, Eris walked toward Gwyn with a curious light in his amber eyes. Gwyn held her ground, abruptly aware of both Nesta and Emerie at her back, silent support in the face of a fiery threat. Eris extended the candle between them, locking eyes with Gwyn.
Gwyn’s hand flinched toward the candle before she stilled, searching his gaze for permission. With a regal nod, Eris snapped above the wick and the candle was immediately alight, its red-orange flame emitting a soft glow. Gwyn carefully hovered her hand above the candle flame, loosening her control over the part of herself that had been longing, longing, longing for something she had never been able to name, the part of her more at home in the canopies of trees than near water or in the depths of the Library.
They all watched as the flame turned blue .
Gwyn gasped, and Eris’s smile turned feral. Lucien shifted somewhere in the background, fine cloth rasping against leather. “Well then, welcome to the family, little Valkyrie. You’re not just Autumn-born; you’re Vanserra .”
The training ring descended into chaos. Nesta and Rhysand were demanding answers from Eris loudly, while Feyre spoke quietly to Elain about how she knew she would need a candle. Somewhere in the background, Lucien laughed uproariously, as did Cassian. Emerie had moved out of the fray toward Azriel, both retreating to observe the chaos as best they could and assess the current threat level.
But Gwyn…? Gwyn’s eyes stayed locked on her blue flame, on the representation and claim of her blood. Names held power in Prythian, but Gwyn wasn’t ready to let go of her mother’s, and her mother’s mother’s name, especially not for one as storied and as bloody as Vanserra.