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Chapter Text

It had been months since Solstice. Months since Cassian had chased after Nesta along the Sidra and followed her home like a pathetic dog. It was only to make sure she returned home safely, he had told himself. Nobody had heard anything from her since. Nobody else cared either.

A few times, Cassian had happened to fly by her apartment and casually steal a glance through the tiny window although it yielded nothing. He didn’t know how he would have coped if he ever did see anything. If he saw her with another male. Then one night, when summer was waning, he’d stopped on the roof opposite, hoping to at least see the light on so he knew she was safely at home, but the curtains were wide open and a young couple were painting the walls of Nesta’s apartment. No, not hers, not anymore.

Cassian had dropped it into conversation with Feyre as casually as he could. She’d hardly glanced up from her painting and gave a non-committal shrug. Elain, too, had scrunched up her nose and said she couldn’t imagine that Nesta had gone anywhere worse than the seedy apartment she had been inhabiting. Cassian’s lack of subtlety – or Feyre’s loose lips – had caught Rhysand’s attention.

‘Why do you care so much? She doesn’t give a damn about you or her sisters. She’s made that clear enough times.’

‘She’s my mate.’

That should have covered everything. Rhys should have known the gravity of those words; whatever lengths he’d have gone for Feyre, Cassian would do the same for Nesta, ten times over.

Rhys gave him a long, hard stare. ‘She’s not in Velaris. I don’t even think she’s in the Night Court. I am sorry, brother.’

‘What if she’s hurt? Nobody cares that she could be in danger.’

‘The only danger she will face is herself. She’s her own worst enemy.’

A white-hot anger burnt inside of Cassian’s chest. Rhys might have been his high lord, the male who had turned a bastard born orphan into something for the storybooks, but he was an asshole where Nesta was concerned. ‘She is twenty-five, Rhys. Twenty-five and she’s been dragged into our world, dragged into a war. She’s grieving and hurting and nobody gives a shit.’

‘I can’t forgive what she did to Feyre. Or didn’t do for her.’

‘Do you think we had our shit together at fourteen? Will you really judge her on a decision she made as a child?’ When Rhys tried to speak, Cassian snarled. It had never been that way between them. And if he dared pin the blame on Nesta for it, Cassian was ready to leap across the table and slam his fist into Rhys’ pretty face. ‘She is never given the same privileges you give to Elain. If you can forgive Elain, you can forgive Nesta.’

Cassian had to leave. Fighting with Rhys was incomprehensible. They’d butted heads when they were younger, arrogant males. That was different somehow. This was over his mate. His mate who did not want him. His mate who had fled the city without a trace. Somehow it was easier to think that someone had taken her than to think that she’d left of her own free will. Their bond remained; Cassian could feel it hanging limply and unwanted, but it was still connected to her. And so he hoped. He hoped, and he hoped, that one day she would want him.

Of all places, he ended up in Illyria. There were enough sneering males to tip Cassian over the edge. Nesta. His fists pummelled into the male who dared to challenge him to spar. Nesta. The male’s nose shattered, a stream of crimson erupted across his face. Nesta. Another male entered. Nesta. Cassian’s knee came up into the male’s chest then a foot. Nesta. He didn’t need weapons. He’d learnt how to fight with whatever he could, and if that meant just his body then so be it. Nesta. No matter how hard Cassian tried to block out the roaring in his ears, no matter how many males he pummelled into the mud, his thoughts tracked back to Nesta.

‘You look like shit.’

Cassian nursed a black eye, a split lip, and two broken ribs. He had sat alone on the edge of one of the widow’s camps after weeks fighting Devlon’s trainees until Azriel had emerged from the shadows beside him. His wounds would heal, leaving no trace, then he'd do it all again tomorrow to try and feel something. It was only the fear that slithered through his gut about Nesta that he'd felt for weeks.

Rhys and Feyre had made ceremonial appearances in Illyria. At their first visit, a shard of hope so bright had made Cassian’s heart soar. But they had not heard word from Nesta and still weren’t worried. They had come to examine Devlon's warriors. In the subsequent visits, that hope slowly diminished. Nesta had not returned to Velaris and would not.

‘Does it help?’ Azriel gestured to his wounds.

‘No,’ he admitted. Nothing helped. Nothing could tear his thoughts away from her.

‘Nobody would bet against Nesta in a fight.’

‘That sounds like one of Rhys' lines.’

Az drew his eyebrows together. A couple of females walked by with their heads cast down to the trail, both already had their wings clipped. Azriel hated this place more than Cassian. He could feel the rage coiling tighter in Azriel’s chest.

‘Is she worth it?’

Cassian fought against the wave of anger, the need to launch an attack at Azriel for daring to suggest Nesta wasn’t worth the effort. Nobody thought Nesta deserved their attention. It had changed his view on his family. How harshly they judged Nesta, how unforgiving they were towards a woman striking out in pain. He and Mor had had a blazing argument about her after solstice. Mor had asked if Nesta was worth losing all of his family over.

‘Yes.’ Cassian’s pain bled like a throbbing wound for him. ‘She never asked to be made, Az. I can understand her anger. Towards what happened in the war, towards her father. Even towards me. She had no choice.’

‘At least you’re handsome,’ he replied in that cool, teasing tone.

‘She would have died with me. She was willing to. I told her we’d have time and I’ve fucked it all up. I just couldn’t find the right words. Couldn’t face her properly. I tried to give her space then gave her too much. Left it too long.’ Cassian rubbed his face with his hands then winced at the bruise marring his eye. ‘By the mother, I hope she’s safe.’

Azriel shifted beside him. His wings flexed then tucked tightly against his spine as he took in the camp. Although it was autumn, a chill crept down from the mountains. The widow’s camp glittered with fires and females huddled around them. Cassian had set up his own camp on the outskirts; close enough to help when they needed it, far enough that they didn’t need to fear him. It was like being a child again; an unwanted bastard fighting for food and warmth each day.

Since the war, the camp had only swelled with females. That still haunted him. Nesta screaming his name, drawing him to her, then the others turning to nothing. He’d have died without her intervention. And she couldn’t leave him still. He would never forget the rumble of her heart as she pressed her body to his, both ready to die together.

Azriel touched his shoulder lightly then withdrew his hand from view. ‘Do you care about her or the bond itself?’

‘Nesta. Of course, Nesta. She was skin and bones at Solstice. She pushed her food around her plate without eating anything. I know everybody keeps telling me to give up on her, that she’s burnt her bridges, but I don’t care, Az, I don’t care. If I'm the only person on her side then I'm the only person on her side. I don't care. I’ll walk through the flames to her. I’m so scared she’s suffering and has nobody to help.’

Something in Azriel’s expression changed. His dark eyes were hooded with sorrow. He dipped his chin to Cassian in understanding. ‘She’s safe.’

Cassian fought to get to his feet. His legs had turned to lead. ‘Where is she?’

Chapter Text

Velaris was a beautiful city. Moonlight pooled across the green copper roofs on clear nights, but in the day, sunbeams would heat the red sandstone mountains that cradled the city. It ought to have taken Nesta’s breath away the first time she’d laid eyes on it, but she’d been so wrecked by being forced into the Cauldron that she couldn’t see the city without seeing it as a prison.

Even now, after so much time had passed, Nesta still could not think of this city as a home. Could not see this city without thinking of all the things that were taken from her. She could never go home. She never had one.

As a child, Nesta had believed in stories. She had loved to hear them, loved to believe in wondrous places, and daring romances. Velaris was from the story books. Had she still been a child, Velaris would have been the city Nesta would most want to see with its bustling markets and winding river. But when her books were discovered, her mother forbade her from ever reading them again, calling them nonsense and no use to a young woman. Nesta did not need stories.

Why couldn’t Nesta look upon this city and feel joy? Why couldn’t she be glad that her two sisters were safe and happy? Why couldn’t she feel anything? Her heart clenched whenever her eyes fell upon the House of Wind nestled into the mountain. If anybody mentioned the high lord or lady when she was out, Nesta’s spine turned to iron, suddenly on edge at the mere mention of them. No amount of drinking could chase away the chasm of emptiness that was devouring her from the inside. She didn’t eat because it was the only damn thing in her life she could control, but even then Nesta was never hungry. She could go days without needing to eat; only nibbling on something when she began to feel faint. No matter how many males she took to bed, Nesta couldn’t even bring herself to feel ashamed. She had wanted a husband, wanted to fall in love and spend the rest of her life with the first man to capture her heart. But they weren’t men here. And she was not human.

She had been ready to kill the king of Hybern. Her magic had tingled in every synapse of her body, electrifying her blood. She’d have unleashed it in an unholy blast. Then her father had been there. He had seen what creature she had become. He had loved her. He had confessed it. He had always loved her. Although her mother had stolen her and turned her into her own little creature, her father still loved her. In his dying breath, he had tried to protect Nesta.

Everybody had moved on. Everybody had forgotten him. They mourned him for heartbeats and continued on. Nesta could not move on. He went to his death thinking she hated him. And Nesta had, for a long time, but Hybern denied her chance of reconciliation, of closure. They would never have a future. They could never repair the fractures of her heart together.

Every blooming flower reminded of her Elain. How many of the gardens had she worked upon here in Velaris? How scattered was her love through the city? Elain. Elain had saved her that day. It was Elain who halted the king from obliterating Nesta. Elain who had protected Nesta. After all her years of ensuring Elain was safe, even when they turned fae and Nesta believed Elain’s soul was too broken to continue, she had finally returned the favour. Then dropped Nesta as soon as her grief was inconvenient. Dropped her believing that they were even, and she no longer had to worry about Nesta.

How could they all be so happy? That solstice had been insufferable. Feyre’s new family showed no signs of grief; none of them appeared as haggard and exhausted as Nesta felt. None of them flinched at the sounds of the fire spitting. None of them had to dig their nails into their own skin until it bled to feel something. It would have been better if Nesta didn’t go. She had thought she was at rock bottom until that night; that night had made her feel so insignificant. Why couldn’t she move on like they had? Why couldn’t she stop the awful silence that had been drowning her for months? Nesta’s grief had claws and teeth that shredded her heart to pieces and wouldn’t let anyone get close to her.

On the drunken staggering walks home, Nesta was always too afraid to look up in case she saw him. Sometimes she could feel him through that unwanted bond; could feel the sorrow she was inflicting upon him by leaving it untouched. Had they not have been forced together, Nesta would have liked Cassian. He had a way of lighting up the room he was in – and taking up all the space – with his easy manner. Where she was private and tightly-wound, Cassian was warmth and smiles. The Illyrian’s declaration that day when the jaws of death were closing around them had been genuine. Broken and battered, Cassian still had tried to crawl to her, still had tried to protect her. Nesta couldn’t bring herself to visit him as he healed. He had nearly died to protect her. Too many people got hurt because of her. She didn’t want to think of Cassian’s life ending the same way her father’s had. Her hesitancy bloomed into regret then a foul taste remained in Nesta’s mouth when she thought of Cassian; too much time had passed and neither of them had spoken. On Feyre’s birthday, he had not spoken one word to her until the end of the night, out in the streets because he was embarrassed to have such an awful female as his mate, too embarrassed to speak to her in front of his friends.

Nesta had been halfway into her third bottle of wine when the bar had closed for the night. She’d staggered down the alleyways, taking risky shortcuts to her tiny apartment. If anybody tried to hurt her, she knew she’d not put up a fight. The pain was a gift. Maybe somebody would kill her. Maybe they’d do it so she didn’t have to.

‘Nesta?’

She recognised the voice, deep and smooth, but couldn’t place it. If they knew who she was, she didn’t want to engage either way. She continued stumbling over her own feet down the darkened alley.

Azriel appeared in front of her. The shadows courted his body as he surveyed her. Nesta knew that heavy, judging gaze; she’d felt it from Madja, the healer, when she’d fallen down the stairs and snapped a tendon in her knee after a night of drinking.

‘Let me walk you home.’

‘Don’t bother,’ Nesta slurred. ‘If something happens to me then your high lord and lady have one less bill to worry about each month.’

The male breathed out a long, steadying breath, but he said nothing more, merely fell into step slightly behind her. His steps were quiet but certain, ensuring Nesta knew he was still with her.

Maybe if she had anything left to give, Nesta might have been embarrassed when he followed her up the crumbling stairs to her apartment. He had already made his judgement on her that first day in the human lands. All of them had. Feyre’s opinion had skewed their own, so Nesta was never going to be their friend.

‘Go. I’m safe.’ Nesta gave a dismissive wave over her shoulder while she fumbled inserting her key into the lock.

Azriel did not leave.

‘You’re not safe,’ he said quietly. ‘What did you eat today?’

‘Will you give my mate your glowing review of me? Are you inspecting if I am up to his precious standards?’ The words came out with so much venom, Nesta didn’t even know why. Maybe this was just what she was, a hateful, vile thing.

‘I’m concerned about you.’

‘Don’t give me that,’ she laughed bitterly, ‘you’d hate anything bad to happen to me because it would upset your friend and your high lady. Who cares what happens to Nesta as long it doesn’t upset Feyre and Cassian.’

When the door finally unlocked, Nesta fell through the doorway. Her head smacked against the wall in the cramped hallway. Azriel would be able to see the peeling paint and mould growing up the walls. Likely he’d tell the others when they sat and mocked her for not being able to move on with her life while they sipped wine that cost more than her home in their fifth mansion.

‘Don’t touch me,’ she snarled, when Azriel’s cold hands enclosed around her arms, trying to bring her to her feet. He listened and let go. She could feel his gaze still roaming over her, searching for a chink in her armour that exposed her softness. Nesta had worn her armour for too long - it had become a second skin.

She lay on the floor, hating herself, hating Velaris, hating that this was what she’d become. Nesta could not remember ever being happy. When their mother was alive, she had thought she was happy. She did everything she could to win her mother’s praise; it seemed to make her glow. But her mother’s praise was embedded with thorns that had torn open Nesta’s skin too many times.

Light footsteps traced past her, deeper into the apartment. She could hear him carefully moving items in the kitchen; he wouldn’t find anything, she hadn’t bought groceries in days. Seemingly coming to the same conclusion, Azriel filled a glass of water instead and brought it to her, still sprawled on the cracked tiled floor.

‘There’s a library tucked under the House of Wind,’ Azriel said while Nesta righted herself. She slumped against the wall and accepted the glass from his hand. No sooner had she taken it from him, did he shake his sleeves over his scarred hands. ‘Many females take refuge there.’

‘I hate being called a female. I hate this city. I hate this.’

Nesta gestured to herself then covered her face.

‘You don’t like Velaris?’

Nesta fought against her anger. It was a burning coal in her heart that threatened to devour all of her. Was it really so implausible that someone could not like their beloved City of Starlight?

‘I hate it. I hate owing your precious high lord and lady. I hate being in their debt. I hate being trapped here. I hate it. I hate all of it.’

Her hands were trembling. Azriel didn’t miss it. His hazel eyes watched her shaking hands press the glass to her lips; a method her mother had taught her to stop her crying. Silently, he got to his feet and entered her bedroom. Nesta didn’t protest. She had half a mind to follow him. Would he fuck her? Would he cause that rift with his friend for five minutes of fun?

Eventually, Nesta did follow after him. Azriel had opened the windows, likely scenting the males that had frequented her bed in the last few weeks. A couple of bags were open on her bed, but he had not touched any of her belongings.

‘How bad is it?’ He said softly. When Nesta couldn’t find her voice, Azriel spoke again. ‘Has it been like this since the war?’

It was the most Nesta had ever heard the beautiful male speak – the most interaction she’d ever shared with him.

‘Get out.’

Azriel’s wings fluttered slightly. ‘Nesta, I am trying to help you. Not for Cassian, not for Feyre, but for you.’

Nesta clenched her jaw shut, fighting back the instinctual response to lash out, to keep anyone away from her. Many of the males had wanted a second night, but she’d done enough to ensure they never came back.

‘I’m not going to the library. I’m not-’

Azriel held up a hand mauled with scars. ‘I’m not taking you to the library. I have a home. Nobody goes there. Centuries of being so private means they won’t ever poke their nose in. It’s quiet. It’s remote. You won’t be bothered there. You can be almost alone, but you will be safe.’

‘Almost alone? I don’t want to live with you.’

A smile ghosted his lips, maybe at the thought of being forced to share four walls with her, but he shook it away quickly.

‘No. It’s my mother’s house.’

Chapter Text

No matter how many times she experienced it, Nesta would never enjoy winnowing. It made her disorientated. But when Azriel took her from her dingy little apartment, it didn’t feel the same as the other times she had endured it. When his shadows came around her, all the light and warmth of the world was swallowed. She hadn’t cared that she clung to him tighter than she’d clung to anybody in years. A rigid fear took hold that if Azriel let go of her, she’d be lost forever in shadow.
A hazy light came into view and Nesta blinked several times until her eyes adjusted. They were still in darkness but a spray of stars was overhead and they faced a modest sized house that was lit up inside with a soft yellow glow.

‘Will she mind?’ Nesta remained with her hands wrapped around Azriel’s arm. He was good enough not to shake her off.

‘She will be glad of the company. But she will also not mind if you want to be alone.’

Of their happy little inner circle, Azriel had always been the most mysterious, the most guarded. She had presumed - like Cassian - that Azriel was an orphan. That he had never been loved either which was why they flocked together seeking the love they’d been denied. Already, Nesta was guilty that she was intruding upon his privacy.

Quietly, he unlocked the front door using a touch of his magic. ‘Only myself and my mother can unlock it. I’ll change it so you can too. It’s very well protected.’

So don’t worry about that overbearing bat coming here, Nesta thought to herself. He hadn’t bothered in a year, nobody had, anyway.

‘Az?’ A soft voice called from one of the other rooms. A small female shuffled into the kitchen in a cream dressing gown over her night dress. At the sight of Nesta, her face shifted into delighted surprise. ‘I was not expecting to see you until Wednesday.’

Her brown eyes surveyed Nesta, taking in the too-thin waist, the sharp bones of her face, the pockets of grey that had made their home under her eyes. Likely she could smell the wine on her too, feel the shame radiating from her skin.

‘This is Nesta Archeron. Nesta, my mother, Rovena.’

Realisation dawned upon Rovena then she nodded in understanding at the luggage Azriel carried. As she stepped across the kitchen, her wings rustled. Clipped. Another female whose wings had been so badly damaged she’d lost the ability to fly.

One arm scooped around Nesta’s back and a warm hand took hold of her own. Rovena guided her to the rounded table then settled her into one of the low-backed chairs.

‘Tea, I think,’ she said to herself while she lit the stove. ‘Are you staying too?’

Nesta pleaded with Azriel silently. Please, don’t leave yet. Azriel took up a chair opposite her, watching his mother rummage through the cupboards while she hummed to herself.

‘She’s a night owl,’ he explained, ‘it’s who I get it from.’

Rovena joined them. She couldn’t hide her smile every time she looked upon her son; there was so much love radiating from her. Although none of them talked much, the silence didn’t feel like it needed to be filled. Occasionally, Rovena would ask a general question: if they were warm enough, if they wanted anything to eat.

A look passed between mother and son; both shared hazel eyes and golden-brown skin. She had the same elegance as her son too, cheekbones carved from marble, and sleek black hair. The shadows that so often flocked around him were gone in this house.

‘I’ll put fresh sheets on your bed,’ the female said, touching Nesta’s arm as she departed.

This was a home. Nesta’s eyes took in the plants growing from baskets hanging from the ceiling and herbs in pots across the windowsill, the rows of spices above the stove, the dishes in the sink, the slant of the rug from where it had been trodden on. Through one of the doorways, Nesta spied a cosy living room where Rovena had been sewing before they arrived.

‘I’ll come by in a few days to see how you are. If you need anything, let me know.’ Azriel withdrew his hand from his pocket and pulled out a handful of money. ‘Take this, in case you go out with her to the village.’ Azriel coughed and dropped his voice to almost a whisper. ‘I don’t know how much you have been drinking, but if you are going to stop, it can cause problems if you quit abruptly – it’s better to reduce your intake. In my room, there are a couple of bottles of wine in the cabinet by the bed. If you need them.’

Rovena eclipsed her son in an embrace by the door, despite the fact he towered over her. Still, Azriel stooped down accepting the kisses on each cheek. She stroked a hand to his cheek and his eyes fluttered shut. ‘Maybe you’ll stay for dinner next time.’

‘I will,’ he promised.

The first few days spent at Rosehall were a different sort of discomfort than Nesta was used to. Rovena was kind enough. She did not comment when Nesta skipped every meal, but continued inviting her to the table and set a plate in her space still. One evening, when Nesta put a couple of potatoes swimming in butter on her plate, she still did not pass a comment. Rovena had offered her a walk to the village every day, but Nesta hadn’t wanted to leave the house. She hadn’t managed to go into the living room, feeling like she was infringing on the female’s privacy. Mostly she stayed in her room, drowning in regret and self-loathing. The guilt was beginning to settle about her decisions in the last year. She hadn’t meant to hurt anybody. She hadn’t meant to be so venomous, but it was the only way she knew how to survive. It was how her mother had taught her to be.

Nesta hadn’t yet dared go into Azriel’s room either. The shaking of her hands was her own punishment for letting herself become such a wretched creature. When he arrived as promised for dinner, Azriel had taken one look at her trembling hands and collected the bottles himself and tucked them into the doorway of her room. He had also brought her a pile of books from the House of Wind’s expansive library to occupy her time.

‘How is Velaris?’

Rovena placed a steaming joint of beef onto the table in front of Azriel to slice. With it, she had roasted carrots drizzled with honey, cooked mountains of creamy mashed potatoes and sprigs of asparagus. Nesta’s plate remained empty.

‘A few issues with the mortal queens. I’ve hardly been in Velaris. Illyria?’

‘Autumn is on its way,’ she said, gesturing to the window behind her. ‘Every year, I’m surprised by how quickly it comes around. It comes quicker to Illyria,’ she explained to Nesta.

Azriel made to put slices of meat onto Nesta’s place then halted. While his own and his mother’s had slowly been filled, her plate remained bare. Nesta shook her head.

‘Are you not hungry?’

Nesta was. But she was too stubborn to let the throb of her stomach win. Rovena’s cooking made her mouth water every day, but she didn’t deserve to eat.

‘I’m not a good cook,’ his mother said. ‘Where have you been? The mortal lands?’

Nesta was grateful that Rovena had tried to turn the topic away from her, but guilt gnawed away at her. Rovena had spent hours preparing this meal for her son.

‘Your cooking is wonderful.’ Heat pecked at her eyes, threatening to spill them with tears. She clenched her fists into the fabric of her dress. A gentle hand stroked the length of her upper arm.

Nobody pushed Nesta to eat – and she was thankful for that. Her instincts saw compassion as a threat. When the dinner was finished, Nesta helped Rovena to clear the table. She ran a sink full of hot soapy water, despite the female’s insistence Nesta did not need to clean them herself. The scalding water felt good on her skin. She knew that her hands would glow red when she was done, but at least it gave her something to focus on. The conversation behind her dissolved into a muffle as the roaring in Nesta’s head took over as she cleaned.

Beside her, Rovena removed another item from the oven. A waft of hot, sweet apple filled her nose. Her hands were immobilised above the sink as she caught a glimpse of the golden crumbly topping.

‘Would you like some?’

Nesta eyed it carefully. ‘Maybe a little.’

The whole room seemed to sag with relief as Nesta tucked into the apple crumble. Rovena heaped a dollop of clotted cream on top – to counteract the tartness of the blackberries she said. Azriel watched appreciatively, not Nesta, but his mother. Rovena’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction when Nesta had eaten every last crumb.

As the night waned, Azriel asked to speak with Nesta alone. A sudden fear seized her that he would take her back to Velaris, he’d announce she’d spent enough time hiding and drag her back to that festering apartment. He tilted his head to one side so a lock of black hair curled around his temple.

‘My mother said you prefer to wash in the sink than the bath.’

Dread coiled through Nesta’s ribs, tightening her chest. That night had been her undoing. That night had ruined her life.

‘The Cauldron,’ was all she could say about it.

Azriel’s gaze was heavy when he said, ‘I’ll have a shower installed.’ He rubbed a hand through his hair. ‘You won’t go in the living room when a fire is lit.’

The female was more perceptive than Nesta had given her credit for. Nesta shook her head. ‘My father. Cassian. Hybern.’

She had lost the ability to form a sentence. Cassian’s wings snapping. The bone jutting from his leg. Her father’s neck popping. The walls were closing in on her. Nesta wanted to scream. All she could see was the king of Hybern using her father as a shield. The Illyrian legion turning to ash after she’d screamed Cassian’s name so loudly her throat bled.

‘Nesta.’

Azriel’s soothing voice brought her back. Her hands were wreathed with silver fire. Had she looked in a mirror, her irises would have been ringed with silver too.

‘I’ll come back in a week. Think about whether you’d like to train your fire. To manage it.’ He pursed his lips as if he was about to speak then thought better of it.

‘Say it.’

‘Last winter, did you ever have a fire in your home?’

‘No.’

Nesta’s walls began to thaw. Rovena always ensured Nesta had a spot at the table, always offered her a walk to the village, and always patted the space on the couch in the living room in the evenings. More and more, Nesta was spending time with her. Rovena would sew new dresses or embroider beautiful patterns on others while Nesta was content to curl up with a book at the end of the couch under a blanket. Like her son, she was quiet, but Rovena’s quietness did not unnerve Nesta. The female was tactile; she always touched Nesta's shoulder or the small of her back as she passed her, always brushed a hand against Nesta's cheek or hand in thanks when Nesta had helped her round the house.

Once a week, another female was brought to the house by Rovena. She was slightly older though her wings were clipped too, but with her, without fail, were two whizzing bundles of energy. A girl whose wings had not been clipped would fly around the house with feral delight while the women packed up the dresses to sell, and a smaller boy would chase her around on foot because his wings were not yet strong enough to carry his weight.

The first few visits, Nesta remained in her room listening to the children zoom through the house giggling with excitement. Eventually, Rovena coaxed her out and encouraged Nesta to join them at the kitchen table for a cup of tea while they talked. Mostly Nesta listened. Marsela owned a shop in the village that sold clothes for females and children. Rovena sold the ones she made to her friend for stock. They were beautiful garments; although the dresses were thick and made from wool, there was a delicate beauty to them. If she sold them in Velaris, they’d fetch much more coin, but the females in Illyria were too poor to indulge themselves.

The small boy, Lorin, tugged on the skirt of Nesta’s dress at the table then raised his arms. It was instinctual to respond, so Nesta lifted him onto her lap so he could inspect the dresses too. He leant back in her lap, pushing his wings into her chest.

‘Mine?’

‘Not yours,’ his grandmother replied swiftly, moving one of the sleeves out of his reach. ‘Where’s Lule?’

‘Lule,’ he repeated, elongating her name. Lorin tilted his head up to Nesta then registered that she did not look like the females he was used to. His dark eyes locked onto her blue ones. He had Cassian’s eyes, the same rich, earthy brown full of warmth. She had to look away, but still her hand remained on Lorin’s waist, holding him steady as he leaned forwards again to swipe something off the table.

A bang shook the door frame as Lule ricocheted into the kitchen. A toothy grin lit up the room. Even the collision didn’t dampen her spirits.

‘She’s just discovered she can fly,’ Rovena explained, holding out her arms for Lule to fly into. ‘And she is faster every week with these wings.’

‘And I am too old to run a shop and chase after these two,’ their grandmother sighed. ‘Come on. If you can walk all the way home, there’ll be a treat on the kitchen table.’

Nesta found she looked forwards to their visits, if only to squeeze Lorin who never minded her presence. His wings were picking up speed as they flapped, but he couldn’t manage to lift himself more than a step or two, so he’d fall forwards into Nesta’s outstretched arms. Lule would usually be clambering on her back or locking her arms around Nesta's neck or leaping off the furniture into flight while the females managed their business in peace. She forgot how much she hated herself in these moments. Forgot what a failure she was to everybody who ever mattered. The two children didn’t care if she’d decapitated the king of Hybern or was Cauldron-made, they were just glad of another person who'd crawl around the floor with them playing silly games.

As promised, Azriel returned weekly – always with a new selection of books for her. The training was hard. The first couple of sessions, he’d taken her to a rugged wilderness, deep in the heart of Illyria where she blasted craters into the ground without control. He was a patient teacher, never scolding her or yelling at her. She remembered dance lessons where her feet were hit if her steps were wrong.

‘You’re letting the banks of the river break. You are in control of your magic, Nesta, only you. Allow only a trickle of it to seep out – then when you are confident, allow a stream.’

It was exhausting. Azriel was dead on his feet for most of his visits too with shadows under his eyes as well as the ones that danced around him.

‘You’re teaching my mother to read.’

Nesta felt heat creep up her neck involuntarily. It could hardly be called teaching. Rovena had a habit of examining the spine of whatever book Nesta was reading and it had taken Nesta an embarrassingly long time to realise that the female was illiterate. They had started with assigning sounds to letters and practising writing them in the evenings. It was growing colder in Illyria, but Rovena had stopped lighting fires and the pair bundled into blankets in the living room. When they didn't practise reading, Rovena marvelled at Nesta's sewing skills, though they were rusty and little practised since she was a child. The praise was still welcomed.

‘Why didn’t you teach Feyre?’

Nesta’s iron shield went up. ‘She was nine when we lost our money. Most children learn by the time they are six. It’s not my fault my sister is slow.’ Her pulse throbbed painfully in her neck. ‘Elain is only a year younger than I. Why was it my duty to teach Feyre? Why not Elain? Why couldn’t my father – who sat on his backside for years – teach Feyre? Why do I get the blame?’

Nesta’s fire erupted from her palms, scorching the ground around her black. She couldn’t stop it. It burnt and burnt all around her. Her dress caught fire – and still the flames came from her.

Chapter Text

It was dark when Nesta woke. A stink of smoke remained on her skin, but her dress was wholly intact. She jolted, realising it was a different one she’d put on in the morning. Someone had changed her into a night dress. That someone was silently sewing the seam of another dress in a chair next to her.
When Nesta sat up and pushed the thick blankets down to her waist, Rovena moved onto her knees beside her bed.

‘Oh, thank the mother.’ A soothing hand swept her blonde hair from her eyes. ‘Azriel had to go. I’d have sent for a healer if you hadn’t woken by the morning. Oh, my darling. You had me so scared.’

‘I don’t know what happened.’

‘Your magic. You burnt it all up. Azriel, he said you lost control of it, and the only thing to do was to let you burn it up.’

The memory came back to her in sharp fragments. Her anger towards her father had swelled into shame. Shame for insulting a dead man. But his death did not change the past; he had not helped the three of them when they needed him. Nesta swallowed her regret. Her hands were trembling. Slowly, her magic would refill, but without it she was hollow and unbalanced.

‘You’re not burnt, but we need to take this smoke from you. I’ll run you a-’

‘No. I can’t.’

Nesta clenched her jaw so tightly her teeth ached. She did not want to unleash her anger on Rovena, the female who had only ever been kind to her.

Rovena tucked a wayward lock of hair behind Nesta’s ear. ‘What if you kept your night dress on and I helped you. What if I was with you?’

‘You would do that for me?’

It was late into the night when Nesta had managed to bathe. Rovena never complained – even when Nesta had gripped her hand so tightly, her knuckles had glowed white. Rovena was like a hostage negotiator, somehow managing to convince Nesta to stand in the bath as deep as her ankles until the water slowly rose up her calves. The female soothed her as if she were an injured animal ready to run at the slightest movement. Nesta didn’t care how pathetic she was when she sobbed in Rovena’s arms on her knees in the bathtub. She only tucked Nesta closer and rested her chin on her head, holding Nesta as long as she needed to be held.

Submerging herself was too much. It was a bridge Nesta wanted to cross one day, but not this one. Rovena tilted her head back and washed her hair with a jug until the water was grey. A fluffy towel engulfed her when she stood.

‘I’ll make us some tea downstairs while you dress. You did so well. You were so brave.’ The female wrapped Nesta into another embrace. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

The stars dappled the black sky. It was not proper for her to trail downstairs with loose hair and a nightgown, but Nesta was so exhausted. Rovena was in her own nightdress waiting for Nesta in the living room. The familiar long plait draped over one of her shoulders.

‘I am sorry to ask more of you,’ Nesta said, ‘but could you please help with my hair. I’m so tired. It will knot otherwise.’

Rovena’s eyes lit up eagerly. ‘Ah, I’ve been wanting to ask for weeks to touch it. It’s so beautiful.’

A pillow was placed on the ground for Nesta to sit so Rovena could dry and style her hair for bed. The female’s hands were gentle as they brushed through the long golden length of it.

‘Can I plait it the Illyrian way?’

Nesta’s eyes were already drooping so she shrugged in answer.

‘Don’t tell Azriel, but I craved a girl. I always wanted a daughter so I could do her hair and dress her in my own creations.’

‘He wouldn’t let you plait his?’

Rovena laughed softly. ‘You reminded me of him tonight. How much did he tell you about his early life?’

‘Nothing. He’s quite private.’

Private and Nesta had made all of them her enemies. For a while, Rovena said nothing. Her hands worked away parting portions of Nesta’s hair to plait. Then she sighed. ‘His father kept him locked up in a dungeon without any light. Once a week, for only an hour, he was allowed out to see me. But not to fly. His fear, every time he had to go back,’ Nesta felt her shudder. ‘It reminded me of you. He’d cling to me and beg his father not to force him back into the dungeon. I had to peel him off of me every time. It broke my heart every week. My poor boy.’

‘I didn’t know.’

‘He feels guilty, like he failed me. When his father dumped him in Windhaven, he had me imprisoned, knowing Az would search for me. We didn’t see each other for a long, long time. I think he thought I was dead. He was just a little boy, and no matter how many times I tell him it was not his fault, it doesn’t alleviate his guilt.’

There was meaning to her story, Nesta knew, but she wasn’t ready to accept herself. There was much more she needed to atone for. Rovena stroked the two plaits running the length of Nesta’s backs. It was more intricate then she’d ever have managed herself. Then Rovena patted the space beside her on the couch. When Nesta joined, the female wrapped an arm around Nesta and pulled a fur blanket across both of them. She’d never hugged somebody so soft and gentle. A noise of relief escaped her carefully guarded lips as she rested her head on Rovena’s shoulder.

‘You are not a bad person, Nesta. Never think you are. Azriel asked me once how I could love him because of his… conception. He’s my son. He had no choice. Just as you had no choice about the Cauldron or your father. It doesn’t make you bad because you are hurting.’

That moment shifted the balance between them. Rovena’s stark honesty cracked open a light into Nesta’s chest. The female - and Azriel - had suffered and healed. There was a way out of the darkness. Nesta would find it one day. Wanted to find it.

They did not see Azriel for some time. She found herself yearning to see him, if only to tell him of her progress. She had stopped drinking entirely. Rovena did not drink so once the two bottles were gone, Nesta went without and found she felt better for it. Rovena was showing her how to cook the Illyrian way – the best way, she said – even if she couldn’t manage to eat much of it still. The puddings were her favourite so Rovena always ensured they had one with their meal.

In the mornings, Nesta had once emerged fully dressed, without a single hair out of place, but she soon fell into the same cosy habits of Azriel’s mother. Whoever was awake first would brew the morning tea and either they’d have it in the living room, buried beneath a blanket, or Nesta would slip beneath the duvet in Rovena’s room where they’d chat freely. She told stories of her son, but Nesta had the feeling she did not have many of them – a fact she was sorry for. The Illyrian was an easy female to get along with. Nesta often found herself wondering if this was how a mother should be. As a child she had rehearsed what she would say to her mother, editing and polishing her words so they would not disappoint. She walked on eggshells, terrified that she might invoke the woman’s wroth. There was no need to feel guarded around Rovena.

‘Maybe you’d like to come to the village with me today. There is a market on.’

So Nesta did. Rovena looped her arm through Nesta’s as they walked the steep, rocky path towards the village. She had expected a village like the ones she was accustomed to in the mortal lands. There were few houses – most of it was a permanent camp full of widows. A few females were already inspecting the market then Nesta spotted a familiar set of wings flapping in everybody’s way. As soon as Lule caught sight of them, she blazed through the sky then plummeted into Nesta’s arms.

‘Nesta!’ Lule’s arms locked round Nesta’s neck.

With the money Azriel had given her weeks earlier, Nesta purchased a few items, if only to disperse some of the coins to the struggling females. There were many trinkets, more clothing, winter boots, knitted, fleecy socks, and decorative items. If she had more money, she’d have bought the lot. What were the high lord and lady of the Night Court doing for these females? They’d spent the cruel Illyrian winters in tents or huddled around a fire outdoors while Feyre and Rhysand decided on the colour scheme of mansion number five. Why didn’t they put their efforts into this place? These were their people after all.

Most days, Nesta walked with Rovena where they’d remark on the changing colours of the trees or how bitterly cold it was becoming. Rovena had knitted her a pair of mittens to wear while they were out. She hadn’t known what it was like to be loved without expectations. If Nesta did not want to leave the house or eat some days, Rovena would only nod and say that she hoped to see her in the evening or in the morning. She’d made her dresses, saying that the Illyrians knew how to dress better than the Winter Court for snow, and smiled with joy when Nesta had tried them on.

Sometimes Nesta left alone, only travelling a few feet from the house, to practise her magic without Azriel. She was managing the trickle, like he said. Managing to keep it under control. She could hold the silver flames in one hand and drip it into the other. There was a driving force to her training: she would not force Rovena to feel the same cold as she had last winter by banning fires from the house. If she could manage her magic and have her own flames in the hearth, Rovena wouldn’t freeze.

It wasn’t easy. There were still days when Nesta couldn’t force herself out of bed. Where she was content to stare at the painted yellow walls of her room unblinking. Other days, her anger held her in a chokehold, threatening to ruin the carefully curated home she’d built with Rovena for no reason at all except it craved destruction. Crying had become a new thing too. When she was overcome with tears for no reason at all, Rovena would be there at once, letting Nesta sob into her neck until she was ready to start her day again.

One day in the village, when Nesta had taken Lule and Lorin to a tree to collect conkers to give their long-suffering grandmother a break, a searing hot pain burst down her mating bond. The pain was so strong that it brought Nesta to her knees. Cassian was hurt. She searched the skies, as if she might see him hurtling towards her with splayed wings.

For hours afterwards, even when Nesta had returned home, the bond they shared was hot with sorrow and pain. She sat at the table while Rovena cooked around her unable to settle. Nesta’s mind raced with worry. What was eating at Cassian? What if something had happened to Feyre or Elain?

‘Do you know Cassian?’

Her carefully crafted wall was threatening to crumble. That big bat was breaking down her walls without even being near. She would always be vulnerable where he was concerned.

Rovena rolled her eyes. ‘Everybody knows the lord of bloodshed. I call him the bottomless pit.’ Nesta shot her a worried glance. ‘That male has hollow legs. He would eat everything in this kitchen and still be hungry.’

‘He’s my mate,’ she confessed.

Rovena nodded solemnly. ‘I know. If you’re asking me if he is a good male then yes, he is one of the best. He wears his heart on his sleeve – and I can imagine a mating bond can make him… intense with his love.’

‘Something has happened to him. I can feel that he’s in pain.’

With a spatula, Rovena flipped the lamb in the pain so it sizzled. ‘If you can feel him then he can feel you too.’

After dinner, Nesta hurried to her room and bundled into the covers. She reached for their bond, trying to send a signal to him. She wasn’t even sure if he’d feel it. Or why her worry of him was gnawing away at her long into the night. I’m scared for you. I’m worried about you. I hope you aren’t in pain. I hope nothing has happened to the ones we love. I’m sorry if I’m the cause of this pain.

Chapter Text

Cassian had been ready to spill every drop of Azriel’s blood onto the ground. Azriel had taken his mate. Taken her from Velaris and wouldn’t say where he held her. When did he take her? Why? Why hadn’t he told anyone? Not Feyre or Elain, not even him.

‘She’s safe, brother.’

‘Where is she?’ It came out laboured and broken.

Azriel was unmovable, unreadable. If anybody was to hide her, of course it would be him. In centuries of knowing him, Azriel had never cracked, never leaked a secret. Calmly, he spoke. ‘She is safe and she is healing - slowly.’

‘She was hurt?’

Azriel watched a group of males as they huddled together in discussion. The edges of their wings brushed together. Males who were planning something. His hazel eyes scanned the horizon, trying to decipher what the males might be turning their attention to. Eventually, his gaze flitted back to Cassian.

‘She’d been hurting since the Cauldron. She was an inconvenience. We chose not to notice it because it interrupted our comfort. We chose to change the narrative of her behaviour to shift the blame onto her.’

‘That’s not true. If Nesta was upset, she’d say something.’

Azriel cocked an eyebrow. ‘She’d insult or lash out. She did it to you enough times. Cass, she’s like a wounded animal. I took her somewhere safe where she couldn’t hurt herself anymore.’

Cassian fought against the urge to smack Azriel again. Nesta was his mate. He knew her. Not Azriel. The territorial part of him wanted to force her location from his brother, but he’d never win. If Azriel was committed to the secret, he’d never break him.

‘I was checking she was home. If anything bad happened, I’d have been there.’

‘When?’ Azriel asked softly. ‘When would you have intervened?’

When Cassian made to speak, to defend his actions, Azriel held up a scarred hand to interrupt.

‘Where were we when she spent a winter freezing because she couldn’t bear to light a fire? Where were we when she washed herself with a bucket because she was too afraid to be in a bathtub?’ Azriel sighed. ‘We all let her down. I’m not putting the blame solely on you. We all decided that she’d had enough time to cope with the changes in her life, and the nasty, venomous female was just how Nesta was.’

‘I could feel her with different males down our bond. Nearly every night.’

‘I am sorry, brother.’

‘I’d see her staggering out of taverns with her arm laced with another male’s and thought it was just to spite me.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘If I tried to stop it, she’d have argued with me.’

‘Likely she would. But how many females have you fucked throughout the years? We weren’t right for years after our first battle. And we had each other to lean on. Nesta has nobody. We gave up on her.’

After the Blood Rite, they had thought themselves untouchable. They had feasted upon the stories of war, the glory that came with it, awaiting the day the call to arms came and the three most powerful Illyrians could carve their name into history. Battles were not as stories told them to be. Taking a life was no easy thing. Watching the males he’d trained alongside dying would continue to haunt Cassian. The smells of blood and shit overpowered his senses. The exhaustion in his soul. And the screams. By the Cauldron, the screams never left him. There was so much guilt that he had survived when better males had perished beside him. There was no glory in dying. Still, he had nightmares of the day against Hybern when Nesta had screamed his name, drawing him away from his death.

Doubt niggled away at him, whispering poison into his ear. Azriel was private. If he’d ever had a significant partner, Cassian and Rhys wouldn’t have known about it. They used to laugh that one day Azriel would turn up with two children that he’d hidden from them for years. But his compassion towards Nesta kindled Cassian’s possessive side. ‘You and Nesta…’ He swallowed. ‘You’re not?’

‘No,’ Azriel shook his head firmly. ‘You’re my brother.’

Cassian rubbed his face with his hands. He was torn between searching every inch of the world for his mate to make amends and burying his head in the sand with shame for not seeking Nesta out sooner.

The sun was rapidly setting. Night was swallowing that last glimmers of golden light from Windhaven. He would return to Velaris and decide what kind of male he was. Beside him, Azriel straightened up too.

‘I have to go.’

‘To Nesta?’ The words tumbled out before Cassian could stop them.

A single dip of the chin from Azriel.

‘She likes to read,’ Cassian blurted out. ‘Romance books. And sweet food. It’s the only thing she touched on Solstice. Can you take her some books?’

The memories of that night were fractured. He had given Nesta space; too much space. He did not even speak to her. And he regretted that. Regretted sitting so close to Mor instead of seizing an opportunity of trying to engage Nesta. She was so thin. He couldn’t help watch her at the other end of the dining table, pushing her food around her plate in silence, ignored by all. He had chased after her with a gift. Go home, Cassian. Home is what he wanted with Nesta.

Azriel frowned slightly, but nodded.

‘Can I see her? I want to apologise.’

A shadow came up around Azriel, cutting him off from Cassian. ‘No. Not until I ask her. If she wants to see you then I’ll contact you.’

‘Please,’ Cassian begged, voice wrought with pain. ‘Please just tell me where she is. I promise I will not look for her. I will not seek her out. I just need to know where she is. It’s eating me alive.’

He’d have dropped to his knees if he had to. Their mating bond was hot and knotted as if one of them had been screwing it up in anguish. Azriel watched him carefully, taking in the wounds on his face from weeks of fighting.

‘At Rosehall with my mother.’

That took Cassian by surprise. In five hundred years, he had met Azriel’s mother only a handful of times and they had been carefully planned visits to Velaris where Azriel stayed close by her. Rosehall was a mystery. Not even Rhysand knew where the house was, only that it was in Illyria. He could not imagine Azriel taking a snarling, vicious Nesta to his mother. He’d have set the world on fire to protect his mother.

‘To your mother?’ Cassian repeated in disbelief.

Shadows danced around Azriel sensing his discomfort. ‘Nesta needed to be loved and my mother needed someone to love.’

Every day, Cassian prayed to the Mother that Nesta would say yes. Yes, she wanted to see him. Yes, she missed him too. Azriel’s visits to Velaris were infrequent. Though he said he did not stay at Rosehall, Cassian couldn’t help feeling envious that he knew Nesta’s location, that he might have been having a dinner with her despite what he said.

The House of Wind had become a tomb. Whatever order Rhys had for him, Cassian carried out numbly. Only one face ever flashed into his mind. One name. Cassian would stand in the archways cut into the building, staring out across Velaris hoping to see a glimpse of Azriel on the horizon. Hoping for a yes. If Azriel returned and it was a no, Cassian did not know what he would do. If Nesta severed their bond, it would break him entirely.

‘Most males would enjoy a break from their mate,’ Rhys drawled. ‘Feyre won’t stop dragging me to the bedroom. She can’t get enough. Insatiable.’

‘I heard that, prick,’ Feyre called from the other room.

A sparkle remained in Rhysand’s eyes as he leaned forwards in his chair to watch Feyre paint. In the armchair next to him, Mor downed the last half of her glass of wine. Her legs were cocked over the other arm and she leant her head back.

‘I’d want a permanent break if Nesta was my mate.’

A rumble of anger filled Cassian’s chest. His siphons glowed scarlet – it did not go unnoticed by Rhys. ‘If she’s not back by the end of the week, we will start searching, brother.’

‘I know where she is,’ he snapped. ‘At Rosehall where her stupid mate can’t bother her.’

Cassian slumped back into an armchair, his wings catching beneath him. Solstice was approaching. He’d seen a soft grey dress dusted with starlight in a shop near the Sidra that he couldn’t help but purchase for Nesta. He pinned all of his hope on her attending, as if whatever issues there were would be smoothed over by then.

‘Rosehall? Surely not.’ Rhys had moved towards the fire and added another log to the burning pile.

Feyre entered with a smear of paint on her cheek where she’d pushed her hair away from her face. There were so many similarities to Nesta, Cassian could barely look at his high lady. ‘What’s Rosehall?’

‘Azriel’s home. None of us have ever been invited. We don’t even know where that is.’ Rhys turned another log with a set of prongs. ‘It’s so heavily warded. I searched for it and couldn’t find it.’

‘You are so nosy,’ Mor scalded. ‘You know what Az is like when it comes to his mother.’

‘His mother lives there?’

Cassian sighed, already regretting leaking the secret. ‘Yes. Az said his mother loves the company and Nesta is doing better.’

Rhysand stoked the fire so the embers spat. ‘See, nothing to worry about.’

Cauldron, curse him. What a fool he was. An utter fool. On Solstice, Nesta had flinched at the sight of the fireplace that Rhys was knelt by. He’d thought it was Nesta being nasty, judging it somehow. The embers spat again. Cassian had heard that noise. Heard that noise when Nesta watched her father’s neck snap. Oh, Nesta. A winter spent freezing because she couldn’t hear the noise.

Nuala’s voice carried from the kitchen then a brief, quiet murmur answered. Azriel shuffled into the living room, shaking flecks of snow from his black hair. Every set of eyes fell upon the shadow singer while he hung his coat up near the fire.

‘Hello?’ He said uncertainly.

‘You left your mother at the mercy of Nesta Archeron?’ Rhys folded his arms across his chest, a look of puzzlement on his face.

Cassian wanted to rip the pair of hot tongs from Rhys’ hand and smack him round the head with them. Was it so unbelievable that Nesta could be nice?

Azriel pointed at Cassian. ‘Five hundred years and you still can’t keep a secret. I don’t know why I tell you anything. Blabbermouth.’

With a tired sigh, Azriel spread out his wings to catch the heat of the fire as he lay against an arm of the couch. Abandoning his boots, he rested his legs at the other end. Lazily, he looked over his shoulder to Cassian. ‘It’s a yes, by the way.’

Hope soared within him. Cassian couldn’t help the grin that broke onto his face. Feyre rubbed a hand on his shoulder in acknowledgement of his good news. But then Azriel sighed again.

‘She doesn’t want to see you or talk to you. She said you can see her, from a distance, see that she’s fine then leave.’

‘She’s horrid,’ Mor said with a shudder. ‘We’ve done nothing to Nesta and-’

‘Shut up. Just shut up about Nesta. Stop it. Leave her name out of your mouth.’

Mor’s mouth gaped open in shock at Cassian’s outburst. He had never spoken to her like that. Had never planned to. But if he wasn’t going to defend his mate, who would? Mor found a reason to leave quickly. She said goodbye to Rhys and Feyre only. Azriel shot him a look saying what have I done? If Cassian wasn’t on her side then she didn’t have a buffer against Azriel’s affection.

When the day came to travel to Illyria, Cassian was afraid and excited all at once. Feyre had popped by to wish him luck, but there was something deeper there that she hadn’t been able to say. Let me know how my sister is. It was silly really, to be so worked up about seeing Nesta again when he knew they wouldn’t even interact – still, Cassian had had his hair trimmed, wore a set of his nicer clothes, and splashed on cologne. Azriel said nothing when they met on the roof of the House of Wind, merely rolled his eyes.

They were in a village Cassian didn’t recognise. Azriel had winnowed them with his shadows, likely an attempt to throw Cassian off of the location. It was a rugged, hard landscape, like most of Illyria. Thick gorse and heather ran up the side of the steep hill Azriel had taken them to. At the bottom was a widow’s camp and a number of market stalls. He sought a coronet made from gold, but couldn’t find her yet.

‘We can go a little closer.’

Azriel nudged him to walk. He was thankful for that. His legs were heavy, shaking at the prospect of seeing Nesta after so much time had passed.

‘Does she know I’m here?’

‘No. She asked not to know when I’d bring you.’

No chance of her searching for him then. Cassian nodded solemnly, accepting that everything had to be done Nesta’s way or it wouldn’t be done at all.

‘She also asked that if you try anything that I kick your ass.’

‘You think you could?’ Cassian scoffed. ‘You look so tired, one strong wind will knock you over.’

They settled on a bare patch of ground ringed with heather. A large boulder blocked most of the icy wind. Already, snow had settled on the mountains and it wouldn’t be long until it descended upon the village.

Cassian gazed at the widow’s camp, wondering how many of them had joined it after their partners had fought against Hybern. Were any of them in the legion that had turned to ash? Azriel nudged him in the elbow. From the opposite direction, he finally saw his mate. She had her arm looped with Rovena’s. She was a head taller than the female, but both had identical hairstyles, two long braids down their back woven with black leather strands. Illyrian hairstyles. And she wore an Illyrian dress, grey and patterned with pink embroidered flowers. Illyrian mittens. His heart could have been heard back in Velaris. She looked so at home. So at ease with Azriel’s mother. He had never seen her so comfortable.

The two females walked unhurriedly towards the market. Nesta said something that made Rovena laugh then squeeze Nesta tighter. A blush bloomed onto Nesta’s windswept cheeks. A cry of her name rang out, carried on the wind. Cassian turned to see a small girl barrel through the sky towards his mate and land in her outstretched arms. The future. That was their future, the future he desperately craved with her. How easily she tucked the girl onto her hip while they continued towards the camp. Cassian could make out the girl regaling a tale with wild hand gestures that had Nesta and Rovena nodding theatrically.

‘Her father died in the war. One of the better males. The mother died in childbirth a couple of years ago.’ Azriel’s hazel eyes were locked onto his mother. ‘Their grandmother owns the clothes shop my mother works for.’

Cassian nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from Nesta. The girl had flown back to the camp where she weaved across the stalls and skimmed the flames of their fires without a care in the world. Nesta approached an elderly Illyrian female who kissed her on the cheek in greeting. He expected her to recoil or react somehow, but Nesta did not. A crying boy was scooped up into her arms and Nesta cradled him to her chest.

‘She’s a natural,’ he breathed, watching Nesta brush the boy’s dark hair from his forehead while rocking from side to side.

He noticed that she steered well clear of the fires. He could have stayed there all day watching her. The improvement in her was noticeable. When Cassian had last seen Nesta, she had been deep in the throes of winter, losing every bit of light she had once had, but this was Nesta in spring, blooming in Illyria, of all places. A couple of times, Azriel had to say his name in warning when he’d been ready to fly down to her.

‘Don’t think she’s wholly healed,’ Azriel explained. ‘She still has bad days, but she herself even said she feels like she’s turning a corner into the light. I think Lule and Lorin have helped her a lot too. Meeting fae who haven’t already judged her.’

The boy had fallen asleep in her arms so Nesta had his face tucked into her neck, a blanket around him, while she watched Lule fly to the top of a tree and leap out of it. The girl was fearless. Nesta was not. From their perch, Cassian could make out the intake of breath she took when Lule plummeted to the ground, her wings splaying out at the very last second to save her from splattering onto the ground.

‘I have to go to the mortal lands.’ Azriel shifted uncomfortably next to him. Both of their hands were white and cracked from sitting in the cold all day. It was his way of announcing that it was time for Cassian to leave too. Not that he wanted to.

‘I will ask her again if you can come back. I know this is hard for you.’

‘Thanks, Az, for doing what I couldn’t for her.’

The shadow singer nodded, uncomfortable with the praise. ‘She’s got a very dry wit. And she’s reading books faster than I can bring them to her. The Cauldron matched you well.’

Chapter Text

‘Was it today?’ Nesta asked the shadow singer hesitantly as they cleared away the table after dinner.

‘No. A few days ago.’

‘Oh.’

‘You seem disappointed.’

The bat had been good to his promise and hadn’t flapped down in front of her. Part of her almost wished he had. She knew she probably would have argued with him, but some instinct, buried deep in her heart, missed him. Nesta liked the way he dwarfed her with his enormous frame. The way his wings would curl around her allowing privacy. And he was handsome. That was always a plus. Rugged and wind-hewn, Cassian was a male from these lands and it suited him. Most males in Illyria shared his ebony hair and deep brown eyes, but Cassian somehow stood out. He was bigger. His wings caught the light so the thin membrane was shaded a burnt umber that complimented his siphons. The darkness of his eyes did not devour her; the golden flecks shined like stars.

‘Definitely not,’ she clipped. ‘Pastry?’

Rovena was in the living room, sewing new clothes for Lorin who had suddenly started sprouting upwards and losing his baby fat. Azriel reached across the table for the honeyed pastry flecked with nuts. It had taken her and Rovena hours to make, the pastry was so thin and delicate.

‘You’ve mastered Illyrian cooking.’

‘Your mother leads the way. I just do as I’m told.’

‘Nesta Archeron following orders without complaint.’ Azriel took a bite but a teasing smile flickered onto his lovely face. He was becoming more daring with what he said to her as if he no longer felt afraid she’d spiral if she heard something she did not like.

Nesta shrugged. ‘I have a better leader here.’

Both of them turned their heads to the living room as though they might be able to see the kind Illyrian female through the wall. Azriel loosened slightly.

‘He would like to see you again.’

‘I suppose he can,’ she said, feigning indifference. ‘I want a rematch.’

Nesta fetched the chess set from one of the cabinets and set it up while Azriel’s heavy gaze followed her every movement. She had seen the shadow singer play with the high lord previously, but pride held her back from asking the rules then. Dutifully, Azriel had taught her when she asked, and although she understood the rules, there was no mercy on his end. From seven games, he had won them all. There was a vicious competitiveness within him.

‘Would you be willing to meet him?’

Nesta narrowed her eyes. A shadow curled around Azriel’s chest as though she’d targeted it. ‘Why?’

‘He is your mate. If you do not want him then severe the bond.’

‘I didn’t say I don’t want him.’ Her feathers had been ruffled by that remark. She’d heard what could happen when a mating bond was broken. She would not inflict that upon the bat. She knew the love he gave to his family overflowed from him, that despite whatever awfulness had passed between them, he had loved Feyre from the start without expectation when she’d needed support. Nesta only had to mention his name around the females in Illyria and their knees buckles with admiration - it had been the same in Velaris.

Azriel made his move after a long few minutes of careful deliberation. ‘You could get to know him, on his own, on your terms. I am biased - but he is a good male.’

‘Better than you?’

‘Definitely,’ he smirked. Nesta managed to take one of his pieces off the board, but he’d raised his eyebrows in warning and she had a horrible feeling he’d already led her into a trap. ‘One meeting doesn’t have to be a romance.’

‘But that’s the path it will go down. It’s either we have a mating ceremony or we break the bond. I’m not wretched enough to be like Elain and leave the big bat dangling in purgatory.’

‘Big bat?’ His brow furrowed. ‘Do I want to know what you call me?’

‘The handsome bat.’

‘And Rhysand?’

‘No, you don’t want to know that one,’ she flashed her elongated canines to Azriel in something between a grimace and a grin.

‘So you will meet him?’ Azriel took her knight off the board. And he’d take either her rook or her bishop next. They were both in the firing line. He either over-thought every move of his life or was cheating somehow. Nobody could be this good at chess.

‘Are you working on commission, match-maker?’

Azriel rolled his hazel eyes. ‘I’ve had him for five hundred years. It’s your turn.’

Later, Nesta had bid goodnight to the pair and stalked up to her room to read in bed. Snow had been falling steadily so a thick wedge hung off the window frame. It seemed the perfect conditions to curl into bed with her book. But with a groan, Nesta realised she’d left the book in the living room that morning perched on the arm of the sofa. She wished she hadn’t. Wished she’d waited until she’d heard the front door lock when Azriel departed to go and fetch it.

At the foot of the stairs, she waited for Rovena to finish saying farewell to her only child, not wanting to interrupt. It would have been better if she had.

‘When will you bring a female home for your mother to meet, hm?’

‘If that’s your only expectation of me, you’ll be sorely disappointed.’ Azriel sighed but refused to meet his mother’s gaze. A soft hand turned his face towards her. ‘We’ve talked about this.’

‘You won’t be like him. You’re my son. You won’t become him.’

Azriel’s face crumpled. He closed his eyes and his mother kissed his forehead, stepping onto her tip-toes to be able to reach. Nesta backed away silently, guilt gnawing away at her insides.

A dusting of snow covered the hills. It was early still, so only one set of footprints had left traces in the snow like a memory. This evening, she would meet Cassian. They’d meet in the village when it was dark. Azriel would walk her then remain at the house, keeping an ear out in case she needed him. However, looking out at the winter scene from his window, Nesta wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to spend an evening in the cold.

Rovena could be heard singing under her breath as she made the tea. The house was bitterly cold, though the Illyrian hadn’t yet complained about it or told Nesta to get a grip. For her, she would master her unwanted gift from the Cauldron.

Kneeling in front of the hearth, Nesta coiled a flame into her palm. The heat flickered onto her cheeks, but it did not burn her skin. Like quicksilver, it dripped into the hearth. She watched it, encouraged it to grow – then held it. Held it and held it. Mesmerising silver flames remained dancing in the hearth even after she shuffled away. It had taken the edge off her magic that constantly throbbed inside of her, wanting release.

Rovena’s morning greeting halted on her lips when she took in the sight. A soothing hand came to rest on Nesta’s shoulder.

‘Well done. Look at that. They’re beautiful, Nesta.’

It was nothing to be proud of, some flames burning in the hearth, but Nesta couldn’t help herself from smiling, thankful of the praise.

‘I didn’t want you to be cold.’

They sat together on the couch, sipping steaming cinnamon tea whilst watching the snow fall lightly from the grey clouds.

‘It will be Solstice soon,’ Rovena announced.

‘Why doesn’t Azriel spend it here?’

‘He comes the day after,’ she explained. ‘Though I do wish he’d stay for longer. You being here is a benefit, it’s the most I’ve seen him in a long time.’

‘I’ll stay forever if you like.’

Rovena laughed. ‘I would like that. It’s nice to have company.’

Nesta had always done better on her own – or at least that was what she told herself. More and more she craved Rovena’s calming presence. Found reasons to join her in the living room. Even if they didn’t speak, both were happy to continue their hobbies in silence beside each other. But there were some itches that Rovena wasn’t able to scratch for Nesta. And she hoped her guard wouldn’t drop around Cassian and give in to those urges. He had a way of obliterating her carefully guarded walls.

‘He’s quite… mysterious. Azriel.’

‘As a boy, he only ever had his own company. Alone in that dungeon. In the darkness.’ She pressed a hand to her heart.

‘It must have been hard for you to see him go each week.’

Rovena nodded, her hazel eyes rimmed with silver. ‘I feel like I was robbed of the chance to be his mother. Still, I try to make amends. Every meal I did not get to cook for him, every piece of washing I didn’t get to pick up after him.’ She smiled, but it was filled with a sorrow so bleak that Nesta reached for her hand. ‘Your mother, she is mortal?’

There were wounds that never healed. Wounds where the scar tissue was so thick from picking at it, that it hurt to touch. For Nesta, that wound was her mother. Every interaction she could remember exchanging with her mother, Nesta had performed autopsies on over the years. A cunning, cold woman whose only dreams were that her daughters secured wealthy husbands, regardless of the type of man they were. Nesta’s only fear was turning into her.

‘She died some years ago from a sickness.’ When Rovena moved to comfort her, Nesta swallowed. ‘She was not like you.’ Not kind. Not warm. Not how a mother should be. ‘I was the only daughter she had time for – and that was only because she had ambitions that I would marry a man of high standing. I fought so hard to please her. I’d have trodden on anyone in my way to receive her compliments. I thought… I thought that was love. My mother’s approval.’

For a while, neither of them spoke. Rovena watched Nesta’s flames while she continued gazing out at the snowfall. Even after all the years that had passed - everything that had happened – Nesta was ashamed that she had not cared how little attention her sisters received then. But it was not affection. It was not love. Her mother would rage and yell at her when Nesta had displeased her. Her affection was conditional. When they lost their wealth, Nesta lost every opportunity her mother had set her up for. There would be no husband to take care of her. All she had ever trained to be was a socialite capable of capturing the heart of the richest man in the room. She had no skills or talents beyond that. She had been honed into an arrow to target men’s hearts.

‘How do you feel about tonight?’ Rovena’s eyes swept over Nesta, landing on her unbound golden hair.

‘Terrified,’ she admitted. ‘I’m scared I will end up as I was before.’

‘Look how far you’ve come since the day you arrived here. And even if you do go backwards, Nesta, you know the way now, you’ve done it once before.’

‘Will you plait my hair the Illyrian way tonight?’

‘I thought you’d never ask,’ she said, squeezing Nesta’s wrist.

Nesta’s breath came in shaky little gulps as she took in her reflection in the mirror. For once, she didn’t want to cringe away from the sight of her bony face or hollowed out eyes. There was life again in her appearance. She no longer looked as if the sharpness of her face would cut any who got too close to her. Despite it, spikes were growing in anticipation of Cassian’s arrival in the village ready to protect Nesta in case he dared to get close to her. Her temper was flaring despite no trigger as if it was practising before the inevitable explosion.

‘Ready?’ Azriel called from the bottom of the stairs.

Rovena draped a heavy cloak around Nesta’s shoulders that was trimmed with soft, white fur. Carefully, she untucked the two long braids from beneath it so her craftsmanship could be on full display then kissed her cheeks in farewell.

‘It’s just him, isn’t it? The others won’t make a surprise visit?’

If she had to see Feyre or Rhysand she’d scream. And if busy-body Morrigan deigned to show up, Nesta would erupt.

‘Just Cassian.’

‘Why am I meeting him outdoors in winter in the damn snow?’ Nesta hissed as she followed Azriel towards the village. It had been her idea to see him in the darkness, as if that would make the meeting easier.

On the edge of the widows’ camp, Nesta caught a glimpse of an enormous figure. A set of wings spread out by the fire, catching the heat, while the male made easy conversation with some of the elderly females. It was enviable, really, how natural it was for him to make friends.

Nesta clutched Azriel’s arm. ‘Is it too late to turn back?’

Azriel gave her a gentle push along the path towards her mate.

At the sound of their footsteps crunching through the snow, Cassian paused his conversation and turned to them. A wave of heat flooded Nesta’s body at the sight of him. How he stood larger than any other male, his wings an indicator of the magnitude of his power. She remembered that day, back before she was Made, when she had smuggled him into her bedroom to accept a letter for the mortal queens. He’d stared at her hungrily then, but now he was a starving man as his eyes devoured every inch of her.

‘So, I’ll go,’ announced Azriel. ‘Two hours,’ he said, pointing to Cassian.

‘We could have a lot of fun in two hours,’ Cassian replied, grinning like a wolf.

Nesta narrowed her eyes at him. ‘I could kill you and hide the body in that time.’

The shadow singer clapped his hands together. ‘Enjoy.’

Chapter Text

Azriel’s shadows devoured him as he disappeared from view. Nesta Archeron stood as regal as ever, her arms folded across her chest, scrutinising him. She ought to have been a queen.

‘Have you had dinner?’

Cassian nodded, unsure whether to tell her that even if he had eaten, his appetite was never satiated.

‘Stop staring at me like you want to eat me then.’

His brain had never worked quicker, preparing every lewd line in existence to rebuttal her comment, but his lips held them all back. If he announced this early on in their meeting that he’d love nothing better than to spend the night with his face buried between her legs, she’d likely kill him on the spot.

Whether something passed through their mating bond, or if Nesta already knew him too well, her nostrils flared then she muttered about killing him again. Her arms remained clamped across her chest and her foot tapped on the snow.

‘You’re wearing Illyrian clothes.’

‘Well spotted,’ she snorted. ‘Should I have come naked? Don’t answer that.’

A slight flush crawled up her neck, but the iron expression never wavered. In five hundred years a female had never rendered him unable to speak. Nesta had achieved that feat when she was mortal without needing to try, but as fae, as his mate, Nesta was even more compelling. What could he say? That seeing her this close was better than anything he’d seen all year? That when she dressed in Illyrian clothes and had her hair styled the same way, it made his mouth water? That she was everything he ever wanted?

‘If you’re just going to stand and stare at me all day, I’m going home.’ Nesta turned to leave, but he shot his hand out, catching her wrist and pulling her back to him. She might have been a blade given form, but Cassian knew weapons, knew how to wield them.

He pressed Nesta’s hand to his chest so she could feel the thunderous gallop within. The Illyrian general who had faced down death was afraid. She had to know this was not easy for him either. That he was fighting against every instinct in his body that wanted to kiss her and never let her go.

She stopped trying to pull away and let her hand rest there, beneath his own. His wings curled around them, shielding her from the worst of the wind – and any eyes that happened to snag on their interaction.

‘I’m sorry.’

Nesta’s head snapped up towards him, but her tone lacked its usual bite when she asked, ‘What have you done now?’

Time apart from her had helped him to understand the obstacles she’d dragged herself through, and to understand that she always did it alone. The mortal man, whoever he was, the one who invoked such fear in Nesta, she had dealt with that alone. She had pulled Elain back from the edge of oblivion and acted a guard dog when anyone tried to get near her sister. Even if she wanted help, Nesta would never ask for it. Cassian should have realised it sooner. The way Azriel had.

‘For everything I didn’t do for you. You are my mate and-’

‘Don’t say that word,’ she hissed, dragging her hand back.

His wings snapped open before she could push through them in her rage so a cold wind hit them both.

‘I didn’t choose you.’

‘You wouldn’t dare sully yourself with a bastard-born Illyrian, would you, Nes?’

‘Don’t you call me that.’ Her jaw was clenched together, likely preparing whatever ammunition she was about to bombard him with. Cassian planted his feet, ready to take it all. All of the venom that Nesta was building, suddenly snapped inside of her. Her shoulders sagged and her arms wrapped around her body. ‘I never had a choice.’

She stalked away, boots trampling through the thick layer of snow into the darkness. Cassian followed. He’d follow her through hell if he had to. Nesta was a runner. He’d learnt that long ago. That she always sought an escape from situations she couldn’t handle rather than face them. Azriel’s words came back to him and he did not want to push her until she snapped. She looked better. The light had returned to her beautiful eyes. He didn’t want to be the cause of her spiralling.

At the crest of the hill, Nesta stopped and pointed across the valley. ‘What’s that?’

‘A hill.’

‘I know that,’ she snarled. ‘The markings.’

‘It’s a monument to the dead. Did Azriel not tell you about our history?’

She shook her head. ‘He’s not around often.’

‘Nor Rovena?’

‘We mostly just gossip about Azriel.’

‘You’ll have to tell me all of his secrets,’ he murmured in her ear. The mere act of brushing his lips near the delicate point had him trembling.

‘Certainly not. I’ve heard you can’t keep your mouth shut, blabbermouth.’

Mother above, the temptation to sweep the strands of hair from her face was the hardest thing Cassian had ever resisted. She’d likely snap his fingers off if he tried it.

‘We can go there if you like. You’d have a good view of the stars too.’ When Nesta began trampling through the snow, he touched her shoulder and flexed his wings. ‘It will be quicker to fly. I’ll be gentle, Nes.’

‘Maybe I like it rough,’ she countered, angling her head to the side like a predator ready to hunt after its prey.

And he was supposed to put his hands on her after she said that. Cassian had never been more thankful that her senses didn’t pick up on the shift in his scent, the arousal that had his trousers tightening over his crotch.

The outright refusal to acknowledge his existence as Cassian scooped Nesta into his arms only added fuel to his desire for the female. She’d turned her head away, exposing the creamy skin of her neck, so she didn’t have to look at him, feigning interest in the snow below instead. No sooner had they landed, did she peel his arms from her. Without boasting, Cassian knew females fell easily for him. He’d never needed to try particularly hard to find one. But the Cauldron had finally sent him his match; a female so stubborn, she preferred to shiver from the cold than step an inch closer to him.

Nesta removed her mittens and brushed a finger against the lettering carved into the stone monument. That small act of exposing her skin had Cassian’s siphons flaring. He could only see her face and her hands but that was already undoing his composure.

‘Can I translate it for you?’ He’d write her a sonnet in Illyrian declaring his love if she asked.

‘I didn’t know bats could read.’ The mask was slipping. Cassian spied a small, mischievous smile on Nesta’s lips before she could turn her head away.

He laughed. Laughed at her crumbling attempts at hostility.

‘This one is a monument to those who died in the War five centuries ago. For their spirits are calm, their souls at rest, but their memory remains in glory. It’s very old.’

Nesta narrowed her eyes in challenge. ‘Aren’t you that old?’

‘I walked into that one, didn’t I?’

From her bag, Nesta fumbled with a flask then brandished a mug of something steaming at him.

‘Is it poisoned?’

‘Why don’t you try it and find out.’

‘Witch.’

Nesta smirked and took a long drink from her own mug, never breaking eye contact. ‘Rovena made it, so you’re probably safe.’

Cassian moved beside her to lean on the edge of the stone. When his wing curled around her, Nesta stiffened, ready to bark out an insult, but when the wind was cut off, her lips pursed together.

‘You look at home in Illyria.’

Nesta shrugged. ‘Rovena is kinder than I deserve. It’s so difficult to see the widow camps, to see them struggling. And now winter is here, it will be worse. I’d adopt all the children if I could. It reminds me of when we were poor – but at least we had a proper roof and walls.’

‘Illyria breeds only the strong.’ There were winter nights as a child when Cassian thought he might die from the cold. The stiffness in his fingers and toes never left even when the sun came up. He had been obsessed with the fireplace when he first moved in with Rhys, scared to leave it in case his body would be seized by the biting cold he was used to.

‘Maybe if your high lord and lady actually bothered with Illyria there wouldn’t be so much poverty. There wouldn’t be females forced to live in tents through the winter. Females wouldn’t have their wings clipped. Cauldron forbid they have to pause construction on their sixth mansion because those rats in Illyria need help.’

A blind fury seized Cassian and he staggered through the snow, away from Nesta. ‘You can be such a horrible thing. Rhys and Feyre-’

She cut him off. ‘Because I’m telling you the truth. The truth you can’t bear to face about your precious high lord.’

‘He took me and Azriel in. We are something because of him.’

‘Would he have done it if you lacked power? If you were the low-rung Illyrian males who shared the same attitude towards females as so many of them do? He wouldn’t care about you. He’d have left you to die in the snow. He does nothing for this land except show up occasionally and look scary.’

Some of those words were hitting the mark. Cassian’s siphons pulsed.

‘Leave this place and the Hewn City to fester. Stick all the damaged females in a library underground, so I don’t need to fix the problem. What a wonderful high lord I am.’

No. Cassian wasn’t listening to this. Nesta was warping the truth, taking the extremes of it to fit her argument. The females were there because they were afraid. The Hewn City had to be that way to protect Velaris. And Illyrians wouldn’t change.

All of it tasted like ash. He and Azriel were proof that Illyrians could change. Not ready to face it, he turned his anger on her.

‘You say you never had a choice. You had a choice to be this bitter, Nesta. You made the choice to sit on your ass and make your sister hunt for you.’

‘Yes, I did.’ Nesta leapt to her feet and silver fire wreathed her hands. ‘I chose to do nothing to try and force my useless father into action. I didn’t want Feyre to hunt. I wanted us to starve to death to serve him right for not saving us. And I wish. I wish we had. I wish we had starved so I wouldn’t have become this thing.’

Nesta gasped for breath as the fire blazed up her arms. ‘Nesta Archeron, a nasty girl who did nothing for her sisters. You all conveniently forget that Elain lived in that house and chose to do nothing too. But Elain is Elain and nobody would dare draw similarities between beautiful, kind Elain and her wretched, big sister.’

‘I tried to protect us. I did not want fae in our house. I knew what would happen with your kind. I’d have fought the whole world to protect her but she gave up on me.’

Nesta dropped to her knees in the snow, sobs ripping from her chest. Her fire continued burning, fuelled by her rage, by her anguish. I think Nesta feels everything—sees too much; sees and feels it all. And she burns with it. Keeping that wall up helps from being overwhelmed, from caring too greatly. That’s what Feyre had said back when her sister was still mortal, one of their first conversations that revolved around Nesta before they were attacked on the Sidra. How accurate she had been in her assessment.

Cassian crawled to her across the snow, reaching for the hand that still blazed with fire. She was trembling, losing a grip on her magic. A fallen star burning up.

‘Nesta. Nesta.’

As his fingers reached through the flames to touch Nesta’s, no pain clawed at his skin. Her silver flames receded. Her breath was shaky, but when Cassian touched his forehead to hers, a sigh of relief escaped her lips. The coolness of his hands soothed the burn of her cheeks. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

‘I’m here. I always will be. Always.’

Cassian lifted Nesta from the ground and wrapped her shaking body in his arms, resting against the stone monument. Without encouragement, she buried her face into his neck. Even now, he could still hear the drumming of her heart as it tried to calm after the outpouring of anger and regret.

‘You made a choice when you were mortal,’ he said, kissing the top of her head. ‘You did all you could for your people. Calculated how many ships it would take to save them. Demanded the mortal queens do more and be better. I’d never known anybody so sure of themselves.’ Because he could, because she was letting him, he kissed her head for another long moment. ‘You demanded they give up the Book. You, who were not royalty or fae, stared down those queens without a quiver of fear. Nesta Archeron, I loved you from that moment.’

Chapter Text

The impulse to run from his arms writhed in Nesta’s veins. She had exposed too much of herself. The shame branded her skin. But she felt safe in Cassian’s arms. Felt wanted. His grip on her tightened a little, sensing her desire to flee. Something restless in her settled slightly.

The searing heat of her flames was swallowed by the winter night. Her skin suddenly felt cold, her magic drained. Cassian tilted her closer to him. His own body was as hot as a furnace. A wave of calm lapped across her senses when she took in his rich, earthy scent.

‘You don’t love me,’ she said evenly. ‘You love the bond. The imaginary force that pushes you to me. You don’t know me.’

Maybe from the weary tone in her voice, the bat did not argue with her this time, just continued holding on to her, his breath a steady rhythm anchoring her.

‘I know I failed Feyre in a lot of ways, but I was not the only person in that house. My father could have taught her to read. He could have sold what he whittled. Elain could have grown vegetables. We all could have found jobs. I think we were all so angry and lost. But I am the only one who has been punished for it.’

Finally, she managed to speak again. ‘Do those stars have names?’

Nesta pointed to three blazing stars clustered above a mountain peak. Despite the distance, the bright snow clustered on the sheer face shone.

‘Arktos is on the left. Oristes, the right. Carynth is the brightest one in the centre. And that mountain is Ramiel. If you touch the top during the Blood Rite, you become Carynthian.’

‘I don’t know what any of that means.’

Cassian huffed a laugh. ‘You tricked me. I’d thought you were a real Illyrian.’ A thumb traced patterns on her shoulder through her cloak. ‘The Blood Rite is where Illyrian males get to show how tough they are. They’re dumped without weapons or allies and have one week to make it to the top of Ramiel while trying to kill anyone who gets in the way. The elements and lack of food or water are the biggest dangers.’

‘And did you touch it?’

‘Yes. The three of us. Together.’ The words were said proudly. Likely the biggest achievement of his life then – maybe it still was.

‘Did you hold hands?’ Nesta couldn’t resist an opportunity to tease him. It was her way of waving the white flag.

‘Yes. And we pressed our big, hard bodies together during those cold, lonely nights. Az was always in the middle of the cuddle.’

Nesta couldn’t work out if he was teasing her in return. She could imagine it though, the three of them shivering in the cold, one of them broaching the offer of using their bodies to warm each other.

‘Whatever you’re imagining, stop it.’ The bat flicked one of her plaits.

‘You led me down that path!’

Two hours had definitely passed and there had been no sign of the shadow singer in the village. Nesta had thought she’d need him to whisk her away, but it had not been as atrocious as it could have been. Her outburst wasn’t great, but it could have been worse. She knew she was demanding, knew she was stuck in her ways, but in fairness to the bat, he had listened and followed her strict instructions.

‘I’m sorry I called you a bastard-born nobody that day in my home.’

Cassian was quiet for too long. He never struggled for words usually. The silence dragged on for what felt like an eternity. Then he snorted. ‘I am bastard-born though.’

‘But I threw it at you to insult you. The manner of your birth is inconsequential. It is what you do with your life that matters. And by the way the females here goggle at you, I suppose you’re acceptable.’

‘Was that meant to be a compliment?’ He wrapped the end of her braid around one finger and used it to brush her cheek like a paintbrush.

‘If you do not want it, I’ll take it back.’

From the shine in his eyes, Nesta knew Cassian would take whatever crumb she offered him. He would do anything for her and it was so plainly written on his face. It was a dedication she did not deserve, a love she hadn’t earned.

‘I can teach you Illyrian.’

‘You? A teacher?’

‘It’s my mother tongue,’ he shrugged nonchalantly. ‘How hard can it be?’

‘What if I’m a terrible student?’

‘What if you’re an excellent one?’ The bat countered.

Cassian leant forwards, shifting Nesta so she was sat upright on his knee. A warm hand turned her face to him. She let him dictate the situation, let herself go with the tide.

‘I missed you,’ he whispered. ‘I missed you.’

She nodded, not allowing herself to admit that she had missed him too. How much of that feeling of desire was due to the bond? How much of it was her own heart declaring that it wanted him? Cassian had vowed to defend her people to the death. Declared on that battlefield that his only regret was that they did not have time. He would have died for her. And she for him. Together.

‘Nesta.’

The deep rumble of his voice drew her back. The starlight glinted from his brown eyes. They felt like home.

Her bare thumb traced the curve of his lip. She knew that if she did this, it was an invitation to her heart. One she could not take back. His face was so close to hers. Nesta could feel the stomp of his heart as it pressed against her arm.

Nesta withdrew her hand, but his own swallowed it. He pressed her hand to his own cheek, letting his eyes flutter to a close, desperate to carve the memory into eternity.

Cassian’s face blurred into nothing as Nesta pressed her lips to his. It was gentle, offering him the chance to call a stop to it. But he kissed her back with such an intensity, she clung to his arm – the only steady thing in a dizzying world.

Insistently, his mouth parted her lips, evoking tremors through her body. Sparks of life she had denied herself for so long erupted in her veins.

She was pulled onto his lap, her knees digging into the stone, his thighs clamped between hers. Cassian’s lips trailed kissed down her neck when Nesta tipped her head back. His tongue fluttered over her pulse, claiming her. More. She needed more.

Grinding down on him, a noise of desperate longing escaped the lips that were pressed against hers.

The noise shot through her, slamming into her senses. Not here. Not like this.

Her eyes screwed shut as she drew away. ‘I have to go.’

The bat did not argue, did not try to convince her to stay, merely nodded. His breath came shakily, but if he wanted to reach for her, he had enough sense not to try.

Cassian flew her back to the edge of the village. There still had not been a sign of Azriel. It worried Nesta, but Cassian waved it away, insisting that he was more than capable of walking her the rest of the way. She relented. Though he could not see the house, when Nesta stopped in its vicinity, Cassian did too. He squinted as if he might be able to see the creamy coloured walls or the thatched roof that way.

Nesta paused. She wasn’t used to goodbyes. She was more suited to angrily storming from him than a civil farewell. The big bat watched her closely, probably thinking the same. The last parting they had involved her demanding he go home and stop following her after that terrible Solstice – and now nearly a whole year had passed.

‘Thank you for seeing me. I hope it wasn’t too torturous for you.’

Nesta inclined her head. ‘I’ll have Azriel bring you the bill when he comes to Velaris. It won’t be cheap, I’m afraid.’

‘I missed you.’

‘You already said that.’

‘Still mean it.’

The yellow glow of candles lit up Rovena’s bedroom as Nesta unlocked the front door. The remains of a fire glowed orange in the hearth in the living room where the shadow singer was sprawled on the couch asleep. A blanket had been lovingly tucked around him.

While the water in the kettle boiled, Nesta heard the boom of wings as Cassian finally departed back to Velaris. She had only planned on a cup for herself, but silently Azriel had appeared in the kitchen, making her jump a foot in the air.

‘You’re back.’

‘And you’ve been asleep.’ Nesta patted down the tuft of black hair that stuck up on the side of his head.

‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to. How did it go?’ Hazel eyes narrowed. ‘He is still alive, isn’t he?’

‘Yes. We argued. And we kissed.’

A cock of his head in surprise. ‘In that order?’

‘Why are you so tired? What’s your high lord making you do?’ Nesta pressed the mug into his hands then beckoned for him to follow her into the living room.

‘Just trouble in the mortal lands taking up a lot of my time. When I’m in Velaris, I’m helping at the library.’

‘Ah yes, I can imagine a spy master’s skills are vitally important in shelving books.’

‘There’s a priestess-’

‘Go on…’ Nesta wiggled her eyebrows at him, a smile creeping onto her face.

Azriel rolled his eyes with irritation. ‘She’s researching shadow singing so I am helping her with her research.’

‘I am sure she has thoroughly examined you.’

Azriel stared at her. The weight of his gaze was heavy. ‘You and him need to accept the bond, so you’ll be locked into a frenzy and leave me alone. Stop prying. I don’t deserve this. I’ve only ever been nice to you.’

Nesta cackled. She’d never seen his composure break – and it had shattered entirely. His bronzed cheeks were now tinged with pink and his shadows danced almost in amusement.

‘Thank you for all of your help.’

Nesta had been about to graze his hand with her own but had hesitated, suddenly worried whether she should touch the scars. The split second deliberation had the shadow singer drawing his hands towards his lap, out of reach, something unreadable on his face.

‘Can’t they be healed?’

A short shake of the head. ‘Rhysand was good enough to ask Lord Thesan for assistance, but they will remain.’

‘They don’t matter,’ she said softly, reaching for one despite his discomfort. ‘It was not your fault. And if anybody judges you because of how they look, they’re not worth being in your life. You deserve to be loved.’

A small smile flickered onto the shadow singer’s lips. ‘You sound just like my mother.’

‘That’s not a bad thing.’

Chapter Text

The flight to Velaris felt like it had only taken a couple of beats of his powerful wings. Cassian soared on the elation of seeing his mate. She could deny it all she wanted, recoil from that word, but it was what they were. The stars had cast their fate together. Their roots would forever be entwined.

Nesta’s ethereal beauty would bring light to his darkest days. She’d laughed. Maybe at his expense, but it was a laugh all the same. Twelve months ago, he’d never have thought it possible, that he could dredge a laugh from her. It had only ever been words as sharp as blades. Even as a mortal, she’d been so tightly wound with a cold sort of fury, that her merciless humour had only emerged when she wounded. Her smiles were hard to win, but how beautiful they were when she gifted one to him.

‘Someone’s a happy male.’

Rhys waited for him on the roof of the House of Wind as he landed. Wearing a tailored black jacket and pants, he looked every inch the foreboding high lord that Prythian feared. No sign of the high lady on the roof – but no doubt she’d want a report on her sister when her mate returned home.

‘Sleeping already. Busy evening,’ Rhys drawled, a glitter of starlight in his violet eyes, catching Cassian’s trail of thought.

Cassian shook the smattering of snow out of his hair as they descended into the house. Rhys had already set a fire to heat the draughty rooms. ‘Do you two ever have a day where you don’t fuck each other?’

‘Why would I want that?’

From that one electrifying kiss with Nesta, Cassian understood that drive a little better. He’d thought her physical touch might have ebbed the pulse of desire that throbbed for her, like sucking out some poison from a wound. It had only made it worse. Now he knew what he had to gain, she would never leave his thoughts. He’d have taken her there and then in the snow like a rutting animal. Her skin had been softer than silk, the touch of her lips like a brush from the Mother’s fingertips.

‘Cauldron, Cassian, I’m still here.’ Rhysand smirked. He raised his eyebrows then shot a darting look towards his pants. Cassian adjusted himself, covering his crotch with the spread of his hands.

‘We’ve had to endure you and Feyre darling panting after each other enough,’ he grumbled.

Nothing he could say would ever shame Rhys, not after what he’d endured Under the Mountain – what they’d both endured – to have that love. A great expanse ripped through his chest. What if he never had that? What if Nesta rejected him? It had been bad enough when she’d sent him away last Solstice and he threw her gift into the Sidra – but still he couldn’t stop himself from flying by her apartment nearly every night, from sweeping over all the seedy taverns to catch a glimpse of her. But if Nesta snapped their bond, he couldn’t imagine he would recover from it.

A strong hand pressed down on his shoulder. ‘You’re losing yourself in imaginary scenarios.’

‘It’s not easy for us. Not like it was for you two.’

Rhys poured them both a tall glass of whisky. Cassian had already had a glass before flying to Illyria that evening – he’d had the good sense to believe he’d need it. The rims of their glasses clinked together, the only noise in a slumbering house. He had been alone in it for a long time. The others had moved on, into their own dens. Azriel came by from time to time still, though he was rarely home for long. Even when he stayed, he never looked as though he’d slept. The thought of Az flying home to Nesta, when he was denied that honour still turned his gut. Although he trusted his brother, the stirrings of jealously – the possessive male streak – weren’t easy to subdue. Cassian downed his drink. Rhys raised an eyebrow – but poured another for him.

‘You think it was easy for us? A mortal girl who fought against Amarantha to defend another male’s heart – Tamlin’s heart. We had everything stacked against us. I watched her die, Cass, heard her neck snap. That will never leave me.’

That was as much as Rhys would ever say about his stay Under the Mountain. In the initial days, before Feyre came to their court, shadows would pass over Rhys’ face. Whether they were the regret of what he’d had to do to survive or the discovery of his mate being his enemy’s lover was left unsaid. She had brought the life back into his eyes.

‘At least she liked you.’

‘She threw a shoe at me.’

‘Two shoes, wasn’t it?’ Cassian asked, a murmur of amusement leaking into his voice.

‘My point is, it wasn’t smooth sailing. Mor whisked her off the cabin when she discovered we were mates.’

‘And I remember the cabin stinking for weeks afterwards.’

Rhys’ grin was feline in nature, the sharpness of his canines exaggerated by the firelight. Something in Cassian’s expression made his own shift into something like concern.

‘How was she?’

He said that last word as if it was a curse. Unwilling to speak her name in case it brought ill-luck. A spike of anger pricked against the pull of their mating bond. He knew Rhys did not really care, only wanted the information to pass along to Feyre. Cassian forced down Nesta’s spiteful words that she’d yelled at him as her body erupted in fire. Their opinions of each other were matched; neither had a nice word to say about the other.

‘Fine,’ he said evenly. ‘She looks much healthier.’

‘Good. Nuala and Cerridwen had more substance than her last time I saw her.’

Cassian couldn’t refute that. If Nesta had continued down her path of self-destruction, she’d have ended up worse than a wraith. Another stab of disappointment pierced his chest that, like the others, he’d watched the wreckage rather than pulling her out from it.

Rhys scratched his neck in a way that fought too hard to be casual. ‘Will she be coming to Solstice?’

‘I didn’t broach that topic. I doubt it though.’

‘Feyre would like to see her. And Elain, no doubt.’

‘She’s flighty, Rhys. I don’t want to force her into a situation she feels she has no control in.’

‘It’s a meal and present exchanging with her sisters, Cass. It is Feyre’s birthday.’

How could he explain it simply that if Nesta had no grip on the situation, she’d panic. Her panic manifested itself as anger. So many of her outbursts came from a place she couldn’t control.

‘There was an incident…’

‘With Rovena?’ His voice was sharp, the glamour faded and his wings spread out behind him, almost ready to tear across the sky to Illyria.

Cassian drew his brow together. Why had that been Rhys’ first reaction? To imagine Nesta hurting Azriel’s mother? To seek her out for retribution. ‘No. Of course not. Her magic. She’s struggling with it.’

‘Struggling how?’

Maybe it was a betrayal, but Rhysand understood these things better than anyone else in their court. He knew the weight of magic and the debts that had to be paid if it was not managed appropriately. Rhys listened as he gazed out of one of the vast bay windows across his shining city, nodding occasionally to show Cassian he remained attentive. Nesta was a fallen star, blazing with that silver fire.

‘She needs to be trained. I will not have her losing control and causing a death.’

‘Az is trying.’

Rhys held up a hand to stop him. ‘Azriel is spreading himself too thin. He doesn’t have the time to dedicate to Nesta’s issues.’

The spy master had not shared details of the mortal lands – neither had Rhys – but often the pair were locked into private discussions, ones even Feyre was not privy to.

‘I will train her myself.’

Cassian shook his head. ‘She will not allow it, you know she won’t.’

‘If she wants to remain a member of my court, she will train. That power is dangerous. And in volatile hands, I can’t bear to think of the damage she might inflict.’

‘She didn’t ask for that power.’

‘No. She took it.’

Chapter Text

Nesta got as far as coaxing Azriel to stay the night. From the soft shuffle of his steps in the morning, he’d barely slept a wink – still, his mother beamed with sheer delight at the sight of him blinking blearily at the kitchen table with a freshly brewed pot of tea in front of him.

‘We cuddle up on the couch in the mornings,’ Nesta said, tapping him on the shoulder.

Begrudgingly, Azriel followed them into the chilly living room. Frost clawed its way up the window panes and their breath curled in the air. When he made to sit in the only arm chair, saying he couldn’t stay long, Nesta guided him to the couch beside his mother.

Both of the females had their hair unbound. There was no need to be guarded in this carefully protected home. Where Rovena’s was the colour of ink, Nesta’s hair shined like frozen gold. She gripped the main portion of it one hand, sweeping it out of reach of the hearth as she kindled her own form of fire there to warm them. Azriel watched closely, likely tucking that information away for one of his reports to Cassian or Rhysand. As much as she liked him, Nesta was under no illusions that Azriel, at his core, was a spy. Anything he viewed was currency, whether he chose to spend it was up to him.

Rovena patted a slither of space on the couch for Nesta to crawl into. Azriel shifted as much as he could towards the arm of the couch, but for the three of them, it was a tight fit. Nesta was thankful not to have a pair of wings too as those confounded things took up enough space. Being in the middle was a blessing though. She, Elain and Feyre used to squabble over the coveted middle spot in the bed during the winter - Elain always won.

Despite the warmth, there was an element of ease that was not something Nesta was familiar with. More and more, she was viewing Rovena as a mother figure; soft and welcoming, but also willing to give Nesta her independence. And Azriel, she knew he would never dare think of her as anything other than his brother’s mate. His muscled thigh pressed against her own. His bare forearm perched on her elbow. For some males it might have been an invitation, but she trusted him entirely to never think those thoughts of her. It was a cocoon of safety. She did not need to dress in armour. To harden herself. The three of them drank their tea in a sleepy, unhurried silence, all eyes fixed on the silver flames waltzing in the hearth.

‘Is it an Illyrian male thing to have such hot skin all the time?’ Nesta asked peeling her arm off of Azriel’s.

‘How much of Cassian’s hot skin were you touching last night?’

‘Azriel!’ His mother scolded, a faint blush blooming on her brown cheeks.

In retaliation, Nesta snapped, ‘What about the priestess you’re spending so much time with?’

‘Azriel?’

Rovena’s shock had turned to nosy delight. She bombarded her son with questions, all of which he responded to with short, non-answers then a look of pure fire at Nesta. You do not know what you’ve started, it said. Nesta didn’t prickle or ready her defences, merely lifted her chin in pure defiance as the shadows around him flickered with amusement.

The shadow singer departed without breakfast. He left a far too generous amount of money for Nesta. She’d queried it, feeling anger prickle in her veins, as if it was payment for seeing the big bat. Azriel had murmured it was for his mother’s reading lessons – which felt worse. She didn’t need to be paid to do it.

Rovena interrogated Nesta next on her son’s love life then asked how her meeting with the hungry one went in a casual way. Nesta answered honestly; it had been relatively nice to see a familiar face, but he could make her blood boil in the same breath that he complimented her.

Rovena declined a trip into the village. She’d taken one look at the thick crust of snow and shivered then declared she’d practise her reading and spend the day sewing in the warm rather than keep Marsela company.

Nesta slipped down the steep path coated in snow until she’d ended up almost jogging the last portion to keep her balance. So much for being a graceful fae of immense power. Marsela snorted in response when Nesta skidded to a stop by her stall. How could the elderly female stand it? Spending all day in the snow in the hopes of being able to rub two coins together at the end of the day. Lorin grinned at her in greeting with a face smeared with something like mashed banana from where his grandmother had sat him on the stall. The winter wind made his wings tremble as it brushed along the membrane. She noticed that all the garments were well out of his sticky reach.

‘Where’s Lule?’ Nesta cast her eyes around the market place for a miniature set of wings flapping, but came up empty.

‘Being smart,’ her grandmother said, rubbing her frozen hands together.

Over by a forge, Lule stood balancing on one leg on a stool, gazing with wonder as a black smith hammered against an anvil. The glow of the forge was inviting. Certainly, the girl’s face was flushed from the heat – the blacksmith wore only a vest and apron on top from the heat and effort of his work. In between hammering, he answered whatever questions Lule had for him. Knowing the girl, they would be never ending.

‘He’s a nice one,’ Marsela said, jerking her head towards the male, giving Nesta the courage to approach.

‘Nesta!’ Lule cried with delight as she sighted her. The girl zoomed into her arms with a toothy grin.

The blacksmith surveyed her with a heavy sweep of his brown eyes. ‘Nesta Archeron,’ he acknowledged.

Her spine straightened. The cage around her chest tightened. ‘You know who I am?’

‘The high lady’s sister.’

That was better than being the lord of bloodshed’s mate. The mate of the prince of bastards. Belonging to him. Nesta sucked in a breath. ‘Most males here call me a witch.’

‘Are you?’ A teasing smile was on that boyish face.

‘Pray you don’t find out.’ She tried to muster a poison to her voice, but couldn’t.

‘Nesta. Nesta. Count how long it takes for me to go to the monument and back. Are you ready?’

Lule had her brow furrowed, focusing her attention on the black stone monument jutting out of the snow on the other side of the valley. A ripple of excitement and shame caressed the pits of Nesta’s stomach as she replayed the memory of climbing onto Cassian’s lap. The girl was off, wings pounding furiously against the cold wind, black hair billowing, dragging her away from the previous night’s escapades.

‘Do you want to come closer?’ The male pointed to the forge. ‘You’ll warm up quickly.’

Her eyes narrowed, taking in the glowing coals. No wood. No wood to spit and break her heart again. A row of knives was laid out on the male’s stall – all bound in iron so they could not be stolen. The craftsmanship was beautiful, even Nesta could admit. The hilts were bound delicately in leather or drizzled with golden metalwork.

She ran a finger along one hilt. ‘You made these?’

The male inclined his head. As he tipped his head closer to the forge to turn a knife he’d been heating, a bead of sweat dribbled down a cheek carved from stone. One arm was packed a little more than the other with muscle, but both were sculpted from hard work. He wasn’t as well built as Nesta liked them, definitely not as colossal as the bat was, but decent enough.

‘You killed the king of Hybern.’

‘My sister put the knife through his throat. I just took off his head.’

If he knew that, he would have known just who she had shielded that day. Been willing to die for. That reputation would chase her wherever she went.

Lule burst back in front of them, breathless. ‘How long?’

‘I didn’t count,’ Nesta winced. ‘Neither did he.’

The girl stood with her hands on her hips, looking every inch the lady of bloodshed. She growled in irritation. ‘Count. This. Time.’

‘Lule. Spread your wings as far as they’ll go when you swoop over the valley.’ The male spread out his own wings to show her. ‘You’ll go quicker.’

She nodded, enraptured by the advice, then leapt off his market stall back into the wind.

‘What do they call you?’

‘Balthazar.’

Nesta saw no glimpses of black ink upon his skin. ‘You fought in the war?’

His eyes tracked her gaze to his bare, brown skin. He nodded once. ‘I haven’t participated in the Blood Rite yet. But in times of war, a soldier is a soldier, no matter how untested he is.’

That was true, Nesta thought. Her and Elain had been thrust into it. Feyre was barely trained. Nesta had refused to train with the bat, preferring Amren’s strange, brusque company – but that ended like a shipwreck. Did the training ever touch upon the after effects of war? The terrible nightmares that drove away sleep? The flashbacks that came in the day as raw and unexpected as when they’d occurred? How many of Balthazar’s companions had fallen in the war? The Illyrians were treated as disposable by the rest of the court.

‘We’ll tell Lule it was thirty-seven seconds,’ he said, inclining his head towards the small shape flapping towards them.

‘Could you make me a knife? If I gave you a rough description of what I want? I’d pay you, of course.’

‘I’d be a shit blacksmith if I couldn’t.’

Lule’s wings braced as she aimed to land back on the stool, but overbalanced. She toppled, aiming head first for the furnace, but Balthazar’s arm shot out, catching her round the waist.

‘Work on your landings, little beast.’

Lule flashed a grin then flapped out of his arms back towards her grandmother’s stall. Balthazar sighed. A heavy shake of his head.

‘Nothing scares her.’

‘Shouldn’t that be a good thing? That she’s not like the other females here, cowed into inferiority?’

Balthazar added more coals to the forge then beckoned again for Nesta to sit closer and warm her hands.

‘Fear can save your life. Too much can ruin you. None is dangerous.’ His brown eyes flickered across her as though he was trying to gage where she put herself on that scale. Nesta had learned to turn her fear to anger – to keep her alive. But it churned within her. For so long it had churned inside her gut, ever since she’d stolen from the Cauldron.

Satisfied he’d weighed her enough, Balthazar returned his attention to his stall. He ensured the weapons on display were polished though few males were in this village. Sensing her thoughts, he explained there was a small town further down the road where he sold most of his wares.

‘I know Rovena doesn’t venture beyond Marsela’s stall. If you wanted to go, I can fly you. Or walk. There are more shops. Clothes. Books. A bakery.’ He paused, eyes catching on her hand as if he could see something there. ‘I’m not a male who others cower from though. I won’t be able to stop any cries of witchcraft.’

That insufferable bat overshadowed everything.

‘That’s quite alright. Would you take me tomorrow?’

Nesta had braided her hair into a coronet and wore one of her gowns from when she’d first been Made. It was a dusky blue, almost midnight and fell to the floor. The sleeves draped over her hands – just in case that silver fire made an unwanted appearance. She loved the soft, warm Illyrian clothing, loved the hairstyles Rovena crafted for her, but pretending to be an Illyrian felt too much like an invitation for mockery. Balthazar couldn’t give her an estimate on the size of the town, only that it was a war camp. Lots of males. Unable to completely mask her fear, Rovena suggested waiting until Azriel came and he could retrieve anything she wanted. That was the path Nesta would inevitably continue down, sheltered and willing to rely on a male to care for her. Rovena had her own scars, her own horrors, and Nesta could understand her reluctance, but if Nesta didn’t face the world now, she never would.

Balthazar waited for her in the village, tossing snowballs at Lule as she zipped through the air. For most of the daylight hours yesterday, she’d remained at Balthazar’s stall watching him work, occasionally chatting. She had explained the knife she’d envisioned based on one she’d seen in the books Azriel delivered. It was an Illyrian history book. The knife had been Enalius’, a famed Illyrian fighter. It was said that he had carved the holes in the sky for Oristes, Arktos, and Carynth to shine with his knife. Balthazar did not comment, only pressed his lips into a thin line that fought back a grin. Of course he knew the knife. Of course he knew who had been likened to Enalius during the war against Hybern.

When they flew, he stayed low to the ground and it was a far gentler pace than she was used to – for which she was grateful. The memory of the high lord plummeting them to the ground, causing her to vomit, was one that still stirred fury. At least Balthazar was respectful. One hand had settled on the top of the arm then one around the back of her legs, and there they’d remained. His head remained focused on their direction rather than tilting into hers to talk. On the edge of a sprawling camp, he set her down without letting his hands linger on her body.

‘Windhaven,’ he announced.

He did not need to announce it. Nesta recognised it. Recognised the sorts of males that festered in its heart. She would need to adjust her expectations of Illyria. When Balthazar had said town, she’d had visions of the elegant streets of Velaris lined with boutiques. Not a few shabby buildings and grunting shirtless males smacking their last few brain cells into extinction.

Involuntarily, Nesta stiffened. Her armour came around her, protecting whatever soft parts of her that were left. If a male even dared to draw blood today, she would strike harder and faster.

‘Aren’t you embarrassed to walk through here with a witch?’

There would inevitably be comments. None of these males could hold their tongues. Killing the King of Hybern ought to have been enough to quell them, but it only made them more wary of her.

‘You don’t embarrass me,’ he said with a cool assessment of her. ‘I’m actually more concerned about word spreading back to the general of the Night Court armies.’

Only now had she considered the implications of another male bringing her here, escorting her through a war camp. Nesta had no intentions of sleeping with Balthazar, but she knew how gossip could be – and how possessive Illyrian males were. Especially that one.

‘I’ll go alone. We can meet back here in a couple of hours.’

Slowly, Balthazar shook his head. What could be worse – being seen with her and word reaching Cassian or allowing her to face Windhaven alone and that getting back to him instead.

‘You can buy me a pastry for flying you,’ he said, patting her on the shoulder as he strode towards the camp.

Chapter Text

Two males had called her a witch and one had spat inches from her boot as Nesta strode through Windhaven. Balthazar remained at her side, a cold disappointment towards his own kind leaking out of him. They both kept their heads locked into position staring ahead, unwilling to yield to the insults. She’d heard worse from family. People who were supposed to love her.

The front of the bakery had seen better days. The yellow paint was cracked and peeling, but the sunny colour itself was so at odds with the brutal training rings they’d stormed past. The familiar heat of anger had awoken in Nesta, made worse by the ringing clang of metal on metal as males fought for dominance. That noise jarred her senses, reminded her of that day facing Hybern’s armies.

Balthazar ushered her into the shop. Her eyes caught on the knife he had sheathed in a belt and hoped it wouldn’t be needed. When the door slammed due to the wind, it muffled the noise outside. Her body gave a thankful breath of relief, loosening the tension it had been building.

Many of the pastries were familiar as ones Rovena had made previously. Some, even Nesta could make without much assistance now. She would bring a few home for Rovena. And for Lule and Lorin. And herself. The thought of being curled back into bed, warm and safe, with a stack of lust-filled romance books and pile of cream filled pastries was enough to make her sigh with desire.

‘Guard duty?’ A hard female voice rang out from over the side of the counter. ‘You? For the high lady’s sister?’

Balthazar raked his gaze over Nesta, at her slender arms and delicate dress. The female’s wings were clipped, a brutal scar ran down one side of her face, twisting her mouth into a grimace. He shrugged nonchalantly in return.

‘She’s my protector. Well-versed in witchcraft. If I give the word, she’ll curse you.’

The female blanched at that and took a few steps back from the counter. Nesta pointed out which pastries she wanted then the female went out the back for a small box, eyes still as wide as saucers. She raised an eyebrow to Balthazar.

‘Well-versed in witchcraft?’

‘Ask silly questions, they’ll get silly answers,’ he replied plainly.

Their boots trampled across the slushy grey snow of Windhaven in a hurry. When Nesta clamped her hands across her ears through the thickest rings of fighting, Balthazar said nothing, merely steered them towards a narrow street with a couple of shops.

Azriel’s money went down quickly. Nesta bought more books which she placed into Balthazar’s outstretched arms, spices she’d never heard of but smelt delicious, wooden toys for Lule and Lorin, the thickest pair of socks she’d ever seen, and a pair of new winter boots that were lined on the inside with dappled grey fur. Balthazar had perfected his perfectly bland expression when Nesta piled it on top of the stack of books.

‘What’s this one?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Another clothes shop.’

‘To make it fair, I ought to buy something in here too.’

‘Carry on and I’ll have to make two trips back home.’

‘It’s good exercise for your wings,’ she sniped, already hauling back the door to the shop.

A small bell chimed as they entered and a tall female with wings as long as Nesta came from a back room. Nesta’s view snagged on the horrific scars running through the main tendons, rendering her wings useless. They were jagged and thick; whoever had done them had not been gentle with the blade. She turned her body, hiding the wings as best she could from Nesta’s inquiring gaze.

‘Balthazar,’ she acknowledged.

‘Emerie,’ he said in return. ‘Nesta Archeron. Witch. King Slayer. Excessive spender.’

‘You’ll have to excuse my pack mule,’ she said, gently pushing Balthazar to one side. ‘He’s not been fed yet so he’s cranky. Nesta will do fine.’

Unceremoniously, the male dumped the newly bought items into a chair then stalked down an aisle, aiming for the training clothes. The box of pastries called to Nesta. ‘Can we eat these in here?’

Emerie’s brown eyes drifted to a tart pumped with blackberry jam. ‘Suit yourself.’

‘Want one?’

A smile flitted across the female’s slender face as she reached to the box.

It had never been this easy for Nesta to make acquaintances. Not when she was mortal and definitely not in Velaris. She’d sneered at the locals in their little town, believing they were too good for the ramshackle cabin they called a home, believing that one day their wealth would return and they could turn their noses up at all the peasants they’d lived beside. She regretted it now, regretted the aloofness that did nothing but drive a wedge between her family and the locals. In Velaris, she had no opportunities for friends. They were all the high lord’s friends – and Feyre was in denial if she thought their loyalties were equally shared between the pair.

‘How’s your cousin?’ Balthazar perched on a stool, icing sugar dusted his lips.

Emerie snorted and rolled her eyes. Nesta noticed how attention had frequently darted to the window, as if expecting a pair of wings to stroll by at any moment.

‘I broke Emerie’s cousin’s nose last time we sparred together.’

‘I wish you’d broken more than that,’ she replied, voice tight in a way that Nesta recognised. ‘I hope Bellius will take part in the Blood Rite soon so I won’t have to deal with him anymore.’

So she would be rid of him. The shop was well stocked. Exceedingly well stocked. And in the time they had been there not a single other had entered – not even to hide from the cold. She doubted Illyrians did things like that, admitted they felt such things as coldness.

Nesta thumbed through the rows of clothing. Scarves knitted in delicate lamb’s wool were so soft against her cold fingertips. She pulled out a grey one for herself. The gentleness reminded her of Elain. So she selected a dusty pink for her. And for Feyre… Feyre already had everything she wanted and that didn’t include Nesta. A plain periwinkle blue for her, out of courtesy for sending a gift to one sister. She supposed Solstice was approaching and it was her sister’s birthday after all.

‘I don’t need your charity,’ Emerie called, watching Nesta drape a dark green skirt and black stay over her arm.

‘No, but I need those shoes,’ she replied, bending down to inspect a pair of heeled boots. They weren’t her usual style at all, but before they were Made, Nesta always stood at eye-level with men. Here, she did not know what they fed the males for them to grow so large, but bolstering her own height was another weapon for her arsenal.

Emerie waved them off at the door when they’d finally departed. She invited Nesta to come back again soon so they could trade books. That simple act of reaching out to her, offering friendship, not expecting anything from her other than companionship brushed against all the scars in her heart. Nesta had always told herself she did not need friends; they had been her mother’s words repeated often enough she’d believed them. She would sit Nesta on the little cushioned stool in front of the vanity and brush her golden hair, telling her how beautiful she was, how men would fall to their knees for her. A queen has no need for friends, Nesta, they will only try to take what is yours. It sickened her that her mother had sculpted her for one purpose: to marry rich. She had no other expectations of her. Elain and Feyre were footnotes in her masterpiece that was Nesta Archeron. The notion of saying such things to Lule, for filling her head with poison that all she could ever be was a bride to a rich husband, it ruined a part of her. She had been a child. Why had her father not stopped their mother? Had he seen that Nesta received all of his wife’s attention so in a warped sense of fairness loved only Elain and Feyre instead?

‘The high lord is here.’

Nesta skidded to a sudden halt, smacking into Balthazar’s wings. Her throat dried up. Nesta raised her head across the rings of fighters and saw the tall, brooding figure, dressed immaculately in black. No sign of his own wings. No sign of the bat or Azriel or Feyre. Him. Only him. Watching the Illyrians fight until they were bloodied enough Devlon would call for a stop.

Her breathing hitched. A familiar feeling of dread descended upon Nesta. A fear, she knew that absence from him had only exacerbated.

The high lord turned his head, no sign of mirth on his features, only cold dominance, as he spoke to a male beside him. Dressed in a pewter jacket, tailored grey trousers and shoes far too elegant for Windhaven, a head nodded in response to whatever Rhysand had said. Next to his tan skin, the male was pale like moonlight. His dark red hair blew slightly as a wind caught upon it. Eris Vanserra. That viper was in Windhaven with him, part of the deal they had struck in the Hewn City.

‘I need to go. Take me home. Please.’

She had not realised how tightly she was gripping Balthazar’s arm. Her nails were likely cutting into his skin, but to his credit he had not yelped out in pain.

‘We have to pass them. It’s the only way through.’

‘I can’t.’

She was unravelling, unravelling already barely in his vicinity. The armour she’d worn for protection since they lost their wealth was choking her, pressing her ribs to an unbearable pain.

‘The witch has chosen a different bastard to fuck, I see,’ a male called to her.

‘The prince of bastards couldn’t satisfy you?’

‘I’ll give you something to satisfy you,’ a third said, grabbing his crotch.

‘Ignore them,’ Balthazar shrugged, allowing Nesta to keep her claws embedded into his muscled forearm as he steered them away.

A gasp sounded, a sword hit the floor. Rhysand’s magic was strangling the three males as they writhed in agony on the ground, mud soaking their exposed skin. He walked in no hurry towards their ring. Nesta wanted to scream at Balthazar to move, to get them home, away from Windhaven. She wasn’t ready for this interaction. Wasn’t ready to see him.

‘It seems your males need a reminder, Devlon, of how to speak to the sister of the high lady of the Night Court.’

How could Feyre love a male who revelled in the cruelty he showed here? There was no regret in his eyes when he did these things. Nesta had heard stories of the things he had done Under the Mountain, killing children from the Winter Court, torturing Clare Beddor to death believing she was Feyre, forcing Feyre to dance naked.

The males clawed at the ground, their wings thrashing as they clung to survival.

As easily as it begun, their suffering stopped. The three of them panted for air, fear coating every intake.

‘There will not be a next time.’

Rhysand was not warm. There was no kindness to his violet eyes. A darkness seeped from him as though the stars had been swallowed and all that was left was malice. Every step towards Nesta was a choice for her to crumble or strengthen. She chose the latter.

‘This is a surprise.’ He said, glancing over his shoulder to Eris who was watching the scene with keen interest. Rhysand took in every detail of the male next to her, the male who she still gripped onto, memorising all of him.

‘Balthazar is a friend.’ If he was darkness, she was a blade forged from iron in the depths of a flame. Nesta lifted her chin, determined to meet his eyes, daring him to challenge her.

‘I would like you attend Solstice. In Velaris. To stay for the night.’

‘And if I don’t?’

Rhys stared pointedly at Balthazar, but there was not a chance Nesta was letting go of him. He had his brown eyes cast to the floor, a slight tremble to his own body from being so close to his high lord. Risking everything for a female he’d met only the day earlier. Wrath stirred in her stomach. He had no quarrel with Balthazar, no reason to stare with such an intensity, knowing what it did to them.

‘It is your sister’s birthday. The sister you failed so spectacularly that she had to hunt for food as a child. The least you could do is give her the respect of attending. And being nice.’

‘What am I, if not nice Nesta Archeron?’ She ground out the words. He made her feel so small. As if she couldn’t do one good thing in her life. His protection of Feyre bordered on that of a territorial guard dog, willing to wage war for a perceived injustice. ‘Do you say these things to Elain or do only I have the pleasure?’

His eyes flickered to her hands. And she knew the bat had told him. Told him about her magic. Betrayed her the minute he’d landed back in that confounded city.

‘Elain is a good sister to Feyre.’

Elain had hidden in the bedroom with Nesta when the debtors had come for their father. Elain had helped spend the coin Feyre had earned. Elain did not move to feed them either. But they were sins that only Nesta had to bear.

His attention went to her eyes then her hands. Expecting something. A crowd had gathered watching the exchange between their high lord and his sister-in-law. The one he’d nearly killed three males for minutes earlier.

‘I will train your magic once a week and you will see your sisters. You have spent long enough self-destructing. Hiding.’

Nesta could feel the command in his words, the seeping of his magic round her, thicker than air as it sought to cow her into submission. She fought against it. Fought against the coldness that rubbed against her thorns. Her anger became something that had claws and teeth as it raked back against his magic. He might have been the most powerful high lord, but she had stolen from the Cauldron.

‘No.’

‘You will come to Velaris and-’

The high lord’s words were cut off. Nesta’s rage had simmered and simmered. Simmered for too long. A cataclysm in the form of silver flames had ruptured from her chest, launching Rhysand across the camp, the force of it so strong that it had shattered the fences he’d collided with.

He stared at her, utterly dumbfounded. Eris too. All the males were staring at what she had unleashed upon their high lord. Eris winnowed away to safety.

Balthazar hauled her roughly with one arm to his chest and bolted into the air.

Chapter Text

When Balthazar dropped her on the edge of their village, Nesta had fallen to her knees gasping with fear. Balthazar’s own breaths were rasping gulps.
‘You attacked the high lord.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ They were the only words she could say. She’d thrown Balthazar into the firing line of a male with no mercy. A male with infinitely more power than him. ‘Go. Go.’
For a heartbeat she thought he might stay, might weather the storm with her. But a shuffle of his wings indicated his movements. He settled down all the items she’d purchased next to her. A soft hand touched her on the shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. I am not much of a fighter.’

She did not begrudge him for his decision. She did not want to face Rhysand’s fury – she certainly wouldn’t expect a stranger to face it on her behalf.

Nesta clawed at the ground, at her neck, at her wrists. The way that horrid man had pushed against her windpipe, his greedy eyes when he ripped her dress. Her body was burning all over. No air could reach her lungs. Her magic was spent, the sudden act of expelling it had drained her. She vomited. All over her lap, her hands, her clothes. How much of it was due to fear, Nesta didn't know. Rhysand had been a mirror of Tomas Mandray when she had broken off their betrothal. The same disbelief. The same vicious anger.

‘Nesta Archeron, you fiery temptress.’

Eris Vanserra stood with a faint expression of amusement plastered across his thin face.

She threw herself at his feet, sobbing. ‘Don’t take me to him. Please. I will do anything. Please.’

‘Is the high lord so cruel?’ He said, smiling slightly, glancing down at her vomit covered gown. ‘Pride is a sin. Would he take out his wrath on his mate’s sister?’

Nesta felt as if the sky was being brought down on top of her. She had never tasted a fear so deadly. Her legs felt made of lead, as if every moment required more effort than she could manage.

‘He will kill me. He will kill me for what I did. For embarrassing him.’ Nesta had risen and clutched the lapels of his jacket, gasping for breath. ‘Please. He already hates me. Please, Eris.’

There was no kindness in those amber eyes, only cool cunning. ‘I will give you fifteen minutes to collect whatever you need. If you’re not back in that time, I’m gone. I can take you to a safe place.’

She could have grown wings by the way she tore up the hill towards Rovena’s home. Fear was with her every pulse of her heart. She had not intended to hurt him. Hadn’t intended to shame him in his war camp. He’d poked and prodded, pushing for a reaction. A cold sluice of dread ricocheted through her body imagining him taking out his broken pride on Elain or Feyre. He’d never hurt Feyre, but Elain? Could he be so furious with Nesta that he’d take it out on any Archeron sister he could get his hands on?

‘Nesta, sweetheart, what’s the matter?’

Nesta ignored Rovena’s care. She didn’t deserve it. Did not deserve Azriel compromising his mother for her. All she was capable of was destruction. It was why the Cauldron spat her back out.

She stuffed her few belongings into a bag, teeth chattering from the effort. Her hands tremoured too much to manage pulling the toggle any tighter.

‘Nesta,’ Rovena’s voice drifted in from the doorway.

With one glance at Nesta, she’d swept into the room, arms immediately encompassing her, regardless of the mess she’d made down herself. ‘What happened? Nesta, look at me. Nesta.’

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t form words, her terror had rendered her ability to respond coherently. She cried and cried into Rovena’s shoulder. All she could see was Tomas forcing her against the woodshed, gripping onto her arms so tightly the bruises stayed for weeks.

‘You’re trembling, my love.’ Rovena shushed her, tried to soothe. She wanted to stay in those arms where it was safe and felt like home, but if she stayed in this court, no good would come to her.

‘I have to go. I have to leave.’

Nesta pushed out of the grip, heart-breaking a little more at the ruin she had created for herself. Rovena followed her, her own heart thundering at Nesta’s distress. It was a concern that she did not owe to Nesta. She had been nothing more than an unwanted house guest who’d forced Rovena to freeze because she couldn't face her own fears.

‘I. These. Solstice.’ She gestured to the table where she’d dumped the gifts she’d purchased. ‘Sorry. So sorry.’

Without a further word, she darted from the house towards the village. Every shadow was him. Every rustle of wind were his brothers, coming for her, to punish her. She had stolen from the Cauldron and deserved to be punished for it.

Eris remained where she had left him, examining the market with a look of disdain on his slender features. At her approach, he held out a hand. This was reckless. She knew Eris was not to be trusted. But faced with him or Rhysand, she'd take the viper. His hand was cold to touch without callouses or scars. The moment their fingertips met, they were gone.

Nesta sucked in a long breath. Eris had taken her to the gates of a beautiful palace built of red stone with a sprawling lake running the length of one of the sides. All around them trees dripped with rich russets and ambers. The freeze of winter had been stolen; golden light dappled through the branches and a warm wind rustled the leaves.

‘Welcome to the Autumn Court.’

Nesta dropped to her knees again, sinking into her heels as she sobbed. She didn’t care if Eris saw her cry, didn’t care if the whole damn world saw. Every bad thing anybody had ever said of her, she had managed to fulfil. Feyre had asked what she had taken from the Cauldron. What did it take from her? What had it ripped from her that rendered her so incapable of goodness?

Firm hands scooped her from the floor. She pressed her head into Eris’ chest, screwing her eyes shut, begging anybody, the Mother, the cauldron, whatever deities they prayed to that this was all a dream.

***
Feyre’s eyes were red as she stared unblinking at the fire. Those same feelings of distress were echoed in Cassian. A day had passed since Rhys had summoned them all to Illyria to settle Windhaven.

The leering and jeers had been more than usual, even Devlon had thrown an insult. They pacified them to an extent, disbanded the camps for the day - and Azriel’s power put the fear of the Dark Mother into any who wanted to continue. Only once an uneasy calm had been reached did Cassian spare a glance to Rhys.

‘Cauldron above, what happened to you?’

A bruise marred the left side of his face, a splinter of wood was still embedded in his shoulder, and his clothes were charred or slicked with mud.

‘Your mate happened to me.’

Any amusement guttered out. Feyre’s face went deathly pale. A soft hand was instantly on Cassian’s chest, calming the snarl that ripped from him.

‘Nesta?’

‘I asked her to come to Solstice. But I think I prodded a bit too much.’ His eyes fixed on his mate’s hand trying to soothe the growl coming from Cassian’s chest. ‘She erupted.’

‘She did this? To Windhaven?’ Azriel looked his high lord from head to toe. ‘To you?’

Half of the training rings had been destroyed. Some had been barrelled into by the force of Rhys being thrown back. Others still smouldered from the power of her flames. Cassian flexed open his wings, ready to seek her out, but Rhys held up a hand to stop him.

‘It wasn’t her fault entirely,’ he said, smoothing his cuffs. ‘She was already rattled by a group of males and I pushed when I shouldn’t have.’ Rhys took in the state of the camp. ‘I just wish I hadn’t pushed her here when there’s already so much instability. Mother’s mercy, her magic is… powerful.’

‘Tell. Me. What. Happened.’

The words came out gnarled and barbed. Cassian fought against every primal urge in his body not to pin Rhys onto the ground. Feyre’s steady hand was the only thing anchoring him. The only thing that muffled the red mist threatening take hold. Rhysand relayed the story quickly, of what he’d overhead the males calling to her as she’d walked with another through the camp. Of the sudden blast of magic that had sent Rhys crashing to the other side of Windhaven in a daze, the males that had pounced believing their high lord to be weakened.

‘Go to your mother’s. See if she’s there. If not, the male’s name is Balthazar.’

Azriel disappeared into shadow. It was an agonising wait for the return of his brother. Feyre was torn between helping her mate or tearing after her sister. Cassian knew the struggle. He squeezed his hands into fists until his nails tore into flesh. His jaw ached from clamping down on his rage. Nesta had scorched the earth black. He couldn't help but feel that if any other than Rhys had been on the receiving end of it, they'd be dead.

‘Why did you push her? Why couldn’t you just leave her? You know what Nesta is like.’ Feyre sighed, clutching her forehead. ‘It’s one step forwards, two steps back.’

‘I regret it. I wanted her at your birthday. The males were watching as she disobeyed me. I couldn’t allow it, they’d think they could do the same. Feyre, I’m sorry.’ Violet eyes met Cassian’s. ‘I am sorry. Truly.’

Azriel returned grim faced. One sharp shake of the head. ‘She packed a bag and left. My mother said she was in pieces. No sign of the male.’

They’d searched all night for her, combing every last trace of Illyria to no avail. None of them had slept. Cassian couldn’t even look at Rhys, couldn’t imagine what his words had been to unravel Nesta entirely. Feyre too sat hunched in the chair with her knees drawn to her chest, unwilling to eat or drink until word of Nesta’s safety reached them. Rhys had ordered them back to Velaris while he and Azriel continued searching, fearing that their emotions were clouding their ability to find her. Feyre and Mor all but dragged him back. He'd paced like a cat, up and down the hallways, breathing deeply through his nose to keep his temper in control.

When a rustle of wings landed on the front steps, Cassian hoped with every part of his heart that Nesta would be there. That he would spy the ethereal, intelligent female about to rap on the door with a pinched brow that there had been so much fuss over a trivial thing. He would give anything to argue with her. To feel that fire of hers as they bickered. It was only Rhys. Alone.

‘She’s in Illyria alone. Running from us. From you,’ Feyre said, voice cracking.

Rhys stared blankly as if his own heart was breaking instead of his mate’s for what he had done to her sister. When he moved to sit beside her, Feyre stiffened. ‘I would not hurt her.’

‘Then why does she think you would, Rhys?’

Rhysand could not answer his mate. Or look at Cassian. They had never been friends. Rhysand would never forgive Nesta for her failings of Feyre when they were children. A betrayal so raw it burnt his stomach boiled inside Cassian; he could forgive Elain, but not Nesta. No, Nesta would forever be blamed. It made no matter that she was dragged from her bed and forced into the Cauldron, no matter that she had killed the king of Hybern, Nesta would forever be condemned by Rhys. Feyre had been welcome into their fold without question - regardless of her history with Tamlin they all accepted her. Because she was Rhysand's mate and his happiness was all they wanted. Cassian bit down on his tongue until it bled. He had not done enough for his mate.

It was dark when Azriel returned. He shook his head in answer to their hopeful eyes. His spies were still in Illyria, still combing the whole of Prythian for an answer.

‘The male doesn’t know. She told him to go.’

A scarred hand squeezed Cassian’s shoulder, begging him not to lose hope. The thought of his mate fleeing for her life in Illyria, afraid of the consequences that his brother would bring down upon her, was tearing his heart in two. She’d spent her magic, had no way of fighting back if anything happened to her. Why hadn’t he pushed her to train? At least she might know how to use a weapon. At least she might have stood a chance.

‘I have to go back. I have to find her. I can't leave her.’

Before she froze to death. Before another male got his hands on her.

Azriel coughed slightly and gestured to the items in his arms. ‘It seems silly to even bring these, but she made sure my mother had them to pass along. It was important to her. Feyre. For you and Elain.’ He held out two scarves. Feyre clutched them to her chest, allowing a tear to drip down her cheek. ‘The male… he’s a blacksmith.’ Azriel held out a slim box for Cassian.

When he’d heard that Nesta was arm in arm with another male, shopping with him, it had stirred a kernel of jealousy, but he understood. Understood she wanted to make her own choices.

Fingers, too big and clumsy for the delicate box, fumbled to open it. Inside lay a silver knife the length of his forearm with rubies embedded in the hilt. Enalius’ knife. He turned over the tag, reading the elegant script.

For the biggest bat I know.
‘She had him make it for you. I gave her a book on our history.’

It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. If he’d held his tongue and not told Rhys the depths of her power, this might not have happened. They’d have still run into each other, but Rhys wouldn’t have tried to illicit a reaction. She might have even come to Solstice. She’d certainly been trying to build a bridge.

Cassian stood. ‘I have to find her.’

‘Did she get you a gift?’ Feyre’s voice was quiet as she addressed Azriel.

He dipped his head once. ‘Yes. And for my mother, and two children from the village.’ Although the shadow singer smiled, a sorrowful look passed over his eyes.

‘I have to find her.’

Azriel’s hazel eyes settled on his own. He had seen Nesta at her lowest. Had managed to coax her from the edge. ‘I’ll come with you.’

Chapter Text

Every stone in Illyria had been overturned, every cave searched, even the lakes had been dredged for a sign of Nesta. The male, Balthazar, even helped them search, wracked with his own guilt that he’d left rather than stay.

Their bond had gone horribly muted. Although Cassian could still feel it, hanging limply, there was no indicator of Nesta on the other end. She couldn’t go far on foot. She ought to have been within a short radius of the village, but Nesta was gone. Well and truly gone.

Solstice was a sombre affair. Feyre could barely look at Rhys. Azriel, haggard and drawn, had not attended, preferring to flit between the mortal lands and Illyria to continue searching. Cassian had been searching with him for days on barely any sleep, only returning to Velaris when Mor had begged him to take a rest. Cassian stared and stared at the empty seat at the long mahogany dining table, of where Nesta had sat the year before, a hollow shell of a female, ignored by all. He’d lasted until the first course had been brought out then he’d stormed from the door and flew again to Illyria.

A part of him had irreparably broken. Mates were sacred. He should have been honoured to have been gifted his by the Cauldron; honoured that a bastard-born Illyrian grunt had been paired with a female so otherworldly, so spectacular. He hadn’t done enough.

Azriel stepped out of shadow towards him. If he did not know the male, he’d believe him to be bringing bad news. The shadow singer said nothing, merely took up a seat beside him on the fence overlooking Windhaven, expression marred by darkness.

‘The thought of her lost or hurting in Illyria. I know what these males are capable of. I cannot think of her without thinking of my mother.’

Cassian’s memories were too painful to explore. He only knew that if any had touched a hair on Nesta’s head, he would kill them. He would tear them into pieces. And even then it wouldn’t be enough. It had not been enough when he’d slaughtered anybody who had ever made his mother suffer.

‘We will find her.’

That was all Azriel could say, not that she’d be safe or alive, only that one day they would find her.

Rhys winnowed in front of them, his head was bowed. ‘Feyre has gone to bed. I’ll help you search.’

‘Didn’t you do enough?’

Rhys flinched at those words and Cassian was glad for it. Beside him, Azriel shifted slightly. His shadows monitoring any slight movements between them.

‘She’s been missing before,’ Rhys said, his voice gentle.

‘And nobody cared then,’ he ground out. ‘Nobody even noticed until Azriel found her drunk out of her mind in an alleyway. She’s somewhere in Illyria terrified of you. If you just,’ Cassian let out a growl and screwed his hands into fists. ‘If you spent less time fucking Feyre and more time trying to improve the lives of these lesser fae scum like a high lord is supposed to, I wouldn’t have to dread my mate turning up dead.’

Rhys raised an eyebrow. ‘Are they your words or Nesta’s?’

Cassian exploded. Azriel was fast, but Cassian, bolstered by all the pent up agony, got to Rhys before Azriel could stop him. He felt blood splatter onto his knuckles as they met Rhys’ face. Rhys did not fight back, merely took it. Tendrils of shadow given form and a pair of scarred hands hauled a hissing and spitting Cassian off of the bloodied male on the ground. He’d let him beat him. Knew he deserved some part of it.

‘The only reason I don’t kill you is because my mate’s sister is your mate. And Nesta, despite what you think of her, would not put Feyre through that pain.’

The three of them had returned to Velaris in a bitter silence. They slumped in chairs, licking their wounds. Azriel poured the three of them a knuckle of whiskey. It went down too easily. Cassian understood what it had been like for Nesta, night after night, drinking into oblivion so she did not need to feel.

‘Suppose Cass wins the snowball fight,’ said Azriel, resting an arm behind his head.

‘If you’ve broken my nose and I’m less handsome, Feyre will never forgive you.’

Cassian couldn’t even bring himself to dredge up a laugh, even a forced one. Rhysand called his name, made him look at his high lord in the eyes.

‘When we find her, I will make amends – to both of you – but especially to her. I am sorry. I know that…’ His voice trailed off. ‘You are loyal to me. Loyal to a fault, Cass. But I never considered what my own reservations with Nesta would do to your own relationship with her.’ He sighed, glancing up to the ceiling where Feyre slept a floor above. How strained would their own bond be if Nesta was hurt? Rhys touched the purple welt above his eye where Cassian had split his eyebrow open. ‘We have to go to the Hewn City tomorrow. Maybe we can pretend we aren’t at war with each other.’

The Hewn City was its usual festering pool of malice. Thankfully, Mor had not needed to attend. But the rest of them were in no mood to deal with Keir either. Cassian’s temper was on a short leash. Rhys had been about to give him a warning – to keep it under control – but thought better of it. Madja had arrived early that morning and healed his remaining wounds before Feyre could catch a glimpse. As always, the healer treated the matter with discretion.

Keir was his piece of shit self but Cassian did not even listen to half of it. Drowned out his voice. Could only imagine how cruel a place this was to Mor. To females. Like Illyria. Felt his anger burning like a hot coal as Rhys and Feyre sat in their thrones, their crowns worth more than most families would ever earn in their whole lives, while others suffered. If Rhysand had never took pity on him that day in Windhaven, Cassian likely would have followed the same path as the other males there, leering at whatever female walked by, feeding on violence.

When the pair finally rose, Cassian was glad to leave, but Rhys signalled for him to follow to a room behind the throne room. His boots were heavy as they stomped across the tiled floor, scattering mud. He’d never not cleaned his boots or his gear. He’d always followed orders like the perfect soldier, never questioning them, always following protocol.
For all the Hewn City’s misery, the next sight was worse. Eris was sprawled in a chair carved from obsidian. The blackness contrasted sharply with his red hair.

‘Eris,’ Rhys acknowledged.

Eris gave a mocking bow from where he was seated, but made no move to rise and greet them properly.

‘What’s he doing here?’ Azriel snarled.

Rhys straightened his spine as he settled in a seat opposite the male. ‘To discuss a few matters at my request.’

‘Where’s the lovely Morrigan?’

‘Keep her name out of your mouth,’ Cassian snarled. He wouldn’t sit, wouldn’t put himself as an equal to Eris. He’d rather the whole world sneered at him for being a bastard-born brute then to ever equate himself on the same level as a snake like Eris Vanserra.

‘Your father’s armies,’ Rhys began.

‘My armies,’ Eris corrected.

‘Not yet.’

‘Soon enough,’ he grinned. ‘Although, it appears there’s a mightier warrior than an Illyrian. I’ve commissioned a painting so that moment in Windhaven will live on. Nesta Archeron, in all her magnificence, subduing the high lord of the Night Court.’ He gave a small chuckle. ‘Honestly, I thought they might build a throne for her in Illyria – or here.’

They said nothing, could not even rouse an insult to throw at Eris as he sat gloating in the chair.

‘Or do you have her strung up in a dungeon here, your shadow singer working on her with his favourite little blade. Not quite as untouchable as you believed yourself to be, are you?’

Feyre screwed her eyes shut to not let her tears show. ‘We can’t find her.’

That knowledge was too much of a gift to have been given so readily to the male. His eyebrows jerked upwards in surprise. ‘You lost her? In Illyria? You won’t see your sister again, high lady.’

Quicker off the mark this time, Azriel’s hands shot around Cassian’s waist, his siphons pulsing as he grappled to keep Cassian from spilling Eris’ blood.

‘Get him out of here,’ Rhys yelled.

It would have been more use to slam his head into the stone pillars of the river house rather than wait for news. Cassian couldn’t settle. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. All his thoughts screamed Nesta. Nesta. Nesta. When the others returned from the Hewn City, Rhys sucked in a deep breath and stood his full height in front of Cassian.

‘I know this is difficult for you, but I need you on my side. Ironcrest is already stirring up trouble, Eris has reports that the mortal queens are preparing a move against us. Azriel needs to get back there. We can comb Illyria again and again and again. We will not find Nesta until she is ready to be found, or we must face the likelier option: she is not in Illyria.’
There was no possibility of Nesta being able to cross the mountains alone. She’d have had to stop for supplies. She’d have been sighted or scented. A horrible thought clanged through Cassian’s mind that somehow she’d made it across to the Prison and had been captured by the monsters hidden there.

‘Would she be daring enough to reach the mortal lands?’ Az asked. ‘I mentioned I had been there. Do you think she would?’

Rhys frowned. ‘She’d have to cross every court to reach it. I’ve asked Helion to keep an eye.’

‘Nesta is fuelled by spite,’ Elain said, staring out the window at the Sidra. ‘If she has decided to do something, she will do it, no matter what obstacle she encounters.’

‘Are there any mortals she’d trust?’

‘No. The only one she was ever civil to was Clare Beddor…’ Elain’s voice trailed off as she wrung her hands together.

‘Tomas,’ Feyre offered. ‘Tomas Mandray. She was betrothed to him for a short while.’

‘Nesta was betrothed to a mortal male?’ That kicked Cassian in the gut. She had chosen a male, deemed him worthy of her heart.

‘Not like Elain and…’ Feyre spared her sister the pain of mentioning the fae-hating mortal fiancée. ‘Tomas was the son of a woodcutter from our village. It was laughable when she detested cutting wood herself. I believe she thought marrying him would secure our family a degree of stability.’ Feyre spoke carefully, guarding each word before it came out, not looking at Elain.

‘But?’ Rhys urged.

‘I used to see him in the forest or the village. The way he looked at girls,’ she shuddered. ‘I told Nesta we had no dowry to give. And he sat idly by while his father beat his mother. That was the end of it.’

That might have been her future if she had not been taken by Hybern and forced to become fae. A humble wife of a wood cutter in a quiet mortal village. Beaten by her husband just as his father did to the mother. Nesta would have bargained herself if it meant Elain did not have to suffer. Nesta, whose every motivation was to protect Elain.

‘That wasn’t the end of it,’ Elain said quietly, turning from the window with a slight frown pinching her forehead. ‘Nesta broke it off with him.’

Her brown eyes fell on Cassian and he readied himself for whatever storm Elain was about to unleash upon him.

‘She came home with her bodice ripped, her skirts were torn. Her lip bloodied. She had been crying but would not speak a word of what had happened, merely forbade me from ever mentioning his name again.’ Elain swallowed. ‘There were bruises on her arms for weeks, but I knew better than to pry with Nesta.’

Feyre clutched the arm of the chair, colour draining from her face. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘You had gone, Feyre. We had not heard word. Then you returned as a fae with three huge winged males speaking of a war brewing. Nesta refused to speak of it to me, let alone open her wounds to strangers. Tomas Mandray was not a priority.’

Cassian had known a male had invoked fear in her once. He’d smelt the coppery tang of fear on her scent when she was still a mortal. She’d refused to give his name. Refused to admit anything had happened. Asked if it would have changed his view of her.

‘She has nobody,’ Cassian said finally.

Chapter Text

Any business with Eris was bad business. Mor had been in uproar upon the discovery that her cousin had entered into an agreement with him concerning the Autumn Court’s soldiers and Illyria. Whenever it felt like they had an upper hand against Eris, he changed the rules of the game.

None could stomach him for long. A tentative alliance was growing between the male and Rhys; a handful of Autumn Court soldiers would train in Illyria, far away from the war camps in secret, to improve their ability to withstand the elements. Eris wanted his soldiers to be harder, better fighters. In return, he would support Lucien and Azriel’s missions in the mortal land. Lucien might not have found the arrangement too uncomfortable, but Azriel stalked round the House of Wind in a foul mood most of the time. Cassian could imagine Nesta calling him a miserable bat – and that thought alone ripped open his heart.

They filed into the narrow chamber behind the throne room in the Hewn City after enduring Keir’s backhanded comments. Lucien followed in last, giving a brief nod of acknowledgement to his brother, having arrived in Velaris and swiftly travelling with them to the Hewn City.

‘Do you like my waistcoat?’ Eris asked, standing to show off a sleek black velvet waistcoat embroidered with silver flames that crawled from the side seams. ‘A reminder of that magnificent moment in Windhaven.’

None could muster much to the way of an argument. Had Nesta not still been missing, Rhys likely would have slammed Eris’ face into the stone table, but it was his interference that had caused Nesta to flee into obscurity.

Lucien detailed his visits to the mortal lands; it appeared he was well and truly in arms with Vassa and Jurian, but no closer to breaking the curse on the former. A number of soldiers from the Autumn Court would cross into the mortal lands to work with Azriel, basing themselves with the Band of Exiles, as they called themselves in an attempt to infiltrate the mortal queen’s plans. They were soldiers loyal to Eris, willing to risk their lives for him; if Beron caught wind, the entire garrison would be executed. They were not loyal to Azriel though – and that thought worried Cassian.

Unwarranted, Eris turned his attention to Cassian. Although he was double his size, Eris cocked his head to one side and stared at him like a cat playing with a mouse, deciding whether to kill it.

‘Will Morrigan make an appearance at any of our meetings?’

‘I told you to keep her name out of your mouth.’

He would not force Mor to endure the Hewn City, much less Eris’ oily presence. It was lost on Cassian how Rhysand could stand his presence for any length of time. He was a smug bastard who deserved to be smacked so hard his ancestors felt it. Eris straightened one of the silver togs on his jacket so they were all in alignment.

‘If only you had the same vitriol for your own mate. Does it tear you apart knowing Nesta ran from you not once, but twice? Are you that much of an insufferable barbarian that she cannot stand your presence?’ Eris only smiled. Smiled that viper’s grin.

Lucien stared down his brother, a flame sizzling in his russet eye. ‘What do you know? You were there that day. What do you know?’

Eris flexed his fingers until the joints clicked. ‘I’m surprised none of you considered it thus far.’ He flashed a gloating smile. ‘Maybe Feyre could take a peek inside my mind. I don’t mind you poking around in there, high lady.’

Cassian saw it all. Feyre used her daemati powers to flash those images into all of their heads. That day in Windhaven. How Rhys towered over Nesta. The way she clung to the other male, cowered like a lamb being faced down by a wolf. How he sought to command her. The vein in her neck protruding through her skin as she fought back against his magic. Throwing him half-way across the camp with that strange, silver fire of hers, without intending to. Setting half of Windhaven alight. Nesta clawing at her skin until it bled, tearing her nails to the quick, quaking with fear, vomiting in her lap at the thought of Rhys hurting her. The eyes rimmed with silver flames as she begged Eris to help her. Pleading with him, offering him anything so Rhys couldn’t kill her. Her collapsing on the grounds of his home in the Autumn Court, sobs still ripping from her chest, Eris laying her down on a bed.

‘Enough.’

Rhysand’s cold voice dragged them out of Eris’ memories.

‘Out.’

Eris raised a finger to stop them then retrieved a letter from the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘For the shadow singer. From the lady herself.’

He set the manila envelope down on the table then bowed.

The bastard had known where she was and said nothing last time they had seen him. Knew how much they were all hurting.

‘It seems fitting really. A bastard-born Illyrian took my fiancée. I’m merely returning the favour taking his mate. Don’t worry. I will treat her exactly how you treated Morrigan.’

‘Anything. We will give you anything.’ Feyre’s voice broke. She knew what happened to Lucien’s first love. Knew how Mor had suffered. Had seen the effects the Autumn Court had on its lady. She would bargain anything they had for Nesta’s safe return.

Eris’ eyes roved over every inch of Feyre’s body then turned to Cassian with disdain. ‘I have everything I could ever want. And may I remind you, I have a deal with your court. To enter mine is punishable by death. Farewell.’

‘Read. It.’

Azriel deftly tore open the envelope. He refused to read it out loud, merely passed it along to Cassian when he was done.

Dear Azriel,

I am so sorry for the trouble and worry I caused to your mother. Please know that my days with her were the best of my life. Her love and compassion – and yours – in my bleakest moments was a kindness I will never deserve. I miss our conversations, her cooking, and simply whittling away the time together gossiping about you.

Windhaven was an accident. One I regret terribly. I do not know what else I can say on the matter. Only that I hope it did not cause problems for Feyre.

I am safe here in the Autumn Court. Eris did not take me against my will – nor would he ever. I am sorry if it caused my sisters any distress. I am safe.

Yours,
Nesta

‘It reads like a fucking hostage letter,’ Cassian boomed.

Feyre flinched from the sudden outburst. She fetched the letter from the ground where Cassian had screwed it up and tossed it in anger. Her fingers trembled as she read through it.

‘Lucien, can you get to her?’

Lucien blew out a breath at Rhys’ request. ‘I’ll try. Maybe if I can get Eris to the border to the Spring Court. If my father catches me in Autumn again, my life is forfeit. I will try. I will.’

Too harshly, they had judged Lucien. The male was good through and through, willing to put himself at risk for the safety of others. But his readiness to help them, to seek a way to Nesta, stirred the feelings of worry that had long since settled in Cassian’s stomach. He knew better than any what a cut-throat, unfeeling place the Autumn Court could be. Lucien knew better than any what Beron was capable of – what his sadistic brothers could do. When Cassian raised his chin, Lucien was watching him carefully. Feyre had told him what had happened to Lucien’s first love; how his brothers had held him while she was executed. And he had been the son of the high lord. What would they do to Nesta - the mate of an Illyrian grunt?

At the return to Velaris, whatever was left of Cassian’s heart had been hollowed out. He had never felt so distraught and empty all at the same time. Not since the discovery of his mother’s death.

Feyre had shooed Rhys away, knowing that this battle was not to be fought today when the wounds were so raw. The image of Nesta cowering from him, how she likely cowered from the mortal… she had not even backed down against Beron in the high lord’s meetings, but Rhys scared her. His best friend, his brother, terrified his mate.

Feyre remained with him and merely opened her arms then pressed herself into his chest. His arms came around his high lady.

‘She’s not trained to fight, to defend herself,’ Cassian sighed, resting his chin atop Feyre’s.

Feyre murmured in agreement. ‘But Nesta fights with words and I’ve never encountered a tongue so efficient at shedding blood.’

They descended into the house and Cassian slumped into a chair in the library. He had taken to haunting there, desperately trying to pick up the last threads of Nesta’s lingering scent from when she and Elain used to take refuge there. She had been devoted to her sister’s recovery, coaxing her back into existence after being forced into the Cauldron, so much so that none ever considered if Nesta struggled. What she had given up to be what she was?

‘What did she want to be? Before she was made.’

Feyre slipped off her shoes and tucked her knees close to her chest, sinking a little deeper into the armchair. ‘I think she was only ever supposed to marry a rich man. Tamlin gave us a fortune and she did want to travel. Wanted to see the world and see what she could become.’

‘And all she saw for two years was this library and a battlefield,’ he replied drily.

‘Is there anything I can do?’

The nose and eyes were Nesta’s. When Feyre laughed, her nose crinkled – and though Nesta’s laughs were rare, he had seen it once, and she had been the same.

‘No.’

Feyre reached for his hand and squeezed once. ‘When Tamlin sent me home, he’d glamoured my family.’ Her eyes fixed on a spot on the wall, losing herself into a memory. ‘Tamlin glamoured me once from Rhys and even he had to rip it away with his magic. But Nesta… I returned home and it hadn’t worked on her. She’d seen through it all. I should have known she was special when, even as a mortal, she couldn’t be glamoured.’

Whatever her soul was made of, it was spectacular.

‘We even painted together,’ continued Feyre. ‘She asked me to show her. Her way of reaching out an olive branch, I suppose. And a ball was held in my honour. I stayed by Nesta all night so she’d scare away any suitors for me. I didn’t need to ask her to. She just did it for me.’ Feyre’s face crumpled and her throat bobbed. ‘Nesta, her exterior can seem so tough, so intimidating. But when she loves, she loves entirely.’

‘When I first was taken above the wall, Nesta searched for me. Nesta – who had never done a day’s work in her life – trekked across a forest in the dead of winter to bring me home.’

Cassian sucked in a breath. ‘We’re talking about her like she’s dead.’

Feyre nodded in agreement. Cassian was grateful for the conversation. Nesta would never give up those anecdotes about herself though. She was too guarded, too careful with herself. Being able to see through a high lord’s glamour was nothing short of magnificent – but to achieve that as a mortal, did not bear thinking about. And Nesta hadn’t mentioned it once. Did Rhysand know the ways in which Nesta had tried for Feyre? Would it have changed his opinion?

‘It’s almost worse now I know where she is. I can’t go to her. The thought of Eris forcing her into situations as a sick sort of punishment against me and Mor. Taking out his vengeance on her.’ Cassian rubbed his face with his hands, wishing this nightmare would be over. ‘That mortal laid his hands on her. Hurt her. It cannot happen again. I cannot let her endure that.’

Chapter Text

For hours, Nesta had been unable to crawl from the bed. The force of fighting against Rhysand’s magic had stolen all of her energy. A servant had knocked a few times, each one a little more insistent, but they never tried to enter. Their manners were too well-trained to dare an intrusion.

Before the sun had set, she had managed to force herself to the window, to stare out upon her newest lodging. What had she become? A waif carried on the wind from place to place, never able to set down roots. It was a beautiful place. A place of peace. She watched as the wind lazily dragged a hand along a branch, sending a couple of leaves twirling towards the lake.

What had she done? Attacking a high lord was surely punishable by death. She had tried so hard to be better. Nesta had not been ready to face them all in Velaris, but wanted to at least send a couple of gifts with Azriel while having a nice day with Rovena in Illyria. Rovena. Nesta’s stomach tightened at the mere thought of never seeing Rovena again. She had had a taste of what it meant to be loved unconditionally and it would never be enough.

The room was beautiful. Plush cushions had been piled onto the wide four poster bed that sat in the centre of the room. The lower portion of the walls was panelled with varnished oak and the top painted a rich emerald and doused with golden vines. It was a bedroom fit for a queen.

Nesta gritted her teeth as she scrubbed herself in the large porcelain bathtub. She no longer had Rovena to lean on; she had to rely on herself to be tough.

The sins of the day drained down the plug and Nesta found that with it, went her quaking fear, and in its wake remained only spite. She did not need the Night Court.

She found Eris sat in a library with his feet up on the other end of a couch, a glass of wine in hand, and his shoes thrown messily across the floor as if he’d kicked them off without a care. A cushion propped up his head and a book was perched on his chest. The last rays of sunset bathed him in warm golden hues. The image was so at odds with the cold, cunning male she’d met previously.

The few servants that she’d passed in the hallways had greeted her politely but without a shred of nerves, as much a part of the home as the man of the house himself. It was well cared for – exquisite and yet it had a homely feel about it. Noise filtered in from the kitchen as the staff finished for the day, a couple of guards chatted as their shifts changed, and laughter rang out from another servant at the top of the stairs. A rug was askew and there was the odd cobweb in a high up corner, but the lack of pristineness made it feel lived in. Perhaps she had judged Eris too harshly having never seen the beast in his own den.

A low growl rippled from beneath the couch when Nesta approached Eris. She halted. Eris only scrunched up his face then peered below the couch.

‘That’s not nice. Nesta’s our guest.’

Adjusting to the dim light, Nesta caught sight of a hound lying flat on its stomach, its head resting upon its paws guarding its master. Though its fur was sleek like smoke, age had taken some of its sight and its muzzle was drizzled with silver.

‘Will it bite me?’

‘Only if I tell him to,’ Eris replied, turning the page of his book without sparing her a glance.

Nesta stood waiting for a reaction, for Eris to spring Rhysand upon her – or worse, Beron – but he carried on reading. The hound dragged its stomach across the ground then hobbled stiffly over to Nesta, a slight wag to its tail. Nesta ignored the beast. She was used to over-affectionate creatures. Still, the hound waited. It gazed up at her, tail swishing from side to side expectantly.

‘Stroke him, you monster,’ Eris drawled, closing his book quietly.

Nesta rolled her eyes but brushed a hand along the dog’s head. It was remarkably soft, like silk. Soft enough that she stooped a little lower to fuss a bit more. Eris squatted beside her, the dog pushing against him, tail still flicking, until Eris broke into a wide smile. It was unnerving, seeing him so… content.

‘He’s ancient. The first I ever owned. I shouldn’t have favourites, but I do.’ Eris clicked towards a basket padded with blankets for the hound to settle upon in the corner.

The male stood then. Standing only slightly taller than Nesta, amber eyes surveyed her. She had the uncomfortable feeling that he was able to see every inch of her – but Eris did not flinch away. Eris did not think her rotten.

‘I would give every coin I have to watch you knock Rhys on his ass again.’

Nesta swallowed her laugh. ‘I’m still waiting for the door to be kicked in by three overgrown bats.’

The corners of his mouth ticked up. ‘You have a home here as long as you wish to stay.’

‘And this is out of the goodness of your heart?’ She asked, folding her arms in front of her chest. ‘I’m under no illusion this is an opportunity for you to benefit.’

‘You wound me.’ He gasped in mock horror placing a hand over his heart. ‘I am merely an altruistic opportunist.’ Nesta felt his gaze linger on her hands and hoped it was not her breasts he was examining by the frown on his face. ‘Your magic lacks training. I’m amazed you’re standing after ejaculating it so quickly.’

‘Ejaculating?’ Nesta threw him a glare.

‘Can you think of a more appropriate choice of vocabulary?’

Nesta shuddered. ‘Anything is better than you insinuating I ejaculated on my sister’s mate.’

The pair locked eyes. Eris bit down on his bottom lip. Nesta snorted then a riotous laugh clawed itself from her chest. Eris joined in, their laughter ringing around the library. She laughed and laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of the day. She had gone from buying new clothes with an Illyrian blacksmith to wheezing until her stomach hurt in the home of Eris Vanserra.

Eris curled his fingers into the palm of his hand and a fire appeared in the hearth. Nesta flinched. Felt her automatic armour slide into place ready to get her through her memories. Her eyes settled on the flames dancing rhythmically towards the chimney. They were real flames, golds, reds, and orange, burning so naturally.

‘No wood,’ she said out loud.

Eris nodded, turning his head between the hearth and her. ‘Fire. Autumn Court. How do you find your room?’

‘Am I to share it with you?’

‘It’s a spare. But mine is at the end of the hall on the left, should you want to join me.’

All fae males were handsome, even the worst ones. Eris had fought in the war too, so beneath the finery he wore, there was likely to be muscle. There were similarities in his face to Lucien, but Eris shared some of the features of his father – the withering expressions, the sharpness of their jaws. Elain was a fool for not recognising the handsomeness of Lucien – regardless of his scar; his warm colouring was more appealing than the paleness of his brother. And likely that brother had a better heart than the one stood opposite Nesta.

‘Not likely,’ Nesta snorted.

Eris inspected her again, a soft sneer curling his top lip. ‘I bring you here from Illyria. You’re completely at my mercy, and you insult me in my house.’

Nesta only straightened her spine, drawing herself up to his height. She raised her head slightly to give the appearance of peering down her nose at him. Eris did not scare her. There was not a chance she’d trust him fully or dare give him any secrets, but as far as intimidation went, she had nothing to fear from him. Eris had never moved against Nesta; he had been the one to shield his mother during the high lord’s meeting, the one to keep his brothers in check. No, Eris Vanserra might have been a snake but he wasn’t dangerous.

‘I think we’ll be good friends,’ Eris said finally, patting her lightly on the arm.

The male fetched another wine glass. Nesta knew she should have stopped him, should have argued that drinking had been her way of wrecking herself, but part of her did not want to. He poured the ruby wine then topped up his own glass.

‘To new beginnings.’

‘New beginnings,’ she echoed.

The initial days in the Autumn Court passed in a blur as if she were dreaming. Nesta saw Eris briefly. He was extraordinarily busy with a constant stream of visitors to his office and when he was not home, he was sweeping across the court and beyond. He was already laying down the groundwork on becoming high lord - that much was obvious. His staff were loyal to him. Nesta did not want for nothing, but in the moments when she trawled the house for a way to pass the time, she heard not one bad word or idle gossip about the male of the house.

Often she found herself in the library, pouring over the ancient volumes that were stored on the top shelves and wrapped in velvet to protect them. Nesta had worn gloves to read them, scared the oil from her fingers would damage the pages. She was spoilt for choice; there were histories, lost languages, encyclopaedias, diaries, and even fiction - though no romance. Throughout her explorations of the library, Vytor, the dog, would either sleep in his basket snoring softly or wedge himself between her legs at the table and doze there. Sometimes Nesta wondered if it was a shifter, spying on her, but still she was glad for company.

Over and over, Nesta had tried to write a letter for her sisters. Five times, she had ended up tossing it into her own silver flames and stared as it devoured her mistakes. There was a dark cloud of guilt that followed Nesta throughout the beautiful home. She did not feel guilty for her actions towards Rhysand. He had backed her into a corner to gage a reaction. No, it was Rovena and Azriel she felt the most pity for. The thought of Rovena having to explain to Lule and Lorin that she had gone without a word. They had to know she was safe and that she was sorry. Her sisters needed to know. The other one… she could feel his anguish. It shot through their bond as a physical ache. She had been willing to try. Nesta would have tried to learn Illyrian with him, to forge a common thread and find a way to become friends before everything had fallen apart again.

Trying to put her gratitude and sorrow into words was impossible. Words lacked weight; deeds were the measure of a person. She tried over again though. Tried to sum up how much it mean that Azriel had invited her into his mother’s home and how they had tried to craft a life together. How she hoped their Solstice had been nice and that the stark reversal of time from winter to autumn had thrown her entirely. That she wished no pain to Feyre and she was sorry if it made things difficult with the high lord.

It was dark when Eris sauntered into the library. At his arrival, Vytor wagged a tail and clambered up onto the couch and into his lap. Eris did not throw the dog off, only adjusted his seating so the dog could better curl into him.

‘Is there an issue with the food here?’

Nesta shook her head as she folded the final letter into an envelope. If she did not seal it now, she’d have continued writing until the morning, revising every draft.

‘My servants say you’ve not eaten in days. Is there a food you’d prefer?’

‘I’m not hungry.’

Eris raised his eyebrows. ‘A cheap guest. What do you have there?’

‘A letter. I wondered if you’d deliver it for me.’

‘I was actually in the Hewn City today.’

Of course Eris did not deign to tell her that information before he’d departed that morning. He made a habit of withholding information unless she explicitly asked for it.

‘Oh. How did they react? Was Feyre there?’

‘I didn’t tell them. I wanted your permission before revealing your location. You’re welcome to stay however long you need.’

She passed the letter and Eris squinted at the name.

‘Aren’t you mated to the other one?’

Her fire flared, flashing a dazzling light into the library that made him screw his eyes shut.

‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ he sniped, kicking off his boots onto the rug so they made a dull thud. ‘How are you enjoying the Autumn Court?’

‘Fine. I’ve always liked autumn.’

‘After five hundred years, watching everything slowly die but it never truly dying is rather tedious. Though the idea of freezing my balls off like in the winter court is unappealing. Or stewing in sweat at the summer court. There’s always spring, I suppose.’

Nesta rolled her eyes. ‘My allergies would destroy me in spring.’ She couldn’t help herself from asking more, ‘have you really visited them all?’

‘Yes. Come with me one day if you like. Lord Tarquin is amenable. I daresay you could do with seeing the sun, you’re rather pale. Do they keep you locked up in the Night Court or does the sun never shine?’

Information was the most vital currency; Azriel had imparted that knowledge on her. And Eris was hungry for it. Whatever they thought of Nesta, it was not her place to reveal their hard kept secrets. Velaris was their treasure. She could be a spiteful wretch and spill all of their secrets – likely they’d believe her to do it – but she was not that sort of female.

‘You have been to the Night Court. You know it well enough.’

Eris only nodded and called for a servant to bring them a drink. ‘Have you walked the grounds yet? You are free to – though I would ask you won’t leave the boundary of my home. I can’t guarantee your safety beyond that. Why don’t you meet me tomorrow and I’ll give you a tour.’

Nesta had read that Beron’s home was a magnificent fortress that sprawled across forests and mountains – the type of place that was written into the story books. Although Eris’ home lacked the same grandeur, it was still a fine building. The beauty of the grounds took Nesta’s breath away when she finally took a step outside. It was safe to stay indoors. But she was denying herself a world of opportunities.

A brisk wind rustled the vast forests so another sprinkling of golden leaves cascaded to the ground. It had to be magic for the leaves to fall forever yet the trees were never bare. Eris had not specified a time – but Nesta had worked out he was an early riser. And late to bed. Often she could hear his soft footsteps padding down the hallway late into the night followed by Vytor’s.

When he finally arrived, Eris was flanked by hounds. They swamped him; all were tall and grey, their bodies made for hunting at speed. Yet now they were yipping and leaping after the leather ball he clutched above his head.

‘Can you catch?’

Nesta thrust out a finger. ‘Don’t you d-’

A rush of silver raced towards her. Nesta screwed her eyes shut, letting the stampede run through her. She heard the male’s laughter ring out along with a couple of servants who had been tending to the land. When her eyes opened again, one dropped the ball into Eris’ outstretched hand, tail wagging vigorously.

‘How many do you have?’

‘Twelve.’

Eris drew up beside her, a slight gleam of sweat on his brow. He’d loosened the top button of his shirt, and his black boots were flecked with mud. Upon her inspection, he responded, ‘daily training. Hard work. Shall we?’

She took the arm that Eris offered her. His manners were impeccable though they sometimes hid away. He had taken to appearing from round corners or behind doors in attempts to make her jump. It was infuriating. More so when he threw back his head and laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the world. Though in a way Nesta liked that he was not being delicate with her. Eris was not afraid of her viciousness.

‘Do you ride?’

‘Dogs?’

‘Horses.’
‘No, never. Only a carriage when I was a child.’

Eris led her towards the stables. ‘You can learn if you’d like. But today, ride with me.’

They argued and squabbled. Nesta had never trusted those large, flighty creatures nor was she particularly thrilled at the prospect of sharing a saddle with him. Still, she eventually found herself with her hands resting on Eris’ waist as the horse trotted through a stream. Beyond the boundary of the grounds, there were vast farmlands. It was a fertile court; likely rich as it could supply those – like winter – that struggled to grow crops. She wondered what the winter court offered as a trade or what the main export of their court was.

‘I can almost hear your mind ticking away,’ Eris drawled.

‘I like learning,’ she replied simply.

‘Have you read the entirety of the library yet?’

‘Give me a week.’

‘What else do you enjoy, Nesta?’

She laughed bitterly. ‘Besides being horrible and failing my sisters?’

Nesta felt Eris’ body stiffen where her hands lay. ‘It’s tough to be the eldest isn’t it?’

The Archeron arguments were nothing compared to those of the Vanserras. Nesta knew enough of Lucien’s history to know that this was not a gentle place. There was pressure on Eris to be high lord – though no guarantee. They weren’t his brothers, merely competition. How was it for their mother to watch her sons seek the other’s death? How could she bear it?

'Dancing. Music. I have a question for you.’

‘Do ask it.’

Nesta slowly drew in a breath. ‘I have a feeling you might throw me from the horse when I do.’

Eris spared her a glance over his shoulder as he drew the horse over a stone bridge where the river deepened too much for the beast to cross. ‘Ask away so we can find out if I will.’

She dug her fingers into his sides, tickling him so deeply it made him yelp. ‘That’s payback from jumping out on me like a damn ghoul yesterday. Morrigan. Did you take me in to upset her and Cassian?’

‘Mor has done a terrific job at hiding the truth. It was her father who hammered out the betrothal with mine. I had as much say in the matter as she did. It was her family who dumped her on our borders with those injuries. When she decides to tell the world the truth, I will gladly wait for the apologies to roll in.’

It was a well-rehearsed speech, one Nesta might have believed if she didn’t know how slippery a male he was. She rolled those words over in her mind, pretending she was simply in awe of the picturesque scenery. Mor was afraid of her family, but in Eris’ presence it was a different sort of terror. A terror of what he knew.

‘The Autumn Court has a reputation. Morrigan decided to fuck a bastard born brute to debase herself rather than discover if it was true.’

Despite what he said, Nesta’s arrival in his own court gave him an upper hand – or at least another way to torment the male that stole his intended bride. She had no kind words for Morrigan, but her treatment had been abhorrent and undeserved. There was another emotion writhing inside of her though, one which overpowered everything else. A need to protect.

‘Don’t be cruel to him. Cassian can be heavy handed, but his heart is good. Don’t be cruel to him, Eris.’

Chapter Text

In between taking refuge in the library, Nesta was given riding lessons. Her first was led by Eris himself. He offered her the choice of riding side-saddle as a lady or spreading her legs and she offered to clobber him over the head with her boot for that remark.

From there on, her lessons were with one of Eris’ guards. He was a quiet male named Baran with deep auburn hair that curled around his temples. A chestnut mare with a white snip had been gifted to her to ride. It had a good temperament, Baran had said. In their slow trot around the grounds, Nesta had not been thrown from the beast – which was surely a good sign.

After a few days, Baran no longer led the horse on foot, but rode alongside Nesta at a gentle pace. Although the guard was a head taller than her and twice as wide, he was softly spoken. If Nesta did not want to speak that day and stew in her own misery, he did not push her to. For that, she was thankful.

It became ritual to meet Baran at the front of the house each morning and take the horses round the vast golden grounds. Being in nature helped her to heal. Hearing bird song as they rode, the gentle wind her face. All of it brought her back to life. Often a female servant would bring them both a mug of hot tea when they were done, before Baran continued on with his day’s duties, to chase away the autumnal chill. The servant’s hands would tremble when she extended the mug and Baran would blush as they spoke to one another, hardly able to form a coherent sentence. It was a pleasure to see love blooming organically without the pressure of a bond.

It was a rarity to interact with Eris for long periods. They might pass each other briefly in the hallways, or Nesta would arrive to breakfast where she’d pick at something small as he was finishing his. Eris would speak politely, but always hurried to some other business in the Autumn Court dressed in his finery. It appeared he took the management of his court seriously, a ruler who had to know every inch of it and rarely deferred. Nesta wondered if the high lord knew how his son manoeuvred beneath him, already laying the groundwork for his own rule regardless if his father's heart still beat.

An elder fae female arrived at the house one day. Servants saw her to a portion of the house Nesta had not explored and then called for her to attend.

‘Nesta Archeron?’ The female asked, surveying her shrewdly. Her brown eyes lingered on her feet, the way she stood. ‘By the bemused expression, I suppose you have not been informed that I am to teach you to dance.’

For their first lesson, Nesta refused to join in. She felt the prickling of heat beneath the skin that this had been decided for her. She was not about to make a fool out of herself by prancing around alone under the tutelage of a gnarled old female. There was too much of her mother in the female. Her voice was sharp and unyielding. She stared at Nesta as if nothing she could do would be enough.

That night, her anger made an unwelcome return. The flames in the hearth were a bright silver, flaring wildly, as she slammed every book shut in frustration. Eris had tasked her with researching curses to aid the mortal queen Vassa with her own affliction. It was futile, all of it. Likely he had already combed through his library and come up empty. The flashes of light as her flames pulsed annoyed Vytor enough that he waddled out of the library to a more peaceful area of the house.

When Eris entered the house, late into the night, Nesta met him in the hallway. The servants had gone for the day and only guards remained.

‘I will not be dancing.’

‘You said you enjoyed it.’

Nesta’s voice came out brittle and sharp, a familiar edge to it. ‘You didn’t ask me, Eris. You just assumed I wanted to.’

‘Then I’ll cancel Freja.’

‘I don’t want it cancelled,’ she snarled.

A faint expression of amusement flitted onto the male’s tired face. ‘You don’t want to dance but you don’t want me to cancel the lessons. Do you simply want to waste my coin?’

Nesta folded her arms across her chest. ‘I don’t know what I want.’

‘Clearly.’ The coldness of Eris’ hands seeped through to her skin as he placed them onto her shoulders and deftly span her around to stop her blocking his access to the rest of the corridor. ‘I’m going to sleep. Goodnight, Nesta.’

The indifference was something she would not grow accustomed to. All of her fear and discomfort with the Night Court was evolving into sheer irritation with that ridiculous male. He was as changeable as the ocean. She’d sat cross-legged on the bed muttering an imitation of him. The prickling of her magic needled beneath her skin demanding to be felt. Wreathing her hands, was that unwanted silver fire. Nesta gritted her teeth so hard, her jaw ached from the effort. She forced her magic back down, back inside.

Dusky pinks and purple swirled into the sky at the approach of dawn. Her muscles ached from riding and her eyes stung from staying awake half the night. Nesta had wallowed in anger and self-pity, cursing herself for all the decisions that had led her to this point where she sat in Eris Vanserra's home with not a single friend in the world. She had managed to ebb her anger – and magic – through sheer willpower during the night.

If Eris had been about to pass comment on her slightly dishevelled appearance, the snarl she’d shot his way had him swallowing his words. Nesta forced a mouthful of porridge onto her tongue. Even the generous drizzle of honey couldn’t persuade her to manage more than that.

‘Freja has arrived early today. I’ve rescheduled it.’

‘I will not dance,’ she said flatly, clutching the spoon so tightly her knuckles were white.

‘Dancing is better with a partner.’

Nesta stood in the small ballroom staring down the instructor. She’d have cowered from her mother’s rage, flinched from her barbed insults when she had disappointed her. Nesta had changed. She was no longer meek. Freja did not shift from her position. If the pair had horns they would be locked together.

‘This one,’ Eris said quietly to Freja, handing her sheets of music.

The male’s boots clicked softly across the dance floor as he approached Nesta. He held a hand for her to take.

Nesta took it. She had been resolute that she would not dance. And yet, she took it for some reason.

Another hand settled on her slender waist, her own onto his shoulder. The moment Freja began playing the pianoforte, Nesta lost herself. It did not matter that they were the only two dancing, that Eris was her partner. The music was so beautiful, she allowed herself to be swept away.

Eris had won that battle, Nesta was not too proud to admit it. The lessons became part of her daily schedule. She had judged Freja too harshly; the similarities to her mother extended only as far as the voice and facial expressions. In temperament, she was warm – like so many in the autumn court. Nesta had begun to discover that the folk here were crisp and cool on the surface, but in their core they were warm. True fae of the Autumn Court.

If Nesta remained busy, her mind was quiet. Feelings of self-doubt could not creep in when she occupied herself. In between riding and dancing, she’d simply walk the grounds or wall herself up in the library with Vytor, devouring more histories. Her previously held belief as a mortal of Prythian was disastrously wrong. She was not the only one who denied herself free time. For the last day, Eris had been locked in his office, his work ethic was relentless. Perhaps he had spared Morrigan from a life where she ate dinner alone and he poured over documents until the early hours.

When Nesta had retrieved a book from the stack beside her bed, the door to his office opened and voices carried up the stairs. One was feminine, soft. Nesta stilled on the bottom step.

‘Who do you have here?’

Nesta hadn’t heard the voice before. Her foot hovered above the rug, poised to take another step.

‘Servants,’ Eris replied smoothly.

The female made a noise of disbelief. ‘And they’ve taken their shoes off by the couch have they?’

Nesta screwed her eyes shut. Idiot. She’d grown comfortable enough to leave her belongings dotted around the place – which included the shoes she had unceremoniously dumped earlier after they’d rubbed a blister onto her heel during a dance lesson.

‘Well, when you’re ready to stop lying to your mother, it would be nice to meet your… friend.’

She heard Eris sigh softly. ‘The less you know, the better. I don’t want him having any power over you.’

‘Don’t worry about him, Eris.’

‘I do, for your sake. When it’s over - when he’s gone - Lucien can come home.’

There was a rustle of clothing as one of them closed the gap to the other. Nesta stood, wishing she wasn’t trapped in another moment between mother and son. Azriel’s fear had been that he would become a male like his own father. But from what Eris was insinuating, he planned to overthrow his rotten father and claim what was his.

‘I would like that very much. Your brothers are your father’s creatures, but still my sons. I’ve had to bury two. I don’t want to bury another.’

‘I will walk you to the gate, mother.’

Nesta loosed a shaky breath when the door finally shut. It had been different with Rovena; she had endured horrors and Azriel sought to protect her from more. But the Lady of Autumn was still living them. There was no end to Beron’s cruelty. To exile a son for loving one deemed lesser was despicable. If he knew that Nesta had claimed sanctuary in his court, he would destroy her.

She crept to the nook and watched as Eris escorted his mother to an awaiting carriage. His arm had been extended to her, every inch the well-mannered male she had raised. The Lady of Autumn court was a beauty with the same red hair and porcelain skin as her eldest. The golden rays caught in both of their hair turning it almost the colour of chestnuts. But as she turned to kiss her son on the cheeks, Nesta spied a rosy hue to her cheeks and the same warm russet eyes that her youngest had.

‘Your mother seems nice,’ Nesta said casually as Eris returned.

‘She is,’ he replied curtly. ‘Under the mountain, she helped your sister as payback for saving Lucien from Amarantha’s torture.’

‘You were there?’

Eris bowed his head. ‘Fifty years of it.’

‘Feyre never told me much,’ she hedged, ‘and there are few who want to record that history it seems. I’ve been unable to find any reports.’

‘Many of us did what we had to for our courts. Humour me. Eat something. Anything. And I’ll answer any questions you wish about that delightful little time with Amarantha.’

The servants were all too eager to whip up whatever she wanted. Nesta settled for a squash soup drizzled with cream. Thick wedges of bread slathered with butter were arranged on a plate for to dip into the soup.

Eris would not speak a word until Nesta had eaten at least half a slice.

‘What would you like to know?’

Nesta rolled her shoulders, still aching from her morning lessons. ‘Anything. I know Feyre went for her first high lord then returned to us as a fae with a different one.’

Eris started with Clare Beddor. Nesta requested that he did not withhold any truth, that she would listen to it however horrific it was. And it was more brutal than she could imagine. The smell of the smouldering Beddor house had singed Nesta’s nostrils for days, but Clare’s body had not been found. She forced another spoonful of soup down her throat if only to have something else to focus on than listening to how Clare was tortured to death.

The trials that Feyre endured for Tamlin’s love were brutal. She knew Feyre was strong to drag herself through the woods to feed them, but this was unparalleled. She had been made to kill innocent fae to prove her dedication to Tamlin.

‘What, and you all laughed and enjoyed the show each night? Watching my sister suffer?’

‘I told you: we all had roles to play. If we didn’t laugh, didn’t enjoy Amarantha’s games, it would be us next. None was more skilled at his role than Amarantha’s whore.’

Nesta had not known fully how committed Rhysand had been to that tyrant. She listened and she ate until every last morsel had been devoured. Then the truth of it came out. How he painted Feyre every night and humiliated her in front of every fae present. If Nesta she did not like him before, she hated him now. If there was no bond between them, would Feyre be able to love him? Nesta had cringed from Tamlin’s comment about her sister’s bedroom antics at the high lords’ meeting, but if what Eris said was true, Rhysand had been actively involved in her constant degradation.

‘He is foul,’ Nesta said finally, placing her spoon beside the empty bowl. 'I hate the male.'

Eris did not confirm or deny her statement. ‘I speak only of what I saw.’

‘My sister and Lucien. She can be cruel to him. Feyre, I mean. Well, Elain too. They had been friends once in the Spring Court.’

‘Lucien helped her under the mountain and was whipped for it. It was he who helped Feyre cross this court when she so successfully pulled the rug from underneath the Spring Court, dismantling it entirely.’

‘What do you mean?’

Eris tossed his head back in laughter. ‘Oh, she keeps so much from you.’

Hearing about Feyre’s actions was riveting in the way that experiencing something gruesome was: Nesta had to discover the ending no matter how repulsed she was. Feyre had taken out her anger with Tamlin on a court of civilians, exposing them to Hybern’s forces - and it was her meddling that caused the battle in the Summer Court. How many children had suffered as a consequence? How many had been displaced from their homes?

‘You make her sound like a war criminal.’

‘I’m merely relaying her actions. If that’s how you read it, so be it.’

Nesta had slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning, remembering how the rain had hammered down upon them as Hybern’s soldiers encroached upon the Summer Court. The sheer terror she felt in her soul as Cassian barrelled into the centre of the battle as their lines fell, how he fought without a shred of care for himself. The injury that tore him open from collar bone to naval. The blood staining Azriel's hands as he desperately saved Cassian's life. And Feyre. She could not think of her sister or her mate without tasting ash in her mouth. She could not be forgiven for not teaching Feyre to read, but her sister could commit murder in the name of love and it was permissible. He could have her stripped and drugged each night and that was love.

A light patter of rain fell against the large windows in her room. A gap in the curtains revealed a gloomy sky. Eris had not yet departed from the house when Nesta came down for breakfast. She hadn’t yet felt comfortable enough – in the way she had with Rovena – to dress down or to unpin her hair. Vytor greeted her, as he always did. A soft head dropped into her lap at the table and he let out a low groan until Nesta’s hands found him. A servant bustled in carrying a tray of tea with jam and toast for breakfast.

‘I have a task for you,’ Eris said, pouring them both a cup. ‘I’d have left it to the servants, but I thought you might enjoy.’

‘Do go on.’

Eris smiled. ‘Eat then we’ll go.’

It was those small, unyielding orders that kept Nesta on her strict road of recovery. As long as she ate something, it appeased Eris. When she ate more, he did not comment but Nesta could feel the approval seeping from him. She had not failed to notice the thinness of his mother’s arms at the high lords’ meeting. The melancholia that had made itself home upon her features. She did not want that for herself.

A pack of hounds swept towards them in the grounds. Eris hauled Nesta in front of him, using her as a shield as they leapt up excitedly, coating her silver-blue gown in mud. The moment he said the word, the dogs sat to attention - though she was in a frightful mess at that point.

‘There’s only ten,’ she said, counting each grey head.

‘Vytor lives in the house because he’s too old to keep up now. When he dies, I will weep for days.’

Eris signalled to the hounds to follow him. And they did. In a regimented line, they followed behind, staring intently at their master for the next command. Near the stables, he held up a hand for them to stop. Every move was precise. A few tails thumped the ground in anticipation. Eris withdrew the ball from his pocket. One hound made to stand, but a sharp noise from Eris halted it. He threw the ball but not a single one moved for it, all ten remained fixed upon their master’s outstretched hand. They waited and waited.

‘Go.’

Like a bolt of lightning, they streaked across the land in hunt of the ball. Eris watched on, misty-eyed, as his beasts fought over their prize.

‘That only counts for eleven.’

Eris shook himself out of his gaze and extended an arm for Nesta. ‘This way.’

In one of the empty stalls for the horses, a bed of hay had been laid out. One dog lay on her side, tail wagging weakly, as they entered. Three pups mewed and cried as they blindly searched for milk. Nesta couldn’t hide her gasp.

‘Adja has had me up all night. The four didn’t make it. We have three healthy pups though and its rare for them to birth so many,’ Eris said, bending down to stroke the bitch. ‘I want to bring them in the house. Puppies are hard work and the weather is taking a turn for the worst. Will you take the pups and I’ll carry Adja.’

Nesta had been waiting for the invitation to scoop them into her arms and was only too happy to oblige. The three of them wiggled and yelped in her arms as Nesta pressed them to her chest. The rain still fell so Nesta hurried, not wanting them to be out in the cold too long.

‘Library,’ Eris called ahead to her.

They cried for their mother in the moment she set them down so Nesta couldn’t resist crawling onto her knees, trying to soothe them with a gentle song. She hadn’t sang anything for a long time. Not since her mother had been alive.

‘Were you singing then?’

Blood burned her cheeks. ‘No.’

‘You fooled me,’ he replied with a wink.

A servant carried in a wicker basket which Adja promptly carried the three pups to then settled in beside them so they could access her milk. They jostled and cried until they latched on.

‘Should I move your bed here too? Will you be able to tear yourself away from them?’

‘You’re one to tease when Vytor sleeps in your bed.’

He cocked his head to one side. ‘How do you know my bedroom habits?’

‘Baran told me. And I don’t care to know how he knows.’

Eris might have been accurate with his judgement. During her dancing or riding lessons, she was unable to focus fully. She received a tongue lashing from the dance instructor for that – but thankfully Baran was simply too in love with the servant girl to notice if Nesta’s mind was elsewhere. She holed herself in the library and would attempt reading then promptly slam the book and drop to the floor to be with the dogs. Only one of the three was male, and he had become Nesta’s favourite in no time at all. He was the most curious of the lot, exploring every corner of the library or irritating Vytor.

‘Do you ever leave here?’

Coldness seeped from Eris’ skin and his skin was flushed from the change in temperature. He loosened his top button then collapsed to the ground beside Nesta, his knee knocking into hers. Rain had dampened his hair.

‘What will you do with these?’

‘I always say I’ll sell them. It’s impossible.’ The runt of the litter stuck her head inside of his shoe. ‘They can only be sold within this court. It’s a law in Prythian. They’re rare.’

‘And you have twelve?’

‘Fifteen I suppose now. I have sold a few previously. I have to ensure they go to a good home. I couldn’t stand the idea of raising them and sending them to a place where they’d be hurt. So I keep them. Hence why I have twelve.’

Nesta squinted at him. ‘I think you’re a lot nicer than you want people to believe.’

‘Mm, speaking of my niceness. I delivered your letter, as requested.’

A familiar jolt of fear shot through Nesta’s stomach at those words. Her eyes darted to the doorway expecting Rhysand to be looming there, ready to drag her back to the Night Court to face punishment.

‘And were they alright?’

The runt chewed the strap of the buckle on Eris’ boot, leaving indents in the leather where her teeth had been.

‘I departed before gaging their reaction. They had believed you lost or dead in Illyria.’

‘Oh, they must be disappointed then.’

She could feel Eris’ frown burning into her skin, but he said nothing, only called for a servant to fetch them a meal. Eris stood and extended a hand.

‘Can you read music?’

‘I used to.’

‘It will come back to you. Let’s go.’

Eris tugged her along the corridors to the hall where she danced. He hummed to himself, searching a dusty chest of drawers for something then he let out a noise of triumph and took a seat at the pianoforte. Eris opened a music book and pressed it flat against the holder. He searched over his shoulder for her then beckoned her to join.

‘This will likely be horrific. At least for the first few notes.’

Slender fingers danced over the ivory keys with expertise. Nesta followed along, reading the notes as quickly as she could to keep up with the sprightly music. Eris nodded for her to turn the page. For a while longer, he continued the tune until he stopped abruptly.

‘It’s too miserable outside for this.’ He leafed through the book. ‘This will do.’

The next song was sombre – and one he knew well. The male played without the notes, able to recall it from memory. Eris played exquisitely. Nesta allowed her eyes to close as she let the song drown her.

‘The fight against Hybern was your first battle?’

Nesta swallowed. ‘Sort of. When the Summer Court was attacked, I was there, watching it all from a distance.’

Eris continued playing, allowing her the opportunity to talk. ‘I hated it. It was the scariest thing I’d ever seen. I had never seen so much death before. I kept thinking what would happen if we lost and what Hybern would do to my sisters.’

‘You killed their king.’

‘Elain passed the knife through his throat. I merely cut off his head. I don’t know how I managed it. It gives me nightmares still. I was just so… angry.’

‘Had you killed before?’

‘No. And I have not since. I don’t ever plan to use a weapon again. Despite what my family thinks of me, it’s not who I am. I don’t delight in pain.’

Nesta was not a warrior – nor did she have any plans to become one. She never wanted to shed a drop of blood again. Killing the king had been an act of heinous necessity. It still had ripped away a part of her though, no matter how often she told herself it had to be done. It was revenge for what he had done to her and Elain. Revenge for her father. Revenge for all the crimes he had committed. It was such a temptation to let her every move be fuelled by spite; Nesta had a lot to be angry for. But she would not let herself become a creature of horror.

Eris stopped playing. ‘Do you truly believe that’s how they see you? That they wished you had died in Illyria?’

Since the day her father died, Nesta had been nothing more than a burden to them all. Her sadness had been devouring her from the inside out and when it had overstayed its welcome in her heart, the others had no time for her.

‘Our magic is similar, Nesta. I can show you how to wield it as a weapon, if you wish. Or I can teach you to keep it under your control. Whatever you choose, I will support you.’

Chapter Text

It was unlike Eris to be late to their meetings. If anything, he was the most punctual male that Cassian had encountered. When he finally arrived, Eris sauntered down the aisle towards the thrones where Feyre and Rhys sat in no hurry at all. He gave a nod of acknowledgement to Kier. A sneer curled his upper lip as if thinking of an inside joke as he continued prowling towards the thrones.

‘My apologies, high lord and lady. I’m finding it increasingly difficult to tear myself away from my court. I can’t think why.’ Eris gestured to the doorway beyond. ‘Shall we?’

A couple in the observing crowd snorted at the forwardness of Eris’ behaviour. He was already stalking towards the door dressed impeccably for the occasion in a burnt orange brocade woven with spun gold.

Don’t follow.

Rhys’ voice echoed into his mind. They couldn’t give Eris the satisfaction of following his orders in their own damn court. Cassian knew what – or who – he was referencing to that kept him busy in the Autumn Court and he hated him for it. Hated that Eris knew it riled up his blood.

Rhys continued his meeting with Keir, but Cassian felt the cold brush of one of Az’s shadows as it slipped by him to keep a tab on Eris. Lucien might have worn a fox mask during Amarantha’s reign but it was Eris who was craftier by far.

Cassian built up his walls so it became a fortress. He’d dealt with pieces of shit like Eris for centuries. They craved a reaction. Cassian did his best to keep his face bland as he filed in behind Azriel. Eris grinned at him, his face lupine. If Nesta had been hurt, he’d surely have felt it through the bond. Rhys had felt Feyre’s pain. He would know in his heart if Nesta was hurting.

‘Where is my brother?’

‘It appears lateness is a Vanserra family trait,’ Feyre replied coolly, slipping into a seat beside Rhys.

Eris demanded information on his soldiers stationed in Illyria, including updates of their training. Cassian had flown there several times to support. The males had been unwilling to speak to him so he’d made it as brutal as he could in retribution. It was no worse than he’d gone through in Windhaven. No matter what he’d done in his life, Cassian would never shake off that reputation as being an unwanted bastard.

Azriel reported on Lucien’s behalf, explaining that Vassa was more and more restless. She believed that Feyre’s father had bargained something for her release from her island, but even Vassa did not know what it was, only that it must have been of great value. They pondered it. Eris thought perhaps it had been his own life. There was little fight in their father that day against Hybern; he had done enough providing the armies, Cassian thought. He had dragged his broken body as quickly as he could towards Nesta, but he had seen her father’s declaration of love – though he didn’t try to escape, he knew he was to die. And I am… I am so sorry, Nesta – my Nesta. I am so sorry for all of it.

A terrible thought hit Cassian. What if he had bargained his first born – a female so powerful, Hybern had wanted her - to release Vassa?

The door opened and Lucien slipped inside, nodding to all present. He took a seat opposite Cassian.

‘I have news,’ Lucien said, voice grave. ‘I have returned to the lake. The sorcerer who imprisoned Vassa. It’s Koschei.’

Koschei. Cassian was returned to the Prison. To the foul creatures he had imprisoned there. Koschei’s brother was the Bone Carver. Both were immortals, true immortals, and death-lords. He was no mere sorcerer, only a being of immense dark power.

‘Koschei is a legend that predates our history,’ Eris said with a furrowed brow.

Lucien nodded to his brother. ‘The deathless.’

That final word hung above them like a guillotine. The scars that Cassian had – the only ones brutal enough to mar this body – had been from the monsters inside the Prison. A visit would need to be paid to the Bone Carver for information on his brother.

‘Briallyn,’ Lucien said, his voice terse. ‘The other mortal queens have been quiet, but she’s up to something.’

‘I think we can assume it’s related to Koschei.’

Lucien nodded his head to Azriel. ‘We must keep our eyes on her.’

If Briallyn was moving into an alliance with Koshei, it put Nesta in further danger. She would never forgive Nesta for her theft from the Cauldron that resulted in the robbery of her own youth.

When all had finished, Feyre finally cracked and asked Eris the question that Cassian had been desperate to. ‘How is my sister?’

‘What a trophy she could have been to the Night Court.’

‘I swear on the Cauldron if you have laid a finger on her.’

Eris picked an errant thread from his cuff rather than look at Feyre. ‘What would I have to gain by hurting her? She devours every book she’s given, such a keen interest to learn. Wit like a razor too. A jewel to have in my court.’

‘What is it? After five hundred years you still hold a grudge? A petty act of revenge taking Nesta.’

Eris held up a finger, his face angrier than Cassian had ever seen it as he stared Rhys down. ‘No. I saw a female in such terror at the thought of you hurting her – at her sister’s mate coming for her - I gave her sanctuary. This is not a kind court for females. I’ve seen enough of this city and Illyria.’ Then the tension faded from his shoulders. ‘It’s an added benefit that she’s the brute’s mate. Nesta enchanted me that day when she had the balls to stand up to my father during the high lord’s meeting.’

‘Are we to expect her to have nails hammered into her stomach and to be dumped on the edge of your court?’

Eris did not miss a beat when he swiftly replied, ‘I think you’ll find Morrigan’s family hurt her, I didn’t touch her.’

‘Does it make you feel better about yourself when you say that?’ Rhys asked. ‘That it was better to leave her to die than to help an injured female?’

Eris shrugged. ‘For one whose gift is truth, Morrigan does a terrible job at revealing her own. One day, maybe,’ he winked. His eyes roved over to Azriel. ‘You’ve been waiting a long time to hear it.’

‘What do you want for her? For Nesta? I presume you want to deal for her safe return?’

‘Mother’s mercy, Rhysand, she’s not a prize breeding mare. Nesta is free to come and go as she pleases, as she well knows. With Briallyn stirring, it makes sense for Nesta to stay with me – where only we know she is – and where she’ll remain safe. We’ve actually had very interesting conversations about our time under the mountain. It appears that Nesta did not know a lot of the story. I do wonder if your court knows all of it too?’

‘Eris,’ Rhys warned, voice a low ripple.

‘When you and your mate have children, will you tell them how it all began? How papa twisted the broken bone in mama’s arm to force her into a deal where you got to steal her each month? Or what about when you had her skin painted and sent her out to dance for us in little scraps of material.’ He turned to Azriel, ‘of course, Rhysand was kind enough to drug his mortal plaything so she wouldn’t remember. But we all do, don’t we, Lucien.’

‘It was to protect me,’ Feyre said, chin held high.

Next to him, he felt Azriel’s discomfort. Rhys refused to meet either of their eyes. His violet gaze was locked on Eris with utter fury, a muscle ticking away in his jaw.

‘If I remember correctly, Lucien was helping you, weren’t you, brother? Weren’t you whipped for such a thing? And even our mother came one day. Did mother have Feyre strip and dance for us? I don’t recall.’ Eris knew then that he had won. Feyre glanced at her lap blinking furiously. Azriel’s anger was simmering away as his hazel eyes stared at his high lord in revulsion.

‘Does it not cross your minds that perhaps Nesta likes the Autumn Court? That there could possibly be a land that’s better than the Night Court. Nesta is thriving. Ask Lucien.’

Eris winnowed away, leaving his brother at the mercy of the inner circle’s questioning stares.

‘When did you see her?’

Lucien loosed a long breath. ‘She’s fine. I saw her yesterday.’

That almost seemed worse. That she’d gone by her own volition and Eris or Beron wasn’t holding her there.

‘Nesta’s learning to ride a horse. She has dance lessons. She looked happy.’ Lucien spared a pitying glance to Cassian and Feyre. ‘She is training her magic.’

‘With fucking Eris?’ Rhys spat.

‘Fire,’ Lucien said simply spreading out his hands. ‘Better Eris than my father. Maybe she sees their similarities.’

‘She is nothing like Eris,’ Feyre said, shaking her head.

Lucien shifted uncomfortably in his chair, not wanting this burden to fall to him. ‘But I think she felt she was nothing like any of you either.’

Cassian could not find his tongue. It was heavy and fumbling when it came to Nesta. All his failings came back to haunt him. Still, he had thought himself a better male than Eris Vanserra and yet she had picked him. But all the same, he had thought Rhys to be a good male. Eris had likely twisted the truth; Rhys had sacrificed everything for them under the mountain. From their reactions, he knew there was a seed of truth to it.

'They argued like cat and dog. Eris has not managed to quash her spirit. It was unnerving really how comfortable they are in each other's presence. She even apologised for not being welcoming to me.'

'Nesta Archeron apologised?' Rhys said, eyebrows raised.

Lucien's lips pursed. 'There's no need to sound surprised. She is a good female.'

The snarl ripped from Cassian's throat before he had a chance to stop it. Lucien held his stare, a flame sizzled in his eye willing Cassian to calm. The male knew how it was to be unable to go to his mate, knew the pain Cassian felt to hear her enjoying another male's company. The thought of even glancing at another female was incomprehensible since he'd met Nesta.

‘There’s something else... I went to Tamlin.’ That name pulled the air in the small room taut. Feyre and Rhys both stiffened, their eyes went distant, locked into a conversation that the rest of them weren’t privy to.

‘That’s where I met Nesta. She and Eris were at his manor.’

‘Nesta is meeting with Tamlin?’ Feyre’s face flushed with blood.

‘I don’t think Eris knows what he’s doing until he’s doing it. Or he’s manoeuvring three steps ahead of anyone else. It almost felt like he knew I’d be there, knew I’d pass this information on. You will then likely go to Tamlin and he’ll have more information that Eris planted.’

‘He manages to slip past my spies sometimes,’ Azriel admitted.

'We named the wrong brother a fox, it seems,' said Rhys.

‘Feyre,’ Lucien sighed. ‘She looks a lot like you, I never realised it until I saw her sat where you had been at the table. I worry he will use Nesta as a bargaining tool with Tamlin. I can imagine Eris sees Tamlin as a valuable ally.’

‘Why?’

‘A broken Tamlin makes my brothers uncomfortable. But a Tamlin – at full potency – terrifies my father.’

Chapter Text

‘Very, very risky, Nesta Archeron.’

A breath hissed over Nesta’s teeth as her fingers stroked the top of the wooden figurine. She drew her hand away and moved it towards another.

‘If I was really cruel, I’d say you had to move that piece because you touched it.’

‘You’re only a little bit cruel.’

Eris laughed loudly. He laughed more than Nesta had ever expected him to. For days, they had been locked into strategy games whenever he came home. Azriel used to wallop her with no mercy, but Eris had been pausing to offer advice, showing her which traps could be avoided and how to create her own.

‘Am I to believe that meeting Lucien at Tamlin’s home was mere coincidence?’

‘On the eve of my trip to the Night Court? Of course,’ he grinned.

Nesta rolled her eyes then brought one of the puppies onto her lap, letting it chew on her finger. ‘Maybe you would consider informing me if I am to be an unwilling part of your schemes.’

Eris had asked if she wanted to travel for the day and she nearly bit his hand off at the chance. It hadn’t taken her long to gleam from her surroundings that he had taken her to the Spring Court. They had met with Tamlin. A meeting being a gross exaggeration of the word. He’d sat in silence at the table while Eris talked at him incessantly, barking orders about what he needed to do to put his court back together.

When Nesta realised who they’d be meeting, she had prepared herself to be vicious, to argue and tear him down for what he’d done to Feyre. All the fight left her the moment she saw him. The male in front of her was broken. His appearance was unkempt. Her aggression faded as she watched Tamlin slump in a chair, eyes glazed. She did not need to kick a male when he was already down. Broken furniture littered the room; claw marks were scratched into the table. His court had been torn open, just as Eris had told her. It was harder to see it; harder to see the common folk struggle.

Lucien had appeared, a look of surprise on his face when he entered the dining room to see them sat there. They spoke outside with him later - once Eris had finished his neverending monologue. Tamlin had not tried to follow. Did not give any sort of indication that he’d even registered they’d been there.

Lucien’s gaze had weighed heavily on Nesta, searching for any injuries to report back to Velaris. She had apologised to him for judging too harshly. Their initial meeting had been under traumatic circumstances but he had proven himself to be a kind, loyal male – one she would be proud for Elain to be with, should she accept their bond. He had kept his distance, not pushed the bond, had helped Feyre when she'd needed it. Lucien was a good male. Lucien had nodded, a smile broke onto his face, as if Nesta's approval genuinely mattered to him.

‘The male who broke down the door to our home and stole Feyre, he’s truly gone,’ Nesta sighed, taking one of Eris’ pieces off the board. ‘It was quite pathetic really, seeing him like that.’

‘He never wanted to be high lord anyway. Maybe Feyre did him a favour.’

‘I worry more for his subjects,’ Nesta replied.

There was a satisfied gleam in Eris’ eye that she wasn’t sure she liked. He took her by the hand to his office where documents had been laid out on the oak desk.

‘This is where you come in.’ Eris sat behind the desk and folded his hands together. ‘I cannot be seen too often in the Spring Court. You, however, are not affiliated with any court. Tamlin needs to conduct a census to gain an understanding of who remains in his court. Tamlin also needs to take stock of his taxes and tithes to better understand the financial situation.’

‘Does he?’ Nesta scoffed. ‘Does Tamlin now have red hair and live in the Autumn Court? I don’t want to be involved with him. He stole my sister.’

‘Odd that he wasn’t the only high lord to do that.’

‘Eris.’

‘Nesta.’

Nesta tried to turn on her heel to leave, but Eris had darted from behind the desk and his grip locked around her wrist, holding her to the spot. ‘Nesta, you’ve shown an aptitude for strategy and mathematics. You care – even when you have no reason to, you still care. You showed that in the high lords’ meeting when you demanded the children be spared. You’re wasted sat in a library reading. You can do more – be more. You can be my eyes and ears in the Spring Court. Please. Should I drop to my knees and beg?’

‘It might help.’

Eris did. She could not believe her eyes when the male sunk to his knees and clasped his hands as if in prayer. ‘Please.’

‘No,’ she smirked.

There was too much of Feyre’s history tied up with the high lord of the Spring Court. Too much for Nesta to delve into. She had no training, no experience with such things. Eris cursed her, but did not push it. The documents on his desk were ready for a census to be conducted. A contract was also written, with her name at the top, including a generous salary for her services paid from the Spring Court funds. The battle might have been over for the day, but Eris would try again. Nesta would become a piece in his own games, it was only a matter of time.

They ate dinner together with the large glass doors propped open to allow a gentle wind to blow through the dining room as the sun slowly began its drop to the horizon. Vytor sat to attention by Eris for any crumb that might drop and Adja was under the table, chin resting on Nesta’s knee for any pastry flakes that escaped her pie lid. The pups ran amok the room, chewing at furniture and toes, unaware of the dinner.

‘I forgot to ask… how was your trip to the Hewn City?’

‘Interesting.’ Nesta cocked an eyebrow, willing him to continue. ‘They’re convinced I’m torturing you.’

'If you continue to play pianforte it will be torture. Was Elain there?’

‘Just the three bats, Lucien, and your other sister.’

Eris had taken to calling them the bats after Nesta had said it enough times. From his mouth, the insult sounded worse.

‘The shadow singer,’ Eris said, not looking up from his plate. ‘What happened to his hands?’

‘It’s not my place to say.’

Azriel was ashamed of the scars although they had not been his fault at all. He had not deserved his childhood. He hid them as often as he could. Nesta would not arm Eris with that knowledge of what had been done to him. She knew well enough that Eris’ favourite activity was irritation. Azriel did not deserve any nastiness from Eris.

‘I’d like to go to your next meeting,’ she said, raising her gaze to his. ‘Then they can see I'm not being held under duress. I can also make sure you're behaving as I have a feeling you’re twisting the truth to your own gain.’

‘But it’s so much fun. All right, I’ll bargain with you. You come with me and in return, you will examine the taxation records of this court under my tutelage to better prepare you for investigation into the Spring Court.’

‘You are a demon.’

Eris inclined his head as though she’d complimented him. ‘I’ve heard it said you are a witch. It’s why we get on so well.’ Eris drained his glass of wine. ‘What was it like when you went into the Cauldron?’

A preternatural stillness came over Nesta. The warmth of the room drained to a deathlike cold, drawing goose bumps upon her skin. ‘Why do you care about that?’

‘Curious,’ he said gently.

Her breaths came shallow. Nesta had fought and fought with every ounce of strength she had to get to Elain. To save her. She’d failed. She had not been able to save Elain. Then the guards had come for her. She had bucked and thrashed, desperate not to become what she’d always hated. Cassian had been bleeding on the ground, wings shredded, the only one trying to get to her. Lucien had held Elain. Declared he was her mate.

‘I’m going to bed.’

Long after the sun descended, Nesta remained curled up on her bed, staring at the chest of drawers without blinking. If she closed her eyes she saw the inky black depths of the Cauldron. Remembered how bitingly cold it had been like the gaps between the stars, a world without warmth and light. It tugged her down as if it would never let her go.

It burnt. Death burnt. The change to immortality burnt. Every bone in her body had been broken and melted into steel. She fought back against the Cauldron. Fought to steal and to take and to rip away the power it had taken from her and Elain. It was an eternity trapped there. An eternity clawing her way back to life.

A soft knock dredged her back from her memories. The door opened and Vytor’s paws padded across the wooden floor followed by his master. Eris lifted a blanket from the bottom of the bed and tucked it in around her then settled himself on the bed bedside her. A hand snaked into hers, warm but firm. A tether that kept her from her nightmares.

Eris had departed during the night. In his space, Vytor snored loudly. She would have thanked him for staying with her, for knowing she needed the comfort even if she did not ask for it, but Eris was not at home. He had already left for another day locked into business.

Nesta continued with her riding and dance lessons, the steady pulses of her day that kept her together. Eris supported in training her magic when he had free time but he had given her exercises to try when he was not around. It became ritual to practise those too. She could not shake the feeling that there was something missing. Something she craved.

Reluctantly, she studied the documents Eris had happened to leave on her favoured couch in the library. That male’s brain never rested; it constantly plotted and schemed.

The puppies were becoming more boisterous, charging about the place in between flopping to sleep in a pile. They were a welcome distraction between the dull ledgers. For every document she read, she rewarded herself with laying on the floor and letting the dogs scramble over her to play.

The documents were easy enough to understand; she had studied enough of her father’s documentation when he had been a merchant. Certainly, if Feyre could go from illiterate to high lady in a couple of years, being involved in the administrative duties of one court should be fairly simple.

The servants greeted her politely as she exited the house. She walked the grounds slowly with Vytor plodding along beside her, his tail wagging when he stopped to sniff at a bramble bush. They shared a few blackberries; Vytor snuffled them from her palm, his wet nose tickling the skin. The sweet-sharp berries had always been Nesta’s favourite, especially baked into a crumble. They continued on to the orchard where ripe apples dripped from branches desperate to be harvested. Nesta ate one as they wandered along the perimeter fence and she wondered if this is what life had been like for her mother. Vast lands, servants, and a husband who busied himself with work so often he was a stranger. Was that why she had crafted Nesta into her own creation – merely out of boredom? Their mother would entertain guests – and she was spectacular at it – though as Nesta grew older, she realised they were not friendly women. They gossiped and revelled in others’ misfortune. It was an empty life. One she did not want. Nesta wanted company. Someone to laugh with. Someone to love. To be loved by.

When Eris returned, she allowed him to eat his dinner in peace before she took up a chair at the head of the table.

‘The bargain you had for me. I have examined your documents and understand how they’ve been formed. I will support in the Spring Court as best I can. I will need further training. I do not want to go to your meeting. I do not want to see Rhysand. I would like to see Cassian though. Alone. Just us two. If you can arrange it, I will support Tamlin.’

She had mulled it over and over. Cassian had sworn to defend innocent mortals. He had tried to get to her when she was dragged into the Cauldron, even with his wings torn to ribbons. Nesta had watched him fight against Hybern in the heart of the battle. Seen him on the brink of death. He had gone with Nesta to lure the King of Hybern. The king had hurt him. Had tried to break him. For him, for his spirit, she had continued to fight. She wanted to try.

The census ought to have been tedious, but Nesta found she quite enjoyed the rigor of administration. The few sentries who were still loyal to the high lord helped in the organisational process, along with servants. Keeping her mind busy helped to pass the time. And Nesta found she was good at it. In the late afternoons, she would examine Tamlin's accounts. The male would sit, unblinking, at the window while she busied herself within the manor, discussing matters with servants.

It was during the third day of the census in the Spring Court that Eris managed to lure the bat to their meeting. From the look of thunder on his face, being in Eris’ presence was akin to rubbing stinging nettles on his skin. Eris made a point of gesturing to the sentries for Nesta to call upon if needed. If Cassian wanted, he’d tear through them all easily and fly her back to Velaris. She watched Eris winnow to allow some privacy, hoping Cassian would not try anything stupid like that.

‘You wanted to see me,’ Cassian said, voice aloof.

‘I did.’

They stared at each other in silence. Both waiting for the other to strike first. Nesta had forgotten how colossal he was. How he could devour the space he was in. The massive sprawl of his wings in the sunlight as they stretched to catch the heat. He had planted his feet readying himself for a confrontation.

‘You look well.’

Nesta glanced down at herself. She’d chosen a pastel yellow dress – not one that was her usual style – but one that suited the lightness of the Spring Court to better appeal to the folk within. Her arms were mostly bare, and the chiffon skirt was airy and swirled round her legs when she walked to stave off the heat. The bat was in his usual black leathers as though he’d come for a fight. Red siphons were pulsing slightly to match the rapid beating of his heart.

‘Thank you.’

‘You’re working for Tamlin. After what he did to your sisters. To you.’

‘I am working to help fae who have been displaced from their homes during a war which they had no say in. Rebuilding this court is imperative. Surely you must understand that.’

That answer did not please him. He rolled his brown eyes dismissively. ‘What did you want? Why am I here?’

The brusqueness caught Nesta off-guard. She did not expect them to be friends, but she had expected a little more civility. Still, she did not know what lies or truths Eris had span to his own advantage. Did not know what he had implied about their relationship. Nesta knew well enough what Tamlin’s actions had done to her and Elain, of how he behaved with Feyre. In her opinion, Rhysand had been no better to Feyre when they met. But she bit her tongue and let it slide.

‘I wanted to talk to you.’

‘Why not send a letter? Or are they only for Azriel? Do you not think that a bastard born Illyrian can read?’

Nesta breathed heavily through her nose. ‘You’d have told your high lord every little detail. Azriel knows when to keep his mouth shut.’

Cassian flinched at that. It had wounded him too easily.

‘How quickly did you tell Rhysand about my magic? Had you even landed back in Velaris? Did you expect a pat on the head like a good little dog when you told your master?’

‘You had no control over it, Nesta. It could have been dangerous.’

She threw back her head in a shrill bout of laughter that sent a flock of birds darting from a nearby tree and cherry blossom scattering in their wake. ‘Please don’t pretend there was any concern in it.’

‘Of course there was,’ he said, voice rising in tandem with her own. ‘You were on a path to destruction before Azriel intervened. If your magic is left unchecked, it will ruin you.’

‘I’m training it.’

‘With that fucking snake. Come home.’

‘Velaris is not my home,’ she snarled.

Warily, a sentry watched as Nesta stormed a few steps towards Cassian, not caring if he was head and shoulders taller than her.

‘You were all too happy to call Velaris home when you were drinking and fucking yourself into oblivion.’

‘Is that not what you did for five hundred years?’

‘I had to suffer it every night. Did you consider me in your behaviour? I felt every male you took home.’

‘Did you enjoy it? Because I did.’

She knew she shouldn’t have said it, the moment it came from her lips. Cassian stood dumbfounded, blinking at her. The colour flushed up her neck in shame.

Calmly, Cassian spoke again. ‘I hated every moment. I am your mate, Nesta.’

The fight wasn’t over. She had brought him there to try and forge a sort of friendship and he had started off hostile. She was not burying this agurment. Her anger had to come out now or she’d carry it forever.

‘You have no right to call me that word. When have you ever stood up for me? When all your little friends said horrible things about me, you never spoke up for me once. You can make these grand declarations of love on the battlefield. But when it mattered – in front of your family – you were ashamed of me.’

Eris winnowed to them, standing a few paces behind her, watching their argument boil over with morbid curiosity.

‘Where were you, Cassian? After the war, back in Velaris, where were you?’ Nesta pushed him in the chest. ‘You all stood there laughing, celebrating, drinking. I went to my room and cried. I cried and cried and cried. I’d lost my father. I watched the lights leave his eyes. I heard my sisters laughing and celebrating downstairs. Nobody came to me. Nobody tried to help me.' Nesta hissed through her teeth, knowing that day against Hybern had been the exact moment her life started unravelling too quickly for her to keep up with. 'I killed somebody, Cassian. I can tell myself that the king was evil. That he deserved to die for what he did to me and Elain. But I still took a life. That has forever changed me. You all carried on drinking and celebrating. I’m twenty-five years old. I’m not a soldier. I had never seen death before. . I wanted someone – anyone - to notice that I needed help. I wanted to die. Nobody cared that I was hurting. Don’t you dare claim you are my mate as if it means something. You weren't there when it mattered most.’

Nesta took a shuddering breath, forcing her emotion back into its cage where it belonged. Angrily, she brushed away the tears that had escaped. She stepped away from the bat, his face contorted with anguish.

‘I sat with Elain every day when we were Made, terrified that I’d lost her. Everybody took care of her, worried about her. Nobody gave a shit about me.’

Eris waited for her with his hand outstretched. She did not fail to notice the shine of victory in his amber eyes. Nesta felt guilty for it. Felt guilty for returning home with Eris and twisting the knife in further to the Illyrian despite everything.

‘Why did you summon me?’ He called. ‘Just to rub it in my face that you’ve moved on?’

Nesta’s fingers brushed against Eris’. She turned her head back to Cassian.

‘I wanted to learn Illyrian with you. I wanted to try and be your friend.’

Chapter Text

That rage simmered and simmered within her. The fire that Nesta had tried to quell was scorching her again. Eris did not waste a moment to throw her into a vigorous training session, knowing her anger had reached boiling point facing Cassian.

The moment Eris had winnowed them back to his home, he forced her to train. It was more difficult to control when it had gained traction within her heart. The male forced her to gain a hold on it, to harness it into something that could be useful rather than letting it rule her. Her flames battled against his in a blaze of gold and silver that burnt so brightly it could blind.

She was doubled over with nausea when Eris finally called for them to stop. The sun was setting and Nesta had exhausted a substantial amount of her magic trying to overpower Eris’ own. He had taught her how to use her fire as a shield rather than a method of attack. It was tiring though in a way that left her satisfied.

Eris pulled her to her feet with a strong grip then offered his arm as they walked across the grounds. Sweat evaporated from her flushed skin. The wisps of hair that had escaped were slick to the back of her neck. Even Eris had a dribble of sweat running down his temple from the effort of it.

‘Calmer?’

‘Only slightly,’ she admitted.

That night, Eris had knocked on her door. Nesta leapt off the bed where she’d nestled deep into the blankets with a novel and tugged her night dress past her knees. Her head peered around the door.

‘What do you want?’

Eris cocked his head to one side, a lob-sided smile appeared. ‘It will never fail to make me laugh that this is my home and yet you treat me as if I am the burden.’

‘Did you want something or not? I’ve got better things to do than wait around.’

Eris peered round the gap in the door at the book pressed open on her pillow and the cluster of blankets. ‘Clearly. A present for you.’

Eris clicked his fingers and Nesta heard the scuffle of paws scampering along the corridor.

A noise of delight echoed off the walls. ‘For me? Really?’

The male pup was in her arms at once and it was difficult to decide who was more excited about it. His tail thumped against her hand and a warm tongue licked her jaw eagerly.

‘Try for tonight. See how he is.’

From there on, Nesta and the pup were inseparable. Even when Eris took the litter to train, she followed along too, before he dumped her in the Spring Court for another day of administration. Zasha, the dog, came with her. He had tripled in size since birth, but still remained a playful thing who spent the day chasing butterflies around the manor’s vast gardens or snoozing in the shade while Nesta spent the day sifting through tax records in the sun.

Occasionally, she would hear Tamlin shuffle between rooms, his feet heavy, but the male did not emerge or try to interact. He seemed to have accepted that he was a pawn in Eris’ games just as she was. A few servants had returned, asking if they could work again for the high lord as coin was scarce across the court. Nesta made the executive decision to allow it; there was coin enough for their wages and the vast lands needed tending to. She could gain on the ground knowledge from local fae to better inform her decision making in the future.

Slowly, the manor house was returned to its previous grandeur, just as Feyre had told Nesta it had been when she was returned to them below the wall. The wildness of the place had been clipped back to an organised beauty where roses and irises crawled upon the hedgerow. Within the manor, furniture had been repaired, the rooms cleaned and aired. It was only the ghost of the high lord who haunted them that would need attending to. Nesta had no desire to be his friend. They never even exchanged words - and she preferred it that way.

Eris approved of her decisions and praised Nesta for her ruthless rigour, as he called it. Once the heart of the Spring Court beat again, she and Eris planned to turn their attention to the exports of the court. By managing the exports and imports to the court, they could gain a hold on the finances and support the local fae with the stability of the court. Nesta found it was a work she could devour; like Eris her mind struggled to settle in the evening. They would bounce ideas off of each other while he played pianoforte and she sat on the floor tugging a rope with Zasha.

‘You annihilating Rhysand in front of a camp full of Illyrian males remains one of the high points of my life,’ Eris said as his fingers danced across the ivory keys. ‘I wish you had come here under better circumstances though I am glad you did, Nesta Archeron. We make a good team.’

‘We do,’ she agreed. ‘Though what does that say about me.’

Eris sniggered and in doing so, hit the wrong note. ‘You’ve made me go wrong now.’ He paused then squinted at the music before beginning again. ‘Am I such a villain still?’

No, he was not. There were many limits upon what parts of him the male could show to the world – and certainly he could be razor-sharp in his assessments. It was an unflinching honesty that Nesta admired. Nesta was under no illusions that Eris always fought for his own gain, but a part of him was good, and wanted to be good.

‘You love your mother and your dogs. Beyond that, I think you will not let anyone else in.’

There was still a degree of hesitancy to ever engage in casual conversation about his family or let his guard down fully. Although his servants were treated well, they remained servants. His guards and sentries respected him, but did not extend their casual conversations to him. Eris did not have friends. His face would soften slightly at the mention of Lucien – the one brother he could stand – but his face was schooled into a cool neutrality if Beron or his other brothers were mentioned in conversation. Nesta had often wondered what he had been alluding to when they had discussed Morrigan’s truth. If Eris had wanted to, he could have taken his revenge against her and Cassian with Nesta, but he had not. Eris had never once tried to push himself on her. No, he was more concerned with correcting the narrative that the Autumn Court had been the one to hurt Morrigan.

Eris did not respond to her comment, merely shrugged with indifference and continued playing a melancholy melody while Zasha skidded across the dance floor after the rope. Nesta had a feeling that until Lord Beron was dead, Eris would not let a female into his heart. That same fear that Azriel had, she knew existed in Eris; that he would become a male so cruel and ruthless, his wife suffered. Or worse, his father would crush his wife in the same way he treated his mother. Before she departed for the night, Nesta kissed him softly on the cheek.

'We are both villains in someone else's story.'

Velaris felt like a distant dream. The female who had been happy to crawl home with whatever male that had looked at her for long enough was not one Nesta recognised. And she was glad for it. She had never wanted that for herself. It had been ingrained in her that she would only ever give her heart away to a husband – and with it, her virtue. Part of her was ashamed that she’d given her maidenhead to a male whose face and name she could not recall. Part of her was glad she had done it, glad she had discovered that her value did not lie between her legs. It had not changed her. She had not become a different female by sleeping with males, so perhaps her mother had it wrong.

Her healing had not been a conscious decision. A lot of it, Nesta knew, she owed to Rovena’s initial love which had been a flickering light for her to follow through the darkness. A heavy-handed intervention where she was forced to change would not have been welcomed. The gentle, coaxing love from Azriel’s mother had been the small stones that started in avalanche. Beyond helping her to heal, the Autumn Court had encouraged Nesta to grow. It was easy to grow when she was encouraged to bloom rather than being stamped on. Developing the Spring Court had given Nesta purpose again – something she had been denied for so long. It had nothing to do with being Cauldron-made, and everything to do with who she was. Her tenacity was from her father. It was a bond that Nesta would forge; a route back to her father even if he was gone from the world. Nesta was his daughter as much as the other two were.

More and more, Eris joined her for dance lessons. He was a good partner, leading carefully and considerately. The manners that his mother had instilled in him gleamed during their lessons. Eris only touched her when necessary, never beyond it.

Nesta’s life had fallen into routine alongside that red-haired male. He trained the dogs while she rode with Baran. They would dance for an hour then he would winnow her to the Spring Court for the day. While he conducted his own business back in Autumn, she did her own at the Spring Court manor. In the evening, Eris would collect her and they’d share a dinner before going their separate ways for the last couple of hours. Often Nesta would practise her magic or lounge in the library with Zasha sleeping in her lap. Eris would continue working late into the night, locked in his office.

Although the court did not adhere to regular seasons, one evening the weather felt warmer as if winter was giving way to spring in a land where autumn reigned supreme. They walked the grounds together, chatting quietly about the mortal queens who had continued to be dormant. A golden sunset bathed them both in its glow, the warmth seeping through the pink chiffon dress embroidered with flowers that Nesta wore. So much of her wardrobe had been infiltrated by Spring Court attire to better fit her role.

Eris was being mischievous. It happened from time to time, Nesta had learnt. Often derisive comments would leave his lips about mutual acquaintances – most made Nesta snort. Many were directed at their acquaintances who resided in Velaris though she refused to hear a bad word about Azriel. However, that evening Eris had passed a comment about her. Admittedly, it had been funny, though she would never give him that satisfaction of confessing it.

With one hard shove in his back from Nesta, Eris fell into the lake. Nesta was rooted to the spot waiting for that red hair to emerge. He spluttered back to the surface then turned to face her, amusement shimmering in his amber eyes.

‘You have five seconds to run. Five…’

Nesta did not waste another second. She flung off her shoes and raced across the lawn towards the orchard, heart hammering with a giddy sort of fear. Eris cut her off by one of the trees. His arm caught her round the middle, pressing her body to his.

‘No, no, no,’ she begged, trying to break free of him – and trying to hide her grin.

Eris hoisted her to his chest, despite her attempts to get away, and headed back towards the lake.

‘That water is very cold.’

‘Please. Please, no. Eris, please.’

‘No? Tell me I’m the best male you’ve ever met.’ His voice purred into her ear.

‘You’re the best male.’

Eris’ lip brushed against the point of her ear. ‘Tell me I’m your favourite male.’

‘You’re my favourite male.’

‘Tell me you wish every male was like me.’

‘Eris Vanserra,’ she said, gazing into his eyes, ‘I wish every male was like you.’

Eris started to lower her to the ground then he grinned like a wolf.

Nesta hit the water before she even knew he’d tossed her. Her breath caught in her lungs as she broke through the surface. Hair spilled over her face. The lake was deep enough that the water hit as high as her collar bone.

‘Idiot,’ she snarled.

A splash beside her signalled that he had dived back into the lake. Eris emerged and sprayed water into the air. The hounds raced towards them then leapt into the water too. It was chaos.

The last few servants who had not yet left for the day clucked with laughter watching their master lark about with Nesta and the dogs. On the edge of the lake, the puppies and Vytor barked, their yips carrying on the wind, unwilling to join them.

‘Why can’t this be the Summer Court?’ Nesta asked through chattering teeth.

Eris only laughed and threw himself back into the water as Adja swam beside him.

Their gaze caught. Nesta swam to the male with intent. Both of their jaws rattled from the cold. Eris drew her closer to him. His hands enclosed around her waist, lifting her against him. Nesta wrapped her legs around him, letting the water sway them. Those amber eyes had never flinched from her, had never judged her for her perceived indiscretions.

Nesta kissed him. It took Eris by surprise. But only for a heartbeat then he was kissing her in return. Their lips moved together in a desperate longing for the other; their bodies were two flames that devoured. Nesta fought back a sigh as a cool hand cupped her face.

The franticness slowed into an enjoyable rhythm where they tasted each other lazily. Nesta pressed her body against Eris’, feeling the size of him straining against his trousers. She pressed her hips deeper into him then caught his slight gasp with a kiss of her own.

She dared to trail her tongue across his bottom lip while her fingers deftly unbuttoned the top of his trousers.

Eris drew away with a long sigh. ‘We shouldn’t, Nesta.’

‘Why?’ She whispered, tracing soft kisses along the column of his neck.

‘Your mate will snap me in half when he finds out.’

A growl burst out of Nesta and she threw herself away from Eris. That confounded bat was an unwanted shadow. A repellent against any other male who wanted to be close to her. She tried to storm from the lake, but wading in a gown weighed down by water was no easy thing.

Eris chuckled watching her bedraggled frame crawl from the lake. Fire crackled in her veins in response.

‘All males are useless things,’ she snarled to herself, stuffing her shoes back onto her feet. ‘Must every moment of my life be ruled by that bat’s presence?’

The laughter that rippled across the water only served to annoy Nesta even more. Before she turned back to hold Eris’ head under the water to drown him, she’d stalked towards the stables. Frustration simmered in her veins. It had been a long time since she had been near a male. The last had been the bat himself that day by the war monument when she'd climbed into his lap. Stupid. Idiotic.

Her dress had turned almost sheer and the skirt clung to her frame. The hazy autumn evening was warm enough that despite the water dripping from her, she wasn’t chilled to the bone.

That bond – that damn bond – that she had never asked for eclipsed all of her decisions. It was not fair.

Nesta was still muttering to herself in anger as her mare cantered across the grounds and out of the wrought-iron gates. She’d embarrassed herself. Read a situation wrong and kissed Eris only to be rejected so that he didn't hurt that big bat’s feelings.

‘Halt!’

Nesta bucked the reins, bringing the horse to an abrupt stop where she had to squeeze her thighs together to keep in the saddle. Three soldiers, by the look of their uniform, all on horseback enclosed Nesta in a circle.

‘Is there a problem?’ She kept her voice even, but brought her shoulders up to lengthen her spine.

She felt one of the males cast a glance across her chest where the damp dress clung. She stiffened. A throb of power pulsed through Nesta’s veins in retaliation.

‘To pass through Autumn Court without permission is punishable by death.’

‘Who says I do not have permission?’

The one that spoke, there was a familiarity to his face. The male had Beron’s brown hair and eyes, but shared the sharp features of his eldest brother. Definitely a Vanserra.

‘We’ll see. Climb atop my horse.’

‘I shall do no such thing.’

Nesta risked a glance over her shoulder back in the direction of Eris’ home. There was no male coming to save her.

The male surveyed her with the same cold arrogance she had seen from Eris previously. ‘You ride with me or I drag you. I will not offer you a choice again.’

Wrong. It was so wrong to sit behind this male and place her hands on his body, but if she did not touch him, she would fall from the horse. A fact he well knew by the way he gloated to the other two soldiers and leant against her chest.

Nesta took in her surroundings, tried to memorise every farm or distinctive feature she saw. It was futile; the trees all looked similar, all golds and yellows ready to drop. Piles of leaves were scattered along winding pathways through the forests once they’d passed through the farmlands.

The males rode on. Nesta’s jaw ached from clamping it shut to keep away her barbed insults. When the darkness had settled like an unwanted cloak upon the sun, the horses slowed to a trot.

‘Jump off.’

Nesta blinked. Surely he did not expect her to leap from a moving horse?

The male on her left drew his sword. It was not a choice.

After a long breath, Nesta dropped from the horse. She stumbled forwards, felt a sharp pain in her ankle then skidded onto her knees, tearing open the flesh.

‘Bind her hands,’ the Vanserra brother called.

The male was not gentle as he lashed a rope crudely around her wrists and forced her to walk the last portion of the journey. A walk was an exaggeration. To keep up with the horses, Nesta had to jog every few paces. The ache in her ankle worsened with each step and blood stained through her dress. She refused to give them the satisfaction of complaining or crying out in pain. They were males who would have delighted in her suffering.

‘Where are you taking me?’

‘To the High Lord.’

Chapter Text

The male was not gentle as he lashed a rope crudely around her wrists and forced her to walk the last portion of the journey. A walk was an exaggeration. To keep up with the horses, Nesta had to jog every few paces. The ache in her ankle worsened with each step and blood stained through her dress from the wounds in her knees.

‘Where are you taking me?’

‘To the High Lord.’

A sprawling complex had been built amongst the trees and stone foothills in the centre of the Autumn Court. The Forest House was too ungenerous a description for the behemoth of a home that Nesta gazed upon. Even in the darkness, fires glittered from dozens of archways as if the amber trees were alight. Within the arches were sentries, all bedecked in the same uniform as the one Eris’ own guards wore but their faces were crueller. They scanned the land ensuring no enemies could approach their high lord without his knowledge; nor would any leave without permission. For a reason unknown to Nesta, these were loyal males. If Eris wanted to kill his father, he would have to turn the tide of the court and set the fire from within.

They passed a waterfall that churned the river into a gargling swell. Nesta debated throwing herself into it to drown rather than face the malicious, unyielding high lord. She ought to have fought the males with her fire and fled earlier; there could only have been one outcome to her capture. Hindsight was a wonderful thing, but Nesta had to shift her focus to her survival. She would pray to the Mother or the Cauldron, whatever it was that fae prayed to, that Eris would save her. If not, she was alone – like always.

A sentry met them at the gates. He bowed his head as Eris’ brother dropped from the saddle with a heavy crunch of his boots.

‘Send word to my father that a spy has been found in our court.’

They lingered by the gates. Servants led their horses through to the stables, denying her an exit on the mare she’d taken from Eris’ home. Her dress had dried on the long ride across the court but her bones rattled from the cold. She did not look presentable for a high lord with her bedraggled hair and dishevelled appearance.

Nesta was led into the Forest House with her hands still bound. The rope rubbed her skin raw and her ankle made her want to bark out in pain. She wished she hadn’t left Eris’ complex, wished her anger stopped getting the better of her and leading to foolish situations. Though she was glad she had not taken Zasha; Beron would surely know exactly where she’d been if she was seen with one of Eris’ dogs.

A sentry took hold of the rope and hurried her along one of the sloping tunnels that twisted within the stone that the fortress was built upon. They descended so deeply that the air was chill. Roughly, she was pushed into a black cell in the dungeon with no light. No sooner had she stepped into the squat room, the door slammed shut behind her.

Her breathing came ragged, from fear and the cold. Her magic remained crackling in her veins as a welcome reminder that she was not wholly defenceless. Nesta had faced Beron once at the high lords’ meeting. She had dared to stare him down to beg him to protect innocent lives. He had been vile then – but that had been in another’s den amongst peers whose powers rivalled his own. Nesta lifted her chin. This would not be a battle won by weapons or weeping. She had to fight his fire with her own.

Lord Beron did not hurry to her cell. A fact Nesta was glad for; it gave her time to plot and scheme just as Eris would. It had to have been late into the night when the high lord finally deigned Nesta worthy of his attention. She was taken from her cell, hands bound and blindfolded. She fought against the memories of the night not unlike this one, when she and Elain had been stolen from their home and forced into the Cauldron.

If the sentries sought to throw Nesta off the trail, by turning frequently or abruptly changing direction, the effort was wasted on her. Nesta was not a spy nor could she navigate blindly. She had begun trying to memorise their path but had given up on the second or third change of direction and resigned herself to her doom.

The blindfold was torn off, strands of her hair with it. Nesta blinked rapidly to adjust her eyes to the bright lights. Beron was settled in a high-backed wooden chair opposite her, one ankle crossed over his other knee. It seemed too relaxed for the high lord. There was nothing between them – no barrier, no desk even to act as a barricade. She debated striking then but decided against it. Beron was one of oldest fae she’d encountered and he’d had centuries to perfect his magic. If she dared to try and strike, he'd retaliate harder and faster. Candles flickered in the room as well as a ruby red fire – which she recognised as being conjured by magic like Eris’. Two sentries covered the door and one stood to Beron’s right.

‘You are not the one mated to my youngest,’ he stated.

Nesta blinked at him, wearing a mask of utter boredom though her heart hammered against her ribs. She had met males like him before. He would try to bait her, intimidate her, get her to slip up and reveal a secret. She had spent enough time with his eldest to know a snake’s movements.

‘Andor,’ Beron snapped. ‘Fetch Dolos.’

Beron’s eyes bore into the sentry until he scampered from the room. They remained locked into a stalemate; Nesta stared at Beron and him at her, both with unwavering coldness.

The sentry returned with the Vanserra brother that had captured her. The sneer he’d proudly worn for the duration of their journey had been hidden by a snivelling expression as he looked upon his father.

‘Who is this?’ Beron said quietly, gesturing towards Nesta.

For the first time, Dolos seemed unsure of himself. ‘Elain Archeron. Our brother’s mate.’

‘And you confirmed this?’

His eagerness to please had backfired. Nesta could not resist raising an eyebrow and smirking slightly.

‘I thought-’

‘Do not tell me what you thought,’ he said dismissively. ‘I am not interested in your thought process as it is clearly lacking. Did you request her name?’

‘No, but she was-’

‘Out.’

Dolos had failed in his self-imposed mission to please his father. Beron held up a hand when his son tried to speak again. The male dipped his head and stalked from the room with his boots scuffing against the floor. Beron watched him leave with an expression of displeasure.

‘Why are you in my court?’

Nesta breathed slowly, steadying herself so she did not speak in a flurry. ‘I came to discuss developing trade within the Spring Court.’

‘You could not send a messenger?’

She tried to gesture to herself, but the bindings round her hands prevented it. ‘I am the messenger. I had hoped to speak with you myself rather than send a messenger to do my dirty work. The Spring Court is some distance and I lost my bearings on the route. Our courts were once allies.’

Beron folded his arms across his chest, staring at Nesta as a wolf might stare at a lamb.

‘Dolos might be inept in most areas of his life, but he is not a liar. You were found near my eldest son’s home. Why were you there?’

Nesta scrunched up her face, fighting hard to not oversell her feigned confusion. ‘I presumed Eris to live here. I did not know he had another home. I have travelled from the Spring Court. I cannot verify that in any way other than speaking to the high lord himself.’

There was something Beron knew. Word had carried on the wind to Beron. His brown eyes lingered on the flowers sewn to her skirt that draped across the floor. He knew she did not belong to the Night Court. But from whom he gained this knowledge, Nesta did not know.

‘Fetch my wife.’

The Lady of Autumn Court trod lightly into the room escorted by guards, her unbound chestnut hair fell down her back in a shining wave. It had been some time since she was fetched, but her gown was pristine. It was her slippers that gave away that she had been asleep before her husband had called upon her testimony. The lady’s eyes did not spare a glance to Nesta, merely focused on her husband’s hard expression as she entered the room.

‘Did you see this female at our first born’s home?’

The lady’s eyes flickered to Nesta for heartbeats. ‘Why would she be with Eris?’

‘I did not bring you here to answer my questions with questions of your own.’ Beron stood only slightly taller than his wife, but had a way of looming over her so she seemed to shrink into herself. ‘Am I to take your deflection as an admission?’

‘No, my lord.’ The lady’s eyes snagged on Nesta’s shoes – the same ones she’d noticed in the library when she had visited. ‘I have only seen this female in the Dawn Court. I do not know her.’

Nesta did not react. Did not release the sigh of relief that she wanted to. Only stood with her feet planted in defiance.

Beron scrutinised her then, as if piecing the memories together of that day - of how Nesta had dared stand like a pillar of steel and speak as if she were his equal, to demand he fight against Hybern. As if the three sisters had been interchangeable before, but Nesta had clawed her way back through his memories to the forefront of his mind.

The Lady of the Court cleared her throat and placed a hand on her husband’s arm. ‘It is prudent to remember who her sister is, my lord. And her sister’s mate.’

At his wife’s words, Beron nodded once.

Nesta remained staring until Beron dismissed his wife as if he was shooing away a servant. Nesta had wanted to say something about how terribly he treated his wife, but she did not want to cause more trouble for the female when she had lied for her, so she held her tongue.

‘A pity you’re not Autumn Court. A female with your ambition would thrive here.’

‘I work for the Spring Court.’

A faint glimmer of amusement, not unlike one Eris’ wore, passed through the high lord’s eyes. ‘Is it a family rite of passage to fuck the high lord of the Spring Court?’

‘How dare you speak these things to me? I am a lady and will be treated as such.’

She could not allow a male like Beron gain an inch on her, could not submit a single atom of her being or he would steal all of her independence.

‘Are you a spy? It’s what my son believes.’

Nesta rolled her eyes. ‘Would a spy ride in the daylight in a pink gown?’

‘You were once aligned to the Night Court. Their spymaster might have taught you that spying overtly is far deadlier than any covert operation. It requires you to embed yourself into the beating heart of a network to take it down.’

‘I care not for that court. My allegiance lies with Spring.’

‘Why?’

‘To access the mortal lands and support those who have been displaced during Hybern’s attacks.’

‘A worthy cause,’ he mocked. ‘You will be given a room tonight. I will personally escort you to the border of the Spring Court where I expect the high lord to verify your story. If there are any discrepancies, your life is forfeit.’

The room she was given was far better than the mouldy cell they had previously held her in. She received the shock of her life when a meal was a delivered by a shy young female whose curved ears indicated her low born status. It was a tepid soup with a chunk of cheese but Nesta devoured it to gain strength. Her room had one small window along the back wall. With effort, she might have been able to slip out of it to escape – but it plunged from a dizzying height into the river that was edged with jagged rocks. That was her option, she supposed: fall from the window to certain death. If, by some miracle she did survive the drop, she’d have to pass the sentries and avoid being shot with a crossbow.

Nesta perched on the edge of the bed. It was softer than she expected. Likely Beron’s prisoners never made it this far into the Forest House so it had little use. She rubbed her eyes. If Eris turned up, it would be too coincidental. Both of their lives would be in danger. She knew Eris would be smart enough to recognise this – which meant he would not come to save her. As for weapons, Nesta only had magic – and if she left Beron’s home as an enemy, there would be no sanctuary for her with Eris. All her hope was pinned on the High Lord of the Spring Court.

The gargle of the river had lulled Nesta into such a deep sleep, she only woke when the serving girl shook her vigorously by the shoulder. For a moment, she had hoped the previous night was a dream.

Beron had sent for her. She had slept in her clothes; the skirts muddy and bloodied. They ate breakfast together in a strange, strained silence. She had waited until Beron ate first as though it might have been poisoned. Neither spoke. A servant had merely shown her to a seat and the pair ate like two strangers who happened to meet in that moment. The butterflies in her stomach threatened to bring up anything she swallowed, but Nesta knew she had to fake her confidence. She had to believe her own lies. That Tamlin was her high lord and would verify her story and she had no need to fear. Beron’s eyes captured every minute movement, inspecting how Nesta held her cutlery, her posture, the speed in which she ate - something like approval shined on his face.

Her mare was returned for the ride. Sentries had rode ahead to the Spring Court and a vanguard galloped alongside them, engulfing Beron in an arrowhead formation; all the soldiers wore gleaming silver armour. Nesta was kept near the back by riders who closed in on her whenever her mare slowed too much for their liking.

The ride took several hours. The golden autumnal sun bathed Nesta in warmth. She savoured it in case it was the last time she ever saw it. It was in part due to Tamlin that she had become what she was; and now she needed him to atone and save her.

The manor house came into view. A slight bloom of pleasure burst into Nesta’s chest as she took in the restored grandeur of the building which she had orchestrated. She had done something right in her life, at least.

‘High lord,’ Beron called, his voice a crackling boom across the meadow.

Nesta could not believe that Tamlin had even departed from the manor. His blonde hair was unkempt, a straggly beard had made his home upon his jaw, and beneath his eyes were grey pockets. His clothes had not been changed for days judging by the creases and dishevelled nature of them. Two of Beron’s sentries stood near, having summoned him to meet.

‘Beron,’ Tamlin murmured in acknowledgement, shielding his eyes from the sun that reflected off the soldier’s uniform.

Beron climbed down from his horse and a sentry tugged at the skirt of Nesta’s dress to remind her to do the same. Her hand was slick with sweat as it wrapped around the reins to stand closer to Tamlin, to pretend she did not find his presence unbearable.

‘This female. What is she to you?’

Beron clamped his hand around Nesta’s bare upper arm and thrust her forwards. She caught Tamlin’s emerald eyes with her own and sent a silent plea to him. Please.

‘My emissary.’

‘Funny. I thought our errant brother had that role.’

‘Silence,’ Beron snapped to his son – a different one to Dolos though equally as cruel.

‘Lucien has been relieved of his duties in the Spring Court,’ Tamlin replied, voice flat. ‘She is part of my court.’

Beron shifted slightly at the sight of the claws that had descended from Tamlin’s fingers and loosened his grip on Nesta’s arm. ‘Why was she in my court?’

Tamlin lazily looked Nesta up and down, taking in the gown fit for his own court. ‘I had asked her to deliver a message.’

‘And what might that be?’

Beron, his horrid sons, and soldiers waited eagerly for the news – for a misstep to condemn Nesta to death. She flicked her eyes towards the farms, hoping he would understand her silent message.

‘Exports. We’d like to trade again. Our courts were once allies.’

Nesta smiled smugly when Tamlin echoed her words then peeled Beron’s fingers from her skin.

‘That’s bullshit,’ Dolos spat from his horse. ‘Father, she was in the vicinity of Eris’ home. I know she was.'

Tamlin’s hand shot out and clutched Nesta’s hand. She wanted to recoil away from him, from the talons, but he was too powerful. Her feet staggered forwards towards him, pulling the horse too. Beron noted the movement, the slight hesitation on Nesta’s part to be any closer to the male.

‘She is in Spring Court territory now,’ Tamlin said, voice devoid of any emotion. ‘The message has been delivered.’

Beron dipped his chin once then his brown eyes locked onto Nesta. ‘I shall look forward to becoming allies with you. You should expect my letter tomorrow.’

The pair of them watched until the Autumn Court soldiers dissolved into the horizon. Only then did Nesta let out a shaky sigh of relief. She had survived Beron Vanserra.

‘You will have to wait at the manor until Eris makes an appearance. I won’t risk sending a messenger. Beron will be watching the border.’

Tamlin turned on his heel, but Nesta called back for him. ‘Do you even know my name?’

Tamlin stared at Nesta with cold indifference. She had never felt more aware of her resemblance to Feyre – or hated it. She had not thought of what it might have been like for him to see her in his home, standing where Feyre had once been.

‘Nesta.’ His stare melted away. ‘I am sorry for what happened to you - the Cauldron.’

‘Do you think sorry is enough?’

‘It rarely is.’

Chapter Text

Nesta waited and waited for Eris to arrive, but he never came. It worried her. She expected him to appear and worry in the same way she worried for him.

She spent the day sat inside the manor, knees curled up to her chest in a nook by the window waiting for his flame-coloured head to winnow in front of her. Nesta worried for his mother – worried what would happen if Beron discovered she had lied for her. She worried what would happen to Eris if the truth came out, if his scheme began unravelling. All she could do was spend the day worrying.

When the sun began to set, Nesta admitted defeated. She abandoned her vigil in the window and moved deeper into the manor. Only a few servants remained, the others having left for the day. Their quiet footsteps were the only sounds in the house. She had not seen the high lord since he’d stalked back inside earlier that day.

Nesta piled a tray with food for the evening. She’d found a crusty loaf of bread, not long out of the oven, judging by its lingering warmth. There were various cheeses, cold meats, grapes and apples which she sliced.

As she carried the tray into the dining room, a servant leapt a foot in the air and squeaked with terror.

‘My lady, I’m sorry. The high lord. He does not eat an evening meal. The cook, she left early. We had not known you were staying.’

‘It’s not a bother. Slicing cheese is hardly strenuous. Enjoy your evening.’

The servant dipped her head low as Nesta passed. It had been good for her to live alone in that little hovel in Velaris – where she learnt how easy it was to burn dinner so she might appreciate the hard work the servants engaged in. Rovena’s cooking lessons had helped too. She had found a happy middle place with Eris; servants did much of the cooking, but Nesta knew she could manage it herself some days. She missed the Illyrian food Rovena made however. Part of her soul still ached for the little honeyed pastries that took hours to make.

A stair creaked as she ascended the stairs in search of the high lord. The servants had expertly tidied the rooms likely as they had been when this was Feyre’s home. Nesta could not find Tamlin in any. One had to be his own room, she supposed, though none had any personal artefacts that she could see.

Finally, after marching along a marble floor – her ankle still aching – and pushing open a set of wooden double doors, she found Tamlin slumped in a chair in a beautiful gallery. Golden light poured in from the large windows, illuminating the paintings. There were pieces so detailed, even Nesta was in awe. Likely this had been Feyre’s favourite haunt of the manor. Nesta swept away her stab of annoyance that a male responsible for a whole court of people could continue to nurse his heartbreak in a state of decay yet she had not been gifted one year for her own healing.

‘There is food in the dining room,’ she said, voice tight, opposite Tamlin, ‘if you can stand my presence.’

Without waiting for a response, Nesta turned on her heel and departed back down the stairs.

Once back in the dining room, Nesta did wait. A soft padding of footsteps sounded in the hallway and the high lord slipped into the room. She had expected him to take the seat at the head of the table, but instead he took the chair opposite her. A curtain of blonde hair fell across his face as he added items to his plate. There were similarities that Nesta could recognise in herself. The same self-loathing, general lack of care, and last shred of hope that clung on that maybe life would get better. She could not say who had suffered worse. Nesta had lost her mortality and become something she’d been taught to hate, but Tamlin had lost his heart and the court he had never wanted.

‘Beron will want to collect you.’

Nesta paused from eating, her fork hovering inches from her mouth. ‘Collect me?’

‘Did you eat like that in front of him?’

Nesta set the fork back down neatly and straightened her shoulders.

‘What of it?’

Those emerald eyes saw too much and Nesta hated it.

‘You are not like your sister. You’re ruthless, clever, and work hard – qualities that the high lord admires. Furthermore, you are a lady with manners. I imagine he’s deciding which son he’d like to pair you with for marriage.’

Nesta froze. During their breakfast, Beron had scanned her movements repeatedly, measured every detail. She had thought he’d been searching for something to sneer at or mock, not approving of her manners. It was the life she was supposed to have, she realised, the son of a lord as her husband. One she had trained for under her mother's tutelage. A life she was good at.

‘That will not be happening,’ she said firmly, tearing a slice of bread with her fingers in a small act of rebellion.

They did not talk again. Nesta did not want to hear another word of Beron, of marriage, or mates. Even if she chose to marry one of his sons – which was unlikely as they were mostly demons – she doubted they’d live very long once the big bat caught wind of it.

Begrudgingly, Tamlin showed her to Feyre’s old room. A few of her possessions remained – ones that he had gifted her during their short-lived time together, including a set of hardly used paints. Though the high lord had barely interacted with her, Nesta did not trust him. She pushed a cabinet in front of the doorway to block his entry.

It was a grand room; dark green and gold with plush ivory furniture and rugs. The size of it dwarfed their crumbling cottage back in the mortal lands. How life had changed since that day. Nesta doubted she’d recognise herself from those days.

Even after the sun had gone down, Nesta remained sat on the bed, unwilling to get comfortable in this strange home. It could hardly be called a home. The high lord had no friends. It wasn’t like Eris’ home where, despite the fact he did not have friends, the servants still chatted freely or even greeted their master; no, Tamlin was isolated. He had driven away the only friend he had - and Lucien had had the bruises to show it. Nesta could not imagine Feyre in such a place; perhaps only in the initial days as a half-wild mortal girl who had never known much affection. The Spring Court was picturesque. It reminded her more of Elain, of a place that Elain would flourish in. She could tend to the vast gardens, pruning roses to her heart’s content, or walk through the grounds as cherry blossom scattered upon her, basking in its beauty as the pretty lady of the manor. Despite its beauty, which even Nesta had to admit was spectacular, she could never stay; her throat had been itching all day and her eyes were growing sore from rubbing. Curse her allergies, she thought.

A whole wardrobe had been left by Feyre in her sudden departure. Much of it was gaudy tunics and pants that Nesta would not be caught dead in. There had never been one day in her life she wore pants, and she was not about to begin today. She debated scrubbing the blood from her pink gown to wear that again, but finally her eyes settled on a flowing, cornflower blue chiffon gown. It was tighter than Nesta would have liked on the bust, but it served to exaggerate her narrow waist. A pink dawn bled into the sky, casting its soft glow on the blossom. Nesta did not suit such a pretty place; she was made of jagged edges that tore open the skin. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. A hard and proud face, Feyre had once called it in an argument. Nesta had to be proud – her pride was the only thing they had when they were poor.

When it appeared that Eris was not making an early morning appearance, Nesta began work for the day without him. She had to hope that he was safe and Beron had not uncovered the truth of his son's schemes.

If Tamlin was awake, he made no sign of it. The house was silent until the first few servants arrived. There were a couple of surprised faces when they met Nesta in the drawing room. She clipped the wings of gossip quickly, clarifying that she had been sleeping in her sister’s old room – and certainly never with the high lord.

The morning passed in a blur. She had busied herself with meeting various farmers and other business owners to discuss how best to help the court in rebuilding. Finally, she enjoyed a hot cup of fruit tea, delivered by a servant, on a swinging bench in the shade of the house. A gentle breeze cooled her warm skin and Nesta allowed her eyes to close with her hands engulfing the mug.

Two similar voices sounded round the corner and excitement rippled through Nesta’s veins. She saw the long red hair first. The male was dressed elegantly, in a fitted emerald brocade and boots that reached the knee of his dark pants. He spoke casually – friendly even - to the other male as they both stepped into sight. A pair of leathery black wings were tucked in tightly to his back, his ebony hair slightly longer than it had been since she’d last seen him.

Nesta couldn’t help herself. She walked towards them then her feet gathered speed. Nesta threw herself at the Illyrian. Her arms managed to lock around his neck as her feet lifted. A sturdy hand on the small of her back guided her back down to the ground after a moment of suspension in the air.

Azriel’s cheeks had a rosy hue as Nesta drew away, smiles on both of their faces. To Lucien, Nesta extended her hand and kissed him once on his cheek.

‘Cauldron, I thought you were Feyre,’ he said with a laugh. ‘That was the dress she wore for Solstice. I’d never seen her in anything other than pants.’

‘And those foul tunics,’ Nesta clucked. ‘I had to rifle to the back of the closet for this.’

Azriel frowned. ‘You stayed here? Where is Eris?’

Quietly, Nesta recounted the last couple of days – amazed that it had only been such a small number of days since she’d stormed from Eris’ home. She omitted the reason why she had departed his home, too ashamed that he had rejected her still. Lucien made a noise of approval when she explained how she had not faltered in front of his father, but both the males furrowed their brows when she relayed Tamlin’s words.

‘You know the male best. Would Nesta be a target for your father?’

Lucien scratched the back of his neck, while his mechanical eye assessed Nesta from top to bottom. ‘Yes. The fact you did not crack under his judgement is testament enough to your abilities. He’ll likely rather you were an ally than an enemy.’

‘Of your brothers, who is the most amenable?’

Lucien screwed up his face. ‘You’re asking which venomous snake you’d rather bite you. Eris will likely be high lord upon my father’s death though it isn’t guaranteed. Whichever brother does inherit the power, he will kill the other brothers – and their wives and children to ensure the power remains.’

‘That’s delightful,’ Nesta said drily.

‘It’s what my father did,’ Lucien admitted.

‘So, Eris then,’ Azriel said, eyes fixed on the horizon as if he could see something the others couldn’t. ‘It would make sense to pair Nesta with the strongest son.’

Nesta placed her hands on her hips. ‘There will be no pairing me with anybody.’

They spoke a short while longer about the mortal queens. Lucien was caught between the lover’s spats of Jurian and Vassa which came frequently.

‘At least I have Azriel for company now,’ he said.

Nesta narrowed her eyes towards the Illyrian then the flame-haired male. The latter excused himself to speak with Tamlin and hurried across the lawn.

‘You’re staying in the mortal lands?’

Azriel dipped his head. ‘I am having a break from Velaris, but continuing with my role.’

‘Is your mother all right?’

Azriel extended his arm to Nesta to walk deeper into the rose garden and away from any prying eyes or ears of servants whose loyalties had not yet been tested.

‘She’s fine. I will see her in a few days. She’d like to see you again.’

‘And I her. I’d like to write - if you could deliver the letter. And perhaps one to Balthazar, the blacksmith from the village.’

The shadowsinger nodded. His hazel eyes met Nesta’s own and he let out a small sigh. ‘I’m not comfortable being in Velaris. Eris exposed Rhys’ behaviour under the mountain.’

‘It’s Eris. Trust him as far as you can throw him.’

‘His treatment of Feyre,’ Azriel continued, ‘she all but confirmed it. I know there were things he had to do to protect us. But I hadn’t thought him capable of that – and to his mate. I can tell myself they were not mates then but it makes no difference. We have vulnerable women in the library and I wonder how many of them could trust him if they knew what he did to his mate.’ He shook his head. ‘My mother suffered because of a male. I never wanted to serve one like that.’

Nesta placed her hand onto Azriel’s arm, offering what little comfort he would accept. ‘Five hundred years is a long friendship to end.’

‘I know why he did some things, but I cannot understand what benefit humiliating my high lady had – it was only to make Tamlin suffer. It shouldn’t have made a difference if she was his mate or not. He should not have done that to a vulnerable mortal girl. It is not who we are.’

Nesta swallowed. Her eyes rimmed with tears she did not expect so she embraced Azriel. He seemed taken aback by the gesture for a moment then his arms snaked around her in return, slightly hesitantly, but there all the same.

‘You are a male with a good heart and a strong sense of justice. I have found that to be rare.’

Azriel stepped away, a shy smile still bloomed on his features. ‘Cas is taking time away too. He’s busied himself with Eris’ soldiers – and females are training with him in Illyria.’

He would be a good teacher, Nesta knew, patient but firm, not treating the females easier simply because they were female. It would be good for them.

‘I am glad to hear it.’

‘Can I let him know about Beron?’

‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘The last thing we need is him barrelling into the Forest House to fight Beron. Maybe once his wife is out of harm’s way,’ she added jokingly. ‘But, if it will help him, you could tell him that you’ve seen me and I am fine. I would still like to learn Illyrian. It wasn’t a lie.’

They traced their steps back to the doors of the manor. Lucien remained inside, but no voices could be heard. The fact that Lucien still tried to build that bridge to his friend was a testament to the male’s unwavering character. After what he’d endured at the hands of his tyrant father, he deserved to be loved unconditionally.

Azriel waited in the drawing room while Nesta rifled through Tamlin’s abandoned office for paper and ink. To Rovena, she wrote a brief update on what she had been learning without naming Eris or his court, that she missed her, Lule and Lorin, and hoped to see them all again one day. For Balthazar, she apologised for catapulting into his life like a comet and causing chaos in a short amount of time – and that she hoped they could meet again one day and become friends. When the letters were stuffed into envelopes, a wave of sadness hit. She had liked her life in Illyria. It lacked the fulfilment she was experiencing in rebuilding the Spring Court, but it had been absolutely what she had needed at the point in her life. Azriel’s mother had loved her more than her own ever had.

‘Do you think you will return to Velaris?’ Nesta asked as she handed the letters to Azriel.

He slipped them into a pocket. ‘Probably. Five hundred years is a long time. And Rhys has done a lot for me. If I leave him, I leave my high lady too.’

‘Feyre needs a male like you in her life still. And Rhysand,’ she sucked in a breath, ‘he is not untouchable. He makes mistakes. When you all deny it or refuse to accept he’s anything less than perfect, I believe that’s when problems arise. We all must be held accountable for our behaviour otherwise we will never grow.’

‘You are very wise,’ he replied, a half-smile turning up his cheeks. ‘I’ll try and come back in a few days. Keep yourself safe until then.’

‘I might jump courts by then. You know me, I like to keep everybody on their toes. There’s still a few courts I haven’t visited.’

'Nesta,' he said, tilting his head to the side. 'You've done so well to be where you are, considering where you've been. You should be proud.'

Chapter Text

Following the departure of Azriel and Lucien from the Spring Court, Nesta felt as if part of her had been hollowed out. That part of her was missing somehow.
As she always did, Nesta continued. It was all she ever did – continue on. Her attention turned back to the high lord’s bank accounts again though even that could not capture her intrigue for long. They were in better shape since she and Eris had begun handling them. It would take time for it to become what it was supposed to be.

Eris. Where was that male? Why had he not come sooner or gone looking for her? That worry writhed in her stomach like a slick of oil. The thought of Beron hurting him make her sick.

Her gaze caught on a servant in the garden who was pruning a butterfly bush back into a neat order. Nesta would never be used to that magic – a court suspended in an eternal season. The solar courts had that draw, she supposed, that time passed in a regular, natural manner. If she had no place in the Night Court, she supposed there was always Day or Dawn.

Likely, the high lord of the Night Court would find a way to blame Nesta for losing his two favourite Illyrian males from his side. Already she was wracked with guilt that they had left although she had not forced their hands. There was a tiny fragment of her that was glad the two males had stood up to their friend – for Feyre and for their own morality. Nobody was perfect. She had enough self-loathing to attest to that. However, Nesta was surprised the big bat had it in him to turn away from his high lord; both he and Azriel were still loyal to their courts though. Change would come to the Night Court, hopefully Cassian could spearhead it in Illyria. That land was his home and his heart.

A messenger appeared late into the afternoon calling for Nesta, not Tamlin. The boy was rosy cheeked and a gleam of sweat was upon his brow.

‘The high lord. Autumn Court. On the border. For you.’

Nesta clutched the arms of the chair then dismissed the boy. She had thought Beron meant he would write to Tamlin, not to her – and certainly not another personal meeting with that unpleasant male.

She did not hurry. A servant readied her horse, but Nesta let him stew on the border while she prepared herself to face him again. She had not seen Eris since the war, she told herself. It was a mantra she repeated as she searched the house for the high lord. Tamlin sat in a daze in the gallery and did not notice Nesta’s arrival. Previously, she knew that Tamlin had been the one to force Beron to fight in the war. Looking at the shell of a male in front of her, she doubted he had any authority any more.

‘The high lord of the Autumn Court has come to your border. Would you escort me?’

Tamlin said nothing, only stared at the dust particles dancing through the beam of sunlight. Nesta repeated herself, in a firmer voice. Still, he ignored her.

It had done the trick to rouse her anger, at least. Nesta could feel that fire awakening in her veins ready to face Beron as she rode towards the border, head held high frustrated at Tamlin’s lack of motivation.

‘You’re late,’ Beron snapped, by way of greeting.

Nesta dismounted swiftly, as if she had always belonged on a horse and it had not been the high lord’s son who had commissioned her lessons.

‘You cannot fault me for tardiness when no time was agreed. Furthermore, no meeting was agreed. So, I ask - why have you come here?’

The high lord tipped his brown head to the side to appraise her in a move so like his son, it was jarring to Nesta’s senses. How much of Beron lay dormant in Eris? How much of it was waiting for the opportunity to emerge? She could not shake Lucien’s words that Beron had killed his brothers and their families. Would Eris do the same? Would he consider Elain a target?

‘I have an offer for you, Nesta Archeron.’

She hated the way her name sounded on his tongue. Foreign and wrong. Only then, did Nesta notice the Autumn Court soldiers who had been meticulous in their role on the ride from the Forest House were stationed a way away so they could not eavesdrop. If she was daring enough, courageous enough, she’d strike him there and then with her silver fire and rid the court of his monstrous reign. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, Beron took a step back as if had read her thoughts. She offered him a mocking smile – one she had learnt from his eldest son.

‘I work for the Spring Court.’

‘Indeed,’ he said, inclining his head. ‘It is dull work for a mind as magnificent as your own. My son, Eris, I should like you to befriend him.’

‘Befriend?’

A slight breeze blew from the Autumn Court carrying with it the smell of smoked wood and cooked apples.

‘He has ambitions as far reaching as yours. I should like to know them.’

‘You want me to spy on your son?’

‘Simply put.’ Beron nodded again. His eyes flitted to her feet. ‘He would fall to his knees for a female like you. You are forged from fire and blood. It should be easy to capture his heart.’

‘You think I am like that? That I would burrow into his heart under a cloak of deception.’

Again, Beron swept his eyes to the ground briefly. Nesta noticed it more that time. The ground was hard underfoot, a yellow leaf curled on the grass inches from her heel. She stepped backwards a few paces until the grass felt spongier, the air thicker with pollen. That had been why Tamlin had hauled her towards him the other day. She had been in Autumn Court land. At Beron’s mercy.

‘You’re a quick learner,’ he commented. ‘I shall pay you handsomely. You shall have my protection.’

‘I fail to see the benefits. I already receive a salary from Tamlin. Your money is of no significance to me.’

Ever the scheming snake, Beron raised an eyebrow. ‘I offered my protection to you. You stole from the Cauldron and there is queen who holds a grudge. If she were to find out you resided just above the wall in the Spring Court, well, I suppose she would come for you, wouldn’t she?’

That damn bastard had her and he knew it. His protection was nothing more than his silence.

Nesta gritted her teeth. ‘When do I have the pleasure of meeting your first born?’

On the ride back towards the manor horse, her anger had been allowed to fester like a rotting wound. She doubted Beron would have dared back her into the corner like that had Tamlin have accompanied her. And she hated that she had wanted a male to offer protection. Her horse’s hooves stomped across the lawn, picking up speed as her knees dug deeper into its flank.

There was nobody she could trust entirely. Tamlin needed to find his spine. Eris and Beron would swallow his court whole. They might have been plotting against each other, both believing Nesta was their pawn, but she knew the rules of the game too – and she was the queen.

Fire wreathed her hands as Nesta stormed up the stairs into the gallery.

‘Get up,’ she snarled at the blonde male. ‘Get up and sort your damn life out.’

Emerald eyes flickered to her with disinterest. Nesta’s fire grew like a halo upon her brow until he pressed himself into the back of the chair in fear.

‘You will stand up. You will wash and shave and put on something clean then you will join me for dinner. You will listen when I talk about your court. You will take an active role again. I do not care if your heart is broken. I was stolen from my bed because of you and still I fight to keep your court alive. You will stop moping. Stop drowning in sorrow. I will not be gentle. I will not be kind. But I will get you through this.’

The fire still blazed on her brow even when she steadied her breathing. She knew her eyes were lined with silver fire too. Anger and pride was all she was. When could she be soft and loving? When had anybody given her that chance?

The first day was miserable. Tamlin had shaved and washed, but that was the extent of his motivation. Nesta bit her tongue as often as she could. She knew that same hopelessness had been echoed in her only recently. Some days she still wanted to remain in bed or drink herself into oblivion. They sat at the desk together as Nesta explained the changes within the court and the manor. She had written a decree that requested more males and females to apply as sentries to be trained and stationed around the court. Tamlin took an age to read it, but he did nod in approval.

In the days that followed, Tamlin emerged briefly from his shell. She managed to get him to walk the grounds with her once – she doubted he had spent any time outdoors, simply to enjoy it in a long time. Sunlight was good for the soul. They did not speak. Nesta did not have it in her to try and befriend the male or offer him casual conversation, but she had vowed to pull him through the fire with her, so that was what she would do.

Nesta had managed to crack an elderly servant one day, coaxing her with tea and the promise of resting her weary feet to get to the bottom of the high lord’s history. The female had insisted she did not like to gossip then spent a good half an hour doing just that. Nesta had not known that Tamlin and Rhysand had once been friends. Both the males had suffered so much at each other’s hands, lost so much. She supposed Feyre being Rhysand’s mate after Tamlin’s lover was another knife twisting in the chest. It helped her to understand both males a little better though. As for the Vanserras, the servant was knowledgable about them too. Although she protested that she ought to return to work, another cup of tea and heavy flattery from Nesta had her lips loose once more. Lucien had suffered perhaps worse than any of Beron’s sons at the hands of the male himself. And yet he remained decent and good. There was hope for the others – a slim hope, but it was there all the same.

Tamlin had joined her for an evening meal though, like Nesta he barely ate. The servants left them alone in the dining room. She wished there was a musician or another person who might turn the atmosphere into one of fun and lightness rather than the mausoleum they had entombed themselves in.

‘Grief will never leave. You can smother it all you want,’ she said, pushing a plate of food closer to the high lord. ‘But it will still demand to be felt. The best we can do is let it live beside us and not let it rule us.’

It was not uncommon for servants to dip in and out of the house throughout the day, so Nesta did not stir from her reading when the door banged shut. Tamlin had rummaged around the study for old ledgers belonging to his father for Nesta to read to better understand the politics within the court as well as its history. She flicked the page over, eyes scanning rapidly over an account from a previous treasurer of the court. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She was being watched.

Nesta’s neck cracked, she’d lifted her head so quickly. A slim male leant against the door frame, watching her with amusement plastered all over his face.

‘Wipe that damn smile off of your face,’ she hissed, getting to her feet. ‘For days I have worried about you. And you saunter in like the cat that got the cream.’

Idly, Eris picked an imaginary piece of lint from his sleeve. ‘You worried about me?’

‘Yes,’ she snarled, slapping his chest. ‘And I see it was wasted.’

‘Why ever did you worry about me? It was you who was facing off against my father. And I see you’ve lived to tell the tale.’

He was impossible. Utterly impossible.

‘Why didn’t you come here sooner? I’ve been scared that your father had hurt you. Did you not care if he had me strung up in the dungeon?’ The emotion was tumbling out of her voice before she could restrain it.

Eris frowned at her. ‘Think, Nesta. If I had chased after you, Dolos would have known you were with me. My father was watching my home – and this border. I could not move to you until he gave the word.’

He explained it so simply. And Nesta understood the logic entirely. That was what upset her; that every decision of Eris’ was planned out and logical, weighing up the benefits and the drawbacks before he made his move. There was no passion or care for her. Not like Cassian. Cassian who had vowed to protect the mortals because he was good. Tried to give her time to run as they faced the king of Hybern, not caring if it cost his life as long as she had a chance of surviving.

‘Your father could have killed me and you’d still be hiding at home because it might spoil your stupid plans. You’re a fucking idiot. Get out of my office.’

‘Your office?’

‘Mine. Out.’

Eris stretched upwards, touching the top of the door frame as he yawned. ‘Shame. I even brought a friend to visit.’

Horror mingled with curiosity as Nesta tried to imagine who Eris might consider a friend. She waited with her hands folded across her chest.

Eris whistled. A scratch sounded across the varnished wooden floors then Zasha bounded into the room, sleek as smoke, to Nesta. She’d dropped into a crouch and her arms engulfed the excited dog. The dog’s tongue lapped at her face – and for once Nesta did not care.

‘My father would like to know what your true intention with this court is,’ Eris said with a grin as he leant back onto the desk. Nesta did not fail to notice how his eyes scanned the desk for as much information as possible. ‘He doesn’t think you want to help the mortals out of the goodness of your heart. He’s tasked me with becoming your ally.’

‘Your father would also like to know what your true intentions are,’ she countered, scooping up the documents from the desk – and out of Eris’ reach. He watched her with something like approval gleaming in his eyes.

‘This is perfect. You can feed my father information that we agree upon and in return you can tell me his movements.’

Nesta threw back her head in laughter. ‘You Autumn Court males love a deal – and yet there is no benefit to me. It sounds as if I will risk my neck facing your father to benefit you, Eris. Why should I? Why should I do the hard work in this court for you to reap the benefits?’

‘My goodness, one night with my father and you’re already worse than him,’ he said rolling his eyes. ‘What’s your offer? What do you demand?’

‘Zasha. He’s mine.’

‘He can’t be traded out of the court.’

‘Tough,’ she said firmly. ‘No deal. And we both know, you won’t tell your father that I was in his court, all that time, under his nose, in your home. So you either take the deal or your informant is gone.’

‘Nesta Archeron, you were wasted in the Night Court. Truly.’

Eris mulled over the decision while Nesta stood firm in the same defiant stance she had taken against his father. She knew not to tell him how Beron had twisted her arm by threatening Briallyn. Eris did not need any more ammunition to use against her.

‘Ah, Nesta,’ he sighed, rubbing his face. ‘You were made for the Autumn Court.’

‘That’s not the compliment you think it is,’ she said, voice prickly.

‘Zasha is yours although I do not know how we will explain that to my father.’

Nesta smiled slightly, her hand brushed against the dog’s soft head. ‘You’re besotted with me, Eris. You will do anything to win my heart.’

‘Will I?’

‘He wants me to seduce you.’

‘Seduce me then,’ Eris purred, voice low and dangerous.

‘So you can reject me again? No. I’ve made a fool of myself once already for you. It shall not happen again.’

Eris’ lips puckered like he’d sucked on a lemon. ‘Calanmai ought to be celebrated in a few days. The Court should be prepared. And the high lord. I’ll come to view it. A test of your organisational skills.’

‘What is it?’

‘A spring festival. The magic will cause an abundance of crops for the year to come. Make sure Tamlin attends. That’s paramount.’

‘It will be done, your majesty,’ Nesta drawled. ‘Any other duty?’

‘I’ll come again in a few days to bring your belongings.’

Nesta’s heart thudded in an uneven rhythm. ‘That’s it? I can’t ever stay with you again?’

‘Do you want to? If my father finds you living at my property, Nesta, it will be both of our heads rolling,’ he said dismissively. ‘If you hear from my father, our first meeting went well. You drove me crazy – so much so that I gave you one of our hounds. Let that burden fall on my head, I suppose.’

‘We all behave like fools in love, don’t we?’

There had been a change in their relationship. For all the aspects of the male she had favoured – his intelligence and confidence – he was cold and clinical. The fire that he harnessed was only magic, he lacked passion or love. She tried not to feel too disheartened by how easily he was tossing her from his home – and that he did not care if she wanted to be in the Spring Court – but it was a sadness that made its home inside of her chest. She did not love him, but there certainly had been a spark, an easy friendship that grew between them with the hope of maybe something more.

‘Eris,’ she called, as he made to depart through the doorway. ‘You need to get your mother out of the Forest House as soon as you can.’

***

Rhys appeared on the edge of Windhaven, face tight as he watched the females train.

‘You’re making progress quickly with them,’ he said, coming to stand by Cassian’s side.

‘It would be more if they did not have so many chores to complete before they could train. Or if their wings worked,’ Cassian murmured. ‘They can’t use them like we can for balance. They’re a dead weight on their backs, Rhys.’

The high lord’s violet eyes roved over the thick scars shared by all the females gathered that tore through their tendons. They were lucky to get double figures to training most days. Today was one where Cassian’s hope wavered and he wondered if it was worth it. Only four had shown up to train in the bitter cold. They had all been grim faced and exhausted, knowing that each day the number dwindled, as females struggled to manage their heavy work-load. If it ever came to it, the males wouldn’t fight alongside them and four was not a legion.

‘The next male who clips a female, he’ll have his own wings clipped as retribution,’ Rhys said quietly. ‘For too long I’ve been patient, not wanting to push and cause disruption. They’ll never accept me as an Illyrian. They don’t accept you or Az either. There will be dissent no matter what we do. It may as well be something worthwhile that they riot over.’

Cassian stared at his friend. There had been a change in him since Eris had disclosed his treatment of Feyre under the mountain. It had left a bad taste in all their mouths. He knew that Rhys was spending more time with Feyre, romancing her, which included taking painting lessons as if trying to atone. How much of his behaviour had been swept under the rug because of their bond? It made Cassian examine his own mating bond. He had done the opposite with Nesta; he had scrutinised every movement of hers and judged it. She was not a female who could be moulded, she was a female made from steel who could cut her way through the world. And he should have admired it rather than expecting her to slot into their court nicely.

‘How have you been?’

Cassian held up a finger and issued another order to the four, examining their first couple of movements before sure they understood the exercises. ‘Fine. Eris’ soldiers will be returning to the Autumn Court in a couple of days.’

Rhys nodded. ‘It’s quiet in Velaris without you and Az.’

‘Az is terribly noisy. I thought you and Feyre would enjoy the peace. Or the empty rooms.’

Rhys chuckled. ‘When you’re done here, will you come to Velaris for the night? Lucien sent word he’d like to meet with you.’

‘Me? Why me?’ He frowned then called to the nearest female, a shopkeeper, ‘don’t extend your arm all the way. Your elbow will lock.’

The female, Emerie, nodded once then moved the wooden sword fluidly through the air as though she was cutting down an invisible assailant. Rhys bobbed his head with approval.

‘He wouldn’t say. Stay for dinner. Feyre would like to see you. And Mor. I’m off to the Hewn City in the morning.’

The flight to Velaris was filled with a silence that had taken up residence in his head. His self-imposed exile to Illyria was as much to do with his disappointment in Rhys as it was for his own benefit. He was driving himself mad with thoughts of Nesta warming Eris’ bed. It had been bad enough feeling every male she’d bedded in Velaris, but they were faceless strangers. Eris was sickening. Their meeting in the Spring Court had been a disaster. He’d tried to act indifferent, as if seeing her in that yellow dress didn’t stir the deepest longing of his heart. Cassian wished he could reverse time and start the meeting all over again. She was so beautiful and clever. He wished he’d gone to his knees for her and told her that instead of starting an argument.

He was beginning to understand her aversion to their bond. They were not Feyre and Rhys. They hadn’t had that chance to fall in love. Nesta had bewitched Cassian as a mortal. Still, he turned over the memories of meeting her in the mortal lands, when she had deceived the housekeeper and led him to her rooms. She was enchanting then – but as fae, Nesta’s beauty was deadly. Even the high lord of the Day Court had tried to charm her and she had dismissed him as if Helion was no more than a gnat buzzing around her head. The memory still made Cassian laugh. He did not know why he expected Nesta to love him when only the bond drew them together. If he wanted her love, he had to earn it.

Cassian’s feet landed heavier than usual on the gleaming streets of Velaris. Although he was tired – a winter in Illyria would do that – he landed far from the River House so that he could walk along the Sidra and listen to the water thunder by in the city he loved. It was almost the turn of spring but Illyria still gripped onto winter and the snow hadn’t shifted there. By comparison, Velaris felt warm although its citizens were still bundled up in thick coats or shawls.

The River House was upon Cassian quicker than he would have liked. He’d been lost in his own head imagining walking along the river in the summer with Nesta, of taking her to the cramped book shops that were stacked to the roof with novels, of dining outdoors as the sun caught in her hair. Why didn’t he check on her after the war? Why hadn’t he swallowed his damn pride and realised her anger was a defence that she’d practised for years to protect herself? He ought to have tried to be her friend first rather than expecting them to fall in love after a few heated spats at the dining table.

Feyre flew into his arms when she pulled back the door. He’d needed that physical touch having been starved of it in Illyria. He hadn’t dared to touch the females during training to adjust their positions let alone anything more. In fact, since Nesta had blazed into his life, the only pleasure he’d gained was from his hand.

She beamed at him. ‘Hello stranger.’

‘High lady,’ he said, sketching a mocking bow. ‘Is Lucien here?’

‘Straight to the point, general,’ she teased. ‘Yes. In the drawing room.’

Cassian had not been able to prepare himself fully for what Lucien might want to discuss. His brain had jumped to conclusions, analysed every one and every possible outcome. Half of him expected it to be that Eris and Nesta were engaged. As he walked the long corridor towards the drawing room, he realised he should have warned Rhys or Feyre that if that was the case, he’d likely demolish their home with his anguish.

As he entered the exquisitely decorated room that contained plush couches and armchairs able to fit a pair of wings in, Lucien turned from the window to greet him. His face wasn’t grim – that was surely a positive. Red hair streamed down his back, longer than Cassian had seen it before, and contrasted with the leaf-green jacket he wore.

The pair settled in adjacent arm chairs. It was odd to be alone with the male, Cassian realised, having always believed the Vanserras to be enemies. If Lucien felt the same, he did well not to show it. The male crossed a boot over the other and rested them on a footstool while he leant back in the chair.

‘I went to the Spring Court a few days ago with Azriel and again this morning alone. There was an incident with my father,’ he explained, speaking in a too casual tone. ‘Nesta wouldn’t say much and asked Azriel not to tell you. But the ways of the fae still linger, and she didn’t specifically tell me not to tell you.’

‘Did Beron hurt her?’ Cassian’s voice teetered on the edge.

‘No. She held her own. She’s moved to the Spring Court now. Eris, I think, is worried she’d have the same fate as Jesminda if she stayed with him.’ Lucien turned his face to stare at the window, to avoid Cassian’s eyes. ‘However, Nesta, I believe, is falling victim to one of Eris’ little tricks. He’s pushing her away because he’s scared of my father. I stopped by the Spring Court and she’s ploughing ahead with organising Calanmai. I asked if she understood what the Fire Night involved and she believes Tamlin will be overcome with magic which the year’s crops depend upon.’ Lucien shifted in the chair, a slight smirk returned to his features. ‘It is true. Eris has not fed her a lie. But he’s also omitted the truth.’

‘It’s not an event we celebrate in Illyria.’

Lucien slowly nodded to show he knew as much. ‘Tamlin will bed a female. That’s the Rite. Others will also take each other afterwards near the grove. But generally, he will seek out the strongest female in the vicinity.’

‘Oh.’

‘I asked if she’d be attending and she snapped at me asking why wouldn’t she attend,’ Lucien said with a short laugh. ‘I don’t believe she understands it and I quite like my balls where they are, so I’ll leave that duty to you.’

‘She’ll nail mine to the wall if I turn up,’ Cassian said curtly.

Lucien’s russet eye met Cassian’s. Those Archeron sisters were tempestuous yet irresistible. It was why Lucien had come to him, he knew the same strain on the bond as Cassian, knew that instinct to protect his mate.

‘Eris saves his own skin. His own life is most important to him,’ explained Lucien. ‘Even if there was something between them, if it suited Eris – if he could benefit in some way - he’d let it happen.’

Cassian tried to summon his indifference again, but when it came to Nesta he was full of passion. ‘Perhaps she wants to bed the high lord.’

‘Not likely. She speaks to Tamlin like he’s a dog. But she is good for the Spring Court. She’s ruling with a rod of iron, but it’s helping him – and the citizens return to normal. To be honest, I’m more worried Tam will seek her for the Rite and she’ll set him on fire if he tries it.’

Cassian laughed – and for the first time in a long time, it was genuine. That was the Nesta he knew.

‘What would happen if he did die? Who would the magic pass to?’

‘At this rate? Her.’

From the other side of the door, Feyre’s voice sounded. It was muffled slightly, but the quiet reply was unmistakably Elain’s voice. Lucien stilled, his head turned as if listening to his favourite melody. When their voices faded, his shoulders sagged slightly. Whilst Cassian had battled with Nesta, they had shared a little tenderness; he could not imagine how it was for Lucien to be constantly ignored by his mate. If Elain even glanced at him, it was a victory for the red-haired male.

‘How do you do it? How do you have such patience?’

‘Because when she’s ready, I’ll love her for the rest of my life.’

They chatted a while longer in the private drawing room. Lucien had not managed to persuade Azriel to come for dinner; that male was stubborn in a way Cassian had never known on another. If Azriel was committed to something, he could never be swayed. He missed his brother. It was the longest they’d ever been apart.

Feyre’s head popped in, smiling brightly. ‘Nuala and Cerridwen have cooked enough for a small army – I told them you’d be coming, Cass – so you need to come and eat or their hours of work will be wasted.’

‘You’ve twisted my arm,’ Cassian replied, draping an arm around his high lady’s shoulders as they walked into the dining room.

Feyre and Rhys sat together, giggling and murmuring to each other like teenagers who were head over heels in love. Lucien had taken a seat beside Mor, allowing Elain space – endless space was what he’d given her. But at one point, Elain had asked him to pass the parsnips and her hand has brushed against Lucien’s fingertips. Their eyes had met briefly. Mor caught Cassian’s own eye and grinned at the purity of their exchange. He wished Azriel was there with them. Nesta too. Wished he had Nesta on one side and Azriel on the other. Wished Mor would be honest with Azriel so the pair of them could finally move on from their stalemate and find the happiness they both deserved – with whoever they chose.

Chapter Text

Bonfires were built across the Spring Court in anticipation of Calanmai. In the expansive grounds of Tamlin’s manor, many more had also sprung up for the night to come. If she could master her repulsion to fire, it ought to be a wonderful night.

Nesta supposed that these celebrations were one good thing about being fae. They had no cause for celebration as mortals. None to worship. None to thank. It still felt foreign on her tongue to use the Cauldron as a way to blaspheme, but the Mother – whomever she was supposed to be – called to Nesta sometimes, and thanking that deity did not feel so wrong.

Further decorations had been added; for those, Nesta had asked servants and sentries what usually occurred then fed those back to Tamlin. He nodded along, hardly caring anyway. Lucien had appeared a day earlier in another attempt at friendship with the high lord. Nesta had never encountered another with such loyalty or patience. If she ever met Elain again, she wanted to force her into action. Either she should sever the bond or talk to him, but for pity’s sake, stop leaving the poor male dangling for her affection.

Nesta had shown Lucien the plans for the Fire Night and detailed the food and beverages that were arriving in the next couple of hours from further afield. Dutifully, the male had listened as she explained that it was Eris’ idea to coax Tamlin back from the brink for the celebrations and Nesta said she’d help anyway she could. Lucien had choked on a laugh at that for some reason then departed a short while late still chortling to himself.

Zasha zipped around Nesta’s legs as they inspected the gardens. She had to prove that she was capable of organising the event. It would be a success, she told herself over and over. The court was counting on that swell of magic. They needed it to ensure the crops were bountiful. They'd trade with winter and autumn providing much needed income. She felt like her mother planning a damn party for her rich, horrid friends though. During a particularly heated conversation with Tamlin in which she gave all the fire in response to his lack of anything, she assured him that even if she had to drag him through the Rite holding his hand, it would be done. He’d stared at her as if she’d offered her first born child then skulked from the room blinking.

A servant proudly led the way towards a hollow on the outskirts of the manor where the land had been allowed to grow more rugged and free. The cave opened like a great maw at the far end, swallowing all the light.

‘We’ve laid down furs already,’ he said, gesturing with a freckled hand towards the mouth of the cave. ‘The high lord usually does not like any lamps and the fires provide light enough during the Rite.’

‘Then let us not break tradition. It won’t hurt him, will it?’

Nesta had rummaged in every book she could find about what the Rite actually entailed, but had come up short. She did not want to appear incapable or inept in her role so nodded along to the servant’s words. True friends were yet to be found within the court, and Nesta still did not know who would speak to Beron or Eris for the right amount of coin, so she remained reserved amongst the workers within the manor rather than reveal her inadequacy.

The servant laughed, a hearty rich laugh that sent a wave of warmth through Nesta’s chest. ‘Cauldron, no. Quite the opposite.’

On the porch, Eris waited for her. He kissed her hand tenderly in greeting which was at odds with his mischievous expression.

‘Where have you been?’

‘Inspecting the hollow for the Rite tonight,’ she said, brushing past him into the house. She’d sneezed half a dozen times during the return to the house and if she was expected to spend the night outdoors, she needed to take refuge for a while away from the pollen.

‘You’re still bubbling with excitement?’

Nesta led him into the drawing room and beckoned for him to take a seat. She did not wait for Eris to find a place and instead sat herself in a grey armchair rather than one of the couches. Zasha leapt up beside her then wedged himself in the slither between her and the arm of the chair.

‘Why would I not be?’

‘So you know all that it entails.’

‘Absolutely,’ she responded brusquely.

It was a lie of course. She did not know how magic worked or why Tamlin was required to go to the cave, but Nesta had decided to keep up her iron walls around Eris, just as she would with his father. Eris raised his eyebrows in a mocking gesture. It sharpened the hard angles of his face.

‘Really,’ he mused. ‘Such a proud female. I thought I might make an appearance tonight. Fae can wander across courts on this night without retribution. If my father were to turn up, it should look good if we were seen together. Shall I meet you in the hollow?’

‘Why? What unpleasantness do you have for me?’

Eris shuffled from the room then returned with a pale gown that shimmered like starlight. It was more ostentatious than she would usually choose to wear though Eris held it out with half a smile twitching on his lips. ‘Not particularly unpleasant, I’d say.’

‘It will look lovely on you. It matches your hair,’ she said drily.

He rolled his eyes and stepped forwards. Zasha growled low in warning.

‘Excuse me,’ he said to the dog, frowning.

Zasha growled again, louder this time. Nesta stroked the soft, silky skin of the dog’s ears in a silent sort of praise, grinning at Eris. The male admitted defeat although he wasn’t happy about it, and returned back to his position near the doorway. He draped the dress along one of the couches.

The sneering, ambivalent male had returned; the one Nesta had known from court meetings. Had their kiss in the lake by his home been that repellent that he was willing to build his own walls back up?

‘What happened to the nice male who played pianoforte while I danced?’

Eris shrugged with indifference. ‘A servant has taken your belongings to your room. See you.’

The drumming had started early. It was a steady thudding that shook the ground like the heartbeat of the court. Fires glittered across the grounds as Nesta gazed from her window. The sun was in the final stretch of its descent, casting the sky an inky-blue. She had watched Tamlin depart the manor house moments earlier wearing only his baldric on his bare chest. He’d armed himself also with a sword and a bow, the quiver of arrows had been slung over his other shoulder. Like a spry stag he’d sprinted across the grounds.

The dress Eris had purchased clung to her chest, dipping low across her bust, but it draped across her hips and swept the floor as it swirled about her legs. It was beautiful, that much she would admit. A thin cape made of only tulle and dotted with twinkling crystals had been sewn to the straps to at least cover her bare arms and back though it was sheer enough that Nesta felt a little out of her comfort zone. Still, it was a dress befit for the lady of the court – not that she was that. She was more of the caretaker of the Spring Court than anything. For once, she unpinned her hair to let it fall in waves of gold down her back. It was a night for celebration after all.

***

Cassian had warred internally at how long he should leave it before he arrived at the Spring Court. If he arrived too soon, Nesta would explode at him for ruining her organisational extravaganza. Too late, and the results didn’t bear thinking about. He’d arrived earlier than necessary and lingered near the border to the Summer Court, watching the sun set in nervy anticipation.

He knew she could take care of herself; she’d taken on Rhys before her magic had been trained. With Eris training her fire, she was likely unstoppable. But Cassian did not want Nesta to have to fight, he wanted her to avoid the humiliation that Eris was leading her into.

It was surely another of Eris’ plans to drive a wedge further between him and Nesta. Cassian would go blundering into Calanmai thinking Eris was setting Nesta up for failure, heart on his sleeve to defend his mate, and somehow it would be him who was at fault and Nesta would, once again, want rid of him. Eris was too slippery for Cassian to keep up with. Cassian was a strategist on the battlefield only, not where feelings were concerned.

As the drumming grew louder across the court, Cassian followed it like a summons. It was, in a way, he supposed – a summons to Nesta. His mate.

For no reason in particular, he had not told anybody where he was going. When he reached the hollow, where a crowd was beginning to form, he was glad of it. There were lots of fae gathered, clustered amongst the fires. At least they were strangers so the inevitable explosion from Nesta wouldn’t be witnessed by any who mattered.

Cassian knew he was close to her. Their bond sent a wave of serenity to him like coming into a warm home after a day in the cold. There, clutching a glass of golden mead, Nesta was making light conversation with a few other females. It was jarring – and he hated himself for feeling that way – to see her so casual and comfortable with strangers. She had been raised to be a socialite by her cruel mother; the role of the lady of the court was one she would excel at.

There had never been a more beautiful female in the world. Nesta was a goddess of light. The fires seemed to make her glow – many pairs of eyes snagged on her image as she departed the group of females then perused the crowd in search of someone else. Her lips were pursed with disappointment.

Cassian felt as if his ribcage had cracked in two when he took in the dress she wore – so unlike Nesta, but somehow magnificent enough for her. She was starlight. Pure starlight. The shimmer of her dress was catching more and more attention. He had never seen her hair tumble down her back like a maiden from a legend before. A rush of pride flooded his veins when he realised how healthy she seemed; her collar bone no longer jutted from her skin sharp enough to tear open the skin. She had done that all on her own.

But then her expression changed into panic. Her chest started heaving as the crowd grew thicker and she fought her way through it. His siphons pulsed in response to her fear. She winced as a fire spat noisily to her right. A male crashed into her shoulder as she sought a way out from the hollow, from the fires, as if her composure had suddenly shattered and she could no longer hold on. It was time to act.

The crowd parted easily for Cassian as he charged forwards like he was rushing into battle. For her, he’d wage war.

When Cassian reached Nesta, his wings cocooned around them both. It was the only seclusion he could offer. She didn’t react to him. Only screwed her eyes shut and slammed her hands over her ears, breathing heavily.

His hand enclosed around her upper arm. It remained firmly clamped to her ear as he guided Nesta towards the forest.

‘Move,’ he snarled at a group in their way.

Her feet stumbled over roots, but he did his best to direct her while she kept her eyes closed. Only once the drumming was the only noise that filled the air, did they come to a stop. The ruby siphons strapped to his leathers cast the only light around them. Gently, he prised Nesta’s hands off her ears. A shaky breath loosed itself from her lips. When her eyes finally opened, Cassian assessed her irises, expecting the silver fire that so often came when she was losing control, but it was not there.

‘Thank you,’ she rasped.

In silence, Cassian waited as Nesta gathered herself back together. This was not to be her supernova; the moment she glowed brightest before her collapse back into oblivion. Her resilience was admirable. How many times had she put herself back together in secret? Perhaps her deterioration in Velaris came from her inability to pick up the pieces again after doing it so many times previously.

The female shook herself. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. ‘I have to go and ensure the Rite is completed.’

‘Do you even know what the Rite is, Nesta?’

‘Of course I do.’

Cassian held out an arm to stop her from striding past him. ‘Tamlin will want to fuck the strongest female in the vicinity. And that’s likely to be you. It's a great honour.’

‘No.’ Nesta shook her head. ‘No. It’s not. That’s not what will happen.’

‘It is.’

Her eyebrows knitted together as she squinted in the direction of the cave. She sighed. ‘It is, isn’t it? Eris fucking Vanserra. That bastard snake. Why?’ Nesta pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘I want to die.’ A flush of blood crept up neck all the way to her cheeks. ‘I’m so foolish. Why am I so stubborn?’

‘I’ve been wondering that for a long time.’

Nesta shot him a glare; one he was glad to have. Her anger was better than months without her.

‘I wondered why Tamlin had suddenly leapt into action,’ Nesta made a sobbing noise then scrunched up her face. ‘I told him I’d help him with the Rite if he needed me, said I’d hold his hand if I had to and we’d get through it together. I tried to be kind and that’s the last time I ever do that.’

Cassian roared with laughter.

‘This is not funny.’

Nesta stormed from the forest, swifter than he thought she could be. Despite the anger simmering within, she still trod delicately across the ground with her head held high, ever the sophisticated lady.

‘It’s quite funny, Nes.’

She turned on her heel, the firelight catching on the sparkling gossamer gown like she was from a fairy tale. ‘I’m going to bed.’

‘Can I walk you?’

Two thin-faced lesser fae with moss green skin leered at Nesta as they walked by and the retort she was about to throw at him dissolved on her tongue. ‘That would be acceptable.’

They walked together, weaving through the crowds amassed in the hollow. Cassian curled a wing around Nesta to guide her easier. She did not protest. He weighed up taking quicker routes that passed close by fires or longer ones that drew out her time in the hollow. Her eyes rapidly flickered across the different fae from courts far and wide who had descended upon the Spring Court. She stayed close by him, her heart loud enough for him to hear over the drums.

The red siphons on his armour glowed bright enough to ward off most of the more curious males from gazing at the beautiful female treading alongside him. The sheer shrouding cape that glittered with starlight exposed Nesta’s shoulders. Just that amount of skin was enough to satiate Cassian as though he were a starving man – never mind the swell of her breasts in the tight fitting bodice.

‘I never saw fae like these,’ she murmured to him.

‘They’re lesser ones,’ he said, steering her to the left, away from vicious, sharp-toothed fae from the winter court.

‘So are Illyrians, but you look… you look the same as high fae. Just your ears. And wings.’ It wasn’t an insult, there was no venom in Nesta’s words, merely confusion as she tried to navigate her way through her new world.

‘Lack of magic makes you lesser.’

‘Tell that to you and Azriel.’

The slope had grown slippery with the frequent visitors into the trench. Nesta stared down at her dainty shoes then the mud tracks then to Cassian. Her brow furrowed as she steeled herself. Those blue-grey eyes turned to him.

‘Would you help me?’

Cassian had never been so glad of an invitation to touch a female. He held out a hand for her to take. A small, cold hand clasped his then he folded his calloused fingers over the top of it. Together they climbed the steep hill, his sturdy boots anchoring them while Nesta slid.

At the top of the knoll, Nesta had not let go of his hand. Never before had such a pure act given Cassian such fulfilment. If she held his hand for the rest of his life and nothing more, he’d still die a happy male. Despite her embarrassment about Eris’ trick, there was still wonder in Nesta’s eyes as she watched the gathered fae dancing and celebrating amongst the litter of fires.

It was a long walk back to the manor – and Cassian did not want to draw attention to the fact that Nesta had still not yet dropped his hand as they walked through a garden of roses.

‘Are you crying?’ Nesta accused.

Cassian sniffed. ‘Allergies. Nose is itchy.’

‘Oh, I know. I spend half my day sneezing. The other half rubbing my eyes. It’s dreadful here. Pretty - but the pollen is atrocious.’

‘Then why are you here?’

Nesta lifted her chin, ‘because I have to be.’

When they reached the front doors of the manor, a whining came from the other side. For a moment, Cassian thought it was Tamlin shifted into his beast form trapped inside then Nesta had spoken gently as she pulled back the door.

A dog bolted from the doorway straight at Nesta. It leapt at her, yipping and howling with joy. She also broke into a big smile – one that made her more beautiful – and squatted in her dress to embrace the hound. It was a smokehound from the Autumn Court – likely a gift from a certain Vanserra. Cassian had never heard of them being traded beyond that court or indeed to any who was not from nobility. Eris must have been smitten with Nesta. Any male would be.

‘Zasha,’ she said with exasperation. ‘Calm. Shh. The drumming has probably wound him up all night. It’s alright. I’m here.’

Nesta scrunched up her face, stretching it upwards as the dog’s tongue found her neck and tried to reach higher. Her laughter was the most magical melody Cassian had ever heard. He could do nothing but stand there dumbstruck by it. In five hundred years, no female had ever managed to evoke the feelings that Nesta did.

‘So this is your new home,’ he said, following her down the long corridor.

‘This is not my home. Home was with Rovena.’

Illyria. She’d thought Illyria was a home. Cassian bit his knuckle as he walked behind her to stop himself from declaring his love and sending her sprinting to another court to get away from him.

He kept following. She hadn’t argued or told him to leave, so that was a positive response. The manor house was in much better shape. The wreckage the high lord had caused was gone. The scratches in the wooden panels had been repaired, walls were repainted, and furniture rebuilt, as if he had not spent months trashing the place in anger.

‘Would you like to watch the fires?’ She stood with her feet planted, feigning her own disinterest, but her hand was poised on the brass door handle.

‘Yes.’

The room had been Feyre’s, Nesta was adamant of that fact. She’d removed the furs and most of the plush furniture to another part of the house, she explained, calling it ugly and too bold.

‘It’s larger than the entire cottage that we used to live in.’

It was neat. Not a single item was out of place – though there weren’t any personal items save for a handful of books stacked on a shelf in pristine condition. There were scuffmarks on the wooden floor where she’d repeatedly dragged a chest of drawers across it.

‘I don’t like the thought of being unable to lock the door,’ she explained casually, ‘just in case anybody made an entrance.’

Nesta dragged the bedsheets off then wrapped them around her as she clambered up onto the windowsill. It was padded with cushions and Cassian could imagine her tucked up there reading on an evening. He joined her.

The dog leapt onto the spacious windowsill with them, pressing himself against Nesta within her nest of blankets and never taking his black eyes from Cassian. It was better she had the smokehound, he thought, rather than be without any sort of weapon though he’d never imagine her to be so loving with an animal, not caring if the hair was on her clothes or if he licked her hand. Just as he’d seen her in Illyria cradling the small boy in her arms. There was so much of her he had not discovered and longed to - if she’d grant him that chance.

‘Maybe you should learn to defend yourself,’ he said, looking at her delicate hands. ‘If not with me, at least with Azriel.’

‘Cassian,’ she snapped, eyes wide. ‘I do not want to be a warrior. I do not want to fight anybody.’ The female had balled her hands as she fisted the blanket as a way to ground herself. ‘I don’t want that. I don’t like violence. I don’t want any part of it. I can hardly understand how you can do it.’

‘I’m a soldier, Nesta. A general. It’s who I am.’

Nesta turned her attention on him, but the tightness of her voice was a contrast to the softness of her expression. They’d remained in the dark to better see the glittering fires so the yellow glow flickered on her pale skin. ‘The Illyrians speak of the way you fight with such awe, Enalius they called you. But when I watched you, all I could feel was fear. I never knew I could be afraid like that. For you. The thought of you dying…’

She turned back to the window, eyes glassy, not wanting to voice the rest of her sentence, already cross with herself for saying so much. Part of him wanted to tease her to ease the tension, to mock that she cared enough about him to worry for his safety. But the other part of him was overwhelmed that she had. He had hardly believed Rhys when he’d told him how Nesta had been pacing when they’d arrived back to Velaris following the attack on Adriata. That the first one she asked about was him. Perhaps it hadn’t been a lie.

‘Why did you let go of my hand?’

Cassian glanced down at his massive bear paws with confusion. She had let go in the gardens once there was space enough to move more freely as the crowd had thinned.

‘When I strapped up your wrist after you fought in the Summer Court.’ Her brow was bunched together as her hands settled on the dog, stroking his grey fur in a soft, steady rhythm. ‘You held my hand. Then Morrigan came and you tossed me aside.’

Cassian winced, remembering that day. He’d fought and fought, given everything he had to his soldiers, to continue rallying them despite their failing energy. His body had never felt so heavy and worn when he and Rhys made it back to the camp. A stab of jealousy had slipped between his ribs when he’d seen Feyre kiss Rhys, the relief on her face at seeing the male she loved safe. But Nesta had been there and managed to assess his wound somehow when no other could. Her hair was falling from its bun, mud was smeared across her dress and the tanned skin where she’d rolled up her sleeves. He’d never seen her so undone and casual. If they’d been alone, Cassian would have asked Nesta to sleep beside him in the tent, not to make love to her, but to hear her heart, to remind him what he fought for. What he could one day come home to. To know that there was goodness in the world.

‘I don’t know,’ he admitted, voice raw. He’d slung his legs around the log and ignored Nesta until she’d departed while he joked with Mor. That wasn’t enough for Nesta, she searched his face for more. ‘I didn’t want Mor to know how I felt about you.’

‘I know I’m awful, but-’

Cassian touched a finger to Nesta’s lips. ‘Don’t say that. Don’t say it. I saw how Elain froze with Lucien. How afraid she is still of their bond. I was so scared that if the others knew and drew attention to it, you’d flee. I didn’t know if you felt what I felt… the bond. I thought that if Mor saw me with you like that, she’d pass a comment and you’d realise it hung there between us. That you’d reject me.’ Cassian blew out a breath.

‘She’d likely say what a terrible person I am and I don’t deserve you. Oh, wait a moment, they all think that of me.’

Cassian tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear then brushed his fingers lightly against the soft skin of her neck, ignoring the dog’s growls. ‘That’s not true. You stayed up all night tending to wounded soldiers – Feyre told me. Nes, I’ve intervened for centuries between Mor and Az. I don’t know. She can be protective of me, of what I do for her. I shouldn’t have put her feelings above yours. And I’m sorry for it.’

The shrug Nesta gave could have broken Cassian’s heart. It suggested that nothing he could say would ever convince her that she was worth anything. Mor would not accept her. As soon as he’d snatched his hand from Nesta’s, in that first moment of tenderness they’d shared, he regretted it. But there’d been no pathway back to it, no way he could have tried to take her hand again without the others noticing. Why had he even cared if they noticed it? She was his mate, not theirs.

Zasha’s head shot up and he wiggled free of Nesta’s arms to press his face to the window. She watched a figure hurrying across the garden.

‘Stay here,’ she said to Cassian.

***

‘Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you. The dress looks lovely.’

Nesta wreathed her hands with fire in the way that Eris had been teaching her at his home. It was his only warning to not come any closer. ‘You set me up.’

The wolfish grin returned to Eris’ narrow face as he leant against the doorframe near the bottom of the stairs. ‘Who did you ask?’

‘I figured it out,’ she lied.

‘It was a lesson in pride, Nesta. If you’d have asked me, I’d have told you what the Rite entailed. I wanted to see how far that proudness would take you. You can admit when you do not know something. It’s not a failure.’

‘Stop treating everybody’s lives as if they’re little games and lessons. It’s infuriating. No wonder your father can’t stand any of his children.’

From beside her, Zasha padded forwards and put himself between her and Eris, a rippling growl coming from his throat.

‘What would you have done if Tamlin had selected me? If you hadn’t got there in time?’

Eris rolled his eyes in annoyance. ‘We both know you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself. Rhysand, my father,’ he said counting the names on his fingers, ‘mortal queens, mortal males who’ve upset your sister.’

‘But you shouldn’t put me in situations where I have to defend myself, Eris. If you cared a damn about me you wouldn’t want me in danger.’

‘We’re allies,’ he said coldly, ‘not anything mo-’. The blood drained from his face. Eris stumbled backwards. She heard his heart pounding against his ribs like a wild animal trying to escape its cage. ‘That big, flapping bat is here,’ he said, though it came out like a cross between a hiss and a whisper.

‘Yes. At my invitation. It is a celebratory night, is it not? It’s my understanding that other couples can perform Rites, not just the high lord.’

It was a lie. Even if she was starved of male company, Cassian was not seeing more than her ankle that night. But if it wound Eris up then so be it. Eris re-buttoned his cuffs to give himself time to think of the next step in his plan. He had not expected Cassian to be there - someone had managed to scheme against Eris' own agenda.

Nesta waited, hands on hips, to hear whatever scheme he could come up with. While he tried to wear a mask of indifference, the hurt had flashed in his eyes.

‘Returning to Velaris?’

‘I shall remain here since you cast me out from your home.’

‘I didn’t cast you out,’ he said hotly, working hard to keep his voice quiet so Cassian could not overhear. ‘It wasn’t safe. My father would. If you knew what Lucien. Fuck.’

Eris tried to speak a few more times then straightened up to his full height, appearing alarmingly similar to his father. ‘I’ll return in a week. I expect a full report on the success of Calanmai.’

‘If you play silly games, Eris, you win silly prizes.’

The male winnowed away, a haunting disappointment marring his features. There had been something between them in the Autumn Court. It was something that Nesta did not have a name for. They had not been physically intimate, yet had shared a closeness more than simply companions. After they had kissed and she'd survived Beron's interrogation, Eris had shifted back into that cold, aloof male. Tentative allies were what they would be, she supposed. And Beron was an unwanted ally. One who’d blackmailed her into it. No matter how much Eris frustrated her, she needed him so she could keep a step ahead of Beron.

Chapter Text

A familiar ache of sorrow came over Nesta. Maybe her and Eris were perfect for each other; both sought to alienate themselves rather than ever let their feelings show.

Her bare feet trod heavily across the cold wooden floor into the kitchen. She had planned to feast at Calanmai, having hand picked delicacies from across the court, but the thought of going back out outside now she knew what activity the high lord would engage himself in was too revolting to bear thinking about. Merely remembering what she had said - how Tamlin had likely interpreted it - had her toes curling with embarrassment.

Instead, Nesta sliced crusty brown bread packed with seeds and toasted it before she slathered it in butter and a generous grating of cheese. She’d sliced cucumber, tomatoes, and spring onions on the side, slamming the knife harder than necessary onto the chopping board as her irritation seeped out.

Zasha had sat obediently beside Nesta, tail thumping occasionally to remind her how well behaved he was. She swept the crumbs of cheese from the side and his tongue mopped them from the floor. Without Eris’ regimented training the dog would be boisterous - but as long as he listened to Nesta’s commands that was good enough.

His tail wagged slightly at the sound of footsteps down the stairs. He watched Cassian carefully, assessing him with curiosity as he came into view.

‘You alright?’

Nesta was ready to bark at him with a rhetorical question. To combat his concern with her own deflection. But the concern on his face was genuine. He may not like Eris, but that bond made him care for her. In the darkness, his eyes seemed wholly black but there was a warmth about them like a night sky filled with stars.

‘I don’t know why I care for him when he’s concerned with only the skin on his back.’

‘The Vanserras are raised with one focus: survival.’

Nesta shrugged then moved to wash the knife in the sink. ‘Lucien doesn’t seem that way.’

She wanted to say that Eris didn’t always behave like that either. That he loved his mother deeply; in meetings when they had all been present, he had been the one to pull rank over his brothers and block his mother off from violence. When Feyre’s fire had blasted to Beron, it had been Eris who shielded his mother. It wasn’t the face he wanted the world to see. He had been considerate of Nesta when she had stayed with him. But it would remain their secret. The world would not know that there was goodness within the male.

The drumming remained incessantly loud but there would be fireworks soon once the Rite was… consummated. She supposed that was the best word for it.

‘Here. I’m hungry so I presumed you would be too.’ Nesta held out a plate for Cassian.

The bat’s eyes went wide then he stepped back a few paces.

‘Nesta,’ he said, voice hoarse. ‘To formally accept a mating bond, the female prepares food for the male.’

She all but threw the plate back onto the kitchen side.

‘What a ridiculous tradition!’

Cassian laughed slightly but it didn’t meet his eyes. She’d hurt his pride by her extreme reaction. It was not him that she had the issue with, it was that damned faerie magic that tied souls together without caring if they wanted it.

‘Sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘I didn’t meant it to you. I just meant. I meant that...’ What did she mean? ‘Thank you for telling me.’

‘Whatever you decide, I want you to decide it, not be tricked into it.’

Cassian retrieved the knife from the draining board then made his own snack. For all his skills with a blade, he hacked the food into rough, uneven chunks. Meanwhile, Nesta fed the spare to Zasha who gulped it down greedily.

‘Feyre heated up soup for Rhys.’

‘Lucky him,’ she murmured.

They had made it back to the windowsill in time to watch the fireworks streaming into the sky with bangs so fierce they made the window panes tremble. The dog was unbothered by them; his attention was fixed upon the food on Nesta’s plate. She relented and chucked the crusts to him which the bat laughed at. Zasha remained watching her even when she told the dog he wouldn’t be keen on vegetables. Cassian was watching her too, appreciatively, as she nibbled at the last bits of cucumber on her plate.

Crimson stars broke upon the sky and fizzled out of existence. Golden beams shot upwards, showering the black canvas in gold dust. Nesta had never seen anything so wonderful. This was magic, the way it was told in stories rather than the gruesome tales they were told as children to send them scurrying under the covers. When the final shower of vivid violet faded from the sky, Nesta loosed a satisfied sigh. From where they sat, Calanmai seemed a success. She hoped she had done enough.

A thumb brushed against the back of her hand, unsure and cautious. Nesta felt as if her heart had stilled as the moment unfolded.

‘You could come to Velaris for Starfall.’ Nesta waited for him to continue, her eye remained fixed upon the hand that was slowly creeping across her own. ‘It’s only viewable in the Night Court. It looks like a shower of stars scorching through the darkness – but it’s something other. I think that was the night your sister started falling for Rhys.’

Nesta withdrew her hand safely behind Zasha’s body.

‘I am not Feyre. Stop trying to mould us into them. We will never be that.’

Us. Not us. They were not an us, Nesta thought with panic. They were not anything. They were two individuals, not a couple, not lovers, not anything but two individuals forced again and again to be together.

Nesta clenched her jaw shut to stop herself from saying more. Slowly, Cassian curled his fingers into his own palm. The booming of drums faded across the court. From the window, Nesta spied various fae either wrapped in each other’s arms or departing. The silence that engulfed them was pierced only by Zasha’s gentle snores as he slept curled in Nesta’s lap.

‘Priatelia,’ Cassian said in a quiet voice.

‘Pardon?’

‘Priatelia. Friends.’

Nesta echoed the word, her tongue not nearly as gentle with the Illyrian accent as his had been. Cassian gave her a half-smile then nodded his head towards Zasha.

‘Pes.’ The bat pointed to himself then Nesta in turn. ‘Muž. Žena.’

Again, Nesta repeated the words for friends, dog, male, female, practising until they felt less thick on her tongue. She asked for more words and Cassian obliged. He punctuated each one with a yawn, until she announced she was too tired to continue. He sagged with relief.

With little space between them, they stood opposite each other. Nesta had forgotten how he towered over her when most males she could stand eye to eye with.

‘How long will it take you to fly?’

‘A few hours. Should be back by morning.’ He shook his wings out behind him, but he looked exhausted. If he’d flown all the way from Velaris that day then stayed up until the early hours teaching her Illyrian, he was hardly able to fly back without rest.

‘Stay,’ she blurted out. ‘In the chair. It’s only me here, if Tamlin returns. Stay.’

Despite the blush blooming onto her cheeks, Nesta reasoned with herself that of course it made sense to keep him here until the magic had left Tamlin – just in case he tried anything.

Cassian settled himself into a chair while she headed to the bathroom to change. For the night, she’d selected the longest, most demure nightgown she could find. It was a thick one she’d purchased in Velaris during the winter when she’d been freezing every night. It was more suitable for a grandmother – but she didn’t want him getting any ideas.

Since its freedom, her hair had knotted itself into a tangled web which Nesta tore through with a comb before tying it in a long plait down her back.

‘I’ve never seen your hair down before,’ he said as she returned to the bedroom.

‘It’s a bother. I’ve never had it cut so it tends to tangle.’

Nesta climbed into the bed then patted it for Zasha to leap upon. After a few turns, the dog bedded down beside her. Cassian leaned back in the chair to pull the curtains shut. He had already tugged the chest of drawers in front of the door. She’d rather be trapped in the room with him than face Tamlin entering – that was the lie she kept repeating to herself. Not that she would feel too guilty to send him away now when he appeared dead on his feet.

Whenever it seemed as though she was on the eve of dropping into sleep, that damned bat would shift in the chair. The noise of his wings rustling or him groaning would snap Nesta back into consciousness.

‘Will you stop fidgeting?’

‘My wings don’t fit,’ he spat back, ‘You try wedging yourself into a shoe box.’

Zasha had growled at his tone.

‘It’s uncomfortable,’ he said in answer to the dog.

‘Get in the bed. I’m tired. Just get into bed.’

In the darkness, Cassian stared at her as if she’d promised more than that. Hesitantly, he stepped across the room then settled on the edge of the bed with the covers draped around his waist. He’d already shucked off his outer clothing and wore only undershorts and a vest in the bed beside her. Nesta’s mouth dried up. This was a closeness she had not experienced before. To lay beside a male just to sleep. And it did not feel wrong.

He was so big. The bed had seemed large enough, but he was enormous. Her eyes flitted over the curl of his bicep as his hand tucked under his head. The ebony hair that spilled across the pillow like a discarded pot of ink. The bed had creaked once his weight had fallen upon it and for a brief moment, Nesta imagined that weight pressing down on top of her.

Nesta rolled over, facing the wall, not wanting him to see her examining his form. Zasha clambered over her and pressed his back against hers, face first under the cover. There was a buffer between them at least.

***

Sunlight seeped in from behind the curtain, dripping onto the floor. It was still early; dawn always arrived quickly in the Spring Court. Cassian had heard Tamlin return a few hours earlier, his senses picking up on the male’s movements before he’d even crossed the threshold into the house.

Nesta had remained undisturbed. He could never have imagined her so still and peaceful, without a storm churning within. It was the damn dog who’d kept Cassian awake. It shifted throughout the night, to the bottom of the bed then back to the top, then between his legs then back to pressing himself onto Nesta’s pillow. It was still young, not yet fully grown so it did not take up too much space. By the way Nesta slept through it, Cassian supposed it was a regular occurrence. When the hound finally slept, it had snored and snored, deep and rattling.

Cassian could forgive the dog’s sins. In the hazy slice of morning light, he’d never seen a picture so lovely. During the night, Nesta had turned to face him. Her arms were clasped around the dog whose nose was tucked against her neck. The pair slept so soundly, he wished he could savour that moment forever.

Carefully, he tiptoed to the bathroom. It was strange to imagine Feyre living within these walls as a mortal, falling in love with a male that she’d come to loathe. Mor believed that Nesta’s involvement in the Spring Court was purely to spite her sister. Nesta could be spiteful – Cassian could admit as much about her – but she had a strong sense of justice. He did not believe that Nesta had come to this court by choice, but her motives in trying to improve the lives of fae and mortals below the wall were genuine.

As he splashed warm water from the sink onto his face, trying to chase the sleep from his eyes, Cassian’s view snagged on a bucket tucked away neatly by the bath. Surely she wasn’t still washing in buckets rather than bathing? He’d thought that Nesta had turned a corner. Certainly, she appeared on the surface as if her recovery was going well. Then again, their inner circle had thought she racked up bills in seedy little taverns to be malicious, rather than because she was hurting. Nesta was good at hiding herself from the world.

Zasha skidded towards him as he peeled back the bathroom door. The dog licked his hands and nipped at his sausage fingers chirpily while his mistress finished braiding her hair into a coronet in the vanity.

‘Did I wake you?’

Nesta shook her head. ‘Early riser. I have a meeting across the court later this morning anyway. Zasha, leave him alone.’ The dog followed her command and leapt back onto the bed.

She had dressed in a lilac gown, simple yet elegant, that was thin enough for the warm spring morning. ‘I’ve asked a servant to prepare porridge. I’d have made it myself, but I don’t know if I can even offer you fruit from the bowl without that being an eternal vow.’

The sheer irritation in her tone was not directed at him, he had to remind himself. She was brought up imagining a husband, not a mate. In such a short space of time she’d been turned fae then shackled to him forever. Cassian knew he did not fit the mould for how she expected her future husband to be; a brute, a bastard – and with wings.

Nesta beckoned for him to follow her through the house and into the spacious dining room. She took the seat at the head of the table – like she had when they had dined at her home below the wall, a queen holding court. Except, there was only Cassian beside her. It was a sad, shameful home for Tamlin, he had to admit. The male had nobody. He did not count Nesta amongst the high lord’s friends. Yet somehow the pair of them were trying to forge the vast lands of the Spring Court into something magnificent again. If anybody could, it would be Nesta.

A floor above them, they heard heavy steps stomping then a door slamming. Cassian threw Nesta a questioning stare.

‘It’s all he does. Haunts each room in turn like a petulant child.’ She massaged her temples. ‘I feel like I’m living with a damned ghoul half the time.’

‘He’s still in such a bad way?’

Nesta shrugged. ‘There are better days where he’s more engaged. Better that he’s my puppet than another’s. At least I have good intentions.’

Two servants entered carrying breakfast and tea. Cassian was thankful for it; he’d wanted to ask about Beron – and what he’d done to her. She’d forbade Az from mentioning it. It would land Lucien in no end of trouble – or silver fire – if he had raised the topic of Beron. The servants provided a welcome distraction and change of topic. For once, Cassian would not be a blabbermouth, as they were all fond of calling him.

‘Thank you both,’ she said. ‘Will you also take a bowl to the high lord even if he does not touch it?’

‘Yes, my lady,’ one said, dipping her head low.

‘Oh, and Sora could you ask Benyamin to ready a horse for me to ride with the sentries. I’ll be leaving in about an hour.’

‘Yes, my lady,’ the other said with another slight bow of her head.

Cassian waited until they departed the room before he turned to Nesta, grinning.

‘My lady,’ Cassian mocked, raising his eyebrows.

‘I did not ask them to call me that,’ she hissed, ‘they just do it. I’ve told them not to.’

She poured camomile tea for the both of them then drizzled a generous amount of honey into each cup. ‘This doesn’t count, does it?’

The fear of that bond ran through Nesta threatening to break her careful composure. She squeezed a wedge of lemon so the juice sprayed into the tea.

‘No.’

‘This faerie magic,’ she waved her hand. ‘I don’t understand it.’

Nesta needed a tutor. Not like her lessons with Amren that had skidded to a crashing halt when things had turned so sour after the war. No, Nesta needed someone to teach her about being fae at the very basic level so that she could re-examine all the prejudices she’d been taught as a mortal child to better navigate her world.

They ate quietly, Nesta laughing lightly as she watched Zasha tear across the lawns scaring servants in his pursuit of rabbits.

‘Can I ask you a question? But, you're not allowed to be angry when I ask it.’

Nesta narrowed her blue-grey eyes at him then blew onto her tea with pursed lips. ‘Would you accept a compromise? That I will try not to be angry.’

Cassian huffed on a laugh. That was the best he could expect, he supposed. ‘I saw the bucket in the bathroom. Are you still afraid to use the bath?’

Her expression glazed over as she stared at the dark wood of the table. Cassian touched her arm gently, coaxing her back into the room. She shook herself.

‘Yes,’ she replied simply. ‘Sometimes I force myself into it. And sometimes I do not have the energy to do that.’

‘I thought things were getting better,’ he said carefully.

‘Rovena helped me wash in Illyria. Azriel is lucky to have a mother so kind and giving. Without her, I am trying my best, but I cannot always manage it. Sometimes I do not even want to attempt it.’ The fragility in her voice suddenly faded as she spoke again, ‘you see, I didn’t get angry. Isn’t that positive?’

Cassian took that as a sign the conversation on that topic was over. For the remainder of their breakfast, she avoided looking at him. He did not regret asking it though. On the surface, she was whole, but he knew there were still broken pieces beneath that Nesta would hide from the world, nursing in privacy.

It was a bright morning. Both of them squinted when they finally departed the dining room for the gardens.

‘Am I to expect a second Illyrian lesson?’

He loved the way she would never ask for it. Nesta phrased it so the emphasis was on him, allowing herself to appear indifferent. Cassian cocked his head to the side, a grin forming on his lips.

‘I have money to pay.’

‘Private Illyrian lessons with the general of the Night Court’s armies?’ Cassian let out a whistle. ‘It shall not be cheap, my lady.’

‘Caretaker of the Spring Court – and its high lord,’ she said, gesturing to herself. ‘Cost is no issue.’

‘I’ll see if Az can winnow me next week.’

Nesta nodded then turned towards the stables where the sentries had gathered – but Cassian caught it, that smile that she was trying to hide from him. He’d crawl on broken glass to see her smile for him.

‘Nes,’ he called. Her head whipped around, her expression back to practised neutrality. ‘You’re making a world of difference here. Well done. My lady.’

‘Aren’t bats nocturnal? Will you be able to fly during the day? Don’t destroy another building in the Summer Court on your way now, will you?’

‘Goodbye Nesta.’

She bit her lip that time to keep her grin away.

Cassian stayed rooted to the spot as she approached the soldiers without a drop of hesitation or uncertainty. In such a short space of time, Nesta already had their backing, their loyalty. One helped her onto a horse but once she was in the saddle, she was a queen surveying her kingdom. Expertly, she took the reins to turn the horse, leading their vanguard out of the grounds. Cassian might have known battles, but Nesta was a strategist when it came to politics. He felt foolish that he’d never appreciated that aspect of her before.

As Cassian began the long flight back to Velaris, the sun catching on his wings, he felt lighter than he had in months.

Chapter Text

For the most part, the sentries were quiet as they rode. The odd snippet of conversation came, but on the whole it was a muted ride. If they wanted to pass comment about an Illyrian war hero emerging from their high lord’s home, none was brave enough to dare.

Nesta did not like it. She understood the necessity of power, but too much that followers were intimidated by merely speaking was not a safe environment – nor one she wanted to foster.

At the front, a high fae male named Fionn rode alongside Nesta leading the way across the rugged country. His family had served the Spring Court for many generations. Like all of the males from the court, he was blonde with forest green eyes and a wildness in his expression like a hunter constantly scanning for prey. He had long patrolled the borders of the court, only coming closer to the manor when many of them had abandoned their high lord. He was loyal; not to a master but to the land itself. A good male to move into position as a leader, Nesta had decided.

Fionn named the azure lakes they had passed by, pointed out villages in the distance or spoke of the farmers who owned the land. He proved himself knowledgeable. Nesta coaxed more out of him as they rode, questioning how long he had served as a sentry, if his father had been one too. Fionn had fought against Hybern and had a thick scar running the length of his cheek to prove it. He tugged his collar down to show Nesta a thick clump of scar tissue beneath his clavicle that was another memento of the war.

‘I only have to show that to my wife and it garners sympathy. A good way to put a stopper in any arguments.’

They spoke of his children: Fionn and his wife, Aoife, had one girl with another babe on the way. The male’s eyes had lit up as he spoke of his daughter in a way that had Nesta dreaming of her own child - and a male who’d love in the same way.

Their conversation coaxed the other sentries’ tongues from the prison of their lips. It was better to know them as males first, soldiers second, Nesta decided. To ask after their mothers, or their wives, to learn who they cared for and what they were willing to fight for.

Once the conversation had started, the ride became more enjoyable. A particularly chatty young male could not hold back the flood of his tongue once it had started. He sang as they rode, a pretty dirge about a low born fae male falling for a lord’s daughter. All things considered, it was nice. A year ago, Nesta never would have imagined that this was where she would be – riding across the Spring Court leading a band of soldiers. But it was not the worst place she could imagine herself.

The Spring Court had no cities, especially not like Velaris. They arrived in a small town, if it could be called as such, that was home to a cluster of shops amongst a few narrow houses that backed onto more hilly farm land. Nesta asked Fionn to stay beside her as a personal guard while she met with local landowners to discuss the success of Calanmai and other matters.

The meeting was to be held outside, as so much of Spring Court business was. Both low-born and high-born fae had assembled to meet with her. She had sent the decree around the court without Eris’ permission or knowledge. She was more than capable of making decisions without him, and should Beron question Eris, it would not be prudent for him to know her every move. Let them play their games, Nesta thought, and she would write her own rules.

Nesta listened to the complaints of the local people who had suffered worst from Hybern’s infiltration. It was difficult not to feel angry with her sister for her petty vengeance that had torn this court open to Hybern. Although the financial situation of the court had stabilised, they would hemorrhage coin fixing all the damage. There had to be a way to raise funds. Nesta would add it to her ever growing to-do list. It was heart-beaking to listen to. Many families had taken in orphaned relatives but there were many children who were without homes as well as parents who were living temporarily in farm houses out of the kindness of strangers. Although they praised the Calanmai celebrations, it all felt empty. For fifty years that had suffered under Amarantha’s poison then war had come to their land.

In the days that followed, Nesta busied herself in the office. Zasha kept her company though he was always glad of the short breaks she took to pace outside in the sun. Once Nesta started sneezing, it was her cue to head back inside the house. She had appointed Fionn as the new general. She had named herself as emissary to the Spring Court rather than caretaker; the latter showed a weakness in the high lord. Tamlin signed all of her documents without ever reading them. She could have assigned full power to herself and he’d sign it all away without a care. She had included a clause in her contract that stated her signature must also be included on changes to court policy, not solely the high lord’s. For once, she was glad of the time she had spent studying her father’s career to ensure her documents were ironclad lest any vultures try to seize the court from Tamlin.

One day, Nesta clapped her hands together in front of Tamlin, rousing him from his trance. ‘Come with me.’

The history between him and Feyre was too much for Nesta to move past. She thought of her own recovery and how gentle Rovena had been with her as if she was so delicate she might have broken if pushed too much. But Tamlin was centuries old with fae that depended on him. The time for softness had long since passed.

Tamlin stared at her with disdain, but Nesta did not move from his line of sight. He had been terrifying that day he’d broken through the door to claim Feyre. She knew he could shift into something terrible. Surely there was goodness in him. There had to be have been for Feyre and Lucien to love the male so.

‘Beron and Eris want this court. You will be their puppet – whichever one outsmarts the other. I am doing my best to keep it out of their reach. But you have got to get up and do something for your people. Or this will become an extension of the Autumn Court.’

The blonde male stood. His hair fell lankly to his shoulders and a button was missing from his waistcoat. He’d also worn it the last three days. The lack of care for himself reflected badly upon the court. She would need to work on him as well as the land. It was too much to extend the hand of friendship; her hands would have done better around his neck. Still, Nesta steered him by the elbow out the door towards the sentries who were training. He was heavy and difficult to manoeuvre, though if he had not wanted to truly go, Nesta would find him immovable.

The sentries paused when their high lord reached the fence. Fionn bowed low, encouraging the other men to do the same then they ran through their drills again.

‘You are their high lord,’ she murmured quietly to Tamlin. ‘It will do them good to see you from time to time. And you. For you to see you still have fae loyal to you.’

The sun beat down upon the males. Zasha sat in the shade tearing into a rabbit he’d been speedy enough to catch, not caring how loud the din of swords was. A few males had stripped down to just their trousers as Fionn barked order after order, whipping them into better shape. Sweat glistened on their muscles so Nesta struggled to tear her eyes from them. Nesta and the male had planned a rota: two days guarding the border, a day training, a day spent off duty then the same schedule but during the night.

‘You do not have personal guards,’ Nesta stated.

Tamlin tore his eyes from the fighting to look at her. ‘I never needed them.’

‘If I pulled a dagger to your throat now, would you stop me?’

‘Would they?’

Most of the guards were untested. Since the decree had gone out, only a handful of new recruits had applied – none of which were females. The same grizzled warriors who’d survived Amarantha and Hybern remained, along with a few younger males who had been recruited during the war. Many of these males had suffered in some way, if not directly then their families or friends had.

Tamlin had slunk back inside as if repelled by sunlight but Nesta observed until Fionn called for a halt. This was a behemoth of a task, but Nesta had been called stubborn and proud often enough, she wasn’t about to give in.

The smokehound paused from chomping down on the rabbit’s foot. All of a sudden, it abandoned the carcass and streaked off towards the horizon at a figure Nesta could not make out.

Eventually, the pair came closer. Zasha raced in circled around the red haired male, desperate for the ball he held in his hand until Eris relented and launched it towards a flower bed.

‘You’re replanting those begonias if he’s destroyed them.’

‘Consider it done,’ Eris said, dipping his head.

Nesta met him on the stone path leading towards the house. ‘I wasn’t expecting you for another couple of days.’

The male held out a large bunch of flowers for her.

‘Flowers for me? How kind of you! We have so few flowers in the Spring Court.’

Eris let out a long snore as she inspected them. ‘Autumn Court flowers. Better, I think you’ll find.’

A crimson lily sat at the centre of the bouquet clustered by alstroemerias, roses, dahlias and chrysanthemums in various shades of yellows, oranges, and reds. It was a beautiful collection.

‘You don’t wear jewellery. You wear the same two pairs of shoes religiously. Your dresses are simple. It was either flowers or a book.’

‘You’re well versed in the art of apology to a female. I wonder if you sent Morrigan flowers.’

That insult had found its mark and stung. Eris drew his brow together while pressing his lips into a thin line. The flowers were beautiful, but Nesta was still cross that he’d sent her to the hollow as a sick lesson in pride.

‘Despite our fun, we do need to move our attention to business here. Shall we?’ Ever the formal male, Eris extended an arm for her to take into the house. Once through the threshold and into the study, he wasted no time in beginning his update on the trading currently taking place between their courts. Nesta took a seat behind the desk.

‘The sentries stationed at the border need a general to report to.’

‘Fionn has already been appointed as general.’

Eris blinked in astonishment, apparently shocked she’d already made that decision. She pointed out the male in the garden for him, and Eris nodded in recognition.

‘There are better males with a blade. Certainly ones with more magic too.’

‘A general need not only be good with a blade, but loyal enough that I can turn my back on him without fear.’

Eris appraised her, his eyes blazing with something like pride. He smoothed back his red hair.

‘Fine. Calanmai. Do you have the report that-’

His words fell short as Nesta thrust the report towards him, not looking up from the desk. It had taken her almost until the dawn when she’d returned from visiting villages, but she struggled to ever stop a task once she’d sunk her teeth into it.

Eris read in silence while she continued working. Satisfied, he tucked it into the pocket of his jacket. Nesta called for a servant to put the flowers in a vase and to bring them both a cool drink.

‘I’m calling a meeting amongst the high lords to discuss developing a fund for fae who have still not recovered from the war. There are many still without homes. Some who have been permanently maimed and can no longer earn a coin. Many children without parents. It is felt in every court, not just Spring.’

The servant carried in a jug of water packed with slices of lemons and limes. Eris dismissed the servant once the tray was set down and poured a glass for the both of them.

‘They will not come to a meeting here. Tamlin is volatile at the best of times.’

Nesta snapped her head up from the desk. ‘I know. I have already written to Thesan who has agreed to host – and fund it. In return the Spring Court will provide access to its eastern port once a month for trade from Xian for the next half year. The invitation to the other high lords will be sent out this evening.’

‘You are incredible.’

Nesta grinned and offered him a lazy salute. Drily, she added, ‘I live to serve, master.’

‘Don’t call me that, you don’t know what it might invoke in me.’

There was a wicked gleam in Eris’ eyes that she liked too much. She felt the heat pool between her legs as his gaze roved over her hungrily. She had spent too long without her legs wrapped around a male - that was the only reason she was reacting so strongly to Eris, she tried to convince herself.

‘I wanted to talk with Nuan actually. Perhaps you could provide a distraction in Dawn so my father’s attention is otherwise engaged.’

‘What would you have me do?’

‘Charm him,’ he said simply.

‘Why do you Autumn Court males have this assumption that I am a seductress? I’m rather concerned that both you and your father want me to seduce the other. I know this is not who you are, Eris.’

Eris leant against the desk, watching her down a cold glass of water. ‘We’re making the best of a bad situation for both of us.’

Nesta returned his attention. He was handsome, in a sophisticated, put together sort of way. She had never seen him repeat an outfit or be seen with a hair out of place. Eris could be distant; he’d shown as much in his home, preferring his own company or his work. She had never seen the male drunk or out of sorts, he tended to have a glass of wine with dinner or in the evening, but not always. It had been Eris who kept his brothers in check when all the high lord’s had met – and they had listened to him. It was Eris who had offered to take the faebane. A contradiction of a male, one who let few in close.

‘Why won’t you let the world know how good you can be?’

‘Better to be a villain than a fool.’

Nesta drummed her fingers on the desk. She could almost see his steel armour coming up to protect him, just as hers was like to do. Eris was her mirror. If he had been mortal, her mother would have whispered in her ear at a ball that she ought to dance with him. To flutter her eyelashes and smile over her shoulder as she walked by to snare him in.

‘When I associate with you, the world will think I am like you.’

‘Like calls to like,’ Eris replied.

‘I hate that damn phrase. Don’t say we’re similar then banish me from your home.’

Eris smiled briefly then brought the study door to a close. He stepped through the office, sweeping his eyes out of the window to assess the grounds then pulled up a chair beside Nesta at the desk. His knee knocked against hers.

‘Do you truly believe I wanted you to leave my home?’ He tilted his head towards her. ‘You cannot imagine the dread I felt when my sentry informed me that Dolos had been spotted near the grounds then you did not come home. My father is a tyrant, Nesta, but none have suffered worse under him than his own kin. To let you into my heart would endanger your safety as well as my own. I’m not prepared to risk you.’

There had been so many lies from his lips, so many half-truths, Nesta did not know whether he spoke true. His amber eyes were honest though. Pleading with her to believe him. His voice was barely more than a whisper and her eyes dipped to his lips.

‘I am in an uneasy alliance with the Night Court. What do you think your mate would do if he knew we kissed? He might not want you to be hurt, but if he tried to cleave us apart out of spite, my father would kill us both for daring to act without his consent.’

‘Cassian would not do that.’

Eris touched a thumb to her cheek. ‘You’re his mate, Nesta. His feelings exist.’ He laughed quietly to himself. ‘Perhaps yours too. You spent the night with him.’

‘Because you left me exposed to Tamlin when he was filled with magic and ready to hump any female he came across.’

Eris groaned then dropped his forehead onto the desk with a heavy thump. ‘I would have been in the hollow. I’d prepared a picnic. I wanted to show you the fireworks atop a hill in the next village.’ The colour bloomed onto his sharp face. ‘I didn’t bank on the bat showing up.’

‘He will always show up, Eris.’

‘I know. I know he’s your mate. I know every meeting with you puts me at risk of his wrath and my father’s. But I find I don’t care. I cannot resist you, Nesta Archeron.’ Eris pressed a lingering kiss to her temple then rose to his feet. ‘I can deliver my father’s invitation.’

Nesta leafed through the summons until she found one addressed to Beron. Both her and Tamlin’s signatures lay at the bottom. It seemed that there was an endless list of items to do, but the priority was bringing the high lord back from the edge – at least so he could get through the meeting against Rhysand and Feyre. She would handle Beron.

‘Eris, there will be a ball in the evening. Thesan said we have never properly celebrated our triumph in the war. Bring your best clothes.’

‘If you can endure it, maybe you will spare a dance for me. I miss dancing with you.’ He looked her over, his gaze softening. ‘I miss you.’

‘Me too.’

Chapter Text

Darkness curled around his body in a cloak of onyx as the shadow singer landed on the roof of the house of wind. If Cassian hadn’t been there, gazing out at the city he adored, he’d not know that his brother had arrived. Azriel had mastered silence and darkness, more shadow himself than substance.

‘I thought you’d be in Windhaven,’ he said by way of greeting.

Cassian shrugged. ‘I’ve been here the last couple of days going over plans with Rhys. The Blood Rite is coming.’

Az waved a letter in the air. ‘That blacksmith from my mother’s village. It’s his year to enter. He’s written back to Nesta.’

‘Oh.’

That was the only word his body would allow him to say. Anything else would have been an insult, an involuntary reaction to the bond that saw any other male as a threat. Azriel only rolled his eyes. ‘He wrote on behalf of my mother too.’

‘What are his chances?’

‘A bit of a runt. If he keeps his head down he’ll have a chance of surviving though, he’s smart enough.’

Cass knew that Azriel had no love for anything Illyrian. The Blood Rite held no value except allowing monsters to thrive, he said. Cassian was inclined to agree with it to a degree; those who relished the killing often saw the Rite as a free for all, a chance to settle any squabbles. Those were the ones who survived. They were the warriors the Night Court armies needed though and the Rite was an important element of their history. It did feel a bit like a waste of life sometimes, but if it was taken from them, Illyrians would riot. As a boy, all he wanted was to prove himself in the Blood Rite and show the world he was more than just a bastard orphan. It was a chance to be greater than your birth.

‘Are you staying for dinner?’

‘No,’ Az said shortly.

He’d not spent a night in Velaris in weeks, not since they’d met with Eris. Cassian had split his time between his home in Illyria and the House of Wind. He was always invited for dinner with Feyre or Mor, but it didn’t fill the hole slowly spreading inside of his chest. He missed Azriel. He missed Nesta. Missed them both ganging up on him.

‘At least have a drink. You look dead on your feet.’

Either the drink or the pleading look on his face caused Azriel to relent and follow down the stairs into the house. Both males sighed with relief as they collapsed onto couches by the fire. Although spring had arrived to the city, there were still a few bitterly cold evenings that clung to winter.

‘When are you delivering the letter?’

‘Tomorrow. If I have to see Tamlin this evening, I’ll snap his neck. I’m not in the mood for it today.’ His brother was always a quiet unassuming force that was happy to linger in the background then sometimes words would pass his lips and Cassian was reminded of what a dangerous power he could be.

Azriel withdrew a lengthy scroll of parchment. ‘Will you give that to Rhys?’

As Azriel shifted, Cassian smelt a faint whiff of blood from his brother’s direction. He did not pass comment.

‘Not a letter of resignation, I hope,’ Cassian teased though with how distant Azriel had been in the last few weeks, it would not surprise him. Az held all of his cards to his chest. Always had. Always would. It still shocked him that he’d trusted Nesta enough to take her to his mother’s home. Mor had never even met his mother in all the years that had passed between them.

He chuckled softly. ‘If I can put up with you for five hundred years, I doubt anything could make me leave for good. A report about Briallyn. We found a group of Eris’ soldiers under her control.’

‘Not the ones I trained in Illyria?’

Az shook his head. ‘No. Not those. Lucien is braving the Autumn Court to dispatch that message to Eris.’

‘Were they truly under her control – or another trick from that snake?’

Azriel spread out his scarred hands to show he didn’t know. ‘I’d have liked to observe him when Lucien informed him to gage his reaction, but it’s not worth me going there. Beron would love to string me up in the dungeon.’

Beneath Azriel’s nails, Cassian caught sight of mud and blood. Azriel tucked his hands out of sight as a shadow curled over his wing, whispering in his ear.

‘We had to kill the soldiers. It seemed as though parasites had invaded their minds; unable to make any movement without a whisper telling them to.’ Cassian spotted the flecks of blood on his boots that he’d not been able to clean in a hurry. ‘It was necessary, but awful. They did not put up any sort of fight. Just stood there as we killed them. Not the kind of news we could send in a letter or wait until Eris crossed our path again.’

‘But you can send it in a letter to Rhys?’

His brother met him with one of his unflinching stares. Az had every mark of an Illyrian; the hazel eyes coupled with black hair and bronzed skin yet there had always been something other about him. He had never fitted in to Illyria, had no desire to.

‘My father kept me locked up, Cass. Every day I spent alone in darkness lasted an eternity. I’d have agreed to any deal anybody offered me to just get out of there. Feyre’s desperation was once mine; I can’t stand that Rhys took advantage of her.’

‘They’re mates.’

‘And if they weren’t? If Tamlin’s partner was dragged here for a week each month in revenge and hated every minute of it? Would he have kept her in the Hewn City? Just because it’s worked out now, it does not mean Rhys knew at the time.’

For a general, Cassian hated conflict. This emotional conflict between brothers. Azriel had his struggles. Even after centuries, he would continue to carry them alone rather than share the load with any of them.

‘Tamlin is the reason his mother and sister are dead, Az. You can’t hate the male for holding a grudge.’

Azriel waved a hand. ‘Exactly. If Feyre wasn’t his mate do you think he’d not act on his grudge against Tamlin’s partner?’

‘She is my mate though,’ an icy voice said from the doorway.

If Azriel felt embarrassed that he’d been caught speaking such things of his high lord, he did not show it outwardly. The cool, calm exterior remained as he locked eyes with Rhys. ‘And I’m happy you have each other, but my point remains.’

‘A hypothetical,’ Rhys said, stepping into the living room and settling into an arm chair. ‘There’s no weapon that will cleave the past. What’s done is done. Feyre forgives me and understood my motives.’

The tone suggested the matter was no longer up for debate but either side of him the anger was simmering away. Rhys leaned forwards to receive the report from the table. They sat in silence while he read.

‘Does he have soldiers in the Spring Court?’

‘He did when we were last there.’

Rhys nodded, mind already calculating their next step. ‘Can you spare any of your spies to keep a watch on Nesta?’

‘Why?’ Cassian ground out, ready to combat the doubt Rhys had about her.

Rhys frowned. ‘I don’t want any soldiers who are likely to be controlled by Briallyn getting to her. Tamlin won’t lift a finger and she’s refused every offer of training. Have you worked out how they’re being controlled?’

When Az shook his head in response, a plan had already formed in Rhys’ mind. ‘That needs to be our priority. I’ll ask Helion to search his libraries too. He’s already researching Koschei. Az, try and keep an eye on Nesta, as often as you can. We need to keep an eye on Beron somehow. I would not put it past him to sacrifice his own soldiers.’ Rhys waved his hand thorugh the air drawing a bottle of whiskey and three glasses towards them. ‘We need to meet with Eris and Lucien. I’d go to Spring myself but Nesta might set me alight again.’

‘It was an accident that day – and you provoked her,’ Cassian said reaching for his glass. ‘You’ll kill Az off if you give him any more duties. You look a male half dead. I’ll go to Nesta.’

Azriel snorted. ‘She’ll definitely set you alight after your last meeting.’

‘Actually, I saw her a few days ago on Calanmai,’ he said casually, stretching his wings out behind him like a puffed up peacock. ‘It was nice. We watched the celebrations. I’m teaching her Illyrian.’

‘I’m happy for you,’ Rhys said, raising his glass in a toast.

Cassian shrugged, not letting himself hope too much that maybe they could forge a path back to each other. He wanted to shout from the rooftops that they’d spent the night slumbering together. That her deep steady breathing as she slept peacefully was a symphony to his ears. That seeing her alone, watching her as Nesta, not Feyre’s sister had been a gift. But he kept quiet. He had learnt his lesson from speaking too loosely about Nesta. She valued her privacy.

There had been a moment during the war as if their two souls had finally converged, but ever since then it was as if they were going in different directions, drifting further from each other every day. There was no guarantee they would meet again unless he went to her.

‘It’s just a few language lessons,’ he said, stretching his toes towards the fire, feeling the strain in his calves. ‘She misses your mother, Az.’

‘And she her. I have to go.’ The whiskey lay untouched.

Rhys held up a finger. ‘Before you go, this arrived. Nesta has organised a high lord meeting in the Dawn Court.’

‘How in the Mother’s name has she managed that and why?’ Cassian was awestruck by that female who continually surprised him.

‘Maybe you can figure it out so we don’t end up with any nasty surprises.’

***

They had had a blazing row. Twice. Nesta sat on the edge of the bath with her jaw clamped shut listening to the storm swirling through the house while the taps streamed. It was an improvement. Usually, she got no reaction from Tamlin. An argument was positively fantastic.

They had argued over attending the meeting in the Dawn Court. Tamlin ignored her the first few times she tried to raise the subject then he had physically moved her out of his path and she’d erupted at him. No kind words left her lips, but Tamlin deserved every single one. They had shouted at each other until he had involuntarily burst into his beast form then she’d blasted him down the corridor with her fire to buy her time to run to her room and bar the door. She hadn’t slept a wink that night, only sat rigid in the chair that still smelt like the bat with Zasha pressed onto her lap.

Their second argument had been about the first. Nesta could not help herself from starting it again; so long she’d been without that wild anger. It had helped her in the past. It wasn’t healthy, and she could admit that now, but it had been an outlet for all the feelings she fought to hide. If arguing with Tamlin would bring back the high lord then she would do it every day. This court needed a leader.

It only ever happened once the servants were gone for the day. Likely the sentries could hear it though as they both shrieked at each other, but Nesta already had their trust. She would push and prod the high lord, knowing exactly what his limit was just as she’d known her own. If she had been the mortal taken above the wall, they would likely be under Amarantha’s dominion because Nesta would have strangled Tamlin in his sleep rather than love him.

With Zasha at her side, she sought out the brooding male. He’d smashed up his bedroom this time. The door hung from its hinge and the top panel had splintered from where a claw had dragged through it as easily as if it were butter.

‘Bath. Now.’

Tamlin snarled at her. Nesta was used to it. All the males did in this land was snarl and growl, no better than animals. Except perhaps Azriel. He had manners, at least.

Zasha growled back at the high lord. The hound had grown so he stood as tall as her knee although he had a lot of growing left to do.

‘Don’t drown yourself. I need you at the meeting next week.’

And Nesta would like that pleasure for her own.

So Nesta waited in the kitchen. The servants had made a soup earlier in the day, but Nesta had declined it, knowing she’d try again at rousing the high lord from his lethargy. She stirred the pan with a wooden spoon, letting the smell of the mushrooms drift throughout the house.

When the final shards of her hope were slipping from her fingers, Tamlin appeared in the doorway with damp hair hanging loosely around his shoulders. He had never asked for Nesta to live with him. It had been Eris’ doing. He could throw her out at any moment if he wished it. It had been his money that had supported them when they were still mortal. It was guilty money, for stealing their sister, but he still had not needed to take care of them financially.

‘I’m not here to take your court,’ she said, gesturing to the seat beside her.

Tamlin took his bowl of soup to the opposite end of the table so they could both be in command. ‘Your sister would like this court after she ripped it open.’

Nesta bristled at the mention of Feyre. ‘I do not support her decision nor am I aligned with the Night Court. I support the fae who have been displaced. I’m not here as your enemy. Quite frankly, I’d prefer it if you led your own folk. Please pass the butter.’

The dish slid along the wooden table and Nesta buttered a roll in silence. She’d have liked to have seen the world rather than spend her days with no company but a dog and a beast piecing together a court that made her rub her eyes constantly.

‘The pianoforte in the back room,’ she said, ‘could I play it?’

Tamlin narrowed his eyes at her. ‘You play?’

‘Badly. But I should like to practise in between running your court.’

‘Unusual. Queue. Slaying. Conflagration.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

Tamlin gripped the arms of his chair. The green eyes that bore into hers lacked the warmth of the bat’s big hazel ones. ‘I wrote your sister poems to help her understand words.’

Nesta got to her feet and cleared the table. Faithfully, Zasha followed her every movement. ‘You could have written Feyre a symphony and it would not make a shred of difference to me. Or to her. She has her mate. She is happy. No amount of wallowing will ever bring her back. And I have to ask, why would you even want her back? The damage she has done to this court is incomprehensible. Or is it simply the slight against you that she’s now with your enemy? The female herself doesn’t matter.’

The dishes could wait until the morning. She had an evening of uncomfortable quiet ahead. Nesta craved company – company on her own terms where she could say goodbye when it had become enough. She either spent the nights in the high lord's office or alone reading a book with only Zasha tailing her.

‘The meeting is in five days. I expect you to attend and I expect you to support this court.’

The next couple of days were a blur. Something in her words had prised the male out of his shell and Nesta was damned if she was letting him sink back into himself. Fionn had managed to bring him into training; the males watched him with awe even if his skills were rusty. The pianoforte needed tuning – a task she’d beg of Eris – but she had found a fiddle and thrust it at Tamlin. She had heard him playing alone, but the melody was sprightly. A tailor was sent for, to produce new clothes for him – and for Nesta - to signify an alliance. So much of politics was made up of gestures and imagery. They would give the illusion they were allies.

A letter had arrived from Beron requesting information about Eris’ movements, saying Nesta had been given ample time to befriend his son. Boldly, Nesta had simply written back that she hoped to see him at the Dawn Court so they could discuss their budding alliance. Did he think her stupid enough to leave a trace of evidence?

On the third day since their terse dinner, Tamlin remained in the grounds as the sun had set enjoying conversations with his sentries and servants who lingered after their shift. Nesta sat on a cushioned bench that hung from a large oak tree with Zasha splayed across her legs. She had been reading until the light became too dim then admitted defeat and watched the display. The instruments had come out; Javién, the soldier with a nice voice, had begun singing too. It was a noise Nesta often heard while he walked the grounds. She was not an expert on battle strategy, but the singing was likely not a move of stealth. Still, it was lovely to listen to.

Zasha’s movements alerted Nesta to two figures in the distance. The off-duty sentries moved at once, but the dog was quicker, streaking across the lawn. One of them winnowed away and the other already had a red glow pulsing into the shadows.

Fionn escorted Cassian across the grounds, his hand poised on the pommel of his sword in case he needed to react. Nesta had not the heart to tell him that if Cassian moved first, the male would not even have the chance to draw his sword.

‘My lady,’ Cassian said as greeting, a lupine smile on his features.

Nesta could feel the eyes of those gathered watching them, including the high lord of the court. Even if they did not know exactly who he was, the Night Court had such a reputation, he was villain enough. Nesta slipped her arm through Cassian’s to try and soothe the uncertainty rippling across the sentries and servants then led the bat away from nosy eyes to a quiet portion of the garden, Zasha scampering along behind them chasing after moths.

‘Sorry I’m late.’

‘I had not known we had agreed to meet.’

Cassian peered over the tall hedge towards the festivities that were occurring. Nesta could not read his expression. If she had to name it then it was puzzlement. Then he turned to her, eyes bright, smile genuine.

‘I owe you a second lesson. But besides that, I have a letter from Balthazar and Rovena. Az was meant to deliver, but he’s shattered – so you’re stuck with me.’

Nesta squealed with delight as she tore the paper from his large, warm hand. Her eyes scanned the lines quickly then her joy turned to ash in her mouth.

‘He’s entering the Blood Rite? He’ll die, won’t he?’

Cassian shifted uncomfortably. ‘Have a little faith in him.’

‘We have need of a farrier here. I had offered him a position. He said if he survives he’ll visit.’ Nesta touched her heart, ‘Oh, I miss Rovena even more now I’ve read this.’

‘I can take you to Illyria – even if just for the day, if you wanted to see them. And those children.’

‘Lule and Lorin,’ Nesta supplied.

Cassian nodded. Nesta knew it wasn’t a false promise, that he would do anything she wanted of him.

‘If you flew me to Illyria, there is no telling how many times I’d vomit on that long flight.’

'I'd be gentle,' he said, voice low and coaxing. ‘Rhys or Mor could winnow us.’

‘Not them,’ she said sharply. Out of the two, Nesta could not say which one she least would like to be in close proximity with.

‘Az is too busy, Nes.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Mysterious things,’ he said, deftly snatching the letter from her hand and tapping the end of her nose with it.

They sat for a long time, until darkness had seeped into the sky. Cassian leaned forwards on the bench to shrug his jacket off. Wordlessly, he draped it over Nesta’s shoulders, protecting her from the slight chill of the night. In their silence, the noise carried to them; the bright, bouncing melodies, the clapping. From the cheers, she imagined dancing – not the precise waltzes she adored, but the wild, loose fae dancing from stories.

‘Is this what you want? To do all Tamlin’s dirty work?’

‘I’m good at it.’

‘But is it what you want, sweetheart?’

No, no it wasn’t. She was good at accounts, good at taking charge to spearhead a political assignment. It did not mean she enjoyed it. There were days she still wanted to curl up in bed and forget the world, but with so many relying on her, she could not.

‘I want to make a difference to those who need help.’

‘You could do that in Illyria.’

Nesta reflected the question back on him. ‘Is that what you want? For me to do all Rhysand’s dirty work?’

Zasha brushed against her leg, demanding attention. It anchored her, stopping her anger from sweeping her away.

‘I don’t want to argue with you. I argue with Tamlin enough.’

The siphons flashed a warning beside her. ‘What?’

Nesta shrugged away his concern. ‘If we don’t argue, I’m ignored. It’s how I’ve learnt to communicate with him.’

‘Mier,’ the bat said. ‘Peace.’

Nesta repeated it. It had become a mantra of hers to repeat the words he had taught her to solidify them into her mind. She listened as he listed the words for the moon, the stars, the hedge and flowers. In a sudden movement, he’d snatched the dog onto his lap and flipped Zasha so he was supine.

‘Zuby – teeth.’ The dog playfully tried to chew at the male’s hand as he thrashed in his lap. ‘Chvost is tail and paw is labka.’

‘And more than one?’ She asked leaning over to rub a hand across the pup’s exposed belly.

‘Labky.’

‘And big?’

‘Veľký.’

‘Aha.’ She remained quiet for a while. ‘How do you say bat?’

‘Netopier.’

‘Žena,’ she said, placing a hand across her chest then to Zasha, ‘pes,’ and finally towards Cassian, ‘Veľký netopier.’

‘You cruel female. Accurate but cruel.’

Even in the darkness, Nesta could make out the grin branding his handsome face. He was handsome. Cassian had a rugged and wild sort of look, one she’d found interesting since the moment she had met him. He did not fit the mould of what her beloved was meant to be. Part of her reluctance to the bond was because of that; because the Cauldron had taken so much from her already then gifted her a male the entire opposite of what she was taught she deserved. For so long she had been raised expecting a poised, well-mannered rich man. None of those qualities made a good man though. A good male she supposed now. And Cassian was that.

‘Why do you even want to learn the Illyrian tongue?’

‘It sounds so nice when you speak it. I am butchering it. I don’t know. I enjoyed my time there with Rovena. The food. The clothing. The company. It’s a pretty place, all mountains and wildness. It’s a pity the males treat their females so badly.’

‘Rhys has changed the law. Any male guilty of clipping will receive the same fate.’

‘Better late than never, I suppose,’ she said coldly.

She asked him to talk about the Blood Rite. From books, she had gained a decent idea, but he would give the truth. Nesta listened with a furrowed brow to his own time - how he and his brothers had been spread across the land and clawed their way back to each other. It was a barbaric tradition, she decided. Her stomach clenched as she imagined sending her son to the Blood Rite one day. Then she blushed, embarrassed she’d suddenly imagined an Illyrian son as her own.

‘You alright?’ Cassian said, amusement dancing in his tone. That damn bond. It unfairly gave him an advantage in reading her emotions.

‘How long does the Blood Rite take?’

‘A week. I’ll be in Windhaven when it’s done. I can send word about Balthazar to you – either way.’

Nesta nodded solemnly. ‘It’s silly really to care. I’d only known him a couple of days, but it was nice to have a friend who was solely mine and didn’t judge me. Do you know a female shopkeeper in Windhaven? Emerie.’

‘I’ve met her, yes.’

‘We ate pastries in her store, the three of us that morning before I… Before everything went wrong. Worse than it had been. It was nice. I should have liked her as a friend too. Illyrians are full of warmth.’

‘Don’t let Az catch you saying that. He’ll think you’ve been brainwashed by his mother.’

Nesta missed that soft female more than she could put into words. Cassian seemed to sense she was growing upset, missing what she had lost and brushed a thumb down her face. It left a trail of heat in its wake.

‘I think this is the most we’ve ever spoken without trading insults or worse.’

‘I did call you a big bat.’

‘But you said it in perfect Illyrian.’

‘I have a good teacher.’

Chapter Text

From the first moment Cassian had met Nesta, he had been utterly under her spell. Never before had he met such a worthy rival, one who could cleave apart a man with one scathing line. He fought with weapons, she with words. As they sat in the garden, listening to the crickets chirp and the din of the songs in the distance, Cassian could not have imagined such a peaceful moment would ever be theirs.
The back of Nesta’s hand pressed lightly against his thigh while her other one idly stroked the dog. He hated that he had to shatter their peace.

‘I have bad news, Nesta.’

Her head turned. In the darkness, there was no mistaking the predator’s gaze. She was already assessing him. He could feel it tumbling down the bond, the barrage of questions running through her mind; why hadn’t he shared the bad news as soon as he’d arrived? Was it Elain? Surely it couldn’t be that bad if he’d withheld it for so long?

‘Briallyn is working with a being of immense power. Koschei the deathless, they call him. That was who kept Vassa the firebird trapped on her island before your father and Lucien freed her. Briallyn has managed to seize control of a band of Autumn Court soldiers. They had to be dispatched.’

‘Dispatched as in killed?’

‘They were utterly under her power, Nes. It was too much of a risk to leave them. They’d been in the Autumn Court for a while. Eris said they had travelled with Beron, but they were his own, skilled soldiers. There’s no saying how much information they passed to her.’

Nesta rose from the bench, face contorted with confusion. ‘Eris’ soldiers?’

‘He rules most of the armies – with his father’s say so. They were aloof and distant he said, prior to Az and Lucien finding them.’

‘How long has Eris known?’

‘Lucien told him yesterday. I’d have come last night, but Lucien came back to Velaris before I was about to leave.’

‘No,’ Nesta said, still frowning, ‘I mean, how long as Eris known there has been something amiss with his soldiers?’

‘I can’t say.’

Her brow was pinched together, worry leaking down the bond she hated. ‘And did he know it was Briallyn?’

What games was he playing with this female? Eris was not being wholly honest with Nesta. He couldn’t help but wonder what half-truths he’d fed her. Whether he was helping to prise her away from the Night Court with his meddling. But he knew Nesta; knew she was shrewd and clever so was unlikely to be wholly taken in by his lies. Cassian couldn’t decide which one was more likely to get burnt from the two – but he knew who he’d rather have as his ally.

‘He had his suspicions. But he has known for some time that Briallyn is working with Koschei.

Nesta had been too long without her armour. She put it on slower this time, unpractised. Cassian caught sight of the disappointment glimmering on her face before she could force her expression into one of indifference.

‘I see. Well, it’s getting quite cold. I will head inside. Are you flying or will you be winnowed? I take it that wasn’t Azriel who brought you earlier.’

Her voice had grown pricklier with every syllable.

‘Rhysand.’

The slight tremble of her hands was buried beneath the sleeves of his jacket, but even if the Mother stole his sight, he would know Nesta’s tells – the fear she had never managed to master.

‘This is not a court he can waltz into any longer. I expect your high lord to formally request visitation from now on.’

He could not have her afraid. He could not have her worried for her safety. Cassian would set the world on fire to protect her. And to protect her now, he had to turn her fear to fury; a duty he excelled at, even if it damaged their friendship beyond repair.

‘I’ll pass the message along, sweetheart.’

Cassian drew himself up to his full height so that he dwarfed her. Somewhere below his thigh, he heard the familiar rippling growl of that damn smoke hound so he reluctantly stepped back a pace or two. Nesta only smirked in retaliation. He’d wipe that smug look from her face to keep her anger simmering.

‘The Night Court sends a gift to Spring. Our court would like to begin the path back to friendship.’

‘Oh really? What’s the gift then?’ She crooned.

Cassian grinned at her, showing all his teeth then gestured to his broad body. ‘Me.’

‘Are they so short of funds? Have Rhysand and Feyre built too many mansions on war-decimated property so all they can offer is an overgrown bat?’

Cauldron, why did he ever think he could match her wit when hers was as fast and darting as a viper.

‘Since you don’t know how to defend yourself and Tamlin won’t bother, I am staying here to protect you incase of an attack.’

Nesta snorted. It was the most shameful dismissal he had ever had. How many males had underestimated him in Illyria and pushed him down, pushed him along? None had ever done it as effectively as Nesta.

‘No, you’re not. You and your little inner circle have no authority here. You will not be staying here unless the high lord extends an invitation. Considering he hates you all, it will not happen.’

‘You are in danger.’

Her voice was magnificently bland when she said, ‘I’ve been in danger ever since I was forced into the Cauldron, it’s nothing new.’

‘Stop being stubborn, Nesta, please. I have to keep you safe.’

One day, he might tell her how he failed his mother. How he’d razed that entire camp to the ground when he had discovered what foul ending his mother had endured. That if a hair on Nesta’s head was hurt, and he had not been able to stop it from happening, he would never get through that darkness.

‘No. After the war, you gave up on me. Around Morrigan, you are ashamed of me. Don’t act like you care now.’

This was not how it was supposed to go. Cassian had notions of Nesta leaping into his arms, glad of the chance to spend time together with a reason behind it. Her anger with Eris had thrown a curveball that he’d not expected.

‘I care, Nesta,’ he ground out. ‘I care so much about you.’

She laughed derisively and held his jacket out for him. Cassian refused to take it. She’d rather go cold than accept him. She waggled the jacket, urging him to take it. When he didn’t, Nesta let it fall to the grass. A bastard-born brute. He would never lose his beginning.

‘I’d like you to leave. I have a lot to do tonight.’

‘What? Like the high lord?’

‘I prefer their sons.’

Cassian hated himself the moment that had come from his lips, but Nesta’s words had brought him to his knees. So that was her choice: better to have a high lord’s son, no matter how cruel and slippery he was. He stormed away, leaving her stood with a satisfied expression. She knew which parts of him were tender; which parts of him were best to strike.

***

Cruel Nesta Archeron. Horrid Nesta Archeron. Vicious Nesta Archeron. She was all of those things and more. Too-proud-for-her-own-good Nesta Archeron. His words had hurt her, but her pride would never let him know that. It was better to kick him to the ground than ever let him know what he could do to her. She never wanted Cassian to know the power he held over her. That his opinion of her mattered so much. That she knew she was not worthy of him so it was better to prove it over and over than ever admit he had a far better heart than she.

The hurt in Cassian’s warm eyes had fractured a part of her. She had struck him often enough, but had that been the fatal one?

She heard the boom of his wings as he departed. Their bond was so frayed, she wondered how there was anything left of it.

Nesta bent down to retrieve his black jacket. She pulled it to her chest, letting the smell of crackling embers and snow kissed wind fill her senses. The tears that threatened to spill from her eyes were brushed away with the back of her hand. She would not cry. She would not let herself break again. Zasha leaned against her leg, a constant warm presence; the only one who would never be driven away from her.

Regret was a burning pain in her stomach. How much of it belonged to his own emotions, she did not know. Nesta was tired of others making decisions for her; of Eris withholding information because it did not match his agenda, of Rhysand deciding what was best for her safety. If Cassian had asked her if she wanted him to protect her, she would have said yes. There was no male she would trust more to protect her than the one who had vowed to protect innocent mortals. It was the lack of choice that drove her to madness. Then he had said that about the high lord. Nesta sucked in a breath as she departed the gardens for her bedroom, mood glum, heart heavy.

She was back at their manor. Her hands rested on the wooden windowsill looking out towards the front of the house. It was dark but lamps flickered along the path lighting the way to the guests streaming in for… Nesta did not know. She was somewhere between a memory and a dream. Another carriage pulled up at the gates and Nesta watched the coachman hold open the doors for the newly arrived guests.

‘My sweet, it is time,’ came a familiar voice.

Her mother stood beside her, as if she had been there the whole time. Her face was thinner than Nesta’s, more pinched, but there was no mistaking them as blood. Each feature of Nesta’s was crafted from her mother’s.

‘Time for what?’

‘He is here, my little queen.’

Her mother was leading her along a corridor of the house, past Feyre’s room then Elain’s. Her body felt odd; the movements heavy and slow like walking through water. She caught her reflection in a mirror hanging from the wall. She was younger, still mortal. The pointed ears had been returned to their original way; her face softer, on the verge of womanhood. A blush was upon her cheeks, her full lips painted a rose pink. A child. A child dressed as a woman.

‘Who?’ She dared ask her mother.

A flash of annoyance appeared on her mother’s face. ‘Your betrothed. He has come to take what is his. What was promised.’

They stopped at the top of the stairs, poised on the balcony like two queens assessing their subjects.

‘All you are is what I made you to be. A queen to conquer nations. A queen to bring men to their knees. A queen who will turn the world to ash and dust.’

Nesta saw her father engaged in conversation with other men – his business partners and rivals - all invited in a lavish show of wealth. The room was filled with laughter and gentle dancing. There were faces Nesta recognised from her past. The duke whose hand she had won easily out of spite. The girls who mocked Elain all dressed in their finery and draped with jewels desperate to ensnare a husband. The males her mother had turned her nose up at for not being rich enough for Nesta; ones she said might be more suitable for Elain or Feyre.

Slowly, her mother led her down the stairs and attention turned to them. Nesta, young as a fawn, lifted her chin as though carrying a crown atop her golden hair. Made for this very moment. All of her mother’s training had led to his defining moment in her life.

The room in her periphery blurred. This was what she had been created for. Her mother’s daughter, ready to be given to the gentleman who deserved her.

The crowd parted, stepping to either side as they crossed the room. A male stood at the end, awaiting her arrival. Male, not man. His ears were pointed, eyes wholly black as though they could devour galaxies. His hair, so bleached of colour, was white. But the man himself, tailored in regal black, was broad and youthful. Hungrily, he gazed upon his betrothed.

Her mother gave her away to his awaiting hand. Music bled into Nesta’s ears. She had not seen any musicians but still it came. Those black eyes holding her gaze, firm hands keeping her in hold as they danced.

‘How lovely you are,’ he said, voice curling over her like a wave, cold and unwanted. ‘You are the one the sea and the wind and earth whispered of. You, who took from the Cauldron itself, gifted to me; a queen for eternity.’

The grip the male had on her was too strong to pull away from. Her mother’s face stood nearby, proud that her protégée had won a male so powerful.
Her father’s head jerked to one side, his neck jutted at an odd angle, the life drained from his eyes.

All around them, the crowd was decaying, skin peeled to expose rotting flesh and bleached bones. The manor began crumbling; the walls cracked and ivy grew up the walls. Still, the male held her locked into their dance. They span and span, imprisoned in a waltz that made her feet bleed.

Nesta tried to rouse her power into action. Tried to conjure the flames that had forced away two high lords, but his power stifled her own like a finger stubbing out a candle’s flame. And they danced. The hand on her back was as cold as death, seeping through her skin turning the blood in her veins to ice. The breath that tickled against her face from his lips was as putrid as one who had died.

‘You are mine,’ he said. ‘Forever.’

Lips and teeth collided with her mouth. It was a kiss of death, so cold, her body shivered. A tongue delved into her mouth; the taste of rotten flesh making her gag. But he would not let her go. Nesta fought and fought, harder than she had that day in the Cauldron, fought against death and dying, fought against-

A barking roused her. Nesta forced her eyes open; the wooden beams of the Spring Court manor were above her. Beneath her, it was hard. Her shaking fingers touched the cold, marble floor. Her nightdress was charred where flames had begun to devour it. Zasha still barked, guarding over her, attention fixed down the hallway.

A silver glow emanated from her bedchamber. The acrid smell of smoke filled her nose. Shakily, Nesta staggered down the corridor.

Her bed was alight. Scratches covered the burning head board. She glanced down at her fingers; the nails had been ripped off and blood seeped from the raw skin.

Coughing, Tamlin threw another basin of water across the sheets although it was not enough to quench the flames; her fire would always be starving.

Nesta delved deep inside of the cavernous hole in her chest, drawing the last dribbles of her magic up to somewhere useful, to combat her own flames until they no longer burned.

The high lord opened the windows, casting out the smell of smoke into the night air. Her bed was in ruins. She could see the outline of where she had been burning in the night.

Her hand rested against the doorway to stabilise her weakened body. The doorframe was splintered and broken where Tamlin had kicked down the door. Beside her, Zasha trembled. She locked eyes with the high lord; his hands were burnt, his clothes charred too from dragging her to safety. She had scratched him down the face in his attempts to pull her from the bed.

‘Thank you,’ she said, voice hoarse.

‘Who is he?’

Nesta stiffened. ‘Who?’

‘You were screaming “he is coming, he will come and he will take it all”.’

‘The King of Hybern,’ she lied.

Nesta sat against one of the high-backed chairs in the office with Zasha held in her arms. Her face buried into his grey fur, stifling her sobs. Her magic had been drained, leaving her cold and scared. She knew who the male in her dream had been: Koschei the Deathless. But it had felt more than a dream. It had been woven into her memories. What had her mother meant? Nesta had been promised to him. A dream. A dream she could not tear her fearful thoughts away from.

Her father had been there – the prince of merchants, how he had been before their wealth had been drained. And there he stood again with his neck broken. Her father had made a deal with Koschei to free the fire bird; what if he promised Nesta, the daughter he liked the least, but the one who held the most value? Would her father have traded her? For all her cruelty to him when they were poor, would he have sacrificed her for the greater good?

‘Nesta,’ a growling voice came from the doorway. ‘Do you require a healer?’

On one hand she could count the number of times he had ever said her name – or indeed engaged with her of his own accord. The high lord was already dressed for the day in fighting leathers with his long, blonde hair tied back. The scratch on his face was already healing, just as her own broken nails were.

‘No.’

‘There is food in the dining room. Eating will give you strength.’

Although the sun had only just begun its ascent into the sky, both of them seemed to realise there would be no more sleeping. Nesta nodded a dismissal and the high lord took off for the gardens, ready to rouse the sentries. Whatever threat he thought she had encountered in her dream, no sentries would stop it. None would ever stop Koschei. Not even death himself could kill the immortal.

Nesta managed a few bites of porridge before she’d rushed to the sink and vomited until the bile burnt her throat. What would the bat have done if they had not parted ways with such hostility? Burnt with her? Ran to his high lord to tell him what a devastating mess of a female she was?

When the first servants arrived, she asked them to retrieve her belongings from her bedroom. There was no strength in Nesta to force herself into that room today – and she doubted she would enter it again. The servants, as always, were polite and followed her request, moving all she owned into another portion of the house. Despite clamping her jaw shut the entire time to not cry out, Nesta made herself wash and dress as if that might give the illusion of normality. The high lord’s meeting was the next day. Nesta had to be whole – Tamlin had to be whole too. She could not allow herself to crumble. Not now. Not ever again.

Chapter Text

Fionn, hair touselled and drenched with sweat from training, met Nesta on the stairs of the manor. He wrung his hands together as she approached.

‘My lady,’ he said, dipping his head into a bow. ‘If I may be so bold as to request more of your generosity…’

‘Speak it.’

‘My wife is struggling with her pregnancy. She is sick throughout the day, and struggles to sleep. My daughter is restless. It is a few hours travel for me to my home. May I move my family into the barracks – only until the babe is born – then we shall return home.’

‘The barracks?’ Nesta blinked. ‘She is your wife not a common soldier. I will have the servants prepare rooms for you in the manor.’

‘My lady, forgive me, but no. That is too far above our station.’

Nesta frowned. Once, she might have agreed with it. Although he was high fae and spoke politely to her, Fionn’s tongue slipped amongst the sentries giving way to his common birth. Her mother’s poisonous words about social standing were a hard lesson to forget, but Nesta was trying. Their steep descent into poverty had been the beginnings of the change.

‘Nonsense. There are more rooms in this manor than I know what to do with. I will have a carriage sent for your wife and daughter. I daresay Zasha will be glad of a companion to play with.’

The general thanked her heartily then rushed to the stables. He had not passed a comment about how tired and pale she seemed; Nesta had spent a good deal of time staring at her reflection, comparing how she had appeared in her dream so full of life to now – drawn and bloodless. As if the monster in her dream, when he had forced his tongue down her throat, had taken part of her.

‘The meeting,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Prepare for that. Do not break.’

A task that would usually have taken less than half an hour was drawn out in her glazed tiredness. Nesta struggled to focus. Every noise that sounded outside of the office was imagined as Koschei or Briallyn coming for her. The only saving grace was her relentless organisation. All she needed for the high lord’s meeting had been prepared prior to the dispatch of invitations.

All courts, except one, had responded that they would attend. Helion had even dared to request a dance from Nesta. The one court who had not responded, was the one with a flair for the dramatics. She had no doubt that Feyre and Rhysand would arrive shrouded in shadow – and likely late for effect – wearing enough jewels to make a dragon jealous.

‘Knock knock lady death,’ came a familiar drawling voice.

That flame haired male had a habit of wandering into the house. Nesta would alert the sentries to it, to ensure it no longer happened. She had given Eris enough chances; the lies he span weren’t only a web to catch Beron – she herself was in danger of entrapment too.

There was a shared exhaustion in his expression. His amber eyes gleaned over the piles of documents neatly laid out on the desk. ‘Ready for tomorrow?’

Nesta nodded sharply.

‘My father has sent me to extend an invitation. The generous high lord of the Autumn Court has asked whether I should winnow you both to Dawn?’

‘Not to Briallyn?’

Eris blinked then mastered his expression. ‘My father has not ordered that yet.’

‘When did you plan to tell me about your soldiers being under her control? Or indeed that you command your father’s armies?’

‘I don’t command them,’ he said flatly. ‘I merely tell them where they should be and the generals lead them into battle.’

There was a good male locked in there – a considerate one – but he was trapped within the prison he had created to protect himself. He had perfected the art of speaking only the amount of truth the question required.

‘How do you remember what lies you’ve told each person?’

Eris did not respond. Nesta expected maybe a snide remark or even a yawn, but nothing came from him. He set his jaw and turned his eyes to her. They were as bleak as her own, no sign of the cold, sneering male she had met in the Night Court.

‘Practise.’

‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Something is the matter,’ Nesta pressed. There was a sudden worry that his soldiers were not the only ones under Briallyn’s control. But this was different to a lack of response, this was as if his fire had been extinguished. ‘Eris,’ she said, rising from her chair to go to him.

Eris swallowed. She watched the bob of his throat. He blinked a few times before he could look at her again. ‘Vytor died in the night.’

At once, Nesta had crossed the room and snaked her arms around him. Her ear pressed against the throb of his pulse in his neck, hearing it quicken when their skin touched.

‘It’s silly,’ he said, fighting the quake from his voice. ‘I’d just had him such a long time. He was old. It was coming. I tell myself not to get too attached to them. Their lives are so short.’

His arms wrapped around her in turn. They stood for a while. Nesta swallowed her own sadness, thinking of that gentle dog and how he’d plodded around the grounds with her in the evenings like an old grandpa. Of the night Eris had let the dog sleep on her bed to comfort her. Eris kissed her temple. He would never admit that he had only come to the Spring Court to seek comfort when he was hurting; would never confess he was a male who needed softness as much as cruelty.

‘He was just a dog,’ he said, wiping his face with the back of his hand. ‘Just a dog.’

Nesta caught his hand with her own. Beneath his nails were smudges of soil where he’d been digging the dog’s grave.

‘Where did you bury him?’ She asked softly.

Eris sniffed, his eyes rimmed with silver. ‘By the orchard. That tree that had been hit by lightning and stands wonky. The evening sun catches on it.’

‘That is a lovely place for him to rest,’ she said, voice thick with emotion.

‘It was his favourite tree to piss on.’

They both laughed quietly. Eris settled into a chair, pulling Nesta onto his lap.

‘I’m so cross with you for keeping secrets from me.’ Her voice didn’t match the anger she’d been holding for him since the bat had told her the truth. ‘If we are to be allies, I need to know. When would you have told me about Briallyn and Koschei?’

Eris drew his thumb in a circle on the back of her hand. ‘Never. I hoped to have eliminated that threat without it worrying you.’

‘It does worry me, Eris. These sentries are untested. Your own soldiers have fallen under her control. A mortal queen with powers is bad enough, and now she has allied herself with an immortal being. Eris, I am in danger. Your omission of the truth leaves me vulnerable. I vowed to myself as soon as I saw you, even if it was at the meeting, that I’d send you flying into the wall.’

‘What’s stopping you?’

It was better to keep Eris on her good side than burn that bridge. Beron could dangle her in front of Briallyn at any moment. She needed Eris as the buffer that kept Beron placated. She could not kick this male when he had lost his companion either. Eris loved those hounds more than he had ever loved anything. She had seen it enough when he trained them. Always, their training was strict and structured, until the final moments when the hounds leapt all over him and Eris would laugh with pure joy.

‘Who is Nuan?’

Eris’ breath tickled the back of her neck as he drew her closer to his body in the arm chair.

‘You’ve met her. The female who replaced Lucien’s eye.’

Nesta had a hazy recollection of the female. She had not been from Prythian – which had been a point of contention amongst some of the fae present. A tinkerer who had been able to produce Lucien’s mechanical eye. She was also responsible for creating the antidote to the poison that smothered a fae’s magical ability.

‘Do you plan to use faebane on your father?’

The sudden tightness in Eris’ body was the giveaway. If she hadn’t been flush against his body, she’d not have been given that gift of a reaction.

‘The less you know the better,’ he said, smoothing her hair down.

Beron was the weak link; the one more likely to hand her over to the vicious mortal queen with a grudge against Nesta. If Eris could guarantee his ascension to the throne, she would have no need to fear the Autumn Court. She had to place her bets on the son, not the father.

‘I will distract your father.’

‘No. Not now. It’s too much of a risk. I’d rather keep you far from him. I don’t doubt he offered up my soldiers to Briallyn as a test of her power. I’d rather go up against that bastard bat for you than leave you in my father’s vicinity again if he’s aligned himself with her.’

‘Eris,’ she said, peeling herself from him so she stood upright. ‘It is my decision.’

‘I wish it was different,’ he said, smiling sadly from the chair, ‘between us. I wish I could let you into my heart like you deserve without the shadow of my father’s wrath looming over us. I wish you did not have a mate – one I have a history with too. I wish so many things were different.’

Nesta unscrewed a bottle of wine. It was almost midday, but after the night she had had – and the male too – it was necessary. She poured them both a generous glass of fruity white wine as the noise of the sentries carried in the open window from outside.

‘To Vytor,’ she said raising a glass.

‘To rotten luck,’ Eris added.

They both drank in a melancholy quiet. Zasha had curled up beneath the desk, his chin resting on the front two paws as he snored softly. If that dog had not been with her to rouse Tamlin with his barking, she’d have burnt the house down.

‘Are you ready to face your sisters?’

Perhaps yesterday, Nesta would have said yes. That she had weathered every storm she had encountered and come out stronger. But after last night’s horrid dreaming, she needed time to lick her wounds rather than face them in already weakened state.

‘I get to face my sisters, the high lord, his bats, his demonic cousin, his miniature demon, and your father all in one go. I’m positively brimming with optimism.’

‘Stick by me and Tamlin. Mor won’t dare say a word to you if I’m there.’

‘What do you have over her?’

Eris smirked slightly. His finger trailed a circle around the rim of the glass, lost in a memory. His betrothed. Had Mor loved him – given him the chance – Nesta knew he would have done his best to protect her from his father and brothers, would have removed the armour for her, just as he had for Nesta.

‘Just the truth.’

Amber eyes flickered over her skin, a small smile appeared as he tilted her chin to look at him – then he raised his glass again.

‘To being allies.’

Nesta tipped the glass to her lips, letting the wine wash into her mouth.

‘And to ejaculating over your sister’s mate again.’

Nesta spat the mouthful of wine over her dress then spluttered with laughter. ‘Eris!’

‘You looked as if you needed a laugh.’

He bit his lip, a faint blush blooming across his chiselled cheekbones. Eris fingers’ clasped around her own. ‘Many will wear masks tomorrow, myself included. I’ll support you as much as I can in front of my father. I’ll nudge him in the right direction. But this,’ he glanced down at their hands, ‘this tenderness must be hidden. My father will weaponise it. I am sorry.’

Eris stayed. Nesta did not tell him to go. Her heart still fluttered uneasily from the threat of Koschei and Briallyn. Eris might not raise a weapon on her behalf, but if he could winnow them to safety she’d take it.

Nesta curled up with a book on a blanket in the shade of an ancient oak while Eris trained Zasha. The male volunteered, perhaps realising the dog did not respond to any command of Nesta’s unless food was involved. Sentries strolled by on their patrols, paying them no heed. Nesta was glad for it. Her mood was crumbling with every inhale. Each breath caught in her lungs as though her ribs were jagged things. She had said such a horrid thing to Cassian because she knew it would wound him. Then she had suffered for it with her nightmares. Nesta knew he’d gone back to Velaris; for all his vows of protecting her, she had hurt him so badly that he had left. Their bond was taut and muted. How quickly had he told the others of her cruelty? Had he flown back to Velaris for them all to share stories of how she failed all of them? Nesta imagined her father there, as he’d been in her dream, stood with his broken neck sharing his own tale that she hadn’t managed to kill the king before his neck was snapped.

‘Do you think me horrible?’

Eris lounged onto the blanket beside her. A flop of red hair fell into his eyes which he huffed away with a sharp breath.

‘No worse than myself.’

From his pocket, he retrieved a brown leather ball and tossed it between his hands, ignoring Zasha’s barks. He feinted a throw which sent Zasha scarpering into a flowerbed. The dog came charging back, leaping at Eris on the ground until he dashed it through the grass.

‘I’ll pay for those flowerbeds too,’ he drawled. When he threw her a grin over his shoulder, his face fell. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘I’m cursed,’ she said. ‘Cursed to never hold anything good in my life. Ash and dust is all I leave in my wake.’

‘Nesta, Nesta.’

Eris slunk an arm around her, drawing her in close while her composure broke. Once those wrenching, gasping sounds broke free of her throat, there was no stopping them. The male let her cry. Let her sob even when her tears had soaked through the collar of his shirt. And it all came out. How she had failed her sisters. How cruel she had been to her father in her anger. How she wounded Cassian because she never wanted him to know how much power he held over her. How she had never once fitted into the Night Court and none had ever tried to welcome her. She gave Eris too much information, too much he could use against her, but her heart was sore and she needed a friend.

‘Where has all this come from?’ Eris murmured with his lips pressed against the side of her head as she curled her body against his, letting the cool spring air roll over both of them.

So Nesta told him the truth of everything. That she dreamt of Koschei claiming her. Of how she had blazed while she slept. And it had been more than a dream; it had been the immortal’s vow. The queen who was promised. He would use her powers of death for his own to conquer. Eris inspected the raw skin of her hands where the nails were steadily growing back thanks to her fae blood.

‘I saw through Tamlin’s glamour as a mortal, Eris. Maybe I was born different. Maybe I was born with wickedness.’

Eris shook his head slowly, stroking a hand down her bare arm. ‘I don’t believe it. How old were you when your mother died?’

‘Eleven.’

‘That’s very young.’

‘She was the type of woman your father would have admired.’

‘Ah,’ was all he said. It was understood by the male that neither of them had ever been gifted with love from their parent; they saw their eldest as a chance of elevation.

‘Imagine the blade I could have been if she had finished sharpening me,’ said Nesta bitterly.

‘When you lost your wealth, who took care of the home?’

Nesta laughed once. ‘It was hardly a home, Eris, it had two rooms. But me. I was the lady of the house once my mother died.’

‘And I presume you taught your sisters about… female things.’

‘My father was unlikely to.’

That cool hand remained tracing patterns onto her skin as they watched the carriage return to the manor house.

‘Are you expecting visitors?’

Nesta wiped her face, rubbing away any remnants of her tears then brushed down the wayward strands of her hair that had come loose with her pathetic sobbing. Zasha remained at the foot of the blanket, doing his best to chew the ball into pieces. That hound was the only thing that would not be revulsed by her. Her words couldn’t hurt him.

‘No. It’s the general and his family. His wife is unwell. They’ll be staying until their babe comes.’

Eris shook the smile from his face. ‘Nesta Archeron, there is no other female like you.’

‘Thank the Mother for that.’

Fionn was apologetic when he explained that his wife had headed straight for the bedroom after a long day travelling in the carriage, their daughter, Nuala, with her. Nesta brushed away his apologies. She still had memories of one of her mother’s friend’s heavily pregnant and trying to waddle between rooms at a party to keep up appearances despite being in immeasurable discomfort. The sentry returned to work with a bow of his head – and he thanked her and the high lord once more for their generosity. The high lord was nowhere to be found. No wallowing or bangs were heard from the manor, so she supposed he was out somewhere. As long as he returned by morning for the meeting, he could be rutting in the hay for all Nesta cared.

‘Would you stay for dinner?’

For a moment, she thought Eris might refuse her. He was poised on the doorway as if he wanted to return to the Autumn Court. But something in his expression softened. ‘Absolutely.’

It was almost like it had been in his home as the servants laid their dishes before them, both murmuring thanks. Apart from the few mouthfuls of porridge she had vomited back up in the morning, the meal was the first thing she’d eaten that day. Nesta did not fail to note the heavy set of eyes ensuring she at least ate something; Eris would not pick up his spoon until she had at least a few spoonfuls of her own soup.

The same elderly servant whose ears heard every piece of gossip that passed through the court and whose own tongue spread it swifter entered the dining room. Upon a wooden tray was a cake decked with cream and berries. Nesta’s throat tightened at the sight of it.

‘My lady, one cannot be without a cake when it is a time for celebration.’

‘Noele, you did not need to trouble yourself,’ Nesta began.

‘Trouble? My goodness, a cake is no trouble, my lady. I daresay that little lass slumbering now with her mother will be glad of it in the morrow.’

Nesta dipped her chin, fighting back another wave of unwanted tears.

‘What are we celebrating?’ Eris asked with his chin propped on his knuckles.

‘The lady is celebrating her birthday.’

Nesta blushed. It had been a throwaway comment when she had first spoken with the servant. Noele’s own daughter had had a birthday three days earlier so Nesta had shared her own date. She hadn’t known the servant remembered it.

‘It’s not important,’ Nesta said.

‘You’re as young as a lamb,’ the servant clucked, ‘once you’re my age, you’ll no want to celebrate.’

The servant departed, leaving the cake in front of Nesta. When she made no move to touch it, Eris took charge and sliced them both a piece.

‘Why didn’t you say?’

‘I’ve not celebrated since my fourteenth. They’re inconsequential.’

‘I’d have brought you a gift had I known. A large one. Very expensive. That’s what females want, don’t they?’ He grinned.

Nesta place a hand on her heart in a mocking gesture. ‘Your presence is a present.’

Eris sketched a bow. ‘It has been said.’

Long after it had gone dark, they remained in the dining room. The large double doors stood open allowing moths to flit in and out chasing the dancing flame of the candles. Eventually Tamlin returned. He did not appear shocked by Eris’ appearance in his home, but it was clear there was little warmth between the two males. Lucien was their bridge and their war. The male that both had a bond to and the one both had wounded. They condemned each other for the sins against Lucien the other had committed.

To Nesta’s surprise, Tamlin accepted the slice of cake offered by the red haired male, but took the plate off to his own quarters rather than remain with them. It was a slight flicker of hope that he might attend the meeting in the morning.

‘He seems improved.’

‘Good days and bad. Like myself.’

Before he departed, Eris wanted to see the damage inflicted during her traumatic night. She pleaded with him not to view it, ashamed that she had lost control.

‘Open the door, Nesta.’

‘Don’t. Eris. I don’t want to see it.’

The male leaned over her to shove the broken door back on its hinges, exposing the burnt room to his eyes. Nesta held her body tightly, awaiting the anger that would come that she had not managed to master her magic. But Eris’ hand, still poised in the doorway, dropped to his side. His breath came heavy as he pulled Nesta to him.

‘Look at me,’ he said, cradling her face in his hands.

A muscle worked in his jaw. Nesta could feel the conflict within him.

‘I can’t protect you against Koschei,’ he admitted, rubbing his thumb across her soft skin.

‘None can,’ she said, swallowing.

‘I should have told you that Briallyn was in his thrall. Why do you give me more chances when I disappoint you with every one I’m given?’

Nesta tried to pull away, tried to tear her gaze from his, but Eris held her firmly.

‘Because you are good, Nesta. Despite the narrative the world tells of you, you are so good, so kind.’ He breathed in her scent. ‘I must forfeit the place in your heart because I know I’m not worthy of it. If I cannot love you like you deserve, I should not have you at all.’

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. ‘We are still allies. I’ll fight for you. I’ll win for you.’

‘You are my friend, Eris. More than an ally.’

‘Friends,’ he said, the word sounding foreign on his tongue. ‘See you in the morning.’

Chapter Text

With trepidation, they prepared as best they could for whatever meeting Nesta had called. When Cassian had blustered back to Velaris from the Spring Court, his wings were not the only part of him that was aching.

He had achieved what he’d set out to do: to evolve Nesta’s fear into anger. He had not anticipated the wound she would cause him though. He had provoked her so he shouldn’t have been so surprised by how she’d attacked. I prefer their sons. The only male worse than Beron Vanserra was his slimy firstborn.

Rhys and Feyre were about to head to bed when Cassian had returned to Velaris. His high lord spoke into his mind asking if all was well as he’d not expected to see him streaking across the sky that night. All Cassian could muster was a sorry that he’d been unable to find the reason behind the meeting.

He’d slumped on the edge of his empty bed, disappointment soaking through every sinew. He had never asked for his conception. He had no say in how he came to be in the world. He’d fought and fought for his court, risen through the ranks to become something he could be proud of. And Nesta, ignited by his own insecurities, had reflected it back.

Nobody passed comment, except one. It was Amren who had seethed that he’d been sent to do one simple thing and had managed to fail. She was only bitter because Rhys had tasked her with staying behind to guard the city rather than unleash her on the high lords. Such was their distrust of Eris, they did not discount the idea that he might have aligned solely with Keir to take Velaris. Amren’s insults bounced off his already bruised ego. They had no clue what the meeting was and no way to prepare thanks to his failing. He didn’t need her to rub it in that he was a failure.

Feyre gave him a knowing look as she rubbed against his shoulder the morning of the meeting. She’d fought enough battles with Nesta to know one who’d lost against her. Still, Cassian had wanted to race back to the Spring Court to protect her. Now he knew that Briallyn was amassing her power, every moment where he could not guard Nesta was one that he panicked. He had been counting down the hours until the meeting where he could finally see her again, be certain she was well, even if she tore him to shreds in the process.

The three females dressed in black gowns; Feyre with a crown to match Rhys’. Rhys was immaculately dressed in a tailored jacket and pants, so black it swallowed the light. He and Azriel wore their armour - no better than brutish fighters, he imagined Eris would sneer. The cobalt siphons of Azriel’s were pulsing softly like a heartbeat as he promised to join them later once he and Lucien had finished with whatever Rhys had tasked them with. For all the years that Cassian had done it for him, he needed Az as a buffer against Nesta. She might not attack him if he had Azriel as a shield; she liked that male. As if sensing his nerves, Az clicked his tongue.

‘Tell her I said hello.’

Once they had winnowed, Mor kept a firm grip on his arm as they strode up the white stone steps of the palace. Peregryns awaited them at the top. They had arrived exactly on time - which seemed to be almost late. Slightly ahead, the white haired heads of the Winter Court delegate passed through the doorway but no other courts could be easily spotted, likely they had already descended upon the court.

A servant showed them to their rooms on the fourth floor. A gathering area was at the centre with three rooms connected to it. A large balcony looked out towards the shimmering landscape. It was glamoured to disguise what truly lay beyond. Cassian had seen it once, centuries earlier; it was all lush countryside woven with sparkling rivers and villages carved with red roofs that soaked up all the sun.

‘Only three rooms?’ Mor said with her hands on her hips.

‘Last to arrive,’ Rhys shrugged. ‘You and Elain will be sharing I suppose.’

‘We’ll have to,’ she pouted.

Cassian’s bed was large enough for his wings to fit comfortably - but not for anything else. Not that Nesta would come to his bed here - or anywhere else for that matter.

Staying in another court over night always made them jittery. He couldn’t help but think of Velaris when he was away from it, wonder if it was safe. They had been so close to losing it once, but Rhys’ sacrifice had protected them from Amarantha. The thought of Amren left in charge of it churned his gut enough.

They had enough time to settle themselves. Feyre’s own nerves had begun to fray by the way she fretted and readjusted the coasters on the table for no other reason than to keep her hands busy. Rhys, casual as ever, lounged near the balcony, letting the sun absorb into his dark suit.

Mor ran a hand through her glossy, blonde hair. ‘You don’t think she’s announcing an engagement to Eris?’

Cassian stilled at Mor’s words. Rhys loosed a soft chuckle.

‘I hardly think they’d gather all the courts for that.’

‘They both live for drama,’ she said, slipping her heeled shoes back on.

‘Be nice.’ The urge to growl had been difficult to fight back but he had managed not to lose his temper entirely with Mor. ‘Eris is an unwanted ally, but Nesta is a sister,’ Cassian gestured to Feyre and Elain, ‘if you can’t be civil to her, don’t speak to her.’

The shock etched onto Mor’s features already made guilt squirm in his stomach. But Nesta had spoken true enough when she’d said he was embarrassed about her around Mor. It wasn’t embarrassment of Nesta, it was that he knew the females never saw eye to eye. But one was his mate and one was his friend - so he had to decide who needed his support more. If he could not defend Nesta in private, it was no good wanting her love in public.

‘I think we ought to go,’ Elain murmured, wringing her hands, also apprehensive to face her sister again. In all the months that Nesta had been gone, Elain had only mentioned her a handful of times. Nesta’s absence had become something they had all grown used to – except for him. Her absence was an aching wound that demanded to be felt.

When they entered the large meeting room, Nesta only flickered her gaze at them briefly then turned back to her conversation with Beron. While their talk was quiet, there was no fear on her part as she engaged the high lord.

Behind him, Cassian felt his high lady tense. On Nesta’s other side sat the high lord of the Spring Court. What miracle had Nesta conjured? The pair both wore clothes of the same forest green though they lacked any decoration or opulence. It was a typical Nesta style; but Cassian had never realised the similarities with the high lord either. He was never one for extravagance. It suited them both to dress plainly, without jewels. They looked better that way. Neither needed to show off to command attention. Nesta’s gold-brown hair was braided into her usual coronet and Tamlin’s golden hair streaked down his back. Since his depression where he spent so long in his beast form, it was easy to forget the size of Tamlin; plenty of times he had gone toe to toe with Cassian when things were different between their courts and held his own. Nesta seemed dwarfed by him – and he had to wonder if that’s how they appeared when they were together, Cassian’s massive frame and wings drowning Nesta.

Nesta’s rage might have been better than her lack of response to them as they pulled up seats beside the Day Court. Helion gave a hearty wave – with a wink to Mor – as they settled. When Nesta’s conversation with Beron began to subside, she quipped a line to Eris that had the male raising his eyebrows with a feral grin. His father rolled his eyes, but even the corner of his mouth quirked up at whatever Nesta had said. To the Night Court, however, she was blind. As was Tamlin. Cassian supposed that was the best reaction; Rhys kept a steady, supportive hand on Feyre’s own, but she’d bitten her nails to the quick that morning.

Thesan’s silken voice broke across the quiet chatter. ‘Shall we begin?’

The high lord’s rich eyes rested upon Nesta, giving her the floor. If there were any nerves behind the female’s façade, she did not show a hint of them as she nodded in acceptance.

‘Firstly, thank you to the Dawn Court for hosting us,’ she said, making eye contact with those assembled around the large table. ‘It is much appreciated. We have gathered the Courts to discuss the development of a fund that may support folk whose lives have been uprooted by the war against Hybern.’

‘Spring and Summer Court have suffered the greatest level of damage,’ Tamlin added, with a nod towards Tarquin.

Nesta had managed to bring the high lord who she despised back from the edge, had managed to hone him back into the blade he had always been. It took a warrior’s eyes to notice that Nesta had weighed up her options and allied herself with the least serpentine; her forearm gently touched Tamlin’s, leaving as much space as she could from Beron. Out of the two sins, Tamlin was the lesser threat.

‘Remind me, who here aligned themselves with Hybern’?’ Kallias’ voice was sheathed with ice as he stared down Tamlin.

‘And my court suffered greatly for it.’

‘For your mistake.’

‘Yes,’ Nesta said, touching Tamlin’s hand briefly in a measured attempt to stop the talons from emerging, ‘and I suffered as a result of that mistake, as did my sister, Elain.’ Elain shifted with discomfort at the attention that was directed her way. ‘We were innocent and we suffered. But we have the built the bridge of forgiveness. To never forgive a sin, to take vengeance for our suffering will blind the world.’

Cauldron, she was dangerous. Cassian could not stop his heart from thumping as he watched that clever, silver-tongued female play the room; her subtle touches and kind smiles to Tamlin were political statements that not only were they allies – but he was her shield. And he was back to full potency, a fact Beron seemed to shrink from.

‘Perhaps if he had been an adequate ruler who did not allow his temper tantrums to run riot, his court would not be in such disarray.’ Rhys picked an imaginary piece of thread from his sleeve.

Beside Nesta, Tamlin snarled. Mor’s hand on his thigh beneath the table stopped Cassian from leaping across to the pull Nesta from him. Nesta paid Tamlin no attention, did not quake with fear at his rumbling temper beside her. She had grown too used to it. She had surrounded herself with a male as explosive as she was to bat an eyelid from it.

To Rhys however, she sighed. She locked him into her gaze like a target. So much for forgiveness.

‘The high lady of the Night Court infiltrated Spring with one agenda: to raze it to the ground for petty revenge. Her actions-’

‘I’m not listening to this,’ Feyre snapped, getting up from her chair.

‘High lady you may be,’ said Nesta coldly across the table to her sister, ‘but you will sit and you will listen.’

Cassian had only ever felt magic like that once before. Feyre’s legs gave out, thrusting her back into the chair. He spared a glance to Rhys, but it was not his magic holding Feyre in her place. Rhys was struggling, his splayed palms on the table pushing against an invisible force that pinned him to his seat.

A crown of silver flames wreathed Nesta like a halo. The fae gathered stared at her in a mix of awe and trepidation. He was glad their attention was fixed on Nesta, Beron included, so they could not fully understand the way in which she held Feyre and Rhys into place, no more difficult than pinning an ant under her thumb.

‘Your act of revenge cost the lives of many in the Spring Court as well as the Summer Court, high lady,’ Nesta said, her eyes like molten quicksilver in an unnerving ethereal display. ‘You would do well to show some humility and admit your failings rather than this display of defiance. Because of you, children are without their parents, wives without their husbands, mothers without their sons.’

Cauldron, he knew she was powerful, but that level of it was unheard of. And the control she had over it was impressive. He had to give Eris credit that he’d trained Nesta well. The snake sat mesmerised, a smirk on his thin face watching Nesta dominate the room.

Cassian couldn't help but think again how different things might have been if it was Nesta taken from the mortal lands instead of Feyre. She'd likely have ripped Amarantha's tongue out with her bare hands.

Rhys’ eyes slid out of focus then Feyre’s. Both stopped struggling against Nesta’s magic and admitted defeat after a silent communication with one and other.

‘Last I checked, it was not your court,’ Rhys said, the drawl of his voice fighting hard to keep the anger from it.

‘It is our court,’ Tamlin said, talons growing from his fingers as he partially shifted. ‘It blooms under Nesta’s care.’

Who could have predicted that them pushing Nesta away on the winter solstice would result in her allying with Tamlin and the Autumn Court? Cassian should have known that Nesta was a wildcard, shattering every mould intended for her.

Nesta picked up the sheets of parchment laid out in front of her and read to the courts assembled. ‘Dana Esrith – lost her husband and three sons during the war. The family farm has been seized by debt collectors as there are no males to tend to the land. Shuran Lefia – home burnt to the ground by Hybern, her two children perished while soldiers raped her. Bran Doyle – arm amputated after Hybern’s soldiers ransacked his store, burnt his stock, and murdered his wife.’ Those eyes, still blazing with silver, stared down every high lord around the table. ‘I have over three hundred stories from the Spring Court alone. Many more have been taken in as refugees in the Summer Court. These are fae who have suffered through no fault of their own.’

‘It is time to be accountable. It is time to pay attention to the lowest in your courts. The crowns on your heads would feed families for a whole year. How can you not feel outraged by the injustice?’

‘My court’s taxes will not be spent supporting another that cannot manage its own finances,’ Beron scoffed, not balking from the flames still crowning the female on his left.

Nesta thumbed through her paperwork without a hurry. Nobody else dared speak, not when she held them all in a thrall. A small noise of triumph escaped her lips as she pulled a piece of parchment from the stack.

She cleared her throat before she spoke, the flames fading. ‘Astrid Belevin – Autumn Court - father, three brothers, and her husband fell against Hybern. All the males served on the frontline which suffered the heaviest losses. Kharen, Elusia, and Tarrelia Lundor – Autumn Court – children whose father died in the war. Their mother, a healer, also perished when Hybern’s soldiers targeted an infirmary. Need I go on, Beron? Your son has compiled some one hundred and fifty stories so far and they continue to pour in across the Autumn Court.’ Nesta offered him the stack of parchment, which he refused. ‘The Spring Court is siphoning twenty percent of its tax and tithe to the fund. If your council is so inept at assessing its financial situation that it has not noticed the level of poverty growing amongst your people, I shall be glad of the opportunity to examine the finances myself.’

Nesta refused to look away from Beron. Only once his hard stare slipped down to his own hands did she drag her attention away. The sheer thrill of it was electric in Cassian’s veins; how she had dared to address him by name, not high lord.

A faint blush powdered across Nesta’s cheekbones as she spoke again, this time moving away from her well-rehearsed speeches. ‘There are many individuals out there like me, who are struggling but are too proud to ask for help. If they will not come to us, we must go to them. We must seek them out and we must help them.’

‘The Summer Court will assist where we can,’ came Tarquin’s smooth voice from the Summer Court contingent assembled. ‘Many of our refugees from Spring have settled well. Permanent status can be granted, should they want it.’

Nesta and Tamlin nodded in acknowledgement with his words.

‘Your court has also suffered greatly. Together, the path will be easier.’

Feyre had sold Nesta’s skills short; the female was an expert courtier. The soft, alluring smile she gave Tarquin was a polished, political move, but one that brought a smile to Tarquin’s own lips in response.

Calm down, Rhys said speaking into his mind. It was only a smile exchanged between a high lord and his mate, but it still had Cassian’s siphons flaring in response. That, and the fierce blaze of pride in Eris’ eyes as he observed Nesta. Even the Lady of Autumn Court was assessing Nesta with a small, tight smile but her eyes twinkled as she watched the female hold the room.

‘Cresseida will assemble a team to compile a list of those most in need and we will examine our finances to siphon coin to a mutual aid fund.’

The transparency of the young high lord was a stark change to the others present. There was something about that decency and honesty that appealed to the other lords present.

‘The jewels of the Summer Court are its leaders,’ said Nesta, bowing her head.

For what felt like hours, they hammered out arrangements and next steps to repair the fractures in the courts left by war. The talk of finances and tax brackets was too much for Cassian. He’d sat muddled during it all, letting the leaders argue, feeling no better than a baseless soldier after all. He glanced over to Elain who sat watching Nesta with her brows drawn together. Feyre was also quiet, letting Rhysand lead the talks for the Night Court.

Tensions simmered as egos were prodded. Finally, a stop was called after noon had struck. Cassian’s stomach had been gurgling for the last hour besides.

A spacious room had been prepared with a light buffet; the huge balcony open to allow them all to bask in the warmth of the sun. Thesan offered tours, led by his servants, of the vast palace and its grounds. Some accepted, some preferred to return to their room, others remained for lunch. It provided a chance to mingle before the night's ball.

'It's a good idea,' Rhys admitted. 'I wish I'd thought of it.'

'Will we contribute?' Feyre asked, adding a branch of grapes to her plate.

'On the condition one from our court oversees the finances. I don't trust it to not go into Eris' back pocket.'

Mor grimaced. 'How can she stomach him?'

Nesta was locked in conversation with Tarquin and Eris. It was an easy discussion; the three minds bouncing ideas off each other at a table while nibbling at food. Cassian frowned as he watched Eris pick a chunk of apple from Nesta's own plate and pop it into his mouth. His arm was round the back of her chair. They were so comfortable around each other. Beron was nowhere to be seen - neither was his wife or other putrid children - which was likely why Eris' casual demeanour had made an appearance. Nesta's smiles were so difficult to win, but to Eris they were given freely.

'Stop torturing yourself,' Rhys murmured with a hand pressed against the siphon on his chest.

But he could not stop watching Nesta. Every other female was a shadow compared to her. The food Feyre had offered him tasted like ashes. Without Nesta, it would always feel like starving.

'He's given her one of his smoke hounds. A pup.'

Rhys' attention snapped across the room to the pair. 'They're not to be traded out of Autumn. Beron allowed that?'

Tarquin had departed, leaving the two alone. Twin flames, one silver, one red. They clinked glasses together, from the look it was only a fruit juice. Nesta waited until Eris had begun drinking then she whispered something. It had the male spitting his drink down his front and Nesta roaring with laughter in a way Cassian had never seen her laugh before.

'My enemy's enemy is my friend,' Rhys said coyly, violet eyes examining their exchange.

If he'd staked a wager on it, Cassian would have expected sheer anger from the male, but Eris merely wiped his front and nudged Nesta with a grin on his own face.

'Why don't we go the balcony. You can sun your wings,' Mor said, already bringing Cassian to his feet.

It would always be difficult for Mor to see Eris, but perhaps seeing him as a male who another female was happy with made it more uncomfortable. The other three followed and Cassian found himself willing Azriel to arrive as soon as possible to keep his temper under wraps.

Even the warmth of the sun could not manage to repair his bleak mood. The others seemed to understand that too and volunteered to head back to their rooms to relax. Cassian did not know how he'd get through the ball.

They passed through the crowds still mingling over luncheon and made for a corridor filled with music. By the large bay windows at the end was a pianoforte. Two familiar figures were seated; one playing, one listening with rapture.

It was the final straw. Feyre gripped Nesta around the top of her thin arm, pulling her away from Eris who only watched on with faint amusement.

‘You know what sort of male he is. I thought you’d have learnt your lesson from Tomas Mandray.’

A burning, blinding pain shot down the bond straight into Cassian’s gut. Nesta stared at Feyre with utter disdain. Cassian’s siphons blazed in warning to the inner circle that a maelstrom was coming their way and there was no God who could stop it.

Rhys pulled an arm in front of his mate, teeth bared, but Feyre was not the target. Silver eyes drifted over Feyre’s shoulder, catching on the female making quiet conversation with Mor. Nesta’s chest heaved as she stalked towards her sister, every inch the predator.

‘How. Dare. You.’ Nesta’s voice was broken and brittle, every word sounded like she had glass in her mouth. Cassian could feel her uncontrollable hurt shooting down their bond.

Elain blinked at Nesta with her innocent brown eyes. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘You had no right telling anyone about… About him. How dare you tell my business to anybody?’

‘Nesta, stop it,’ Feyre said, coming to stand by her sister, playing peacemaker. ‘It wasn’t Elain who told me.’

Nesta tossed her head back in laughter. It was shrill and on edge. ‘Fucking hell, what has she ever done to warrant such fierce loyalty from either of us, Feyre? Precious little Elain who sat on her backside in the cabin alongside wicked Nesta. One is martyed for it, the other damned.’ Cassian’s knees threatened to buckle from the anguish twisting between their bond. This was pain. Nesta’s greatest wounds were carried in her heart. ‘The only ones who knew the way I came home that night were her and father. I doubt he had that conversation with you before his neck was snapped.’ Her attention turned to Elain again. Elain clutched Mor’s arm, but even Morrigan who had fought many battles seemed to shrink from Nesta.

‘The only reason I ever entertained the idea of Tomas was for you.’ She jabbed Elain in the chest. ‘I’d have walked through the fires of hell for you. And you would stand and watch me burn. I deserve better than you. Mother knows Lucien does too.’

Trembling, Nesta departed. Elain bit down on her bottom lip to keep from crying. Feyre’s arm had come around her shoulders while Mor tried to disperse the curious eyes that been peering down the corridor. Cassian couldn’t help feel that Nesta was right though. All of them had taken to Elain, to her softness, to her lack of disruptiveness without ever tarring her with the same brush as Nesta. And Nesta truly would have done anything for Elain once.

‘Why did you bring up that male?’ He pressed Feyre, voice low to stop the crowd overhearing as they slowly began their chats in the main room again. ‘What was the reason?’

Feyre rubbed a thumb in a small circle on Elain’s shoulder. ‘Nesta is getting carried away with revenge. I’m just trying to protect her.’

‘No,’ Cassian said speaking against his high lady. ‘She is not malicious. She’s stayed away from you both. She’s trying to help in Prythian. It’s not revenge.’

‘Cass,’ Rhys warned, his voice little more than a snarl.

‘You defend your mate often enough, let me defend mine,’ he snapped back.

A slow clap sounded then Eris trod towards them lazily. There was something so feline about his movements, the careful tread of his polished black boots, the slight bounce to his gait. And the way he stared, like a cat bearing down on its prey.

‘It astounds me really how your court is able to function. You manage to fuck up every opportunity with Nesta. I dread to think what life is like for the Illyrians.’

‘Fuck off, Eris,’ Mor spat.

He leered at Mor. If Azriel had been there, he’d have splattered him against the wall.

‘Naughty Nesta Archeron who failed her sisters,’ he drawled. ‘What’s today’s date?’

‘Would you like a calendar, Eris?’ Rhys said.

‘Indulge me.’

‘1st April.’

‘And yesterday’s?’

‘Is there a point to this?’ Mor snapped.

Elain made a whimper. A clammy hand clutched over her mouth. ‘It was Nesta’s birthday yesterday.’

Eris clapped again, dragging it out slowly for emphasis. ‘That’s her third birthday since the Cauldron made her into something spectacular. The first,’ he said counting it onto his finger, ‘was spent guarding you in the library Elain, wasn’t it? Of course, nobody celebrated it when all her efforts were focused on you. The second, well she spent that one alone in a tavern because nobody bothered to remember. And yesterday? Oh look, no sisters remembered again. Or her mate.’

‘You’ve made your point, Eris, now fuck off.’

‘No,’ he said, holding up a finger to Morrigan – one she shrunk away from. ‘This is not about scoring points. Do you know how she spent her birthday? Crying on my shoulder.’ His attention turned to Feyre. To her credit, Feyre steeled her nerves and stepped out of Rhys’ shadow. ‘When you hunted for food, who cooked it?’

‘Nesta.’ The word sounded like a curse upon his high lady’s tongue.

‘And who cleaned the clothes on the metal washboard until her hands were red raw?’

‘Nesta.’

‘Who dried the clothes and folded them and put them back into drawers? Who scrubbed the embers from the hearth until it gleamed? Who dusted and swept? Who did all the tasks the lady of the house would do?’

‘Nesta,’ Feyre admitted, ‘but as the eldest, she was raised to do it.’

‘Yes. And she did it. Because that was expected of her. One day she'd find a mortal husband and do the same for him. Was she ever thanked for it?’ Eris’ vicious glare went to Elain. ‘What did you do? What have you ever done for her?’

It was Mor who answered. ‘Leave, Eris. She's Lucien's mate.’

'She's a spoilt madam. Who stepped up and taught you about cycles and contraceptive tea as a mother might do?

‘We get your point,’ Feyre ground out.

‘Do you?’ Eris snarled, eyes blazing. ‘And did you thank her for telling her story about the Cauldron? Did you thank her for trying to repair the wall? For tending to your injured soldiers? For scrying? For killing the King of Hybern? What more must she do to atone for make believe sins?’

Cassian had never seen the male so worked up. His typically cool demeanour had been shattered. The colour had risen in his cheeks, revealing his feelings for Nesta for all the world to see. Then those strange, amber eyes locked onto his.

‘For once, in your pathetic life, stand up for your fucking mate like she damn well deserves.’

Eris withdrew a step. ‘Keep Nesta’s name out of your mouths. She might not be like you, but I am much worse. Do not upset her again.’

‘Or what?’ Rhys said in a quiet voice, staring at Eris with feral delight. ‘You’ll tell your father about our little arrangement.’

Eris smiled. It was always dangerous when the male did that. ‘I shouldn’t have to resort to blackmail for you to be nice to your sister-in-law, Rhysand. With family like you, who needs enemies? You can thank the Mother that Nesta has friends like me.’

Chapter Text

The high lord of the Spring Court paced up and down the cramped lounge in their rooms at the Dawn Court like a wild animal. He had done all that Nesta had asked of him which was to attend the meeting and not lose his temper. It was rapidly fraying though.

She drummed her fingers against the table, her own sickly panic a shadow looming, waiting for the moment to swallow her. When Eris returned to them, he would uphold his end of the deal: to return Tamlin to the Spring Court. Getting him to the ball was too much to ask so soon. Nesta had thanked Tamlin for being present for the meeting, but he had only grunted in response. Seeing Feyre and Rhys was hard for both of them.

All Nesta wanted to do was crawl under the covers and stay there. Pride had swelled within her at the climax of their meeting. Finally, she had achieved something worthwhile – or at least started the ball rolling. Then Feyre had mentioned Tomas Mandray and Nesta’s elation had sunk like a ship to the bottom of the ocean. The mere mention of his name dredged her terror back to the surface.

‘Stop pacing. Just stop. Please.’

Tamlin turned his emerald eyes to her, paused for only moments, then began again, prowling back and forth.

When she had been snatched from her bed by the King of Hybern, Nesta had been so powerless. In hindsight, being Made was better than their previous life, cold and poor in a shack by the woods with no promise of a better future. Now, however, she and her sisters would grow together through centuries. She had more freedom, more opportunities, even if the body she was in still felt alien and wrong. It was not the life she ever would have chosen, but Nesta had reached a point where it was not all bleak.

The only other time she had been so utterly powerless was when she had tried to break things off with Tomas Mandray. He had always been flirtatious with her, bordering on rude - his handsome face somehow making up for it. He was lean with muscle from hard work, but Nesta had known he would not be a good husband. It was a truth she pretended not to notice. That she did not see the way Tomas stared at her body – or other women – like a wolf. That she did not hear the comments his friends made of women in the village. For Elain, Nesta would have endured it. His family were comfortable financially; folk always needed firewood. Feyre had said his father beat his mother, and Nesta had little doubt that Tomas would be the same sort of man. But if it meant Elain did not starve, Nesta would have gone through it.

She remembered that day as if it had been branded into her memories, hot and painful. She had tried to talk to him in the market square, out in public where it was safe. Whether he expected an ending or merely wanted a tumble in the hay, Tomas begged and pleaded with her to walk somewhere private, offering to walk her home afterwards. It was the only time Nesta had ever backed down and stopped being stubborn. So she had given into his pleas and they had walked a little while, conversation non-existent. They had nothing in common anyway.

Nesta had said her part then tried to leave, but he’d hurled her so hard against the wood store of a farm house, he had winded her. The rest of it was flashes of anger and force that came to her again at the table relieving Feyre’s words. And the worst part was that they all knew now. Elain had told them all about her silly mistake, of trusting a boy when he said he’d walk her home. And they thought Eris to be the same sort of male.

The thought of Tomas forcing himself upon her was a source of so much agony. That was why she had given her virginity to a male whose name she did not recall, whose face was a blur in her memories. Because her mother believed that her value lay between her legs, Tomas too. And it would not be sold or taken. Nesta had given it freely in an act of defiance, not caring about who she gave it to, so long as it was her who decided.

Eris turned up late, when it was almost dark. Tamlin had snarled something incomprehensible when he slipped through the doors to their room. Eris grabbed his wrist to tug him from the room so they could depart the wards of the palace and winnow back to the Spring Court. Nesta remained at the table lost in the memories of a selfish mortal girl who did not have the chance to properly mourn her cruel, unforgiving mother.

The door slammed when Eris returned. The male’s clothes were slightly dishevelled, his hair ruffled.

‘Keep this locked when you’re in here. When you come to bed tonight, I’ll check the rooms before you sleep.’

‘Are we expecting somebody?’

Eris kicked a chair out from under the table, his anger making Nesta wince. With a sigh, he eased himself into the seat beside her.

‘I took offence to your sisters’ words. We had a little altercation in the corridor.’

‘What did you do to them?’

‘I told them the truth, Nesta. Of all that you’ve done for them.’ Eris rubbed his face with his hands. ‘They’re insufferable. That righteousness. How ever did you stand it for so long? I know I’m not a good person, I don’t pretend otherwise.’

Nesta shook her head. ‘You are good.’

‘Only to you,’ he winked. Then his face darkened, ‘Dolos was lurking nearby.’

Dolos Vanserra, the brother with Eris’ face but Beron’s brown hair and eyes. Slippery and keen to gain his father’s favour. Since Nesta had managed to out fox him, she was likely not on his list of friends.

‘Did he run straight to Beron?’

Eris bared his teeth in a pained grin. ‘He certainly did. True to character.’

‘You’re all right?’

The male nodded. ‘I span it as that I’m enamoured with you. Hopelessly in love. I gave you a smoke hound. Fighting your family over you. It must be love, mustn’t it?’

The tone was bitter and gnarled. It wasn’t like Eris to ever arrive late nor to display anger so openly. Beron had wounded him.

‘Eris,’ she said, ‘Are you all right?’

Slender fingers unbuttoned his burnt umber shirt, revealing the toned skin beneath. Purple bruising marred the ribs on the left of his chest. Nesta noticed how his breath was shallow to not further anger the breaks – as though this had happened many times in the past.

‘And I’m his favourite son,’ he grimaced, buttoning the shirt back up.

‘Your father did this you?’

‘Father is a title given freely, never earned. Better me than my mother.’

Nesta couldn’t help herself. Couldn’t help the feeling of sadness spilling out of her when she looked upon the defeated face of Eris Vanserra. The mask was off. The male beneath was fighting every day to keep his father at bay from himself, his mother, and the Autumn Court.

Gently, she leaned forwards to wrap her arms around his neck. A tired sigh escaped his lips.

‘We can’t choose our family.’

‘But we can choose our friends,’ she replied, kissing him once on the side of his head then settling back in her seat.

‘He’s disappointed that I’m such a weak willed male who sees a nice pair of breasts and thinks with his cock. I think they’re better than nice, just to clarify.’ Nesta slapped him across the chest and apologised immediately as he winced from the pain of his broken ribs. ‘But please, tonight, keep this door locked and don’t answer for anybody. Don’t trust any of my brothers. Even if they say I’ve sent them. Don’t trust them. We should have brought Zasha. I’d offer to stay with you, but my father would likely have you executed if he found us.’

And Nesta knew he was not joking. She had heard of Lucien’s lover, a lesser fae who had been executed – and Lucien exiled for daring to love someone beneath him. It was dangerous territory to grow so close to a male who lived in such peril. For Eris, it was as easy as breathing, slipping between the web of lies he span in tandem with his father. If he had seen her as a piece in his games initially, he now was afraid for her safety. It was not a life she wanted. The idea of a family constantly being at war, with power the only thing of matter, repulsed her.

‘I have to stay away from you this evening. And probably a little while after. For both our sakes.’

‘No dance together?’

Eris smiled, and if it wasn’t the saddest thing Nesta had ever seen, as if he was accepting defeat. ‘Save one for me in the Spring Court.’

If there was anything she could do for the male, for the unexpected kindness he had displayed when he had winnowed her from Illyria that day, it was to move his father into position for the lethal strike to come.

‘Do you have the meeting with Nuan arranged?’ Nesta asked, already donning the mental armour she had been polishing ready for the night’s events.

‘Forget it, Nesta. He’s already angry that you embarrassed him in the meeting. Cauldron-born bitch, I believe he called you.’

‘Cauldron-born bitch with nice breasts. A glowing appraisal. I think I prefer it to haughty witch. Eris, have your meeting. Do what needs to be done. I will keep your father engaged.’ Nesta poured them both a generous amount of fire whiskey – a gift from Thesan left in her room. She had a feeling that her and Eris would need all the liquid courage they could get that night. ‘To being allies and to the high lord of the Autumn Court. Long may he reign.’

***

Before he got into it completely with Rhys, Cassian had torn across the grounds to cool his head. The moment they had stepped across the threshold into their rooms, Feyre and Elain scarpered to their rooms and Rhys had unleashed his frustration. Their delicate alliance with Eris was hanging by a thread all hinged upon them keeping Nesta happy.

‘This is her fault,’ he growled. ‘If she had just stayed in Illyria with Az’s mother.’

‘No. You drove her out. She was afraid of you.’

‘She should be. If she even speaks one word of Velaris to Eris then-’

‘Then what?’ A red mist had descended upon Cassian then. Blood pounded in his ears and his siphons seemed to draw his magic to the surface. ‘What will you do to my mate?’

Their chests were inches from each other, both heaving, spoiling for a fight. Cassian wanted to hear it spill from Rhys’ lips, the threat of what he’d do to Nesta so that he could be justified in cracking his skull against the wall. Rhysand might have been his high lord, but Cassian was bigger, stronger, and faster than him.

‘She’s been away for months,’ Mor said, stepping towards them, hands braced in a peaceful gesture. ‘If she were to speak of Velaris, it would have already happened. Eris would be gloating. Velaris is safe. Calm down, both of you.’

Cassian swallowed. His voice came out hoarse. ‘She didn’t do anything. She was just listening to him play the pianoforte.’

‘She upset Elain.’

A growl rumbled in his chest. ‘Because Feyre upset Nesta first. You know she likes her privacy. Feyre had no right to do that. And I’m glad Eris stood up for her because the rest of us have let her down enough.’

Seeing a male who he despised being willing to bare his heart for Cassian’s own mate, when he himself had stood there, had ruptured a part of him. Shame poured out, slick and heavy in his gut. It was something when Eris Vanserra stood up for female. The mention of Feyre had Rhys’ temper swelling. Mor still stood, ready to try and break up any battle.

Cassian got as far as the door, when he said over his shoulder, ‘Nesta is trying to do something really good. Go back to Velaris if you’ll make the evening unpleasant for her.’

The last few tours of the palace were returning when Cassian had ploughed past them making for the open balcony. He’d leapt off of it then let his wings billow out to slow his fall into the grounds. Through the plush hedgerows, he found a fountain nestled away. The bowl had been carved from marble in the shape of a lotus flower. At the apex of the fountain, the layers of flowers shrunk so the water cascaded over the top of their petals. The Dawn Court was filled with master crafters, always tinkering and creating.

Cassian sat on the top of a bench, his feet on the seat, letting the sound of the water soothe him. Nesta had been mesmerising in the meeting, holding her own against every high lord present without stuttering or deferring to Tamlin for support. The moment Feyre mentioned that mortal male’s name, a pain so strong rocked down their bond it was as if Nesta had been stabbed. The raw fear had threatened to set their bond aflame. He had known a male had hurt her, back when she was still mortal. He had seen the fear behind her eyes. Even when Elain had told them months ago in Velaris, he’d wanted to fly across the wall and tear the male in two. But feeling Nesta’s reaction to just a name was something indescribable. Despite Hybern, despite the Cauldron, and the war, it was that male who wounded her the deepest.

When his mood was calmer, Cassian sought out Nesta’s rooms. He felt their bond, used it as a grab line to pull himself towards her. His pulse fluttered in his neck as he stood outside of the white wooden door. The knock was too heavy, his knuckles made for punching not announcing his arrival in a dignified way. He would say he was sorry. Sorry for never giving her the chance she deserved when they had first met. Sorry for not letting her be Nesta and trying to mould her into what he thought she should have been. Sorry her joy from the meeting had been stolen from her. Cassian knocked again. There was no answer. She was there, he could feel her and scent that rich jasmine and vanilla scent on the other side of the door. Better to play happy families with the Vanserras than to ever let a brute like him into her life.

Cassian sought the garden again, debating whether he ought to fly back to Velaris there and then rather than endure the agony of watching Nesta engaged with Eris all evening. It never dulled. The jealousy, the pain, it all remained as sharp as the first moment when he’d discovered that Nesta was in the Autumn Court.

Come and join us, Rhys said into his mind, half this room owes you for saving their asses in the war.

So Cassian mended his pride and changed into something more acceptable for a ball. Still, the Night Court black, but the armour was arranged neatly on the bed. He kept the siphons on his hands embedded into a metal, fingerless gauntlet that stretched beneath the tailored sleeves of the tunic. His hair was combed through; the tangles that so often came to it vanished for now.

Faelights twinkled amongst the twisting wreaths of ivy that surrounded the large ball room casting a shimmer on the fae already present. Thesan had spared no expense throwing a lavish party to celebrate the victory during the war with tables laden with dishes running the length of one side of the hall. Thick cuts of cold meats and cheeses were piled onto golden plates ready to be smeared onto crusty slices of bread or crackers. Between them were ornately carved fruits and pyramids of pastries glistening with chocolate and icing. Ruby red strawberry jam filled buttery tarts, flatbreads laden with mozzarella and pesto were gobbled up, and chicken drumsticks drizzled with spices were stacked upwards.

Cassian spotted the others tucked into an alcove eating quietly as gentle music engulfed the room. He could hear the pluck of a harp complimented by violins. Lucien had taken up the seat beside Feyre - as far away from Elain as possible. The female acted as though she had not noticed her mate was even there. Lucien pretended it didn’t affect him. That being near the mate who did not acknowledge his existence and the family who had exiled him was a regular occurrence that caused no upset.

Beside Mor, the blue glow emanating from Azriel’s siphons in the dimly lit room seemed to gleam with recognition as his hazel eyes tracked Cassian from across the room. From the wary look, somebody had already filled them both in on the events of the day.

He rose from the table to greet Cassian half way across the room, a slight etching of worry creasing his brow.

‘All right?’

A nod was given to his brother even if he didn’t feel that way. Cassian felt caught between two worlds – one his family lived in and one where his mate did – and trying to be in both seemed impossible.

‘She all right?’

‘Wouldn’t answer the door. Probably busy in the sheets with Eris,’ he said bitterly.

Azriel frowned, the shadows around him coiling tighter towards his body. ‘Eris is already here. All the Vanserras are.’

He believed Azriel, but still he had to see it for himself. There on a table near the doorway sat the High Lord of the Autumn Court, a cross between a grimace and sneer permanently on his features. On his left sat his wife, eyes turned downwards into her lap, chestnut hair spilling down her back, her plate empty. To Beron’s right was Eris clad in a burnt orange suit and navy silk shirt beneath. The Vanserras had a flare for fashion at least. The remaining three brothers sat sullen and sneering, unchecked by Beron – or Eris – whispering comments about the females in the room.

‘When did you arrive?’

‘Not long ago. Rhys showed me what’s transpired.’

More and more bodies filled the hall with the bulk coming from the Dawn Court. He spied Helion surrounded by a flock of Peregryns from Dawn, engrossed in whatever tale he told them. Still, neither of the Spring Court contingent could be spotted. Azriel patted him lightly on the forearm.

‘Give her choice, Cass. Reach out your hand but let Nesta decide if she wants to take it.’ His brother shook a lock of raven hair from his eyes. ‘My mother always gave her the choice: if she wanted to eat, if she wanted to join her in the living room, if she wanted to take a walk. She had so many choices taken from her. Let her choose.’

The Night Court had few friends. They wore their masks effectively. Eris, whose alliance was in precarious territory, did not spare them a glance from his father’s table. Once the music increased its tempo, couples headed to dance. Vivienne, who had been chatting animatedly with Mor, grabbed Kallias by the hand and dragged him to the dance floor.

Cassian felt Nesta’s arrival before he saw her. The slight pulse of nerves down their bond as she entered the party alone. Keeping with the Spring Court colours, she’d chosen a gown of silk in the deepest shade of emerald that clung to her body like a second skin. The straps were so narrow there may as well have been nothing against her moon white skin. How they managed to support the full, inviting breasts, the Mother only knew. Her waist was tiny. Cassian would wager his hand would span the entire width of it.

Nesta surveyed the room as a queen assessing her subjects might. Half of her hair was pinned and swept to one side so it could drape over one shoulder in a wave of burnished gold. The waves of silk that swept around her legs had one long slit from the floor to near the top of her right thigh, exposing the occasional flash of skin and long, lean legs as if it were a gift to whoever was devoted enough to watch her.

Helion paused from his conversation with him and Rhys to appraise Nesta. ‘Cauldron, if you don’t make love to that female tonight, I will.’

When Helion departed towards the drinks, Cassian struggled with the sudden urge to hurl the high lord out of the window.

Nesta approached Beron, a coy smile dancing on her lips, sizing up the high lord. Gracefully, her body dipped into a low curtsy that swept her skirts across the floor. Beron took the hand she offered then led them both to dance.

‘What the hell is she doing?’ Rhys murmured, a real look of fear in his eyes.

A piece from the Autumn Court began from the orchestra – drums and strings setting the tempo of a march. A sturdy, solid presence on the floor, Beron swept Nesta into hold as the brass instruments kicked in, creating the uneasy tone of the piece. And then they began.

Each movement of Nesta’s body was precise, completely in tune with the notes the orchestra played. Beron’s eyes had widened at this female able to not only master an Autumn Court waltz but to make it hers. Cassian dared to search for Eris, wondering what the male might make of Nesta’s bewitchment of his father – but the male was nowhere to be seen.

‘Oh, she always loved to dance,’ Elain sighed wistfully.

Nesta held Beron’s eyes through each step, let his broad hand dig into the grooves of her spine to coax her closer to him. The high lord’s lips curled with approval, a flame simmered in his brown eyes as he spun Nesta. Her head snapped round to meet his gaze, never giving him a moment to dare tear his eyes from her.

Others in the room had either slowed their dances or stopped entirely. In all the years that Cassian knew the bastard, he had never once seen Beron dance. Never seen him lower himself to fun. Now however, it was hypnotising to see the cruel high lord utterly under Nesta’s thrall as their waltz, driven by the brooding brass overtones, swept them around the room.

‘Do you remember the ball before we lost our money?’ Feyre whispered to Elain as they watched their sister and Beron as though they were frozen in time. ‘Nesta and that duke from the continent.’

‘What happened?’

‘A girl was horrible to me, so Nesta stole the dance she wanted with a duke out of spite. Had him crawling on his knees for a single dance with her. The next day, he proposed marriage.’

‘A duke?’ Rhys mused. ‘She could have been a duchess in the mortal world.’

Feyre shook her head. ‘My father didn’t allow any engagement. She was only fourteen. Though the duke tried to bargain and beg my father to agree to a betrothal so she would be his when she was of age.’

Azriel hissed through his teeth. ‘Fourteen?’

‘Our mother spent years crafting Nesta into a blade so one day she might win a prince.’

Cassian’s stomach clenched. No wonder Eris was preferable to him; he was the closest thing to a prince in their world. And one day, he would be high lord of the Autumn Court. Cassian had no doubt that Eris would ensure the power would flow into his veins.

‘This is a difficult waltz. I’m amazed she knows it, let alone match Beron,’ Mor said, eyes fixed on Nesta’s clever footsteps.

Elain’s brow pinched together as Beron turned Nesta gracefully once more. ‘Grandmamma used to beat her hands and feet with a wooden cane when she mistepped during lessons.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ Feyre gasped.

‘You were too young. Nesta never told me of it. I only witnessed it once, Nesta cowering from her cane while mother watched on.’

Around their clasped hands, a stream of red fire entwined itself with one of silver. The glow of their flames attracting more attention. Wanton desire gleamed in Beron’s eyes as he drank in Nesta’s confidence and ambition. A female who had checked him back into place amongst the other high lords, who had then had the gall to ask him to dance – and to keep pace with a demanding waltz.

Eris had once called her a jewel in his court, likely Beron had come to the same conclusion. But even Nesta, who was made of steel and flame, would not be allowed to thrive in their court. No, she would share the fate of the lady of the court to be crushed and her growth to be thwarted.

Eris slipped back inside the room, as if he had not departed at all. His eyes flitted across the crowd until they met his mother’s. Hers widened slightly in recognition then she turned on the spot, weaving her way through the dance floor with purpose as the song came to an end. Eris had moved too, swiftly diving into conversation with Tarquin as though he had always been talking with the Summer Court.

The Lady of the Autumn Court edged closer to her husband and Nesta until she interrupted the beginnings of their next dance. Whatever she said made Beron glower at his wife. Then the high lord released Nesta to stalk across the floor towards the exit. The careful brush of the lady’s hand along Nesta’s bare arm as she followed her husband was not unnoticed by Cassian.

‘Anybody else have a feeling they’re up to something?’

The shadow on Azriel’s shoulder slunk away as if set on a task by its master. A simmering rage seeped from Lucien, the male’s eyes trained on his eldest brother.

‘Whatever it is, my mother should be kept out of it.’

Helion was quickest to Nesta, already seizing his opportunity for a moment on the dance floor with her. The suitors practically lined up to take her for a spin on the dance floor: Tarquin was next, then a male from the Dawn Court, another from Helion’s, and finally one of Kallias’ friends.

Azriel sidled up beside him, eyes darting rapidly across the crowd, constantly assessing and analysing. His face remained impassive no matter the tempest of thoughts churning through his mind.

‘Will you not ask her to dance? It seems an opportunity for conversation.’

Nesta had prised the last male off of her and glugged a tall glass of water down. He felt shivers down their bond as she tipped the ice cubes into her mouth and chomped them between her back teeth.

‘I don’t want to be flambéed on the dance floor. I’m sure the Vanserras would enjoy it.’

Azriel’s mouth quirked into a tight smile. ‘Then can I?’

He slid his eyes to his brother, not sure if this was a test of his resolve. ‘Why?’

‘I’ve not seen her in a while. I’d like to catch up.’

Chapter Text

Fae shrank back and stepped aside as the spymaster crossed the dance floor. He was a tall, commanding presence shrouded in darkness.

‘Emissary to the Spring Court,’ he murmured, as he reached the female in the emerald dress.

Azriel held out a hand, awaiting Nesta’s to place a kiss atop of it. But Nesta had other ideas. She couldn’t help the overflow of giddy excitement at seeing the stoic shadowsinger again; a friendly face amongst the sea of preening, polished masks. Nesta threw her arms around his neck, letting her feet lift off the ground as a strong pair of hands locked onto her waist. She breathed in that deep scent of night chilled mist and cedar before Azriel settled her down.

‘It’s nice to see you.’

‘You too,’ he agreed. ‘Sorry I missed the meeting. I hear you were wonderful.’

‘I tried,’ she said, dipping her chin. ‘How is your mother?’

‘Misses you as always. You will always have a place in her home.’

Azriel led her onto the dance floor, not caring if his family watched him carefully from their alcove. She could feel Eris’ eyes burning into her skin. He had managed his temper, attention barely stirring as different males had swept her across the floor, but Azriel had brought his heat to the surface. Nesta knew it because her attention had flitted to Eris frequently.

Without Beron in the room, she had thought Eris might have asked her to dance – she had wanted it. In their practises together, he had been wonderful. But with an orchestra and a beautiful gown, it seemed too good of an opportunity to miss. Still, Nesta knew his own ambition – his court – would always be his priority. And he’d not risk it to dance with her. Although he had admitted he would need to keep away, it did not make the feeling any easier, to be roughly discarded because she did not fit into his master plan. It was the same at the war camp when Cassian had thrown her hand away because Nesta did not suit him then.

‘You seem distracted,’ Azriel murmured in her ear, as he led them in a series of swaying steps. He was a good dancer, used to moving with stealth and purpose.

Nesta hummed a response. ‘Busy few days.’

‘With Eris and his mother?’ The shadowsinger’s lips barely moved as he spoke, his eyes were fixed on a spot on the wall as they moved.

‘You were subtle,’ he said, releasing one of her hands so she could spin then he caught her and drew her again into hold. ‘But not subtle enough.’

She tried to keep her face impassive. ‘Is this a telling off from the spymaster?’

‘Advice from a friend.’

Azriel clasped her closer, the coolness of his hand seeped through the silk to her spine. Nesta could feel the shiny scars on the skin of his hand like melted wax where he’d been set alight as a child as her own grasped onto his tighter.

‘Males like Eris are used to sacrificing what they have to get what they want. He desires to be high lord. He will keep you until you’re no longer useful.’ As her face began to twist into anger, Azriel held her tighter. ‘I say it because I care, Nesta. Because I was the one who found Mor. She was no benefit to him so he discarded her. Every word that leaves his lips has been evaluated and polished before it comes out to best suit his agenda.’

In the dim light of the ballroom, his hazel eyes were darkened. The mention of Mor’s suffering had warped his expression into one that his enemies feared. An uncontrollable anger lingered beneath his exterior, always seeking an outlet. Azriel could be intimidating, in a way that Cassian wasn’t. Cassian was passion; an eruption when he angered, but one that came with warning and could be subdued afterwards. Azriel had a different sort of wrath. One that lingered beneath the ice, waiting for it to crack so it could drown. His anger never left, it was always there laying in wait. She had seen Keir cringe away from the spymaster, how crowds parted for him as though they couldn’t stand to be too close to that unforgiving fury. To Nesta though, Azriel had only ever been decent. Honest. That male had seen her at the lowest point in her life and had turned her away from oblivion; a fact she’d always be thankful for.

In their loping dance, they were approaching the table where Eris was seated with Tarquin. Azriel had planted that seed of doubt in her mind – settled it next to her own insecurities with the Autumn Court heir. Nesta knew his was ambitious. Knew how he gambled with fortune. She had not yet forgiven his little trick on Calanmai to teach her a lesson in pride.

‘If you are to play the game, you must accept sometimes you’ll lose,’ he murmured, breath tickling the delicate point of her ear as the music changed to a slower tempo and their bodies pressed close. ‘There are losses we never recover from. And, sometimes, the other player changes the rules.’

For a moment, Nesta locked eyes with Eris. Part of him did care about her, she knew it to be true, He didn’t need to both having dinners with her or celebrating a birthday or defending her from family. He did it because a part of him was decent. But so much of Eris was shrouded with shadows and lies; Nesta never knew which version of the male she would get. It always felt like he had the upper hand. Eris turned back to Tarquin, pretending Nesta was as insignificant as a fly in his life. So many masks, so many deceits.

Nesta let her hand slip from Azriel’s shoulder and curve around to his back just beneath the sprawl of his wings. Her cheek rested on the lapel of his jacket, her ear pressed against the steady beat of his heart as their feet slowed their pace. She felt Azriel’s body tense from the proximity of his brother’s mate against him.

‘What are you doing?’

With her eyes ringed with silver fire, Nesta turned her gaze upwards, meeting the shadowsinger’s eyes. Her body remained pressed to his.

‘Reminding the other players who taught me to play the game.’

When Nesta and Azriel finally ended their dancing, the balls of her feet throbbed from the ridiculous heeled shoes she’d contorted her feet into. They were torture devices. She’d never understand why females deemed them necessary.

Eris had stared at her from across the room. His face tight. It was worth reminding him exactly where Nesta had once lived. Her family were Night Court loyalists, her mate the general of their armies. Eris might have spoken up for Nesta, but she had no doubts that it was as much an act of vengeance against the court he could not stand as it was an act of gallantry. She could not say which male he hated more from Azriel and Cassian. From the look of contempt he had given her as he strode by to ask Cresseida to dance, he had no kind words for either bat.

The webs Nesta was spinning were becoming more intricate. Part of her wished she had stayed with Rovena where she could have spent her days cooking and reading. It would not fulfil her, but it would be far less stressful. Her role as the emissary to the Spring Court had been manoeuvred by Eris, but she did feel proud of the things she was starting to achieve. The fae who would benefit from the fund would have better lives. But being the emissary had moved her into the open. Coin to the right fae would hand Nesta straight to Briallyn and Koschei; she may as well already have the target aimed on her chest. Against a deathless god, what good was a sulking high lord and untested sentries?

Then there was the mess with the Autumn Court. Eris could be good, could be thoughtful and enticing – but Nesta had seen him cruel and sneering. He infuriated her as much as he enchanted her. His work ethic remained a thing she admired in theory, but when she had shared a home with the male, his long hours locked in an office were tedious and lonely for her. If he became high lord, it would only be worse. Yet he was a better option than his father. There had to be a way she could assist him in claiming his mantle as High Lord without getting herself in too deep the process. Beron needed to be eliminated; he was the most likely to stick a bow on her head and send her to Briallyn. But how far was Nesta willing to go for Eris? Would he not save his own skin if she was implicated in the death of the high lord?

Nesta contemplated the room. Most of these fae had lived for centuries – and what had they ever done? Her eyes flitted to the crowns on Feyre and Rhys’ heads. She knew the Night Court hoarded treasure – Feyre never repeated a crown. They were all rich beyond measure. Not a single one had known the struggle of being poor. Not the threat of Amarantha taking their power or Hybern claiming their wealth, but the worry of never knowing when a meal would come, if the family would have enough wood for a harsh winter. Even Tarquin, a high lord who endeared himself to Nesta for his openness, sent rubies as a threat.

With her mood souring with every inhale, Nesta stalked out of the room.

***

Seeing Nesta passed between males on the dance floor, each one hungrier for a moment with her, had Cassian in a foul mood. For most of it, he’d sat there glowering. Even when Azriel had danced with her, although he trusted his brother entirely, he still wished it was him sharing that moment with her. Mor had tried to entice him to a dance, but that felt like too much of an insult to Nesta. When Cassian had bolstered enough courage to ask Nesta himself, Lucien had leaned over the table and asked Elain for a dance. The female had blushed then turned away, feigning deafness. Lucien said nothing, only turned back to his wine – and any confidence Cassian had evaporated.

Despite the constant noise of the orchestra, one name was blaring in Cassian’s head. Tomas Mandray. The fear he had felt earlier in the day from Nesta down their bond had stayed with him. It burnt up his throat like bile. Tomas Mandray. A male who believed himself entitled to a woman. A male who had dared laid his hands on Nesta.

Feyre touched his hand. ‘Why don’t you go back to Velaris tonight?’

The high lady of the Night Court glanced between him and Lucien, offering them both an exit from her sisters. Elain, who Cassian had always considered shy but amenable, had been downright ignorant to Lucien bordering on rudeness. Nesta had ignored Cassian entirely, though that was better than an argument in front of the high lords. It would be a source of amusement for many: the Cauldron born sister who killed the king of Hybern rowing with the Lord of Bloodshed on the dance floor.

‘And face Amren alone?’ He said, forcing a laugh. ‘I’ll stay. As long as you and Rhys have a shield around your room tonight, I’ll stay.’

When Nesta departed, he thought he might be able to breathe a little easier. But her absence worried him. Tamlin had not attended the ball. Eris had not spoken with her once. He did not want her to be alone again. She needed friends. Needed companions like Balthazar and Emerie who she had began to befriend in Illyria.

Mor and Helion danced together, the male’s hand roving over her bare back. She would be in his bed that night, regretting it by morning. Feyre had moved to sit in Rhys’ lap, the male whispering something in her ear as she giggled. Lucien and Elain sat opposite each other, both pointedly ignoring the other. Azriel sat straight-backed in a chair, eyes observing every minute interaction, never relenting in his duties as a spy. Nobody noticed when Cassian left too.

His feet were heavy with defeat. But the bedroom had not called to him. So Cassian trudged through the gardens again like he had earlier that day. The stars twinkled in the inky black sky and he found himself missing Illyria. There was no night like the one in Illyria. He heard the sound of the fountain before he saw it. Sitting on one of the benches, eyes in a trance as she watched the water trickle over the marble petals, was his mate.

At the sound of his boot stepping across the grass, her head turned sharply. For once, Nesta did not seem surprised by his presence. What feelings of his own had he passed to her along the bond? So often, he could feel her own, but he’d never considered how much of him he gave to her in return.

‘Doesn’t it feel false to you?’ Nesta did not wait for his response, merely scrunched up her brow. ‘Hours we spent arguing over whether the courts could spare coins. But Thesan can throw this ball with no concern over the cost. As long as they are having a good time, who cares for those beneath them? I feel too guilty to enjoy it. I know how it is to be starving and cold, not knowing when the next meal will come. I know that desperation. That fear that if winter overstays its welcome, you might lose a family member.’

Nesta laughed bitterly to herself. ‘Yes, I know. I should have magically learnt how to hunt and gone into the woods instead of poor, little Feyre. I’m an awful wretch of a female. Maybe I should have sold my body for a few coins to feed my family that way.’

Cassian shook his head and settled on the bench beside her. ‘I wish none of you had to face that. And I’m so proud of you that you are trying to help others. It is not easy to make changes with such resistance, but you took on a room of rules centuries older than you and proved to them, you are a force to be reckoned with. Regardless of what the Night Court decides, I’d like to make a personal donation.’

‘Is it a trick?’ She asked narrowing her eyes across the bench to him.

‘No. You blew me away today. It’s an admirable pursuit, Nesta.’

‘There’s a lot that can be done in Illyria. Perhaps your high lord should actually rule that territory and improve the lives there first.’

He breathed in deeply, steering himself away from the instinctual defence of Rhys. ‘More and more females are being allowed to train.’

‘But do they have to be warriors?’ She asked splaying her palms out in question. ‘Can they not still be home makers but ones who aren’t beaten or clipped? Can’t the males say no to the blade and be soft?’

It was not a path Cassian had ever considered for his home. Its people were traditional, too set in their ways to accept change easily. A male who refused to fight would be forced into the ring regardless and beaten to death.

Nesta twisted her hands into the skirts of her emerald gown. ‘How soon is the Blood Rite?’

‘Three days.’

Nesta gulped then nodded, eyes cast down to her lap. A preternatural stillness had overcome her again as though she’d turned to ice. The knife she had gifted him for Solstice remained on him at all times – not only because Nesta had purchased it for him, but the craftsmanship was exceptional from the young blacksmith.

‘Azriel thinks Balthazar will get through it,’ he said softly.

‘How many more won’t? How many will die trying to prove they matter in the world?’

Choice. She wanted the Illyrians to have the choice too to become warriors or not. Choice was everything she wanted. He was a fool for not recognising it sooner. So Cassian cast his eyes across that beautiful, clever female sat gazing at the water in the fountain and realised a sad sort of truth. That Nesta’s issues with them had never truly been with him, or who he was, simply that she had not chosen him. It was another choice made for her. A decision that the Cauldron, an object she detested for what it had done to her, had made.

‘Nesta,’ he rasped, feeling as if his throat wanted to close before he could say the unspeakable. ‘If Eris is the male that you want, I will sever the bond.’

Her eyes widened in alarm. ‘What?’

‘I will sever it. You don’t need to feel guilty that you cut it that way. I am willing to sever it, if it’s what you want.’

‘But males go mad from it, do they not?’ She’d clutched a hand across her heart. ‘You would suffer terribly. No! No, you can’t.’

‘Nesta, I want you to be happy. If it’s not with me then it’s not with me. It might be different if the male breaks the bond,’ he explained.

‘You hate Eris.’

‘I do. And I hate his family. And Beron is a tyrant. But if you want Eris, if you are prepared for what life as his partner would be, then you deserve to pursue it. It is your happiness I care about.’ Cassian hung his head. ‘And I’m sorry I didn’t care about it sooner.’

Nesta stared at him, eyes wide with horror. He could feel her hysteria building down the bond at the thought of it breaking.

‘Please don’t sever the bond,’ she whispered, reaching for his hands. Hers were icy to the touch. ‘You can’t do that. You can’t.’

‘The threat of Briallyn and Koschei terrifies me, Nes. The thought of you so close to Beron too, it gnaws away at me.’ Cassian took a deep steadying breath. ‘I don’t want to fail you. I don’t want you trapped with me. I failed my mother. As soon as I was weaned and walking, I was taken from her arms and dumped in Windhaven. I had to fight for everything. I had to choose between sleeping and eating, never both. And the winters. There’s a part of me that will forever be cold, that won’t ever lose that numb pain of coldness from sleeping in a tent alone in winter as a boy. A widow took pity and found a broken tent, mended parts of it for me to sleep in the first winter I was there.’

Without that female’s kindness, he would have died that winter. The scrap of fabric protected him from the wind and the frost, but that biting cold that drove away sleep could never be chased away. He was greatful to fight each day, for his blood to pump around his body and warm his stiff fingers and toes before he lost them to frostbite. He was a skinny thing, never managing to eat more than a measly meal in a day – sometimes not even that. It didn’t sustain him in the summer months when he trained daily, definitely not in the winter when he needed all his energy to survive the low temperatures.

‘When I was old enough, I tracked down the village I’d come from. It made Windhaven look progressive,’ he spat out. ‘The piece of shit that forced himself on my mother, the three of us – Az, Rhys and me – killed him. I destroyed the whole village. Women, children, elderly, I let them leave. But the rest of it, I became the monster I never wanted to be. I made them all suffer for what they did.’

‘And your mother?’ She asked tentatively.

‘The bastards couldn’t even tell me where they’d buried her. If they even deemed her worthy of a grave after her working her to death.’

He had no recollection of her. No memory of a face or a voice. Only that he’d had a mother who suffered because of his conception. Every female he passed in Illyria, he couldn’t help wonder if his mother had the same waves in her dark hair, whether her eyes were hazel or darker like Rhys’ mother’s had been, whether she was young when she’d had him, whether there had been other children. Did she resent him for ruining her life? Cassian rubbed his face with his hands. And when he saw his reflection sometimes, he wondered if he resembled the male who had destroyed his mother’s life.

‘It took me a decade to face what I’d done. None if it made a difference, Nes. My mother was still dead. Nothing brought her back.’

Being bastard born in Illyria was a death sentence to many - and their mothers. Azriel’s father had chosen to acknowledge him as his son, a status not often given to children born out of wedlock, but it did not mean Azriel was treated kindly. Often, Cassian thought about what would have happened to both of them if they had been born female. What cruelties they would be forced to suffer.

‘It scares me. If anything happened to you and I didn’t try to stop it, I’d set the world on fire. I wouldn’t stop until that rage had burnt me from the inside. Nes, I’ve failed as a mate. I know I have. If Eris can protect you, if he can love you,’ it was poison on his tongue, ‘you should be together. I don’t want to be a male who forces you to be with me.’

Nesta hands shook in his own as she stared at Cassian. It was the first time they had truly looked at each other, not as opponents or mates, simply as Cassian and Nesta. Those blue-grey eyes stared deep into his hazel ones, the bond they shared heating. It wasn’t a heat that scorched. It was inviting, like coming into a warm home after being in the cold. A warmth that seeped through the bones, chasing away any fears.

Hesitantly, she peeled her own hands from his then folded them into her lap. The slight chill in the air had brought out goose bumps on her flesh so he was struck with the urge to bring her to him and envelope his in his arms.

‘Can we start over?’

Cassian’s brow knitted together. ‘What do you mean?’

A small, shaking hand was held out before him. ‘My name is Nesta Archeron. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’

‘Cassian,’ he said, taking hold of hers again gently and shaking it. ‘Lord of Bloodshed. Prince of Bastards.’

‘Oh, are we doing titles? Kingslayer. Witch. Beron called me a Cauldron born bitch so that’s a new addition.’

A burst of red escaped from his palm where his siphon flared in response. ‘He called you a what?’

‘A Cauldron born bitch – with nice breasts.’

‘That is a disservice. They’re exceptional.’

‘So forward for a male I have only just met,’ she scolded.

He didn’t know where they stood, only that she didn’t want rid of him yet. She brought his large hand to her cheek, let it rest there while her eyes fluttered shut.

The first moment he had set eyes on Nesta, as a mortal when she had subtly stepped between them and Elain, ducking her hand into a fist – prepared to fight against three powerful Illyrians for her sister – he had been enamoured. She had looked down her nose at Rhys, not caring if he was the most powerful high lord in existence. She had looked at him as if he were nothing more than a pest she wanted removed from her home. Cassian had never met a female like her. He’d met Valkyries, females with utmost skill in battle. None had ever brought him to his knees like Nesta. Never had he met a female who had absolutely no abilities with weapons, who was utterly powerless against them yet had no fear in waging war against them.

Cassian stroked his thumb across the cool skin of her cheek. ‘I feel like I waited for you all my life.’

Chapter Text

Sitting together in the darkness, listening to the murmur of the music and the gargle of the fountain soothed Nesta’s irritable mood.

Cassian had been genuine when he’d offered to sever the bond. The thought of him being willing to do such a thing made her consider him in a different light; he was willing to put her above anything else. Nesta still did not know what – or who – she wanted. She only knew she did not want that bond broken until she could decide fully. Her bad days still threatened to defeat her, so only when she was in a place to fully decide, would she.

‘Where are your shoes?’

Nesta pulled her heeled torture-devices out from beneath the bench and dangled them in front of Cassian’s face.

‘I can’t contort my feet any more tonight.’

In a fluid, predatory movement, reminding Nesta exactly who the Lord of Bloodshed was, Cassian had hauled her ankles onto the bench. Warm hands kneaded the sore parts of her feet and Nesta fought back the urge to moan in satisfaction. The balls of her feet screamed with pain as his thumb drove small circles into them. The massage lacked any sexually charged feelings. The bat employed long-standing methods that he’d used during battle to ease the ache.

‘They’re absolutely freezing.’

‘I always have cold feet. Cold hands too.’

Cassian bent down as he unlaced his boots. ‘Cold hands, warm heart.’

He slipped off his heavy boots then slipped off a pair of thick black socks. Without asking, he placed a sock on each of her feet.

‘They’re clean on today, I promise.’

The selfless move startled Nesta. Never had anyone done something so simple, so honest for her benefit.

‘Do you want to dance?’ She blurted out.

‘Yes,’ he said, just as quickly.

Cassian wore his boots without socks and had Nesta step on top of his shoes while wearing his socks. It was intimate in a domestic way; it did not feel polished or rehearsed as Nesta slipped her hand inside his. He was too tall to rest a hand comfortably on his shoulder, so she had to settle with one pressed against his back while he did the same. They laughed gently, trying to figure out how to dance together in such close proximity when the music was too far away to make out the beat. For a moment, Nesta forgot about the Vanserras, about mortal queens and immortals, even about why she’d even arranged the meeting. It was just nice to be taken around the fountain in a slow, gentle rhythm while Cassian hummed to the music. His voice, low and rich, wrapped her in warmth.

When the music changed, they stood still. Nesta gripped onto Cassian still, her head resting against the easy rise and fall of his chest. His chin rested on the top of her head as if it belonged there.

Eventually, Nesta’s voice fractured the moment. ‘Do you think Azriel would winnow me back to the Spring Court?’

‘You’re not staying? It’s already so late.’

Nesta would not sleep in those rooms comfortably. All she wanted was to be back with Zasha guarding her. She shook her head in answer to his question. Nesta knew that he would beg Azriel if he had to, to win her favour.

Cassian walked her to her rooms. He tried to say goodbye at the door with the promise of returning with Azriel once she had packed, but Nesta clung to his wrist.

‘Could I ask another thing of you? Please could you check nobody else is in my room?’

Warily, he nodded. She waited in the doorway while the Illyrian scoped out the rooms. He diligently checked under the beds, the table, inside wardrobes then checked the windows were locked.

‘Can I know why I had to do that?’

Nesta breathed through pursed lips as she closed the door to the hallway. The sounds of the orchestra still seeped beneath the door.

‘With Koschei and Lord Beron as my enemies, I suppose I must be cautious.’ She straightened her skirts. ‘Eris was supposed to do it, but I’ve succeeded in annoying him too.’

It was an anxious wait for the door to knock again. Nesta had packed her belongings quickly into the small case that had followed her from the mortal worlds, to Velaris, to Illyria, to the Autumn Court then finally the Spring Court. Cassian appeared sheepish when she peeled back the door, the bulk of him engulfing all the space.

‘Az is asleep on a couch. I feel too guilty to wake him, so I’ve brought the next best thing.’

Cassian stepped away from the door frame and gestured to the side. A red haired male with a mechanical eye sketched a bow. Lucien did not seem overly pleased about the arrangement, but his polished manners won out as he extended an arm for Nesta to take while carrying her luggage with the other. Cassian, ever the overbearing mother hen, had to escort them to the edge of the wards himself. Nesta could feel the murmurings of worry in the Illyrian’s chest. Likely he’d set off flying for the Spring Court the moment they winnowed and act as if it were coincidence that he was there too. Nesta was not used to someone caring so much about her well being.

‘You’ll walk her to the door, fireling.’ It was a command from the general of the Night Court’s armies.

Lucien gave a teasing smile in return. ‘And not a step further.’

Nesta liked him. The male had never once complained about the situation he found himself in. Loving a lesser fae had caused Lucien to be ostracized from his home. His loyalty to Tamlin had resulted in him having an eye carved out by Amarantha. Protecting Feyre had lost his favour, and home, in the Spring Court. Yet Lucien had never once given up and felt sorry for himself. He’d thrown himself into their fight, seamlessly switching between the Night Court and the mortal worlds then brought armies with Nesta’s father to the war. And he did it all with a sense of humour and a flare for fashion.

At the edge of the palace grounds, Cassian gave them both a lazy salute in a casual sort of goodbye. Nesta shook her head with dismay. Lucien only sniggered at his heavy handed dismissal.

‘Dovidenia netopier,’ she said in farewell.

‘Dovidenia miláčik,’ he grinned.

The sensation of winnowing still made Nesta uneasy although she felt safer holding onto Lucien than she had when Azriel had winnowed her. His was a different sort of movement, one of shadow and coldness that made her feel as if she might fall through a crack between realms.

‘What did he say just now?’

Lucien shrugged, releasing her arm. ‘I don’t speak Illyrian.’

‘What use are you?’ She tutted.

The pair ambled through the moonlit grounds of Tamlin’s manor. Nesta made a point to highlight Lucien’s presence to the sentries on the night duty so they may let him pass freely on the return journey. A few recognised him and shared a greeting with the male. The forlorn expression growing steadily on his handsome features made Nesta’s heart clench.

‘Do you miss it here?’

Lucien was quiet for a while until he said simply, ‘Sometimes.’

Nesta saw in the male the same discomfort she had felt within the Night Court. Due to history, the inner circle would never embrace either of them fully. Lucien had tried to make the best of it.

The sight of the ivy crawling up the exterior walls came into view. A few of the windows glowed with light. Nesta would be able to introduce herself properly to Fionn’s wife and daughter in the morning then plough on with her role as if the shadow of Koschei did not feel as if it was growing closer. She spared a glance to Lucien who stared at his old home.

‘Your room here is unchanged,’ she said softly. ‘A piece of Autumn Court hidden away. If you wanted, I could try and speak with Tamlin.’

‘It’s probably more hassle than it’s worth. But thank you for the generous offer.’

Nesta nodded. ‘We all needs friends, Lucien.’

The moment her foot, still wearing Cassian’s socks, stepped onto the patio, she heard a great howl come from one of the bedrooms then the clobber of paws down the stairs right to the front door. The dog yipped with joy as Nesta pulled back the door.

‘Brace yourself,’ she warned Lucien.

Zasha leapt upon her, jumping as high as her chin. His tail knocked against the doorframe, not allowing them an inch into the house until he’d reached the designated amount of fuss he desired. The love of hounds had to have been a deep rooted Autumn tradition by the way Lucien had stooped down to his knees to shower Zasha with affection.

‘I didn’t even leave you for a single night, you big baby.’ Nesta rubbed her hands along the dog’s muzzle, avoiding his lolling tongue.

They shuffled into the house, Zasha still barrelling against their legs. Nesta could not recall a time she had ever been alone with Lucien, or what thread they might have in common. Instead, Nesta thanked him for winnowing her back to Spring. She would sleep easier with Zasha – and Tamlin for all his faults still haunted the house so would spook any unwanted visitors.

‘Your sister. Do you think me worthy of her?’

Once, Nesta might have said that no male in the world deserved Elain. The illusion had faded now, whatever overriding protective instinct that had once fuelled Nesta to shield Elain from danger was gone. A stark truth had taken up residence in her heart: Elain was loyal to whoever served her best interests. That had usually been Nesta. Nesta had made a vow to the king of Hybern that she would kill him for what he had done to Elain. The tide had changed, and that person became Feyre and her court. Nesta had no place in Elain’s desire.

‘You have suffered greatly. Your deeds for the Night Court and during the war were admirable. You have proven yourself to be a polite, kind male. She is my sister. But I believe she should be asking herself if she is worthy of you. Goodnight Lucien.’

The sounds of a small child cantering up and down the stairs roused Zasha’s attention – which in turn woke Nesta. The dog scratched and whined at the door until he was allowed to chase after his newest friend. Nesta followed down to breakfast, eyes bleary from a night spent fretting the threats constricting her thoughts.

‘Eat, please, Nuala.’

A tired, heavily-pregnant female tried to coax her daughter to take a seat at the table. The girl lay on the floor with her head resting on Zasha. Her mother’s rounded stomach did not allow for bending. As Nesta entered, Aoife whispered to the child, urging her to get up. Nesta waved away her concerns.

‘So sorry I didn’t have the chance to introduce myself sooner. My name is Nesta Archeron.’

Fionn’s wife greeted her then introduced their vivacious, golden-haired daughter. It took both females to coax the child into a seat for a bowl of porridge. Poor Zasha had to be shut from the room to stop his begging. During their breakfast, Aoife dashed from the room to vomit in the kitchen.

‘With that one,’ she said, pointing to her daughter as she settled into a chair, ‘I had such an easy pregnancy. This one has made me sick nearly every day.’

‘Let us hope for an easy birth to make up for it.’

Aoife pushed the bowl of porridge closer to her daughter. ‘She was early. Almost a fortnight early.’

‘Then the healer must be brought forwards to be ready.’

From the look of the female, the babe would be along sooner rather than later. Her ankles and wrists were swollen, but she had a tiredness that came from discomfort and lack of restful sleep – especially with a small child already to chase. Nuala slopped porridge down her chin, clumsy with her spoon, as she watched Nesta with keen interest.

‘If you should like to rest, I can take Nuala for a few hours. It’s no trouble.’

‘No, it’s too much,’ Aoife protested.

‘Please,’ Nesta insisted, ‘It would be my pleasure. It’s a beautiful day. There are lots of places to explore.’

And so it was. Nuala took Nesta by the hand into the garden with Zasha loping around them in large circles. They had found the ball that Eris had left, so that was stuck between Zasha’s jaws until Nesta managed to wrestle it free for Nuala to chuck into another bush.

One of the sentries rigged up a swing from one of the ancient yew trees with thick cables of rope while they dipped nets into the slimy pond nearby. A willow leaned across the water so its branches sagged into the water. With their sleeves rolled up until they constricted round their upper arms, they searched the pond for treasure. Nuala had no cares. It was not the same brash courage as Lule had in Illyria, Nuala simply dipped the hem of her dress into the green water, said an “oh dear” then carried on. She had no fears of a scolding from mama or papa because her parents knew she was a little girl exploring her world.

In a bucket, Nuala poured another net-full of frogspawn, utterly delighted with her finds.

‘We must be gentle with it. One day this will become a frog.’

The girl’s blue eyes were agog. ‘A frog?’

‘A frog,’ Nesta repeated. ‘It becomes a little tadpole, as big as your thumb nail, and it grows and grows until it’s a frog.’

Nesta crouched down beside her, not caring either if her skirts muddied, as Nuala tried to piece this new information together.

‘But mama has a baby inside her belly.’

Ah. Nesta tried her best to explain that different creatures brought babies into the world in different ways – and feared what Nuala might tell her parents of their day together.

They had found worms, spiders, counted butterflies, pushed each other on the swing then found another pond filled with frogs. Nesta forced her disgust down her throat. There was no creature in the world she hated more than a frog – except perhaps a toad. Nuala was only encouraged by Nesta’s discomfort and the girl held a squirming frog in each hand to chase her around the pond, grinning devilishly as she did so.

***

Poor Lucien had been dragged into his desperate scheme to win Nesta’s favour. He had to ensure she was safe. And more than that, he missed her already.

Cassian had been winnowed to the edge of the Spring Court by the red haired male with the promise of returning at sundown to return him to Velaris. The sentries in the ground recognised both of them so they were allowed to pass through the vast grounds. There weren’t many visitors to the court who resembled either of them: Lucien was recognisable by the scar marring his face and the golden eye; no males as gargantuan as Cassian existed – and that was without the wings or seven siphons.

The ferocious guard in the grounds let him pass – once he’d had the area behind his ears scratched then a tummy rub as payment. Zasha followed along beside him, tail still wagging. A sentry directed him to the south of the grounds where the trees grew wilder and older as the forest developed.

‘We must wash our hands. You’ve been touching lots and lots of frogs.’

Nesta’s voice carried over the hedge softer than usual. What was she up to with Tamlin – and frogs?

Cassian met Nesta beneath a weeping willow. Her eyes were red from rubbing them and his nose was beginning to itch. More curious was the curly-haired girl perched on top of Nesta’s shoulders with her tiny hands clasped in Nesta’s as they walked towards Cassian.

‘Oh. Hello,’ she said a little breathlessly, catching sight of him.

Her sleeves were rolled back, the hem of her skirt was damp and the odd smear of mud was down her front where she’d wiped her hand. The small girl was equally as dishevelled. Both had rosy cheeks.

‘You have a new friend.’

‘I have many friends,’ Nesta replied. ‘Nuala is not one. Not after she chased me with frogs.’

At the mention of frogs, the girl dissolved into a fit of giggles on Nesta’s shoulders. She tossed her golden head back, tipping Nesta slightly back with her.

‘Mama is having a rest before the new baby comes,’ she explained.

Cassian nodded, noticing how Nuala was examining his wings with fascination. To show off their size, he let them spread out behind his back.

‘Netopier,’ Nesta muttered.

‘Miláčik,’ he countered.

Her eyes narrowed. ‘What does that mean?’

Cassian gave an easy shrug then tightened his wings back towards his spine, winking at Nuala. ‘Come to Illyria and I’ll get you a dictionary.’

‘Is there a reason for this visit or is just to annoy me?’

‘Oh, Nes. Can’t the reason be to annoy you?’

Nesta sighed through her nose. ‘Your socks will be washed and returned.’

‘Take them as a gift.’

She snorted at that remark. ‘Used socks, how romantic.’

‘Do you want a romance with me? Like those novels you’re fond of.’

‘There’s a child on my shoulders,’ she hissed, though the corners of her mouth were fighting against a smile.

Chapter Text

One of the servants had prepared a picnic for them to take into the grounds. Nesta would rather have sought shelter inside as the pollen count was high enough to turn her voice croaky. Still, Cassian suffered it with her; his sneezes came frequently and the back of his neck was red where he’d started scratching his skin.

Nuala had him by the hand, leading him along the winding paths of the rose garden to seek out shade. Her voice carried on the wind, demanding Cassian keep up, not caring if he was a five hundred year old general who’d slaughtered his way through armies. Zasha stayed by Nesta’s side but she was under no illusions that it was because she carried the food.

They settled themselves in the shade around one of the ponds where the vast oak trees soared towards the sky. Their canopies blotted out the sun, providing welcome relief from the warm spring day.

With a gleeful clap, Nuala watched Nesta add items to their plates. For Cassian, she asked him to prepare his own, still unsure as to what constituted a formal acceptance of their bond. Zasha sat patiently, eyes never wavering from Nesta’s fingers while they busied themselves. Once all had prepared their plates, she allowed the dog to have the fat she’d torn from the slices of ham. He swallowed them in one gulp then waited for a second portion.

‘Rhys was shocked Eris had given you a hound.’

Nesta raised her eyebrows. ‘He’ll be more shocked when I tell Zasha to bite his hand off.’

Cassian spluttered on his food. ‘There’s a child here!’

Nuala wore a mischievous smile. It reminded Nesta of the stories her mother used to tell them of sprites and pixies that would enchant mortal children then lead them to their deaths and a changeling would replace the child in its home. Since she had been Made, she had learnt such stories were nonsense. They were meant to stir fear in the hearts of mortals. Yet, looking at Nuala with her golden curls and delicate pointed ears, it was hard to believe fae could ever be considered bad.

Nesta leaned over to stroke Zasha’s silky, grey ears. ‘Nuala can bite Rhys too, if she likes.’

After their picnic, Nuala went tearing around the pond, lobbing the ball into the centre of the water while Zasha leapt in after it.

‘This is nice,’ Nesta admitted.

The pair leant back on their elbows, watching the other two play. A soft breeze rustled through the trees, but it was a beautiful day. Nesta found she liked Cassian a lot more away from the Night Court when his actions were not influenced by his family. The male’s gaze was on Nuala, with something like longing taking up residence on his handsome features.

‘Very nice,’ he agreed. ‘Except the pollen.’

Nesta laughed at that. ‘I’d like to say it gets better, but that would be a lie.’

‘I wondered if you would come to Illyria towards the end of the Blood Rite.’

Nesta cocked her head to the side, scrutinising him. ‘Why?’

‘It will be a busy time for me, so I won’t be home. But I thought then you could see Balthazar. From what I understand, he has no family. A bastard like me,’ he shrugged, trying to hide the shame he felt from that name. It was branded onto his skin, never to be forgotten.

‘I’m quite busy,’ she said – though her day spent catching creatures in a pond and playing on a swing with a little girl proved the opposite.

‘You could bring paper work. Lucien might be able to bring you back in the evenings. Like I said, I won’t be home much.’

Nesta sniffed, her nose itching from the willow. ‘I shall not stay in that cabin in Windhaven.’

Cassian shook his head. ‘I have a home in Illyria too.’

‘You do?’

‘I’m five hundred years old. Yes, I have a house.’

Nesta’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘I thought you were a stray that lived with Feyre and Rhysand.’

‘A stray,’ he muttered, shaking his head. ‘So cruel. Would you consider it? I’m just worried that since you have been announced as emissary to the Spring Court…’

‘It’s a target on my back, I know.’

It was an instinct to bark out a refusal, to try and send him blustering over the horizon in anger rather than delve too deeply into her own emotions. But they had started anew and Nesta meant to honour it by giving him a chance. It did make sense to lie low.

‘I shall think about it. I don’t want to leave the Spring Court exposed to another attack.’

What Nesta meant was that if Koschei came for her, she would rather hand herself over without a fight than condemn this court to more slaughter. If Nesta was not available, she did not want to imagine what might be done to innocents like Nuala.

The rapid thud of the bat’s heart was audible to Nesta despite Nuala’s squeals as she ran from Zasha. She refused to turn her head to meet his eyes. Nesta did not want to see the pain behind them, because he knew why she had said it. Knew what she’d do to ensure children like Nuala could live safely.

‘Would you allow me to train the sentries here?’

‘It’s the high lord’s decision.’

Nesta did not even know why she was so resistant to the idea. In the core of him, Cassian was good. His decisions were never made from personal gain; they tended to be in opposition to that and he was willing to give part of himself up. He was an excellent fighter. One who was disciplined but able to rouse an army’s morale. Yet it felt too much like an encroachment by the Night Court to agree so readily to the offer. The sentries were untested; many of them had youth on their side yet lacked experience. It was the logical option, but it was not Nesta’s place to allow it, not when Tamlin’s own wellbeing was still fractured.

‘Then Nes, come to Illyria for a few days. Once the Blood Rite is complete, I can help here.’

At the approach of a breathless Nuala, Nesta snipped the conversation off with a brusque wave of her hand.

‘This is not a topic to discuss around children.’

Zasha had sprayed Nuala’s yellow dress with stagnant pond water when he’d shook himself, but the girl had no cares in the world as she flopped at the bottom of their blanket.

‘My tooth came out,’ she said, opening her palm to show them a pearly white little tooth.

‘Did you hit your face?’ Cassian crawled to her. ‘Are you hurt? Is your lip bleeding? What did you knock your tooth on? Show me your other teeth.’

Overbearing bat, Nesta thought fondly as she watched him fuss over Nuala.

‘I pulled it out,’ she said, grinning at them both to display the new gap in her smile.

‘It was wobbly, Cassian. Your battlefield healing is not needed.’

A light blush dusted his bronzed cheeks when he took Nuala over to the swing. Her tooth was left for Nesta to wrap in a napkin. The Illyrian lifted Nuala onto the swing then gripped the plank, encouraging her to hold on tightly to the ropes as he hauled the swing back. Nesta gripped the blanket, too terrified to watch fully in case she went flying into the pond.

For a while, Cassian pushed Nuala, her laughter ringing out across the grounds. He came around the front, pushing her back by her outstretched feet, laughing too. Then Nuala demanded Cassian stop the swing so she could push him. This, Nesta would watch with keen interest.

The branch creaked under Cassian’s weight as he settled himself on the swing.

‘This tree is almost as old as you,’ Nesta warned from the safety of the blanket where Zasha lounged besides her chomping on the bone that Noele had wrapped for him. ‘That makes it ancient.’

Nuala tried her best to shove the swing into a rhythm but his weight proved too massive for the girl. Her perseverance was admirable however as her feet continued scraping across the dry ground while all her weight was forced forwards through her arms to try and move the bat an inch on the swing.

Eventually, she came to Nesta in tears, disheartened that she’d been unable to succeed.

‘Don’t cry, please don’t cry,’ Cassian begged, watching her settle onto Nesta’s lap with red cheeks. His own face almost distraught. ‘Look how high I can go.’

Nesta smoothed Nuala’s hair as she turned her head to watch the big bat make a fool of himself to cheer her up. The silver that rimmed the girl’s blue eyes slowly ebbed as she watched him bounce onto the balls of his feet to swing. With every motion, the branch creaked a little more until it was an aching groan from the heavy pendulum below. Nuala’s little face lit up with delight as Cassian swung higher and higher. He became a black blur. Even Zasha paused from licking the bone to glance upwards.

A sudden crack sounded. Cassian was on the floor, the swing was beneath him, wings splayed out, and a large branch on top. Nuala’s hands clamped over her mouth, but Nesta offered no sympathy to him. Her laughter bordered on a scream of sheer hysteria. It was the most she had laughed in a long time. Tears were rolling down her cheeks by the time Cassian got to his feet. He rubbed the base of his spine with a sheepish expression.

‘That’s what you get for showing off,’ Nesta managed to say through her laughter.

‘Witch.’

‘Is that what miláčik means?’

‘No, witch is čarodejnica. Who put that swing up? I’ll be bruised from that.’

Nesta snorted. ‘You poor baby.’

The general of the Spring Court waved to them as he approached. Nuala’s face brightened into a beaming smile as she charged towards her father. In one motion, he’d scooped her up so their eyes were level. Fionn kissed his daughter, a smile on his own face.

‘I’ve finished my duty so I can take her off your hands. Thank you so much for helping.’

Nesta stood and straightened her skirts. ‘It’s been fun. We’ve lost a tooth too, papa. How is your wife?’

‘She’s managed to fall asleep, but I think the baby will be here within a day or two.’

‘Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?’ Cassian asked, coming to stand beside Nesta and resting his hand on the small of her back.

Fionn appraised them both and Nesta couldn’t help but wonder if he could see that invisible thread that connected the pair of them.

‘I always thought I’d want a son.’ He shifted Nuala a little higher in his arms. ‘But since we had this one, I’d quite like another girl. A healthy baby is the most important thing.’

‘I’ve asked for the healer to come and base themselves here ready.’

‘Thank you, my lady.’

‘Please, Fionn, Nesta only.’

Nesta watched them leave the gardens and she fought the urge to tuck her own arm around Cassian’s back. Her desires in life had never been extravagant; only to see a part of the world and be loved.

‘Why did you come here really?’

Cassian swallowed. His skin was blotchy from itching, and her own eyes were red from watering constantly. This court did not suit either of them.

‘To see you. I miss you.’ He swallowed again. ‘I can’t shake the feeling that something bad will happen soon. As if things have been quiet and good for too long in Prythian. And I’m terrified that if I’m not with you, you will be hurt.’

It was raw honesty. A kind of honesty she needed to hear from him after the war where they could have sifted through their feelings for each other and learned to be friends. Nesta knew that he would die for her. He had proved it in the past.

‘I remember going into the Cauldron. And do you know what the worst thing was? Not Elain and Lucien. Not the queens. Not Hybern. Not all the panic and the guards trying to drag me in. I remember you still tried to come to me, slumped on the floor and broken, you still moved for me. There was blood everywhere, your wings were shredded to ribbons, and you were still fighting for me.’

‘Why is that the worst thing, Nes?’

‘Because I know you would die for me. You would do anything to protect me.’ Nesta steadied herself with a long intake of breath. ‘I want you to live.’

‘Rather yourself dying than me? Nesta,’ he sighed, taking her hands and pulling her a step towards him, ‘nobody is dying. Nobody.’

The fear in his eyes betrayed his vow. Cassian was afraid – and they both should be. Koschei’s move for Nesta felt like a when rather than an if. She was trying to continue as normal, pretending as if every day gone was not a countdown to their imminent attack.

‘Hey,’ he said, nudging her gently, ‘have a bit more faith in my abilities. I can fight just fine, even if I’m ancient.’

‘I don’t want you to fight for me,’ she whispered. ‘I want you far from any attack. I want you to be safe.’

Cassian drew Nesta against his chest and kissed her forehead tenderly. His lips were warm as they lingered against her skin. ‘Then we’ll run. We will run to the furthest corner of this world where you’ll be safe. But we go together. We face it together. You don’t have to be alone, sweetheart. I will be by your side. I want to be by your side.’

Chapter Text

Nesta’s fear tore through their bond in a beckoning to Cassian akin to a signal fire. It scorched and blazed all the way to Windhaven.

They were in the midst of the final preparations for the Blood Rite with the males due to enter at first light. It was late - almost midnight - when Cassian had felt the tremor of fear shooting into his heart. He had endured Devlon’s outright hostility, blocked out the low level insults from the grunts assisting with preparations. This was something he could not ignore. Every fibre of his being was crying out one name: Nesta.

Whether it was the sudden intake of breath or the way he had stilled as if he could hear all the way to the Spring Court, Azriel shifted slightly and asked for a private word. Devlon watched them go, sneering about precious bastards under his breath.

‘All fine?’ He murmured into Cassian’s ear.

‘Nesta.’

They dismissed themselves in a hurry, Azriel glad of any reason to depart Illyria before his temper got the better of him. The shadowsinger took him by the wrist and winnowed to the edge of Spring in heartbeats.

The grounds were quiet. It was a cloudy night – one where all the stars were blotted out. Lucien hadn’t improved Cassian’s unease the day prior when he told him how his high lady had snared a Suriel within the grounds and came across naga in the process. He cheerfully recounted the creatures that roamed around the forests while Cassian had eaten his dinner in a stony silence. If anything, Cassian was now more afraid of leaving Nesta in the Spring Court.

The sentries on duty near the entrance to the Manor House were sat playing a game of dice, ignoring their duty entirely. There were females and a child inside the house and these sentries sat playing games. It was Azriel’s cool hand on his own that ebbed away the thoughts of unleashing his fury upon the guards for neglecting their duties. It only took one moment of complacency to result in heartbreak.

It was easy to sneak inside with Azriel’s shadows shrouding them. It was a move they’d done hundreds of times throughout the years when they’d needed stealth. The sentries saw nothing. Azriel’s cobalt siphons flared in response to Cassian’s scarlet ones as if answering a private question. Nesta’s anxiety still flooded the bond but there were no signs of a struggle, no sign of an enemy. If the soldiers’ behaviour were anything to go by, all ought to have been calm.

Wordlessly, Az tapped his shoulder and pointed in the direction that one of his shadows had slithered to - towards the grand staircase. They moved with purpose up the stairs, treading silently to avoid detection. Both sets of their wings were clamped to their back in an attempt to stop them rustling.

Voices sounded down a corridor. One was clinical, speaking short, sharp phrases. Another cried out in pain. The final voice tried to soothe, she spoke gently and encouragingly. Zasha suddenly started up barking from the room, realising intruders had managed to penetrate the home. The dog’s nails scratched against the wooden door that held him back until someone finally opened it and the beast came barrelling towards them, sleek as smoke. Mid-run, the dog changed the aggressive bark to one of delight and leapt up at Cassian’s front in recognition. They followed the beast back to his mistress.

‘I thought you were Tamlin,’ she groaned. ‘Have you not seen him?’

Her hair was tied into a loose ponytail and an apron covered the front of her night gown. An interrupted sleep. Cassian smelt the iron tang of blood.

Before he could voice a question, Nesta had already answered it. ‘The baby is coming. Now. Please one of you, find Fionn. He’s on duty in a village six miles east of here.’

Azriel’s eyes widened at the sound of the cries of the female on the bed that contended with the healer’s guidance.

‘I’ll go,’ he volunteered, departing swiftly back down the stairs.

‘Check on Nuala, netopier. First door on the left. She was awake when Aoife’s water broke but I told her to try and sleep. Mother knows she won’t.’

Nesta slammed the door on them - and Zasha. Every day that female surprised him. How matter of fact and outwardly calm she was despite the fact a female was giving birth in the next room. He could feel the nerves down their bond, but for Aoife, Nesta remained collected. And she’d raised the name of his deity. Hers too, he supposed since she was fae. But he had never heard Nesta reference the Mother in such a way and something about it stirred pride in his chest that maybe she was accepting who she had become.

Cassian sought out the small girl’s bedchamber. Nuala pretended to be asleep when he slipped inside her room with Zasha. Her breathlessness gave her away - as though she’d just leapt back into bed the moment she’d heard footsteps after listening in at the door. Zasha bedded down beside Nuala, using his cold nose to burrow into the covers until he found her face. She let out a little shriek of excitement and tossed back the blanket. Her cheeks were rosy from the heat and hair stuck to her forehead.

‘You’re not Nesta,’ she said in greeting.

‘Am I not?’ Cassian answered, pretending to be shocked.

‘Mama’s having a baby.’

Nuala whispered that as if it was something so precious she was afraid to voice it any louder. Babies were a blessing for high fae; that Fionn and Aoife had managed to conceive two so close in age was special. The children would have the fortune of growing up together through every stage of their life.

Cassian nodded. ‘But you must try and sleep – or Nesta will tell both of us off.’

‘I’m not tired,’ she whined.

Sometimes children in Illyria or Velaris stared at him with amazement. Likely to them, he was a giant. The odd few were brave enough to talk to him or ask to see his wings. But mostly children were intimidated by the sheer bulk of him. Certainly, girls in Illyria – too used to cruel, crass males – shrunk away from him and stared with big, brown eyes from behind their mother’s skirts.

Nuala was not such a child. She clambered across his lap, searching for candles and a book, asking him to light them so he could read to her. Dutifully, he obliged. Cassian was not going to get her to sleep any other way – he was out of his comfort zone with children. Already he felt like he was negotiating with Nuala and she had the upper hand. He would rather face Nesta’s wrath than battle with a child he barely knew.

‘Ten pages then it is really bed time.’

Ten pages became three chapters. His boots were dropped onto the wooden floor and he’d ended up in the middle of the bed, on top of the quilt, with Nuala beneath it, curled up against his side, head resting on his chest. She fought against heavy-lidded eyes to examine the illustrations. They were tales he had even heard in Illyria - classic stories for children though the names had changed in many. They had heard the arrival of Fionn; the general’s boots storming up the stairs seeking his wife, but Nuala had only insisted that Cassian read one more page. And then another. And another. A small hand had settled on top of his. And Cassian dared to dream. Dared to dream of a life with children who called him papa, of a mate who looked forward to him coming home and wrapped her arms around him the moment he stepped through the door.

Zasha’s head shot up from the bottom of the bed when Nesta opened the door a crack. She looked as tired as he felt, but a satisfied smile brightened her eyes. Good news.

‘You’re still awake,’ she breathed, entering the room. Nuala forced her head up from Cassian’s chest. ‘You look exhausted, Nuala.’

‘Can I see mama?’

Nesta opened her arms for Nuala to be carried. Her golden head nestled into Nesta’s neck. He had never seen anything so lovely. Nothing that had made him yearn as much as when he’d seen Nesta in Illyria with a slumbering boy in her arms. ‘Yes then it is time to sleep.’

At the door, Nesta paused and glanced over her shoulder to him.

‘Aren’t you coming?’

A grizzled-looking healer with wispy grey hair was packing away her kit when they trod into the doorway. Fionn perched on the edge of the bed, gazing in wonder at the newborn child in his wife’s arms. She had a glow about her, despite the exhaustion. At the sound of them entering, the couple turned to the doorway. Using her last reserves of energy, Nuala skipped across the wooden floor into her father’s outstretched arms.

‘You have a little sister,’ her mother said, adjusting the sleeping baby so Nuala could better see.

It was a beautiful sight, one Cassian felt he was intruding on. He and Nesta lingered in the doorway for another minute or two basking in the view of a family overflowing with love. He dared to dream again. His large hand rested on Nesta’s waist as he put his arm around her. For a moment, she stiffened then her body loosened into his touch. Dried tears streaked Nesta’s cheeks where she must have sobbed at the babe’s birth too.

‘Let them have their privacy,’ she whispered, backing out of the door.

Nesta led him by the hand to kitchen where she unscrewed a bottle of sherry and poured them both a glass.

‘There’s not much else in, I’m afraid.’

‘Are you sure you should have that?’

Nesta raised her eyebrows but said nothing as she brought the glass to her lips.

‘I just meant that in Velaris you were drinking heavily,’ he stuttered out.

‘I know exactly what I did in Velaris,’ she said icily. ‘It’s customary to toast a child’s birth in the mortal lands.’

Swifter than he imagined that she could be, Nesta had tipped her glass down her throat then done the same with his before he was able to move it out of her reach.

‘There. I’d hate for you to ever associate with a mortal activity. I must change myself to fit into this world, but nobody would deem themselves low enough to partake in my heritage. I must eradicate every trace of my past life.’

Cassian let out a small growl. ‘It’s not like that.’

A rustle of wings, from a male who know how to be silent, sounded as Azriel entered the kitchen. Even he wasn’t able to soften Nesta’s glacial expression.

‘Thank you for fetching Fionn,’ she said curtly.

Azriel dipped his head. ‘I hope mother and child are well.’

‘Yes.’

They stood in a stalemate, none of them willing to speak. The three of them were exhausted. He and Az had spent a day in Illyria and would need to be back there in a few hours. Nesta had helped to bring a child into the world.

‘We should go,’ Azriel said at last.

A howl sounded in the grounds, hollow and broken. The hairs on his arm stood on end at the sound of it.

‘What was that?’

Nesta rolled her eyes. ‘Tamlin. He’s taken to loping through the forests and howling. But it is absolutely none of your concern.’

‘It is when his sentries are so useless they can’t spot two Illyrians in the grounds.’

‘They are young and training,’ Nesta objected, placing her palms flat on the island in the centre of the kitchen. Zasha emitted a warning growl on behalf of his lady. The hound sat to attention at her side. The dog’s eyes were analysing Cassian’s wings, searching for the spot best to sink his jaws into.

‘And Koschei will tear through them like they’re paper. You’re knotting the rope for your own noose if you stay here.’

Azriel coughed, trying to steer the conversation away from the jagged rocks it was rapidly heading towards.

‘I’ll ensure you have the best view of the gallows,’ she sniped.

‘Cass, let’s go.’

A shadow wrapped itself around Cassian’s wrist in a subtle attempt at subduing his rising stress levels. Why must Nesta be so defiant? It could be pouring with rain and if Cassian tried to convince her to take a coat, she’d refuse just to spite him.

To steady himself, Cassian thought of his mother. Of the aching hole in his chest that had been carved that day he had discovered what had become of her. Nesta was his mate. They were still navigating who they could be; what they could be together. And with Nesta, a female forged of steel and fire, he knew he couldn’t push her or she’d snap.

‘I’m sorry. I’m grumpy and tired. I’m sorry. Can I walk you to your room?’

The image of her fearful expression on the bench in the Dawn Court when he’d offered to sever the bond flashed into his mind. There was hope. He’d keep hoping, keep dreaming, of a future. As if she knew what he thought, her expression softened. Then she nodded.

Azriel kissed her on the cheek in farewell as they passed by. As their feet reached the stairs, Zasha wedging himself between Nesta and Cassian, Tamlin’s beastly cries seeped over the grounds. When did her stubbornness end? She found herself in a court that lacked stability with a high lord who spent more time as an animal – not to mention the allergies.

At the door, Nesta continued walking. Her steps were laboured with fatigue. Cassian tugged her back by her cold, thin hand.

‘This is your bedroom.’

‘It is my old bedroom,’ she said plainly, trying to slip beneath his outstretched arm. ‘I have a new one.’

‘Why? What’s in here?’

‘Don’t open that,’ Nesta snapped, voice already brittle as his hand moved towards the handle. ‘Don’t go in there. I don’t want you in there. It’s private.’

Nesta wedged herself between him and the door, eyes ringed with fire as her hands clamped onto the doorframe. A sudden thought struck him like a hammer to the temple that Eris might have been in the room – or whatever they’d been doing together had left traces in the room. He had to know. Had to know if Eris had been with his mate. Whether it was out of spite for Morrigan or lust, Cassian didn’t care. He just had to know the truth.

‘Do not.’

Azriel knew how to get people to talk, how to open them up in agonisingly drawn out ways. Cassian didn’t need torture to move Nesta. With her arms outstretched, her waist was exposed. He squeezed her once, hard enough to tickle. She dropped into a crouch so he picked her up and moved her from his path. The door swung uneasily on its hinges; there was damage to the frame.

The room he had stayed with Nesta in during Calanmai was scorched to ruin. A lingering smoulder remained on the textiles where her flames had set the room alight. He could see the blackened outline on the sheets of where she’d been sleeping as her fire had erupted. The claws tearing into the wooden bedframe where Tamlin had likely dragged her to safety.

Nesta remained in the doorway, face riddled with shame.

‘I asked you not to come in here.’

‘What happened? Nesta, your magic needs to be under control. Right,’ he said, surveying the damage again, ‘come to Velaris. Rhys will train you. He’s the only one whose magic can rival yours. Eris hasn’t trained you enough.’

‘No.’

Cassian shook his head. ‘Nesta, you’re being trained properly. Do you want this to happen again?’

‘Get. Out.’

For a moment, Cassian believed that Nesta would attack him. Silver fire wreathed the hands that were balled into fists. Her breathing was a rattle and he could barely see from the pain twisting their bond.

‘You don’t respect me. You couldn’t just leave this room alone despite me asking you to. Out. Go home, Cassian. Go and lick the boots of your master like the loyal dog you are. Get out.’

Azriel met him on the porch at the entrance doors to the manor. He was about to speak then the look on Cassian’s face made him change his mind. In silence, Azriel walked alongside him to the edge of the court so they could winnow back home. Nesta’s words were ringing in his ears. Again. He knew his mistake as soon as he’d said it. Rhysand’s name was a repellent. And again he hadn’t offered her a choice. He had decided what was best for her. He had moved her out of the way as if she was a doorstop, so hell-bent on discovering Eris Vanserra hidden in the room. He built the rod for his own back, such were his insecurities. A fool. A fool who seemed determined to ruin his own mating bond before it had even been accepted.

Their boots landed heavily on the House of Wind. Orange and pink streaks were leaking into the skies of Velaris as the dawn chased the night back to its den. Rhys waited for them, arms folded like a disappointed father.

‘Do either of you want to tell me why you disappeared from Illyria on the eve of the Blood Rite?’

Azriel stared Rhys in the eyes as he said, ‘No.’

The fracture in their relationship was spreading further. Cassian was too forlorn to care that night – or, he supposed, morning.

‘You have duties. If you’re unable to complete them, you can be relieved of them.’

‘Mother forbid you’d have to do any work.’

The words came out before Cassian had a chance to cage them. Rhys’ eyes widened in surprise. Even Azriel snorted in response, trying to hide his laughter.

‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘Perhaps you could do more for Illyria. Perhaps you could ensure the females are educated and not beaten. Just as a start.’

‘Are they your words or Nesta’s?’

It was the wrong time to argue. There was never a right time, but when Cassian’s anger was already a festering wound, it was the wrong time.

‘Nesta’s words would be far more scathing – but brutally honest. I’ll get a couple of hours sleep then I’m going back to Windhaven. Goodnight.’

Chapter Text

A nervous silence had descended upon Windhaven. Illyria always seemed to hold its breath until the Blood Rite was over.

There were many recruits who were set for great things. None had been heralded as the next Carynthians from Devlon’s assessments. Of the skilled fighters, a few lacked the arrogance that would get them killed. Those males would keep their heads down and focus on survival. Many would die though. Mothers would mourn the sons who had little chance to live.

Azriel had stayed for all of ten minutes in Windhaven before melding into shadow. He and Devlon had gotten into a verbal spat within seconds of the shadowsinger’s arrival to Illyria. The females hadn’t been allowed to train. The camp lords argued that they were needed more than ever to complete their duties and to scrub the camps while training of the males was halted. Azriel was smart enough to recognise his sour mood would be no better if he stayed a moment longer. Before departing, he spared an apologetic look to Cassian.

It was strange for them to have such contrasting views about Illyria when usually they were in agreement. For Azriel, Illyria was a place to detest. A place past retribution. But Cassian, although he knew the country’s flaws well enough, still held a place in his heart for Illyria. It was his homeland. A place he wanted to improve and cherish.

His eyes were stinging with fatigue. It was an unforgiving spring day in Illyria where the rain lashed down in sudden bursts that were punctuated with spells of sunshine. During those moments, the sky still remained a tumultuous grey, reminding them that there were still more downpours to come. His sleep in Velaris had been fitful. It usually was during the Blood Rite, but with the added stress of worrying about Nesta, sleep had been fractured.

A small bell rang out as Cassian pushed open the door to a shop in Windhaven. The seller sat on a three legged stool, nose inches from a book. She struggled to drag her attention away from the text. Her head drifted upwards, but her dark eyes remained scanning the lines for a few more moments.

‘Sorry. Great chapter,’ she said. ‘Can I help you?’

‘It’s Emerie, isn’t it?’

The female clenched her jaw, watching him warily. The thick scars on her wings were some of the worst ones Cassian had ever seen. The males in her life had not treated her gently. Where she’d jerked and bucked, the scars criss-crossed over each other. No amount of healing would ever repair the damage. He understood Azriel’s distress with Illyria, with Rhysand for not imposing laws sooner.

‘Do you remember Nesta? I’m Cassian. She’s my m- I’m her friend.’

‘You’re the general of the armies,’ she murmured and a hand twisted in her long, black braid rather than shaking the one he had reached across the counter.

Cassian swallowed then nodded. ‘I’ve invited Nesta to Illyria. I don’t know if she’ll come, but I wondered if you would be happy to meet.’

‘To do what?’ Her eyes had narrowed.

‘She likes to read. It would be nice for her to have a friend – maybe for you too.’

Emerie pursed her lips then slowly dipped her head in agreement. ‘She bought half the shop when she was here. That was months ago though.’

‘Nesta is based in the Spring Court now.’

And Cassian was a fool for hoping she’d come to Illyria after the bust-up they’d had the night before. But if he could just entice her with the promise of friendship with Emerie – to prove he was willing to work for her happiness – that might be enough for her to visit his homeland.

‘Yes. Balthazar told me. She’s welcome here anytime. As you can see, I’m not particularly rushed off my feet.’

Cassian took that as his dismissal. It had been that day when Nesta had began to forge friendships in Illyria with the blacksmith and the shopkeeper when it had all gone wrong. She had taken fledgling steps beyond the village. It was rotten luck that of all the days, both her and Rhysand were in Windhaven at the same time. For Feyre’s sake, and his own, he hoped that one day Nesta and Rhys might be cordial. There was a lot of healing to be done before that ever happened.

During the flight to Velaris, Cassian changed course following a summons from Rhys to the Hewn City. The Court of Nightmares needed improvements too – yet Cassian lacked the same attachment to it as he did to Illyria.

He was to meet with Keir to arrange a time to inspect the darkbringers. After an early morning with the camp lords, there was perhaps no worse punishment than a lunch with Mor’s horrendous father. Rhysand had arrived before him, judging by the jitters of the crowd dissipating from the foyer. Cassian did not have to feign the expression of contempt he wore as the parted the crowd, aiming for Keir.

Cassian was not in the mood to play. He announced that he would inspect the troops the day after the Blood Rite ended, rather than allow Keir to worm his way out of it or to give him any room to negotiate.

When it was done, he followed the winding corridor of black marble to one of the meeting rooms behind the throne room. Voices sounded close to the door that his hand was poised to open. It swung back, revealing Rhys and Eris still speaking in a sharp conversation. The crown nestled into Rhys’ black hair was shaped like a crown of thorns, digging into the skin.

‘Your master has already given me a verbal reprimand about mentioning that fascinating female we both know and adore.’ The male had a face that begged to be punched. His top lip curled into a sneer. ‘I thought you might have trotted her out like a show pony to pretend she likes this revolting little place.’

Eris caught the brief glance of confusion exchanged between him and Rhys.

‘She’s not here,’ he stated. A flicker of worry passed across Eris’ features.

‘She’s not in Spring? Where is she? Winnow me there. Now.’

Eris narrowed his eyes at Cassian, cold contempt dripping from his gaze. ‘I do not take orders from bastards.’

‘You’re such a prick.’

‘Maybe,’ he said, a gloating grin suddenly appearing. ‘But I know how to winnow.’

After Eris winnowed himself out of the Hewn City, Rhys offered to take Cassian to the Spring Court. It was an olive branch – an attempt at finding peace. Peace was a fragile thing when it was tossed around in the vicinity of Eris Vanserra. He’d rather Rhys winnowed him to wherever Eris was so he could pummel him into the ground. Still, that slight murmur of worry that had managed to escape from Eris’ carefully curated mask had scared Cassian. If Nesta wasn’t in Spring, he had no clue where she might have been.

Eris was already striding across the grounds, unchecked by sentries, when they arrived, hot on his heels. It was a blustery day, even in Spring. The winds carried dustings of blossom that it lifted from the grounds.

‘Where’s the hound he gave her?’ Rhys murmured as they followed behind towards the manor.

Cassian scanned the vicinity, but could not see a sign of the excitable smokehound. Nesta had to have gone willingly, taking Zasha with her. He’d felt no signs of trauma or panic down their bond since he had departed. But where would she go? Her friends were few, her ability to travel impossible.

A rosy-cheeked servant was engaged in conversation with Eris at the door. She huffed for breath, with a hand pressed to her chest. The skin around her eyes was dabbed with crow’s feet and her white, wispy hair was escaping its bun. Down her apron were smears of flour.

‘It’s not my business to ask the lady of the manor such things,’ she said, bowing her head to Eris’ question.

‘Noele, you knew when her birthday was when her own mate did not,’ replied Eris, gesturing to Cassian. ‘I’m sure you must have an inkling of where she might be.’

The servant blushed beetroot red at the sight of a high lord, a high lord’s son, and a general crowding the entry, batting questions at her.

‘Lady Nesta decides her own path. I do not pry. However, she did say she would be back for dinner. Now, if it pleases you, be off or I shall fetch the high lord of this court.’

There was no better guard than an elderly female who only gossiped with her favoured few. The three males were not counted in that number. Noele politely, but forcefully, shut the front door on them. Eris stood dumbstruck, not used to anybody deemed below him behaving so abruptly. Even in a weakened state, Tamlin had always been a powerful fighter – one whose strength was unrivalled. Fighting him was never a good idea.

‘Shall we go?’ Rhys offered.

Amidst the pink and white blossoms, Eris stood with his arms folded. The cold-faced Autumn Court heir could have been something Made himself. With his sharp pointed ears and unflinching gaze, Eris Vanserra was truly faerie. There was an impish quality about his features – somewhere between ethereal and untamed. Nesta and Eris’ budding friendship had been a puzzle at first. Yet they had forged an alliance based on their shared similarities. Eris was everything that Nesta’s mother had wanted for her.

‘I’m staying until I know Nesta is home safe,’ Cassian declared.

You can’t just be at her beck and call the moment you feel a tug on the bond, Rhys said using his daemati powers.

I can and I will.

Eris watched them carefully. The corners of his mouth ticked up as if enjoying his own little private joke. It would be a long day trapped with him.

For hours, they sat in stony silence under separate trees. Rhys had continued onto Velaris, promising to return before sundown to winnow him home. Every time, Cassian had sneezed or sniffed, Eris had hissed at him.

‘Does it not irritate you that Morrigan used you to break off a betrothal?’

‘Does it irritate you that the prospect of a lifetime with Eris Vanserra made her fuck an Illyrian bastard?’

Eris laughed loudly. ‘Once with you was enough. She never touched you again. You must have been truly disappointing where it matters.’

Cassian contemplated drowning Eris in the pond. He knew full well that Mor had used him, but as a young male who chased after anything with a pulse, it was his own stupid fault for agreeing to it. Still, it had saved Mor from a life of misery.

‘I bet it breaks the heart of your little shadowy friend everytime he sees you two together. You took what he wanted most.’

‘Eris, shut the fuck up.’

The male had a habit of going to the root of an issue and tearing it from the ground where it was raw and painful. Eris remained with a smug, satisfied smile on his face. It was too tempting to break him in half like snapping a twig, but Cassian was determined to prove that he was not just a brute.

For a while, they were silent until Eris began his next volley. ‘Tell me, how is my errant brother? Is he enjoying kissing the boots of the Night Court?’

‘Better to find a family than endure one that exiles you and murders your partner.’

‘I have heard it said that some Illyrian families leave their newborn females on a hillside to die because they want males.’

One punch could knock out every single one of his front teeth. Cassian would be fast too. Eris wouldn’t be able to block the hit.

‘Speaking of females: How can you allow your father to crush your mother? Not one of you raises a hand to stop what your father does to-’

A bolt of fire tore through the air, scorching the grass at Cassian’s feet black. ‘Do not speak of my mother.’

Victory. Cassian had found the soft spot in Eris Vanserra’s armour.

In the late afternoon sun, three figures rode across the horizon. In the centre was Nesta, proud and regal leading the way. The sentry on her left seemed to have been picked for his brawn, but the one on her right was slight, with eyes that darted to and fro. He rode with one hand gripped to the reins and the other tight around the hilt of his sword, ready to face danger. Nesta was shrewd to select that pair. It was a minimal sort of protection, but at least she was taking precautions.

As soon as the three came within their proximity, Zasha tore across the grass towards them, annoying the horses in his mission to seek out Cassian and Eris.

***

‘Where have you been?’

‘We’ve been waiting hours.’

‘I’ve been stuck with the brute all day.’

‘Nobody forced you to stay, Eris.’

Nesta dismounted unaided. She preferred to ride astride rather than side saddle, even if her mother would have clamoured that it was unladylike to do such a thing. Both males waited behind the fence of the paddock bickering while Zasha demanded attention. A servant led her mare to the stables. It was the same chestnut horse she had learnt to ride on in the Autumn Court. It surprised Nesta that Eris hadn’t sent her the bill for the horse – or the lessons.

‘I was unaware that I had to inform you both on every movement of my life,’ she said, closing the gate to the horses’ behind her.

‘Where have you been?’ Eris persisted.

Once, Eris had marvelled at her mind. Now however, he did not like it when Nesta made decisions that had not been discussed with him. She was taking the Spring Court into her own hands, steering it away from Eris’ guidance, and he knew it. He feared that Nesta would allow the Night Court to take it. Tamlin was the final weapon in his arsenal against his father so he needed the court to be shaped in the way he wanted. Nesta’s priority was stabilising the Court – and keeping it out of reach of both the Autumn Court and the Night Court.

‘I had a meeting. There is one high lord who actually rules his court and takes an active role in the lives of those who dwell in his court. Zasha! With me.’

The long day spent in the heat of the Summer Court had made her drowsy. The promise of a cool wash and a cuddle with the newborn, whom her parents were referring to as “the baby”, spurred her on to the Manor House.

Nesta regretted declining Tarquin’s original offer of staying the night. The blazing sun had been delightful as she had basked in its warmth on a balcony while reading. For a short while, Nesta had been able to shut out the roaring in her ears. The constant whirring of ominous thoughts had stilled. A breeze had drifted over the ocean, carrying the smell of salt, which had cooled her skin. She’d have liked to have spent the whole evening curled up with a book like a cat soaking in the last rays of golden sunshine. Although it was nice not to spend the day sneezing or rubbing her eyes, she was already paying for the few hours she had spent at the beach. The skin on her nose and cheeks felt tight and hot. If she looked in a mirror, it would be tinged pink. Her mostly bare shoulders were already glowing with a tan.

‘You’ve been to the Summer Court,’ Eris said, falling into step beside her and Zasha. His amber eyes roved over the bare skin of her shoulders.

A rustle sounded the other side of her as Cassian caught up to them. Nesta felt his gaze roam across her shoulders too. Her dress was not one she would usually wear. It was sleeveless, with tiny threads of straps. It clinched at her waist and was tight around her breasts, but the skirt was loose and airy. The dress was suited to the Summer Court; the cerulean colour matched that of Tarquin’s attire incidentally – but Nesta wasn’t sure how the members of that court managed to not spend the day sweating. If the males either side of her stepped too close, their nostrils would suffer the consequences.

‘Why?’

Nesta cleared her throat. ‘I am emissary to this court. We are developing a fund for displaced fae. I believe you both were at the high lords’ meeting. Perhaps you were present in body, rather than in mind, if this is new information.’

‘You did not say you were meeting Tarquin in his own court.’

‘And why should I have told you, Eris?’

Cassian snorted then Eris rounded on him, voice laced with venom.

‘I don’t know why you’re laughing. She did not tell you either.’

Nesta’s patience was wearing thin. Her late night followed by a busier morning bouncing ideas off of Tarquin had left her with little room for two squabbling males. At the front porch, Nesta stopped. She called Zasha to her and waited for the dog to sit before she began.

‘I have had enough social interaction for the day. If you would like to schedule a meeting about the fund – or any other related matters – please do so in writing. Neither of you is particularly enjoyable company so you ought to leave.’

***

There was no weapon forged that was as deadly as Nesta’s choice of words. Even Eris stared at her as if he’d been stung. The door closed quietly. The two males waited for a couple of minutes, both hoping that Nesta might draw back the door and laugh – or invite them in for a cool drink.

No such thing happened. Neither was willing to relent. They returned to their spots beneath the trees, both nursing their pride as Nesta’s outright dismissal of them.

‘She only ever speaks to me like that when you have annoyed her,’ the red haired male grumbled.

When Rhysand returned to the edge of the court, Eris finally departed. Cassian spared a glance to the house, hoping that he might see Nesta’s face from one of the windows. No, her farewell had been final.

The Night Court felt cool in comparison to the balmy spring day as they returned to Velaris.

‘You managed to leave Eris alive. I’m impressed.’

Cassian laughed derisively. ‘Az might honestly disown me if I punch Eris before he does.’

‘You did stab him in the gut when Feyre and Lucien left Spring,’ Rhys countered evenly, holding the door open for him.

‘True,’ Cassian admitted. ‘Azriel has punched him before too. Several times.’

Rhys shook his head. ‘Az would love nothing more than to chop Eris into tiny pieces then feed him to his smokehounds.’

‘The way things are going between you two, I think he’d like to do the same to you.’

It hit a nerve. The high lord of the Night Court winced.

‘Feyre has asked him to forgive and forget.’

‘Az feels deeply. It’s why we love him.’

‘It’s less about forgiveness than him being downright stubborn at his point,’ Rhys said with a shake of his head. ‘Feyre wants him to forgive me. He won’t budge.’

Cassian ran a finger along the smooth surface of the siphon in the gauntlet of his hand. It had been the kindess of Rhys’ mother that had saved Cassian’s life. He no longer had to rummage for discarded food or scraps of clothes to wear. Thanks to that generous female, he had learnt to read and write, and what it was to be loved. Rhysand was his brother. They were raised together. They had had their own spats throughout the years, but always came back together – as siblings should.

‘Feyre also asked you to forgive Nesta. But you’re not willing to budge on that either.’

‘That’s different.’

‘Is it? Nesta was a child too, Rhys. Feyre has asked you to forgive her. She doesn’t blame Nesta – or Elain – for what they endured. Az learnt to be stubborn from one brother, and it wasn’t me.’ Cassian sighed deeply. ‘You’re Feyre’s mate. You feel the innate need to protect her. Nesta’s mine. If you can’t forgive her, despite Feyre and me asking you to, I don’t know where we go from here.’

***

After scrubbing herself with several buckets full of tepid water, Nesta had taken to lounging on her bed. Zasha was already snoring by her head. Following a hot day in the Summer Court, it was tempting to drift to sleep sprawled on top of the duvet with dusk crawling into the sky. Nesta allowed her heavy eyes to close. The rhymthic snoring lulled her.

A knocking roused her. She recognised the brusque knock of Noele; could even hear her panting outside the door from taking the stairs two at a time in a rush. She called for the servant to enter.

‘Begging your pardon, but Lord Vanserra is here.’

Nesta rolled onto her stomach. ‘Don’t call him that, Noele, you’ll inflate his sense of importance. Dismiss him. I’ve had enough of him for one day.’

Noele’s cheeks reddened. ‘Pardon, Lady Nesta. It is not Master Eris. It is the High Lord of the Autumn Court.’

Chapter Text

Nesta stared at a spot on the wall, trying to still her nerves. A hand settled onto Zasha’s sleek fur.

‘Noele, I would like you to see the high lord into the drawing room. Once you have done that, locate Tamlin and ensure Aoife and the children are safe – and out of the way.’

‘It will be done,’ the servant panted.

‘Take Zasha with you.’

Nesta combed her damp hair through and braided it quickly to give the illusion that she was put together. At least she had bathed rather than flopped on the bed as she had originally wanted to on the return from the hot and sticky Summer Court.

At the top of the stairs, Nesta inhaled deeply. Each step was taken with precision, not hurried but not dawdling either. There had not been time to don her armour or prepare herself for whatever storm the high lord of the Autumn Court was about to bring. All Nesta could do was steel her spine and appear as unruffled as possible.

‘Lord Beron,’ she said in greeting, ‘We did not receive word you would be arriving.’

Despite Noele’s hospitality, the high lord had not taken a seat in the drawing room, preferring to remain standing. He stood close to one of the dark walls inspecting a painting of three ships on a tumultuous sea. With him, two Autumn Court sentries stood in the dining room – and Nesta had spotted a handful more waiting with their horses in the grounds. It was a mark of disrespect to enter another’s home with soldiers.

‘Whatever could be so pressing that you arrive at dusk accompanied by a vanguard?’

Beron turned his attention to Nesta. His gaze roved over her exposed skin – the sharpness of her collar bones, the thinness of her arms. Although Nesta’s appetite was improving, she still lacked the fullness of Feyre and Elain. Nesta’s body remained as it had been when they starved in their cottage during the bleakest winters as mortals. Still, it was better for Beron to stare at her arms than her breasts – at least he had some form of manners.

‘Would you join me for dinner? It seems a waste to let it go cold.’

Beron, surprisingly, accepted her offer and extended the crook of his arm for her take on the short walk into the dining room. Nesta had no plan other than stalling for time so the servants could find Tamlin for her back up. The two Autumn Court sentries followed behind, their boots leaving no traces of mud due to their strict regime. Eris had told her once about the sentries’ training; how brutal it could be – and how failure of a simple task like maintaining the cleanliness of ones boots could result in expulsion. It was not an army bred for war, but one bred to blindly follow.

She had seen Beron dominate any in his path, but she had not expected the male to pull out the chair for her or indeed tuck her in to the table. She had presumed Eris and Lucien’s manners had come from their mother rather than Beron. More surprising was that he had selected the seat at the head of the table for her then deferred to the one to her left for his own; a political gesture that he acknowledged this was her court rather than his own. The sentries stood at adjacent walls, one had his eye on the door, one to the window – Beron in easy reach.

A servant settled their plates. Beron did not thank the servant, merely waited until Nesta had retrieved her own cutlery before he picked up his own.

‘Is it poisoned?’

Nesta cut a length off of her piece of salmon. Beron watched as it slid off her fork into her mouth. Watched every moment she chewed it for. Even followed the bob of her throat as she swallowed.

‘You’ll have to try it and find out,’ she replied, smirking slightly.

Their eyes met. Eris’ eyes. There was something in Beron’s expression that Nesta did not like. Not the cold, cruel usual expression. No, there was something gleaming in those amber eyes, something like a challenge.

They ate in silence. It was not unlike the dinners Nesta had as a child when she was allowed to sit at the table with her father and mother. Her manners had been polished until they gleamed in those days. Her mother had spent hours ensuring Nesta knew exactly what item of cutlery to use – and how. It was just one of the many lessons she had to endure as part of her mother’s grand plan to find her a wealthy husband. Once, she had flicked a pea at Elain during a dinner that the servants were overseeing. When her mother found out what she’d done, all of her dolls were taken away for a fortnight as punishment.

The weight of Beron’s gaze was on her for the duration of dinner. Only once she had finished the final sprig of asparagus on his plate did he comment.

‘A healthy appetite.’

‘I find in the last couple of days I cannot stop eating,’ she admitted, and a blush bloomed on her cheeks.

Beron noted it. ‘My wife was the same in the early stages of pregnancy.’

Her blush darkened. ‘That certainly is not the case for me.’

A servant scurried in to collect their plates. Beron kept his hands folded in his lap, dignified and poised. The sky had turned to darkness. It was late enough that Beron’s presence was bordering on inappropriate. He still had made no mention of why he had come to the court.

‘My son is very fond of you.’

‘Eris has been a valuable ally in developing the fund.’

That was all Nesta dared to say of Eris. She knew exactly what Beron had done to him for defending her in front of the Night Court. She did not want to cause any more trouble for Eris. Beron had twisted her arm into an agreement to spy on Eris. Eris had revealed little of his plans. His only purpose in his visits to the Spring Court seemed to be to spend time with her.

‘Show me your magic.’

It was not a request. Nesta let it wreath her head like a crown, just as she’d done at the high lords’ meeting. Silver flames crawled up her bare arms and ringed her irises with steel.

‘Magnificent,’ he breathed.

Beron reached for her hand so that his rough palm was splayed out beneath the back of her hand. His own flames of burnished gold crawled across their hands, entwining themselves with her own silver ones. Nesta’s palm tingled from the sensation.

The high lord folded her fingers into her palm with his own, letting their flames dance over each other independent of their will.

‘Your sister stole a piece of my magic, but yours… Yours is unique. This is what the Cauldron gifted to you.’

Nesta sent her flames to wrap around Beron’s wrist. ‘The Cauldron gave me nothing. I took it.’

The imposing figure of the high lord of the Spring Court appeared in the doorway. Beron’s hand slunk away from Nesta’s, back into his lap. Tamlin took the seat opposite him. A rich scent of wild flowers and the earth swept the room. Tamlin was how Nesta had always imagined fae to be as a child. He looked as if he belonged to the land, half-wild and beautiful. The claws did not leave his hands.

‘Lord Beron, this is a late hour to visit.’

‘I hear my son comes at any hour he desires to this court.’

‘We have not had visitation from Eris since the meeting in Dawn. And as for Lucien, he may pass freely through this court.’ Tamlin straightened himself into the chair. ‘A male who has ruled as long as you knows the proper protocol in entering another’s court – and the consequences of not following it. What is your reason for being here?’

‘Is it not enough to simply enjoy the company of a pretty female?’

There was no kindness in either male’s face. The atmosphere had soured since Tamlin’s arrival – but Nesta was still glad he had come. Beron had once been afraid of Tamlin. It had been that male who had hauled the Autumn Court leader – and his armies – into war.

‘I’d rather you enjoyed the company of your wife than waltz into my court as it pleases you. It is a long way back to the Autumn Court – particularly in darkness. Perhaps you ought to leave. There are dangers in these forests.

The sentries shifted.

‘Is that a threat?’

Tamlin, unruffled, rocked back on his chair. ‘Certainly not. I merely wanted to highlight the risks of passing into a court without announcing your presence. Who knows what could cross your path. I hope your sentries are well-trained.’

When Beron stood, Tamlin did not move to see him out. It was a disrespectful dismissal. He shook his head slightly to Nesta, signalling that she should not escort Beron out either.

In silence, they watched from the window as Beron and his men mounted their horses then left the grounds. Nesta finally released the breath it felt like she had been holding the entire duration of Beron’s visit. Behind her, Tamlin unscrewed a bottle and poured them both a drink. It was a fiery whiskey that burnt her throat when it went down but it steadied her nerves.

‘Come with me,’ said Tamlin gruffly.

The backroom lay undisturbed. The servants dusted it regularly, though it remained untouched mostly. Tamlin gestured to the beautiful pianoforte against the golden wall. On top was a selection of music though it was too complicated for Nesta to play yet.

‘I have tuned it for you.’

She had not asked him to. It had been days since she’d even mentioned wanting to play it. Feyre had loved him. Feyre had fallen hopelessly in love with him. There had to be good inside. Whilst Nesta’s heart was buried below layers of ice and steel, perhaps the high lord had wrapped his in thorns and vines for it to never hurt again.

‘Do you play?’

Tamlin dipped his chin. Both were stood in a stance more suited for fighting rather than friendship.

‘Would you show me a few chords?’

It was easier to talk when hands were busy. Rovena had taught her as much in Illyria. It was odd and wrong to sit so close to Tamlin on the stool but if he was to hurt her, he’d have done it already in the weeks she’d spent in his home. She copied the position of his fingers a couple of octaves higher, listening dutifully as he said the name of the chord.

‘Why did Beron come here?’

‘I don’t know,’ Nesta admitted. ‘And that unnerves me. I can’t decide whether it was to spy or to remind me that he is a threat.’

‘I told you once he’d like to collect you. You’re a female he’d struggle to break. Now he knows what your magic can do, he will likely want to breed you with one of his sons. Or himself.’

Her finger slipped and a hard sound hit her ears. ‘What?

‘Beron is obsessed with his legacy.’

They played quietly for a time, practising chords without speaking much. Exhaustion was settling into her bones, making every movement heavy. Although sleep was summoning her like a siren’s song, having a civil conversation with Tamlin was something she had not dreamed of. She could not waste the opportunity.

‘I had wanted to talk to you about the sentries. When Aoife was in labour, Cassian and Azriel came here.’ A hiss from Tamlin. ‘The sentries on guard duty at the door were playing a game. They did not even notice the Illyrians arrive or indeed stop them. I did not know the procedure for reprimanding them.’

‘I will do it,’ he said, voice rough as bark.

Nesta placed her hand on top of his. The hot skin was a stark contrast to the cool feel of the ivory keys.

‘We have both made mistakes. Done things we regret. This is not the end. There are better days ahead.’

Tamlin withdrew his hand from beneath hers then slunk from the room. Nesta did not know how to put her strange, muddled feelings into words. Tamlin had taken Feyre from their home – and they had fallen in love. He had managed to love a mortal girl who had killed his friend. Had loved her in spite of the curse placed upon Prythian. Rather than have her face Amarantha, he had sent Feyre home, to safety. Tamlin had sent them chests of jewels and gold. It was guilty money for taking Feyre, Nesta knew that, but it had elevated their status as mortals. He had even provided the large home they had lived in. The limp her father had was improved by Tamlin’s doing. That wealth had allowed their father to travel to the continent and bring armies to the fight against Hybern. It would not have been possible if those things were not set into motion by Tamlin and Feyre’s love.

At no point had Tamlin threatened Nesta or tried to remove her from his home. Even if it was not where she wanted to be, Nesta had found a purpose in the Spring Court – a place where she wasn’t shamed or unwanted.

Sleep had come fitfully. Again, Nesta was plagued with the same dream of her mother giving her away to Koschei in their home. It happened the same way each night. Nesta couldn’t fight against the motions. Her mother would lead her down the corridor and Nesta was powerless to follow. She hated the dream. Hated the feel of Koschei’s skin on her own, forcing his tongue into her mouth. But in some sort of sick pleasure, she was glad to see her mother and father again.

The dream evolved each night. That night, after the ball, Nesta had dreamt she was drowning in a river of blood. It had rushed through the home, dragging dead Illyrians with the current. Her thoughts were with Balthazar. And then Beron had turned it to fire. He had burnt the crumbling foundations so she was left with only ashes and an immortal who slipped a ring onto her finger.

At breakfast, Aoife was battling again with Nuala, trying to tempt her to eat breakfast rather than sitting beneath the table with Zasha. It brought much needed light relief to Nesta. She relieved the mother of the slumbering newborn so she could pull her daughter out from under the table. Nuala shrieked with laughter as she crawled deeper under the table. The baby screwed up her face in Nesta’s arms from the noise.

Nesta took the baby out onto the porch. It was a gloriously sunny day where the world did not feel so bad. She remembered how it was when Feyre had been born – Elain and her been so jealous that their parents and the servants’ affections had flickered to the newborn. They had been determined to cause as much chaos to turn attention back to them. Nuala was trying it now. The excitement of being a big sister had worn off quickly and the baby was an obstacle to Aoife’s love. Nesta was happy to sit on one of the rattan chairs with her feet up on the porch with the baby sleeping against her chest while Aoife and Nuala had breakfast together.

There was nothing so perfect. The baby, who was still without a name, was tucked against Nesta’s chest. Her quiet breathing a song Nesta could listen to for eternity. The crop of blonde hair tickled against the crook of Nesta’s neck. If something this good – this precious – could exist, the world could not be such a bad place.

A male with hair the colour of flames winnowed in front of the manor house. Tailored in dark green pants and black boots that went to his knees, he strode with purpose towards Nesta.

Lucien settled in the chair beside her, eyes falling on the baby.

‘You’ve been busy.’

Nesta rolled her eyes, but in spite of herself the corners of her mouth ticked up. His eyes stayed on the baby in her arms, gaze falling across the tiny fist.

‘Would you like to hold her?’

Lucien pressed his back against the chair. ‘Children find this scary.’ He gestured to the brutal scar running down his face and the mechanical eye.

‘Well, this one is asleep and only two days old so she can’t see very well. And, so we’re clear, it is only a scar. It does not change the character within.’

Lucien sat stiffly as though made from stone as Nesta placed the baby into his arms. His breathing was shallow like he was trying not to inhale too deeply and disturb her sleep. Nesta couldn’t help but wonder if one day she would see this scene again but it would be a neice or nephew of hers in the male’s arms.

‘Nesta, whatever plan you have with Eris, my mother stays out of it. I would rather inform my father, putting you and him at risk, than ever have her in danger.’

Nesta gritted her teeth. It was all becoming too complex, all the webs that Eris was weaving around her were beginning to feel like a trap. But she understood Lucien’s plight. He was willing to risk Nesta and face the wrath of Cassian and Elain to protect his mother. Lucien smiled apologetically.

‘You wouldn’t attack a male with a baby in his arms, would you?’

‘So who sent you to spy? Rhys or Feyre?’

Lucien’s brow knitted together. ‘Neither. I came freely. For my mother’s sake.’

Both of them knew that Eris planned to overthrow their father, but neither would say it out loud. Whether Lucien would keep it secret from his new allies was left undecided.

‘I merely provided a distraction for Eris. That’s as far as my involvement goes. Your father came here last night actually.’

‘He would never have done such a thing before. Tamlin would have chased him from the grounds if he ever dared to be so bold before.’

‘I chased him off when I had the opportunity,’ came Tamlin’s rough voice from the far end of the porch.

If Lucien did not have a child in his arms, Nesta would have bet money that he’d have scarpered away. Instead, he was pinned to the chair, too afraid to move and disturb the sleeping baby. Tamlin was dressed, his hair was combed, and there was an alertness about his face that Nesta had not seen the whole time she had stayed in the Spring Court.

‘There is a lot we need to talk about – if you have time now.’

Lucien blinked at Tamlin’s words, at the offer he was extending to him. Nesta took the babe from him then watched with curiosity as the two males entered the house, speaking cautious, hesitant words to each other. It was akin to testing the ice on a river, treading carefully but determined to cross to the other side.

The office had been disturbed. Documents containing Tamlin’s signature were piled neatly on one corner of the desk ready to be dispatched across the court. The accounts that Nesta had spent days re-writing into something legible were open where the high lord had been studying them. If Beron’s visit had chilled her to the bone, it had had the opposite effect on Tamlin. It had ignited a fire back into the chasm of his chest to seize control of his court and stop the unwanted visitors.

One unwanted visitor arrived late in the afternoon. While Nesta ate a pear in a hammock with Zasha slumbering beneath in the shadow, Eris arrived. He stood to her left, reading over her shoulder.

‘This a sexually charged book. Are you imagining yourself in this scene?’

Nesta slammed the book shut, outraged.

‘Ah, Sellyn Drake. Every females favourite.’

Nesta raised the book ready to swat Eris away as if he was a fly, but the male gripped the edge of the hammock, threatening to tip her from it.

‘You are so irritating. Like a rash that won’t go away.’

‘An itch you can never scratch,’ he purred, extending a hand to help her from the hammock. 'I thought you'd be locked away in the office.'

'Back ache,' she grumbled.

They walked across the spongy grass, Nesta’s dainty shoes at odds with the stomping steps she took to get away from Eris.

‘Where’s your new best friend? The one with wings?’

Eris retched. ‘I’d rather stick pins under my nails than spend another moment with that brute.’

In the sanctuary of the house, Nesta blew her nose. The pollen had itched her nostrils and the brightness of the day made the inside too dark to make out the furniture properly. Eris lounged in an armchair, one ankle crossed over his knee – too comfortable.

‘My father paid a little visit last night, didn’t he?’

‘I’ve had enough of the Vanserras showing up here. Leave.’

‘Why are you angry with me? What have I done?’ Eris frowned.

Nesta folded her arms in front of her chest. ‘I’m tired of males discarding me when it suits them.’

‘For goodness sake, I told you that I couldn’t be near you because of my father. I had to. You think I didn’t want to dance with you in Dawn?’ Eris frowned deeper, his face darkening with a shadow. ‘And instead you paraded in front of me with that damn shadow singer. You know my opinion on him.’

‘Azriel is a good male. He’s never been ashamed of associating with me.’

‘Nesta, I’m not ashamed. I’m-’ Eris stopped suddenly and realisation dawned upon him. ‘The brute… he isn’t proud to be your mate?’

‘Not when certain females are around,’ she said icily.

‘The Morrigan?’

Nesta hummed her acknowledgement of the name. Morrigan and Amren were two females that Nesta could never see herself becoming friends with. Once, she had considered Amren the only friend she had, but her scathing words when Nesta was at her lowest had destroyed that bond. Amren could snipe and be vicious all she wanted, none ever took offence by it. She was allowed to be rude and cutting where Nesta could not. And Mor was a different sort of discomfort entirely.

‘Since you’ve spoilt Zasha so much he’s no better than a lapdog. Look at him, he’s too lazy to even catch a butterfly. You need better protection. Your magic can run riot when it wants, but if my father gets close enough…’

Eris presented Nesta with a dagger. The double-edge blade was curved and the obsidian hilt was carved into the shape of a horse’s hilt. ‘It’s from the continent. An antique. Pray to the Mother you never need to use it.’

Eris gestured for her to sit then he slowly lowered himself to his knees before Nesta. His fingers wrapped around her ankle and raised her leg to rest upon his shoulder. Warm hands pushed her skirt back, exposing her bare leg all the way to her thigh. Her breath hitched. It had been almost a year since she’d been near a male intimately. Just the simple act of his fingers dragging against the bare skin of her thigh had her heart racing.

The holster was wrapped around her thigh with no hurry. Eris’ amber eyes drifted upwards to her own, holding her gaze for a moment then flickered back to the two buckles. He was almost shy with his attention.

‘How many males would dream of this moment? To be on their knees between Nesta Archeron’s thighs.’

The leather was cold on her skin. Eris strapped it tightly so it was snug against her muscle.

‘How does it feel?’

Eris handed her the dagger. It slipped into the holster easily. She stood and kept her skirt lifted while practising sheathing and unsheathing the blade. Eris had stood too, watching appreciatively.

‘My father will come here again soon. He would like to speak to Tamlin about a betrothal for you.’

Nesta flared her nostrils’ ‘And what authority does Tamlin have?’

Eris shrugged. ‘He’s the head of this court. You are his emissary - and you are without a father or a brother to speak for you. Tamlin is seen as your guardian in my father’s eyes. We are traditionalists in the Autumn Court.’

‘How dare a woman speak for herself.’

‘The lucky brother will be Dolos.’

‘Why not you?’

Eris laughed and pulled Nesta closer to him so their bodies were almost flush against each other. His scent of fire and cinnamon flooded her senses. ‘I’m flattered you’d want a marriage with me. The truth is I already had a potential bride and my father still punishes me that we never consummated it. Keir was an ally he so desperately wanted.’ Eris tucked a lock of Nesta’s hair behind her ear.

‘Is Dolos aware of this?’

‘Dolos does whatever is commanded of him.’ Eris stroked a finger down the throbbing vein in her neck. ‘He would love a little bride to torture.’

‘So if your father marries me to Dolos then one day, when you become high lord, you would kill us both?’

Eris said nothing, merely grinned like a wolf as his fingers curled around the ribbon of her dress, drawing Nesta in another step. As swift as she could manage, Nesta drew the dagger from the holster around her thigh and pressed the tip of the blade lightly beneath Eris’ chin.

‘What if I killed you and made Lucien high lord?’

Eris bit down on his bottom lip. She could feel the scent of his arousal, the press of his growing erection against her body.

‘Lucien will not be high lord.’

She pressed the dagger in further. One false move and ruby red blood would spill. ‘I could kill you, your father, and Dolos then make Lucien high lord.’

‘Lucien will not be high lord of the Autumn Court.’

In a measured movement, Eris’ fingers curled around hers on the hilt of the dagger. Firmly, he drew the blade from his skin, eyes never wavering from her own. Their trust teetered on a precarious point.

In a sudden burst of movement, Eris had span Nesta so her back crashed into the wall. Her hands were lifted above her head. One still held the knife, still had Eris’ grip wrapped around it.

He kissed her roughly. Completely unyielding. The opportunity to push him away was denied as he pinned her hands to the wall. Nesta found she did not want to stop Eris. Did not want to stop the press of his lips against her own. She allowed his tongue entry. When his hand slipped away from hers, she let him raise her leg and push his body closer. Her thigh dug into the bone of his hip, a grounding force reminding her traitorous body not to get carried away.

Eris gasped against her lips as her own hand brushed along the size of him straining to break free of his pants. Eris wanted to conquer her like so many men did. Her fingers deftly unbuttoned the top of his trousers. The male paused from kissing her. Only stood breathing heavily as her tongue licked the column of his neck, her palm rubbing the smooth skin of his cock.

‘If. If you keep. If you.’

Nesta wouldn’t let him complete his sentence, not when she had him utterly at her mercy. Her breath curled over his ear as he dipped his head towards her in submission. Her hand pumped more vigorously, desperate to shatter him.

Eris pushed his body against hers. A low moan escaped his lips as his seed spurted into her hand. His breath came out shaky. His forehead pressed against the wall, trapping Nesta against his body.

She had gone too far. Shame was already stacking bricks of ice in front of her heart. Eris’ pupils were dilated as he tried to compose his features, to disguise the sudden look of regret on his own features. A cruel smile flitted onto her lips, desperately trying to protect her heart before he could wound her first and say it was a mistake.

‘A few strokes and you’re undone. Pity.’

Nesta left him there. Left him in the study alone, too ashamed to face what they had just done.

Chapter Text

Cassian had barely opened his eyes when his bedroom door had swung open. Rhys strode in and pulled back the curtains. It was still dark outside. Far too early for the high lord to be wandering into his room.
‘Unless we’re at war, I’m not getting out of bed.’

Rhys snickered then his face changed into an expression of concern. ‘Eris is in the Hewn City. He wants to speak with you and only you. I can guess what – or who – he wants to discuss.’

Warily, Cassian sat upright. After a miserable day spent in Illyria, he had managed to persuade Azriel to go for a few drinks in Velaris. They’d spotted Mor out, but declined her offer of going to Rita’s. Rhys summoned a glass of water for him, which he glugged down. His throat felt like sandpaper.

‘You’re getting too old to be drinking like a youth,’ Rhys said, eyes alight with mischief.

Cassian rubbed at his eyes and begged the Mother to stop the world from spinning. ‘Aren’t we playing into Eris’ hands too easily if he makes demands and we follow?’

‘What a good strategist you are,’ drawled Rhys. ‘Don’t rush there. Act bored. Keep your temper in check.’

‘Do you give Azriel the same warnings?’

‘I would if Azriel even wanted to be in the same room as me. Don’t be the male that Eris wants you to be.’

The Hewn City was bad enough on a good day, let alone when his hangover was like a hammer striking his temples. Rising high into the gloom were twisting buildings and spires, criss-crossed by bridges where narrow streams ran beneath. It was carved into the dark stone of the mountain. Cassian passed through the throne room, past the countless columns and onyx ceiling.

Eris leapt from his seat when Cassian entered. There were shadows beneath his amber eyes as if he’d not slept a wink. Cassian took up a seat close to the door, not bothering to greet him. Eris only ever sneered at him anyway.

‘Before we begin, I need your vow. You will not try to kill me. Or maim. Or wreak any sort of havoc.’

Eris had stood to put distance between himself and Cassian. There was the obsidian table and a number of chairs gathered that Eris seemed to be using as a barricade.

‘Your vow,’ he urged.

‘Fine. Not today.’ Cassian picked at the skin around his nails, pretending he was utterly disinterested in whatever poison was about to spill from Eris’ lips.

‘Something happened between Nesta and I.’

‘What did you do to her?’

Eris swallowed. ‘What did she do to me is a more accurate question. We were… intimate.’ He glanced at Cassian, ensuring he remained seated. His rapid heartbeat echoed around the cavernous room. ‘In my attempts to smooth things over, I have wounded her pride – quite badly. But my father plans to go to Autumn today to propose a betrothal. I’ve tried to speak to her but she won’t let me.’

Eris gritted his teeth, the words fighting to break through his thin lips. ‘It seems that I need your assistance.’

Cassian’s mind was racing with the bombardment of information that Eris had thrown his way. He was hurt that despite their progress, Nesta had still picked Eris. And more hurt on her behalf that Eris had not reciprocated those feelings. Cassian knew the injury it would give Nesta to be rejected; he’d inflicted it on her already when he’d chosen to drop her hand when Mor approached them. It was tempting to pop Eris’ head off there and then. Eris had been a fool not to choose a seat closest to the door. Rhys’ warning came to his mind again. Perhaps it was a test of his resolve, to see if Cassian could handle his emotions where Nesta was concerned. But by the way that Eris wasn’t sneering, his genuine distress, Cassian knew it to be true.

‘Perhaps she’d want a betrothal to you.’

‘It would be with Dolos. The second born. And my father will approach Tamlin as per Autumn Court traditions.’ Eris screwed up his face bitterly. ‘Keeping with tradition, you would have the right to challenge it, as her mate.’

‘The Blood Duel?’

‘Dolos could invoke it. You could wipe him off the map.’

Cassian frowned. ‘This all seems to fit your agenda very well. Are you afraid of getting your own hands dirty?’

Eris smiled blandly then folded his arms across his chest. Cassian had no doubts that Eris never did anything unless it served his best interests. Eliminating a brother made his succession to the throne slightly easier.

‘There’s something wrong with her,’ he said quietly, watching Cassian carefully. ‘She looked very sick before she chased me from the house with her fire.

‘Is that all? I have duties beyond being at Nesta’s every whim.’

That was a lie. The roaring in his ears never settled. It was a constant drone of Nesta’s name. His heart could never calm unless he knew she was safe. There was something about that female that drew him to her; a summons he could not help but answer. There was a future that he imagined where he and Nesta could build a life together. Eris did not need to know the depths he would go to for Nesta; did not need that as ammunition to use against them.

‘Cassian.’ He didn’t know if Eris had ever said his name. Eris only ever addressed him as a brute or a bastard. ‘If you can take her from Spring for a few days, I’ll ensure Tamlin is unavailable to meet with my father.’

‘Why should I trust anything that comes from your forked tongue?’

Eris cocked his head to one side then a lob-sided smile appeared. ‘We’re allies, right?’

Once Eris had departed the Hewn City, Cassian raced back to Velaris. Every pump of his wings in the cool air was a step closer to Nesta. Rhys and Feyre weren’t home, but Mor was languishing in a chair, nursing her own hangover. Her breakfast lay untouched on the small table next to her.

‘Rough night?’

‘Rita decided shots would be an excellent idea. Use an indoor voice, please,’ she croaked, massaging her temples. ‘I’m fragile today.’

‘I don’t suppose you’d do me a big, big favour. Will you winnow me to Spring?’

‘What now?’ Mor rolled her eyes.

Cassian sucked in a breath. Is wasn’t Mor’s or Rhys’ business if he went to see Nesta. What Eris had told him about Beron had troubled him, but he knew better than to reveal that information to the inner circle before consulting with Nesta. Certainly, telling Mor that Beron planned to marry Nesta to one of his sons might have made her more sympathetic towards Nesta – but Nesta would likely castrate him.

‘She’s hurting. I want to see her.’

Mor dredged her gaze up to him, squinting at the bright light in the living room. Then her face softened. ‘If I winnow you, you owe me a big birthday present.’

‘The biggest I can find,’ he said, extending a hand to help her out of the chair.

The sentries stopped him and Mor in the grounds rather than letting them pass unchecked. That was an improvement – but at the worst possible time. Cassian spotted Nuala and Zasha racing through the long grasses while he tried to peacefully convince the guards that they were friends of Nesta’s. He tried to get the girl’s attention but she was too lost in excitement.

After much discussion and persuasion, mostly from Mor’s charm, Cassian was allowed into the house with an escort while Mor had to wait outside to keep the guard company, as she called it. He owed her for that.

There was no sign of Tamlin in the house, but Cassian could make out the faint cry of a baby and her mother’s soothing voice elsewhere in the building. He took the stairs two at a time, cruised past the bedroom Nesta had set alight and came to an abrupt halt at another door. He could not put into words how he knew Nesta was in there, only that a comforting weight had settled on him as if the Mother’s hand was resting on his shoulder, telling him to stop.

Softly, he knocked.

‘I’m not well. I don’t need anything. Thank you.’

It was a polished voice that masked the pain creeping into her tone. She thought it was a servant outside the door.

‘Nesta, it’s me. Can I come in?’

‘Go home.’

Cassian would keep reaching out his hand for her.

‘Nes, let me in. Just open the door.’

‘Leave me,’ she snarled from the other side.

Her trick of pulling a chest of drawers in front of the door was not enough to keep Cassian out. She’d have to build a fortress of ice to even attempt halting him from his path.

Tendrils of hair stuck to her face with sweat and a faint blush spread across her cheeks. She was curled up tightly in a ball, clutching her knees to her chest, taking in shallow breaths on the bed.

‘Out,’ she spat, venom dripping from her tone. But even as she spoke, Nesta winced with pain.

Cassian stepped into the room. Nesta usually kept everything neat, but the curtains were still drawn, pillows were tossed on the floor, and half of the bed sheets were draped off the edge of the mattress. The other half were wrapped around her in spite of the sweat coating her back, seeping through her nightdress.

On her bedside table was an obsidian-hilted dagger holstered in a sheath meant for a thigh. Too much time with Azriel had resulted in Nesta sleeping with a knife.

‘Nesta, I can smell blood. Where are you hurt? Nesta. Where are you bleeding?’

‘Where do you think I am bleeding from?’ She hissed, clutching her abdomen.

Oh no. In all the centuries he had lived for, Cassian had never spent enough time with a female to encounter her cycle. That ought to have been a mark of shame really, that in five hundred years he had never settled with a female for more than a handful of months. Cassian and his brothers had bounced between females, enjoying affection and adoration rather than commitment.

‘What should I do?’

‘Get out,’ she repeated.

Nesta’s breath came out as almost a pant as she coiled her body tighter on the bed. He knew that Mor disappeared on the week she had them and Feyre’s first cycle as a fae had nearly resulted in Madja’s intervention.

Cassian knelt beside Nesta on the bed. ‘What do you need? What do you usually do?’

‘This is my first since I was Made,’ she whimpered. Her nails were pressed into her palm until it bled, trying to distract her body from the pain elsewhere.

‘But you were made two years ago.’

‘I wasn’t eating. I didn’t get them.’

Despite the feeling that it would only end badly, Cassian had to admit defeat. ‘I’ll get Mor.’

To let Mor into the house, Cassian had to explain to the sentry that Nesta was curled in bed experiencing her cycle. The male had grimaced then nodded, allowing Mor to follow Cassian up the stairs after she’d flashed him a bright smile.

‘She’s really living here, not with Eris? It looks as it did before.’ That was as much as Mor would say in terms of complimenting Nesta for her rebuild of the Spring Court.

There was no force in the world more powerful than Nesta’s stubbornness. Or her sheer will-power. When they reached her room, Nesta was stood clinging to the dresser for support, but she’d hastily thrown the sheets back on the bed then yanked open the curtains.

‘Cauldron, how are you even standing?’ Mor stood with her eyes agog.

For a moment, Cassian thought Nesta was about to spit something venomous at the female. Certainly, her face appeared that way. He even braced himself for whatever insult was about to come. Then Nesta vomited all over herself and her legs gave way.

‘I’ll clean up. You pack for a few days.’

Cassian pulled the sweat-soaked sheets from the bed and used those to try and mop up some of the mess Nesta had made.

‘You’re bringing her to Velaris?’

‘No,’ Nesta choked.

‘Illyria. My place.’

He carried Nesta into the washroom, out of earshot of Mor, and set her down on the edge of the bath. She clung onto his arms, face wracked with pain again. Even with vomit covering her nightdress, Cassian didn’t feel awkward or embarrassed. It was natural to take care of her – regardless of what state she was in.

‘Nes, I know you want choice. I know. Just let me look after you for a few days then you can go back to being Eris’ darling.’

Nesta tilted her head towards him, screwing her eyes shut with an inhale. ‘I’m in so much pain.’

Mor handed him a clean nightdress through a gap in the door. He knew better than to try and force Nesta into the bathtub, even if she was in a good mood, so Cassian cleaned her as best as he could with a warm flannel. When he peeled off her soiled nightdress, she made no remark of complaint or outrage, only clung to the sink to stay upright. Nesta stayed facing the wall so he could only see the bare skin of her back as he gently tugged the new gown over her head. Her legs were shaking, ready to buckle again, when he lifted her to his chest. To not damage her pride, Cassian pretended not to notice the tears leaking down her cheeks as she pressed her face into his neck.

In the room, Mor gave Nesta a look of pity. It was a pain she knew well enough.

‘Not to Velaris. You’re sure? Feyre and Elain would be glad to help.’

Cassian shook his head. He knew they would help. Both had overcome their shock of dealing with fae cycles – and knew how unpleasant they were. Nesta would not forgive him if he went against her wishes. ‘To Illyria.’

Their biggest obstacle was drawing Zasha to them. Mor was wary of the hound, and he of her. Cassian already had Nesta in his arms as well as a bag of clothes, so it was up to Mor to cling to the dog’s collar and his own hand to winnow them. Mor muttered that she was not a dog person as her fingers gripped the red collar.

A cool wind blew from the mountains as they landed in Illyria. Nesta loosed a sigh of relief when the wind tickled against her bare skin. Zasha looked set to tear across the rugged heathers and gorse, excited by all of the new smells flooding his senses, but Nesta called his name. It was quiet and raspy, but the dog obeyed at once and came to stand beside Cassian. Even Mor looked impressed.

‘I’ll be back with supplies,’ Mor said, gesturing to Nesta. ‘You’re sure you won’t faint or wimp out?’

‘It’s only blood,’ Cassian said shrugging. ‘I’ve seen enough in my life.’

The cabin was largely disused. It had been his for decades though it wasn’t often Cassian even went there – especially not alone. It was too quiet. But he’d always wanted a piece of Illyria to call his own. Every beam and floorboard had been laid by his hands. It was a source of pride for Illyrian males to build their own home.

He carried Nesta over the threshold and into the living room. The smokehound needed no invitation to leap onto the cushions by Nesta’s head. For as long as he was able, Cassian stayed with Nesta. Her hand sought his; her fingers wove between his own, squeezing tightly every time she was wracked with another wave of pain. She thrashed and groaned in the pile of blankets he’d tossed on top of her.

‘Nes, I have to go to Windhaven. I need to hear the lords call me a bastard a few dozen times then I can come back,’ he murmured, trying to make her laugh.

Nesta only nodded with her eyes closed and jaw clamped closed.

Cassian dared trail a finger down her face. ‘Mor will be back soon with female things. Is that alright?’

Again, a nod.

‘Can I get you anything before I go?’

He wasn’t sure what he could offer. It had been months since he’d stayed more than a few hours in the cabin. The cupboards were either empty or contained stale foods that needed throwing out.

‘A bucket.’

Nesta convinced him to leave with a dismissive wave of her hand when he protested that he ought to stay. He could hear her retching then the splatter of vomit into the bucket. It took all of his willpower not to charge back into the living room and stay with her.

When he returned at lunch, Nesta was sat bolt upright on the couch. Zasha rushed to greet him, tail wagging furiously. Nesta’s face was pale but she refused his offer of anything to eat, only accepting a ginger tea. Mor had left a pile of items on the side in the kitchen; spinach, oats, ginger, camomile, eggs, cheese and a large slab of dark chocolate. She clutched the steaming mug in her hands.

‘Are you done for the day?’ She spoke hesitantly, afraid to look in his eyes.

Cassian patted his lap for Zasha to clamber into. Every time he saw the beast, it had grown in size. If he tried to sit in Nesta’s lap now, he’d crush her.

‘I did something stupid yesterday.’

Nesta screwed her eyes shut, unable to look at him. Through their bond he could feel her overwhelming guilt.

‘Nes, Eris already told me.’

Her icy blue eyes shot open, regret rimming them with silver. ‘He told you,’ she whispered. She gathered the blankets around her, winding her fingers into the fabric, voice frail. ‘Then why did you bring me here? Why have you bothered to take care of me?’

‘I am five hundred years old. Sorry to break it to you, but you’re not the only female I’ve been interested in.’ He tried to say it as lightly as he could. Tried to alleviate some of the guilt she felt. Though since Nesta had burst into his life like a falling star, there had been no other female for him. He’d chased his pleasure with his own hand only. ‘There has been many, many, many females in my life.’

‘Was it quite necessary to say many that frequently?’

Cassian grimaced. ‘Definitely not. My point is that I don’t care if you’ve been with another male. You are young, you can experience life. I’ve had five centuries to live.’

‘You hate Eris.’

‘I do. And it’s making me question your sanity.’ He flicked her cheeky playfully. ‘What do you want me to do, Nes? Hunt him down then kill him? Forbid you from leaving the house incase you look at another male? It makes me jealous, it makes me feel unworthy, but I have to let you make these decisions for yourself. Me being possessive and going berserk won’t help my cause. I want you. I know that you’re still struggling. But I’ll always want you.’

It was Nesta’s turn to grimace. ‘I think both of us regretted it the moment we finished.’

‘Is Eris Vanserra that bad in bed?’ Cassian feigned the cool note in his voice, not sure if he even wanted the answer.

‘It didn’t get that far. I blame my cycle. I wanted to eat everything and sleep with everything.’ The heat rose in Nesta’s cheeks at her candid admission. ‘A few touches and he erupted in his pants.’

Cassian couldn’t help but laugh at the disgust in Nesta’s tone and the look of sheer horror on her face as she said it. ‘No wonder he didn’t gloat when he told me,’ Cassian snorted.

That she had been honest with him was a positive sign. She hadn’t tried to hide what had happened between her and Eris. If they were starting as friends, he owed her the same honesty.

‘Mor and I. It was a long time ago and only once.’

‘It’s not important,’ Nesta lied, sipping her tea. She scrunched up her nose from the bitter taste.

‘Please, let me explain.’ Cassian scratched the back of his neck. ‘She wanted out of her engagement. Losing her virginity was her way of doing it. I didn’t realise the enormity of the situation until afterwards. I did it because I was jealous. Az was fond of her. I thought if I intervened, that would be the end of them.’

‘You slept with her to spite Azriel?’

Cassian swallowed, embarrassed he’d been such a hot-headed prick in his youth. ‘No, I was jealous that Azriel’s attention didn’t belong solely to me or Rhys. I never had anything in my life then I was gifted two brothers. The thought of Azriel leaving us for a female had me acting more brash and stupid than I ever had before. I wanted Azriel back.’

Nesta winced and pressed her hot palm against her abdomen. She gritted her teeth until the pain passed. ‘It sounds to me as if you were in love with Azriel.’

‘He’s the most beautiful one, I couldn’t be blamed for it,’ he said, poking her gently in the arm. ‘My point is, we’ve all been young and made decisions that we regret. Do I wish your decision didn’t involve Eris Vanserra? Absolutely. Do I regret what I did with Mor? Absolutely. We’re not perfect.’

‘Is it true you destroyed a building in the Summer Court?’

Cassian’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘Yes. But that’s a story for another time. I have to go. I’ll be back with dinner.’

He left Nesta nestled in her den of blankets on the couch while he hurried to stuff his boots back on for another afternoon with the camp lords. Cassian fought against the instinct to kiss her on the forehead before he departed for the day.

As he turned to the door, she called him back. ‘You won’t tell the inner circle, will you?’

Cassian shook his head. ‘Whatever is between you and Eris, is between you two.’

‘Cassian,’ she called again. ‘There is nothing. I don’t want there to be. It was a mistake never to be repeated. I’m sorry.’

On his return to the cabin, the house was quiet. Zasha sleepily loped down the stairs, tail wagging in greeting. His mistress had left the sanctuary of her nest on the couch and had dragged the blankets with her upstairs. She had found which room was to be hers. Cassian peered round the doorway, expecting to see her tucked up with a book, but Nesta was fast asleep, buried beneath blankets. Cassian trod lightly into the room to draw the curtains to a close. He’d brought Illyrian food home from a place ran by an elderly female – the best types of food were always made by grandmothers – but he let Nesta sleep instead rather than wake her.

Zasha kept him company instead. The dog’s dark eyes followed every forkful of food from the plate to Cassian’s mouth.

‘You won’t like this. Too spicy,’ he said with his mouthful in response to the hopeful thumps of Zasha’s tail.

All well? Rhys spoke into his mind, voice as clear as if he was sat beside him.

Windhaven or Nesta?

Both.

The Lords are being pricks, still refusing to allow any women to train this week. The camp needs another deep clean apparently. And Nesta is asleep.

Worn her out already. Do you two need a chaperone?

Fuck, Rhys. She’s on her cycle. Her first one. She can barely move.

Do you want Feyre there?

No. We’ll be fine.

Feyre wouldn’t mind.

Nesta would.

If Cassian allowed Feyre or Elain to Nesta when she was at her most vulnerable, there would be no atonement. Even if he knew that her sisters would be able to help her. Unless Nesta explicitly gave consent, he would keep the Archeron sisters separate.

The sounds of Nesta clattering around the house in the darkness awoke Cassian with a jolt. He rubbed his eyes then blinked a few times, willing his vision to adjust to the blackness. He followed the hisses and bangs down the stairs to the kitchen where Nesta was hobbling in the dark, clutching her abdomen. He sent a ball of faelight to bob above their heads. Nesta squinted at the silvery glow. She tried to hide the bed sheets she’d been holding behind her back. A blush broke across her cheeks, staining them scarlet.

‘It’s just blood. It can be washed out. It’s fine.’ Cassian reached for the sheets but her fingers clung onto it tighter.

There were shadows beneath Nesta’s eyes but worse was the hollow look, as if every part of her had been drained. She hadn’t looked like that since her last Winter Solstice in Velaris.

‘Don’t worry about it, Nes. It can happen. Leave it, there’s spare upstairs. It’s a normal thing.’ His attempts at reassurance were failing.

Nesta’s eyes shuttered to a close and a broken noise escaped her chest. ‘It’s not blood. I burnt the sheets. I woke up burning again. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t.’

It was fear, not shame that had driven sleep away. The fear of what she was capable of when she lost control. Cassian tugged the sheet from her hand so it fell in a heap on the kitchen floor. Gathered in the middle were black scorchmarks.

A gentle arm wrapped across her shoulders, and he hoped the weight of it was comforting to Nesta rather than suffocating. Her bare skin hurt to touch, as though she was coated in ice. The hard planes of her shoulder blades scraped against his skin as she allowed him to escort her from the kitchen. The grey pockets beneath her eyes were more pronounced as though she’d been chasing sleep these last few days and it wasn’t easy to catch. Her teeth chattered against her blue lips. So cold. How cold one who burnt be so cold?

With every step up the stairs, Cassian could feel Nesta withdrawing to a place she had been to once before. It was a place he would not allow her to descend to again. He had not been good enough for her before. His own pigheadedness had stopped him from seeing the fractures in his mate’s heart and tending to them when she’d needed his love.

At the door to her room, Nesta paused. Shoulders hunched, magic drained, she leaned to open the curved metal handle. Cassian pulled her hand away, his own bear paws engulfed her delicate hands. It was a risk - but one worth taking.

Cassian guided Nesta to his bedroom. She made no noise of complaint or discomfort, merely let him steer her further along the corridor. Her steps were slow on the thick carpet. Down their bond, her exhaustion was unable to be held back. She had been exerting herself in the days, working relentlessly for the Spring Court. Now, lack of sleep, lack of control, it had caught up with her.

He tucked Nesta into his favoured side of the bed, she curled her knees to her chest, still trembling with cold. He settled in beside her and patted the bed for Zasha to leap up beside Nesta, hoping the dog’s warmth would help to heat her.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered in the darkness. ‘I’m sorry I can’t be who you want.’

Having Nesta in his bed ought to have been a source of joy but he was afraid for her. Afraid for what havoc Eris was drawing her into with Beron. Afraid that she’d go down the same path she had been treading last year. What had she taken from the Cauldron? What powers were coursing through her veins?

She will never be like Mor. She will never love freely and gift it to everyone who crosses her path.

Feyre had told him that once as they walked along the Sidra. But it was false. Cassian had believed Nesta only cared for Elain and herself. Nesta did love. There was no falseness about her; she didn’t fake her smiles and pretend to be friends with one she didn’t like. Being on the receiving end of that dislike could be prickly and painful. But Nesta loved. Cassian had seen it. She loved in quiet ways. Her love was genuine and nurturing. She cared for Balthazar - enough to write to him and offer him a position out of Illyria – despite only knowing him for a few days. She had loved Rovena and continued to ask Azriel of his mother’s well-being months later. She loved children; she had spent her time in Illyria with two orphans, spent her days in the Spring Court catching insects with a little girl she hardly knew. Nesta loved those who had not judged her.

And Nesta had loved Elain more fiercely than anyone. He remembered those initial days when they had been Made where Nesta served as the best sentry Cassian had ever seen. Not a single soul could approach Elain without Nesta’s approval. And she had sought out Feyre as a mortal: she had been brave enough to try and find a way through the wall for her sister.

Beside him, Nesta shifted to face him. He wondered if anybody had ever told her that they loved her in return. That she deserved to be loved. She shimmied a little closer to him. In the darkness, he could make out the furrow in her brow shaped like an arrowhead as she struggled to sleep. With commitment, he looped an arm around her and scooped her next to his chest. He heard her breathing still for a moment. Then an icy hand rested on his chest; a signal that she allowed the closeness.n an icy hand rested on his chest; a signal that she allowed the closeness.

Chapter Text

The soft call of Zasha’s name roused Cassian from sleep. The dog dragged his belly across the mattress slowly then dropped to the floor, following Nesta out of the bedroom with a jingle of his collar. From the lack of light seeping from beneath the curtain, Cassian surmised it was not quite bright enough to crawl from bed yet, so he rolled back over, facing the wall. His eyes closed heavily.

He hadn’t wanted to sleep that night. He’d fought it as long as he could. Having Nesta beside him, listening to her rhythmic breathing, was a pleasure he’d never known could feel so good. Until it was interrupted by the loud snoring from the bottom of the bed by that damn hound. It was surprising still that Nesta had allowed herself to come to his room and stay the night.

More surprising was the soft opening of the door as Nesta entered again. Cassian heard her footsteps coming round the bed then the sound of a mug being placed on the bedside table. At the bottom of the bed, Zasha leapt up again. The dog’s collar shook as he bedded back down by Cassian’s legs. Cassian peeped open an eye as Nesta came back around her side of the bed. Well, that had always been his side until now. He was willing to surrender it to her. She had a mug in her own hand, the smell of camomile mingled with the steam billowing from it.

Nesta settled back into the bed then leaned forwards to reach behind her back and attempted to massage it. Her face was contorted with discomfort.

‘How do you feel?’ His voice came out rough from disuse.

Nesta shot him a look that said it was the most ridiculous question he’d ever asked. ‘Splendid.’

She leant forwards again so that her face was almost planted on top of her knees. He’d think about how flexible she was later when she wasn’t in pain.

‘My legs even feel numb. This can’t be normal. It’s only twice a year, isn’t it?’

‘I think so.’

‘You think? You’re over five hundred years old, how do you not know?’

Cassian ignored her question, not wanting to reveal that commitment had sent him running for the mountains in his youth. Nesta watched him drinking his too hot tea, eyes narrowed with suspicion until another wave of pain subdued her.

Cauldron, he wanted to touch her. One of his broad hands could massage her back, the other could press its warmth against her stomach to ease the cramps. Even first thing in the morning, Nesta was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. Her tightly bound plait draped over one of her shoulders, hardly any hair was out of place despite sleeping on it.

‘The Blood Rite. It’s about half-way now, isn’t it?’

‘Almost. This is the third morning.’

Nesta’s gaze snagged on the Illyrian armour hanging from a rail. He had planned to build a wardrobe years ago and it never seemed like a priority when he rarely stayed at the cabin.

‘Have you heard anything about Balthazar?’

Cassian shook his head. ‘We won’t know until it’s over, Nes. By this point, allies have been established. Mistakes start happening from fatigue. Those who’ve not been able to make proper shelters and have had disjointed sleep will begin to move slower. There will be some who have spent more time trying to kill others than eating or drinking so those effects will be felt too. The smart ones will head straight to the mountains to begin the ascent.’

Nesta nodded, her eyes trained on the wall, soaking it all in like a true strategist. He drained his tea and flopped back onto the pillows, letting his wings splay out beneath his back. Would Nesta accept him more if he looked more like her, he wondered. Her pale eyes had often flitted to his wings when she thought he wasn’t looking. Zasha took his recline onto the pillows as an invitation so the dog sprang up and surged forwards. It was almost a snapshot of domesticity.

The preternatural stillness that had descended upon Nesta reminded him of the initial weeks when she’d been Made. How he’d fly up to the House of Wind with the flimsy excuse of exercising his wings after they’d been ripped into ribbons. The verbal battles he had with her on the roof always left him more bruised than when he’d arrived. Cassian was unable to stop himself from flying up there though. Every other day had not felt like enough. Each time he jumped from the roof and spread into flight, he’d wanted to soar back. The arguments had been a way of keeping her from becoming a shell like Elain had been. There were moments of quiet when he’d land on the roof and Nesta would not be there waiting with her arms crossed. Those moments had scared Cassian. Often, Nesta was sat outside Elain’s room, unmoving – even unblinking – as if lost in a moment in time. She would stare at Cassian for a while as if not registering who he was then, with more teasing, it was like flame to tinder, and Nesta would erupt.

‘Nes.’ Cassian spoke gently. ‘Can we talk about last n-’

‘No.’

It was sharp and hard. A hammer hitting an anvil. Nesta seemed to realise how brittle her tone was. She drew the blankets closer against her body and her face softened.

‘Not now, but soon,’ she promised.

While Cassian dressed for the day in the bathroom, through the wall he could hear Nesta’s voice speaking soft and playfully with the dog. The three of them in that cabin was enough. That would be enough for him.

‘Do you remember Emerie the shopkeeper in Windhaven?’

‘How could I forget?’

‘Would you like to meet with her? I can fly you. It’s not far.’

Nesta shook her head. ‘I feel dreadful. I don’t want to move off the couch today.’

‘Then I could see if she wanted to come here.’

The idea brought a sudden brightness to Nesta’s eyes then it faded. ‘I don’t think I’ll be terribly good company today.’

‘Why don’t I leave that decision with Emerie? Would that be okay?’

Nesta held his gaze for too long. He thought she’d turned to stone. The throb of her heart echoed in his ears. A sudden flurry of beats that tripped over themselves. Then a sharp dip of her chin.

***

If Nesta could grow claws she would shred her uterus herself rather than this drawn-out, agonising pain rocking her body. How Cassian had been able to look at her without flinching was a mystery. There was a dusty looking-glass in the bathroom – and when Nesta saw her ghastly reflection she’d wanted to smash it. Lack of sleep was warping her sharp features into something from the nightmares she had been running from.

Thoughts of the Spring Court were difficult to hold onto. In between the waves of pain that had her clutching her abdomen and wishing it was over, it was Eris’ voice echoing in her head instead. The regret on his face after their tryst had been embarrassing enough. Nesta had spent the rest of that day locked in her room wishing the ceiling would fall down on top of her. Eris Vanserra, the cruel Autumn heir who’d left Morrigan bleeding in the woods undone by a handful of touches. He’d played tricks on Nesta and dragged her into his schemes like on Calanmai. But he’d also housed her, taught her to ride, given her Zasha for no reason other than he’d seen how happy she had been with the puppies. Those sides of him were concealed from the world. If the others knew what had happened, they’d think Nesta did it as an act of revenge, to be spiteful – to hurt Cassian.

Nesta knew there was never a future with Eris. Regardless of her mate, a life with Eris was one that courted danger. Beron would be a threat until his heart stopped – and even then there was no guarantee that Eris would inherit the title. Not that Nesta coveted power. She’d prefer a simple life, not governed by laws and protocol. There was a ruthless cruelty to Eris sometimes, a fanatical adamancy that his decisions were right. They were shadows of his father’s influence; ones Nesta did not like. And he would not stop until that power was his.

She combed her hair, pulling through the waves from her plait ready to wind it even tighter for the day. This home was unexpected. Despite being in good condition, it smelt of disuse. Nesta doubted Cassian came here often – so she was thankful he had brought her here to nurse her pain in secret.

Telling Cassian about Eris had felt like confessing her sins, but it came with no relief, only more shame. Other males were shadows, Eris was too personal. To his credit, Cassian had behaved with more maturity than she expected. But she also knew that if Eris had made any sort of brag about her, Cassian would have ripped his arms from his sockets.

Yesterday had been spent unpacking her guilt and shame. Eris would boast, she did not doubt it. He would wield that weapon at the most opportune moment, one where he could best humiliate Cassian. And she was so ashamed that the thought had not crossed her mind until she’d felt Eris climax in her hand. There was something about Morrigan that Eris was unable to let go of. He always sought to wound her or Cassian even after so much time had passed between them. The Night Court’s alliance with Eris was fragile; a delicate flame that Nesta had poured oil on. In her heart, Nesta knew that when Eris finally revealed it, to hurt Cassian, the latter would endure it for his court. He’d tend to his pride and embarrassment in private.

Zasha sped across the hilly ground out the back of the cabin. Nesta squatted on the step, back aching, legs shaking with pain. The dog needed a good run out though. Maybe another time, she’d enjoy walking the hills with him, but now she wanted nothing more than nestling on the couch with a book.

It is not you. It’s… the concept of you.

Nesta shuddered, remembering Eris’ words through the door that she’d refused to open for him. Nesta had already decided that she and Eris were a mistake, she did not need him rubbing salt in the wound.

You are a pleasant enough female. It’s just… everything you are. You have a mate who will snap me across his knee like a twig. And I have an alliance with your sister’s court to think of. If you were not you, it would be different. Besides, my father is coming here. If you accept the betrothal then we can invoke the Blood Rite to remove Dolos from contention.

For once, Eris had well and truly minced his words. Nesta’s regret had soured into pure fury. What he meant was if Nesta was not a Cauldron Made kingslaying bitch with the Prince of Bastards as her mate, Eris would consider her. The dismissal had been rude enough, but she already was ashamed for her rash decision that it had hardly hit the mark. Then he’d ploughed on with his plans for succession. It had wrenched her eyes open to his dogged ambition. She’d flown from the bed, ignored the pain, and shot her fire at him. He’d ran from the manor, clothes still smoking.

A familiar voice called her name from the other side of the house. Doubled over with pain, Nesta tried to call out, but a fractured croak came instead. The quiet rustling of wings sounded then the shopkeeper from Windhaven came into view near the back door.

‘I thought you’d need these.’ Emerie extended a box of sugared pastries to Nesta. ‘Have you tried heating a damp towel? It will help.’

Emerie helped her to hobble into the house. Zasha zoomed in behind them, mud splattered along his coat. The dog skidded on the discarded sheets in the kitchen and crashed into a cabinet.

‘I think your hound is broken.’

‘I blame his previous master.’

Their initial time together was awkward. Nesta offered tea then had dropped to the kitchen floor, fighting another blast of nausea so Emerie had taken over. She asked how to light the stove, where the tea pot was, where spoons were kept – and Nesta had no answers for her. She was a stranger in the cabin too. Their conversation lacked Balthazar’s grumpy, but amenable presence. Nesta had to try. The female had come here for her. She would try.

They spoke of Balthazar and Emerie’s cousin, Bellius, who had also entered the Blood Rite. Emerie said in a bitter voice she hoped it would be the end of her cousin. Again, Nesta found her eyes gleaning over those beautiful Illyrian wings, saddened that Emerie had been robbed of her flight – and means of escape.

‘The general said you enjoy reading.’

That was the opening Nesta needed. From beneath the blanket, she revealed her book as if it were a shameful secret. Mor had likely seen it on the bedside table and stuffed it in the bag for her – though she might have recognised the author’s name.

‘Is that Sellyn Drake?’ Emerie perked up. She leaned forwards in the arm chair, reading the title better. ‘That one is filthy!’

‘Where?’ Nesta said, flicking through the pages. ‘It’s so uneventful so far. I’m sick of them staring at each other and panting. Just kiss.’

Emerie chuckled. ‘They’ll do more than kissing. Don’t worry.’

It was so nice to talk to another female. One who shared the same love of books and sugary foods. They’d devoured the pastries and both had licked the powdered sugar from their fingers appreciatively. Aoife was lovely and Rovena had been kind beyond anything Nesta had deserved, but Emerie and her were at the same points in their life. Once they had found one common thread, a whole tapestry had revealed itself. Nesta wasn’t Cauldron made or the one who’d beheaded the king of Hybern. Just a young female enjoying time with a friend. A friend. Emerie could be a friend.

They read passages from the book out loud, both cringing from years of suppressing urges, and laughing while they took it in turns to read it in a low, purring voice. Her mother would have burnt such books rather than have Nesta reading them. Even as a mortal, the thought of such behaviour – even if she had been married – would have curled her toes. Now, Nesta devoured the books, sometimes imagining herself as the character.

‘The best part is nobody even knows who Sellyn Drake is. The books just appear in stores.’

‘Whoever they are, they know how to treat a female,’ Nesta said with approval.

***

Mor ignored the leers from the males thrown to her as she strutted towards Cassian. Growing up in the Hewn City had given her a thick enough skin to survive Illyria for a time. Cassian barked orders at the louder ones, sending them off to haul wagons down the slippery muddy tracks in anticipation of the final night of the Blood Rite.

‘What’s this? You visiting Illyria twice in one week? That’s surely a record.’

Mor stuck her finger up at him. ‘I’ve come to check on the patient.’

Cassian had planned to pop by for lunch. Having access to Nesta was a luxury he planned to squeeze every drop out of. Mor looped her arm through his. It was more than a political gesture to align herself with him in front of the Illyrians. It made Cassian uncomfortable. It was Mor’s subtle way of showing Nesta that Cassian was the Night Court’s too, that there was history between them.

Poised to unlock the door, Mor whispered his name. She was peering round one of the bushes into the window. Nesta had company. Although she appeared pale and exhausted, Nesta had bundled herself in blankets on the couch and had a book face down in her lap. Opposite her, Emerie was sliding from the armchair. Her wings snagged as she hit the floor. Both of the females were roaring with laughter. It was not at all polite, feigned laughter, no, the pair of them were truly belly-laughing, wholly relaxed with each other.

‘That’s unnerving,’ Mor murmured.

Nesta raised the book and read a passage aloud. It had Emerie squirming on the floor then Nesta threw back her head with a cackle that could be heard from outside of the cabin.

‘The males here will definitely think she’s a witch,’ Cassian snickered.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile. Much less laugh,’ Mor said, still staring with morbid curiosity through the window.

‘Then let’s leave them to it. I’ll buy you lunch. Anyway, I told you Nesta’s a big pussycat.’ Cassian steered Mor away from his home, aiming back down the road.

‘More like a mountain lion.’

Mor had picked at the food, not hiding her distaste of the spiced lamb stew, until she’d given up entirely and thrust her bowl towards Cassian to finish.

Mor’s brown eyes tracked the bread that he dipped into the dregs then followed it to his mouth. Her lips were pursed then she spoke. ‘Will you speak to Azriel?’

Cassian snorted. ‘When has Az ever listened to me?’

‘Things are changing and I don’t like it.’

‘Maybe you need to have a conversation with him then.’ That was as much as Cassian would say on the strange, strained relationship that the three of them shared when they were together.

Mor’s face had drained of colour.

‘What has Eris told her? What has she said?’

Cassian blinked. Their conversation had taken an unexpected turn. Even with the wind blowing through the camp, Cassian could hear the unmistakable racing of Mor’s heart. Smell the sweat on her palms.

‘Nesta never talks about you.’

His heavy-handed words were probably not the best choice, but Mor swallowed with acceptance. She and Nesta had never seen eye to eye; the words they traded were usually barbed insults or cold disinterest. Mor had been spooked, well and truly spooked. The female did not linger, mumbling that she had to get back to Velaris to speak with Feyre, before she kissed him on the cheek and winnowed away.

An argument had erupted between two of Lords in the afternoon. It had been brewing for some time; small scraps had spilled out between members of both camps but they had been low level insubordinations like kicking over a bowl of stew by accident or dumping their trove of weapons into the mud by accident. It had added fuel to the fire though; both sneering that they couldn’t control their own males. Cassian had tossed both the males into the sparring ring and made them fight until they were bloody rather than listen to another second of their rowing.

Prythian called Illyrians savages. Cassian hated it every time he heard it spill from the lips of the high-fae. Wanted to crow that he and Azriel weren’t like that. That Illyria wasn’t like that. It was a land of beauty, of rich food, and welcoming folk. But watching the two males beat each other senseless, because violence was the only currency the land knew, proved to him that Illyria would not change. Its females would continue to suffer and cower under dominant males.

A flame in his chest would always burn for Illyria. For his home land. He had to tend to that flickering flame, had to keep it burning and nourish that hope that one day it would be a land to be proud of.

The soft glow of a lamp burnt in the living room as Cassian passed by the front window. Emerie was still visiting – it eased the strain in his chest from being away from Nesta all day. He was glad she had a female to talk to. He doubted Tamlin had been much company locked away in Spring.

‘Bent over the table, legs spread wide open and-’

Both Nesta and Emerie froze, staring at Cassian in horror as he entered his own house. Zasha was the only one excited by his appearance. The dog leapt from the couch, jumped up his front, did a rapid circuit of the house then hurled himself back onto the cushions beside Nesta.

‘Whose legs are you two spreading?’

‘A turkey,’ Emerie said quickly, staring at Nesta with desperation.

‘Yes. A turkey,’ Nesta repeated, blinking at Emerie. ‘Discussing a recipe.’

‘Stuffing a turkey.’

Nesta snorted and buried her face in Zasha’s fur to disguise her amusement. Emerie squeaked then her laugh broke out of her. Both females then howled. Cassian stood in the middle of the room unsure if he had females or hyenas in his home by the screeching.

The more Emerie chortled, the more the pair shrieked with laughter until Nesta clutched her stomach in silence, face crinkled with pure joy, and Emerie had tears streaking her cheeks. It took several attempts before they could stop. Cassian thought they had managed to restrain themselves then the females had made eye contact and Nesta snorted so loudly, it had made Zasha jump.

‘I should go,’ Emerie said, slapping her thighs and standing.

A red blush had stained her brown cheeks. Nesta had screwed her eyes shut to fight back her laughter again.

‘Do I even want to ask?’

‘No,’ they said in unison.

‘I’ll see you out,’ Nesta said, stepping across the room with a hot towel pressed against her stomach, the smile on her face making her glow.

‘It’s getting dark. Do you want me to escort you home?’

Emerie did contemplate it for a moment or two. Her eyes flickered over his size then she shook her head. ‘It’s quite alright. Thank you.’

Cassian let the females say their goodbyes in private at the door. He settled onto the couch, glad that his dreadful day had at least not been shared by Nesta. It was nice to see her laughing. More than nice. Better than anything he’d seen for a long time.

‘A turkey, Em?’ The whisper carried through to the living room.

A strangled noise. ‘It was the first thing that came into my head!’

‘I’ll never be able to eat it again. Are you sure you don’t want Cassian to take you home? He is nice.’

Nice. That was an improvement on overbearing bat.

‘No, honestly. It’s not far. Don’t be a stranger, kingslayer.’

Cassian heard the rustle of wings and a satisfied sound came from Nesta as if they were embracing then the click of the front door as it closed.

Even as she crossed the living room, Nesta moved like a queen. Every step was taken with poise. Her chin was lifted like a ruler surveying her kingdom.

‘How do you feel?’ He asked as Nesta smoothed the blankets down before she sat.

‘Still dreadful. It was nice to see Emerie. She suggested the hot towels.’

Cassian made a note of that for next time. Nesta’s fingers stroked against Zasha’s sleek fur. Her slender fingers were so delicate. He never wanted blood to stain them again. Her brow was bunched as though she was deep in thought.

‘Thank you.’

He threw her a crooked grin. ‘For anything in particular or just for being me?’

‘Emerie. I wanted company but wouldn’t admit to it. I don’t want to be a burden.’ When Nesta’s gaze, intense and searching, met his own eyes, something settled in his chest. ‘Thank you. For knowing what I needed when I was too proud to say it.’

Chapter Text

Despite the nausea, Cassian had prodded and pleaded with Nesta to nibble on a bite to eat. He’d strode into the kitchen, pulled back all the cabinet doors then found them lacking. There were a few herbs, a jar of flour that had clumped together and a liquidised pile of potatoes that he’d vowed to deal with in the morning. Cassian frowned then offered to go back out and bring Nesta food. Nesta did not want anything.

After Emerie departed, a darkness had settled on Nesta. It was a cold, empty darkness. One that had been her companion since she had been forced into the Cauldron. She had thought it had left her. But it would always return. It came without warning most of the time. A sudden arrival that demanded her attention. A hole was tearing itself open in her chest; it swallowed all the joy in her heart, threatened to take every piece of light she’d collected and stored away.

‘I don’t want to eat,’ she mumbled then departed the room.

Her feet led her to the bathroom. She hardly registered her hands turning the stiff copper tap or the gush of water into the bath. She heard Zasha snuffling outside the door, pressing his nose to the narrow gap between the wood and the floor, until he relented and went back down the stairs. The front door opened and closed.

The water frothed and swirled as it hit the bottom of the bathtub. All Nesta could do was stare unblinking as it poured. Elain’s pointed ears. The red-haired male with the scar down his face hovering over her sister. The water poured and poured. Feyre screaming. The high lord devastated beside her. The gagged high lord of the Spring Court. But this water was hot. The steam rose and cradled Nesta’s face. The other had been an icy kiss of venom. It had wrapped its phantom talons around her ankles, threatening to never let her go.

Her fingers enclosed around the tap, twisting it until the water stopped. The steam coated the looking-glass, obscuring her reflection. Heat. Not the blistering cold of the Cauldron. The sea that had no bottom, no horizon, no surface. The depthless gaps between the stars, the true coldness of hell that would search the world for Nesta to take back what she stole.

***

Cassian left it for a quarter of an hour until the food was almost too cold to be considered edible before he dared risk rapping his knuckles on the bathroom door. There was no answer from Nesta. He knocked lightly a second time. The taps had been running when he’d left, but stopped by his return. Not once did he hear the water sloshing as she washed herself. The only bucket in the house had been turned into Nesta’s sick bucket – and that still sat by the the bin in the kitchen. Her book remained on the arm of the couch with a book mark pressed between the pages, so she wasn’t reading that either.

Slowly, Cassian pushed the door open. Nesta was stood in a trance staring at the still water in the bath with her back pressed against the wall. Her clothes remained on.

Her name fell from his lips, piercing the silence that Nesta had walled herself into.

She steadied herself on the edge of the bath, her knuckles were white as they gripped the copper lip.

‘You only had the hot tap on, sweetheart. You’ll burn if you go in there.’

‘It was so cold,’ she whispered.

Nesta allowed him to rest a hand on the small of her back to guide her out of the bathroom. Recovery was not linear; it was full of twists and turns, of doubling back and repeating steps. It was as if he had seen the light go out from her when they had been sat in the living room. He’d been wrestling on the floor with Zasha, but from the corner of his eye he saw Nesta’s shoulders slump then the brightness of her eyes had dulled. Cassian just hoped that Nesta could continue her path of recovery. Whether it would be easier if he could walk alongside her this time.

‘When I went in the Cauldron, how long was it for you?’

‘I was injured badly, Nes. I don’t know. Maybe a minute or two.’

‘For me, it was an eternity.’

Cassian knew better than to suggest Nesta at least try and go into the bath tub that evening. Even if she had not eaten anything other than sugar that day, Cassian knew when to pick his battles.

After he thoroughly cleaned the bucket that Nesta had been using to vomit in, she’d stripped down to a slinky night dress and scrubbed her skin with a sponge. The bucket dragged through the bath, gathering a fresh load of scalding water each time. Nesta had asked him not to leave, but not to look either, so Cassian faced the wall, listening to the water trickle back into the bucket as she wrung out the sponge.

The thought of her having to wash each day like that in her rotten apartment in Velaris was driving Cassian wild with pain. How she spent her winter without a fire because she flinched from the sound. How cold she must have been each time she washed herself with buckets in a freezing home. None of them had helped her. Not a single one had considered her venom to be a defensive measure rather than a scathing attack. They had all failed her.

‘Can I wash your hair?’

Nesta blinked at him as though not seeing him properly. But then her hand drifted up to the end of her plait and pulled the leather binding free. His fingers unwound the burnished gold threads from the braid until her hair was loose down her back. It made her softer, younger in appearance. But Nesta’s expression was devoid of anything – no anger, no joy – simply empty as she knelt on the floor by the bath.

In another time, it could have been romantic, this intimate act of washing his mate’s unbound hair. Cassian did not doubt that few had ever had the privilege of touching Nesta’s hair, much less washing it. But the blank look on her face, the dullness of her eyes, scared away Cassian’s own joy. Her hair spread across the water, almost brown, as Cassian cradled her forehead to stop the water he poured from seeping into her eyes.

‘Uterák,’ he whispered, as he positioned her on the bed when they were done. With a sunny yellow towel, he began the arduous task of drying her hair. ‘Towel. Vlasy. Hair.’

Even with Zasha’s head in her lap, Nesta sat rigidly on the edge of the bed. Cassian brushed through her hair, providing a narration as he did of all the items he could see, giving her it first in Illyrian then the translation.

‘Eat or bed?’

‘Bed,’ she replied.

Nesta made no move to go to her own room or to even move from her position perched on the edge of the mattress. Cassian guided her down to the pillows and pulled the duvet around her. Although he didn’t feel sleepy, he lay beside her in the darkness too, one wing arching over her to keep her safe.

The drawl of Rhys’ voice entered his mind hours later.

Have you two argued yet?

No.

A record.

She’s not good. Really not good, Rhys.

What’s happened?

I don’t know. She was fine, laughing and joking with a female here then suddenly it was like the light guttered out of her.

Can we help?

She’s sleeping now. There's so much to sort in Windhaven but I’m scared to leave her home alone tomorrow.

There was a pause, a long pause where he thought Rhys had closed the connection between them, then his voice entered Cassian’s head one last time.

I’ll sort it.

***

At the break of dawn, Nesta crept out of the bedroom. Two nights in a row, she had slept beside Cassian. It was harder and harder to keep pushing him away. She hated that vulnerability that made her want to rely on him, but it was even more difficult to keep going. The walls felt like they were closing in on her, that every door she was trying to escape through was being bricked up to block her route.

She allowed herself a few minutes of staring blankly in the mirror, before she forced herself to snap out of it, to grit her teeth and push through the darkness seeping into her soul. Her day with Emerie had brought so much lightness to her heart; she hadn’t laughed that much since… Nesta could not remember ever laughing that much. Of being able to laugh and laugh without a single worry creeping in. Then her mood had soured for no reason at all and ruined the evening.

Cassian was standing outside the bathroom door when she opened it, making her jump a foot in the air.

‘You stupid bat,’ she hissed.

‘Glad to see you’re feeling back to normal,’ he teased, but his tone didn’t match the worry etched onto his features.

‘I’m fine,’ she said, trying to buzz past him.

The male caught her round the top of her arm. Her night gown skimmed the top of her thighs, the straps were next to nothing. It wasn’t appropriate to wear such a garment around him. His hazel eyes roved over the bare skin of her neck and chest then his hand fell away limply realising she was uncomfortable.

‘You’re not though, are you?’

‘I don’t want this conversation in my nightdress.’

Cassian shook his head. ‘You’ll keep avoiding it as long as you can. Look at me, Nesta.’

The last syllable came out hard, like he’d chewed that name over and over for years. From the moment they had set eyes on each other when Feyre had brought three fae home to warn them of a war, they had seen each other as a challenge. And the Cauldron had decided they were equals.

Nesta dragged her eyes up to his. Those warm eyes were disarming. He was a male who made grand promises; a male who honoured them.

‘How can I help you?’

She sighed. ‘I don’t know. I feel like I don’t deserve to be happy. The moment I start to feel happy, start to feel a little joy again, it takes it from me. It takes and it takes from me.’

‘What does?’

‘I don’t know,’ she admitted, splaying her hands out. ‘This shadow. This black cloud that follows me wherever I go.’

Nesta regretted saying anything. The hurt expression flashing into Cassian’s eyes was enough to tear her into two. Again, she tried to push past his massive frame. The bat stood immovable.

His voice came out low and quiet. ‘I have a surprise for you.’

‘What is it?’

‘If I tell you, it’s not a surprise. You have to leave the house though.’ Before Nesta could protest that she didn’t want to, that her body was still wracked with pain from her cycle, and her mood was a festering blight on any around her, Cassian had touched two fingers to her lips. ‘You will like it. Please, trust me.’

It would be so easy to spend the day in bed with the covers over her head. Cassian had already laid out clothing for her so she didn’t have to force herself to do that. Dressing took a long time. She stood in the room with just her undergarments on staring at the wall until footsteps hurried her into action. It was only Zasha who whined at the door until she let him in.

‘Will you wear this?’

Cassian stood by the front door brandishing a silk blindfold that he insisted belonged to Azriel.

‘Trust me,’ he repeated, voice pleading.

Cassian narrated every motion. That he was about to put his arm around her shoulder, that he was going to lift her, that he would begin flying, that they were off the ground. Being blindfolded did not improve the experience of flying. Even with it on, Nesta had screwed her eyes shut and pressed her face to his chest.

It wasn’t a long flight, but the wind had nipped at her exposed skin. She could feel how delicately Cassian was trying to fly to keep their path smooth and steady though.

‘I’m going to stand you up now,’ he murmured in her ear.

Her legs felt unsteady so, for once, Nesta was glad of his hands around her waist, lingering longer than they ever needed to. His hands moved to the blindfold. Nesta felt it fall away but still she kept her eyes shut, afraid that the high lord or Feyre would be there and Nesta was too sore to battle today, too sore to keep her iron shield around her.

A warm hand stroked the back of her neck. ‘Nes, open your eyes. Trust me.’

A beautiful female whose love overflowed from her stood opposite Nesta. Her dark hair was plaited with ribbons of leather. Beside her, stood her son, handsome as if carved from marble. They shared their hazel eyes, brown skin, and wings.

Rovena had her arms around Nesta before she could even open her mouth to say a greeting. Once that motherly warmth enveloped her, a sob escaped. Then another. Until Nesta couldn’t stop crying into the female’s neck. Rovena shushed her; it wasn’t a noise to quieten her, it was one to soothe. A steady hand stroked in a circle on her back until Nesta managed her emotions.

Nesta tried and failed to speak.

‘I missed you too,’ the female said, cradling her face.

‘There’s a lot to keep us busy in Windhaven for the next couple of days, so I won’t be able to be home. I’ve made a trade with Rovena. She gets you for a few days and I’ll put up with her son. Rovena got the better end of the deal.’

A snort from the spymaster.

Nesta sensed Cassian’s trepidation down the bond; the fear that because he’d acted on her behalf without consulting her, she’d strike him.

‘Thank you,’ she said, voice thick.

It was enough to keep her from teetering over the edge. The quiet, unflinching love from Rovena would be enough to hold her in place until she could piece herself back together again.

‘We’ll be back soon with Zasha,’ Azriel added, eyes tracking his mother’s movement as she laced an arm around Nesta’s back to guide her towards the house.

‘You sure you don’t mind him at Rosehall?’

When Rovena laughed, it was a joyous sound. ‘I doubt he can eat as much as you, Lord of Bloodshed.’

Nesta had forgotten how easy it was to be with Rovena. The room she had previously slept in had already been prepared. Cassian had re-packed all of the belongings that Mor had brought from Spring and Rovena had settled the bag down on the bed. She kissed Nesta on the cheek then headed for the kitchen, knowing that Nesta would want a moment of silence to settle herself.

They resumed their seats at the table, as they had in the past, both clutching a steaming porcelain cup in their hands.

‘There are two little creatures in the village who were very excited when I told them you would be coming to visit. If you feel up for it tomorrow, we could take a walk. Illyria is beautiful in the spring.’

At the slight opening of the front door, Zasha barged his head through Azriel’s legs and skidded to a stop at Nesta’s side.

‘The big bat, as you call him, is waiting outside to say goodbye.’

‘Ďakujem, krasavec netopier,’ Nesta said, the corner of her mouth ticking up. Rovena laughed again, rich and smooth, at Nesta’s Illyrian.

Nesta stepped past Azriel to the front step. Cassian was squinting up at the sky, trying to imagine the house that was warded against him. In five hundred years of friendship, Azriel still took no chances with his mother. It would continue to baffle Nesta that he allowed her to live at Rosehall. That Cassian, who had shredded his wings protecting Azriel from Hybern, was still not allowed to even see the exterior of the house.

‘Why is he the handsome bat? And I’m just big? I am just as handsome – if not more. Rugged, some would say.’

‘Ah yes, the many, many, many females you’ve been with share that sentiment, I’m sure.’

Cassian bit down on his lip, but the breath that Nesta had been holding finally loosed itself and a smile flickered onto her lips.

‘You’ll be all right here?’

Nesta nodded. ‘I’m glad to be here. I wish I’d had a mother like her.’

‘You will be a mother like her.’

As their eyes met, the bond between them stiffened, demanding to be felt. So often, Nesta ignored it, tried to pretend she did not feel it pulling her towards the male or didn’t feel the flashes of emotion shooting down it. This time, it held them both still.

Mine.

Yours.

The words had almost come out but Nesta managed to jail them. It was too soon to accept it. She couldn’t commit to it yet. She had stepped into too many webs; those of Eris Vanserra and the cruel high lord of the Autumn Court, those of Koschei and Briallyn, those of the Cauldron. Nesta would not put Cassian into danger – and she knew he would try to follow her to whatever end already. With an accepted mating bond, there would be no stopping him from being at her side.

Her fingers came to rest on the gleaming scarlet siphon embedded into Cassian’s breast plate. Beneath it, she could feel the thrum of the magic harnessed by the stone. Softly, his fingers touched her own, holding them to his chest. It had happened that way once, a long time ago. When she had been a mortal, unaware of what was to come. She’d demanded what faerie magic he was using on her that had made her tilt her head to let him kiss her neck. She’d never even let a man do such a thing to her before. Tomas had only ever stolen chaste kisses; that was as much as she would give him. And this male, this enormous fae with sprawling black wings and self-assured arrogance had seen her clearly the first time their eyes had met and she’d wanted him from that moment.

The warmth of his fingers faded as Cassian let her hand drop.

‘You’ll be fine here?’ She nodded. ‘See you in a few days. If anything, let me know. Please.’

‘I’ll send Zasha with a letter tied to his collar if I need to.’

Chapter Text

Rather than curling up in bed, Nesta took to curling up on the couch with her head resting on Rovena’s thigh as the Illyrian sewed intricate beading onto a dress.Every now and then, the Illyrian would pause from her work to smooth a hand along Nesta's hair. It was easy to fall back into familiar habits. Nesta was surprised even with herself at how natural it felt to tuck her legs beneath a blanket and settle beside Azriel’s mother without a smudge of shame for wanting physical contact. There was so much to do in the Spring Court, responsibilities beckoning, thoughts swirling in her head, but Nesta just wanted to rest where she felt safe.

Nesta drifted off for a few hours – and for once it was dreamless. It was dark when she woke. The blanket had been tucked around her and Zasha had taken up the spot where Rovena had been. Eventually, the female lit a lamp in the living room and touched Nesta lightly on the shoulder, inviting her into the dining room.

‘I didn’t know what you’d like to eat, so I made everything,’ she said with a light chuckle.

A feast had been laid out; lots of Illyrian dishes – both savoury and sweet – covered the table. Rovena waved away Nesta’s shock, saying she hadn’t had anybody to cook for in a while and was glad for the opportunity. Which meant Azriel wasn’t often there. Nor was he spending time in Velaris.

‘Anything you don’t want we can send to the hungry one tomorrow. There’s nothing that male won’t eat.’

The offer was there of eating as much – or as little – as she wanted, as long as Nesta ate something.

Rovena had not been lying when she’d spoken of the beautiful spring that swept across Illyria. They took an early walk into the village; the trees that had been bare last time Nesta had seen them were now dripping with pink and white blossoms or the early buds of new leaves. Even the heather and gorse that coated the hills had sprouted with purple droplets. As they walked, they discussed what had happened in their lives in the last few months. Rovena listened with a proud smile as Nesta reeled off the Illyrian words she had managed to retain.

They walked a little further than usual. Nesta found she was glad to be out. Her sleep had been filled with nightmares again of Koschei taking her hand at the ball but his face was that of Beron’s - then it had warped to the King of Hybern’s and he’d vowed to hunt her through every realm of existence for what she had done. She had woken screaming, the last moments of her dream had been her holding the severed head of the king in her hands while blood poured from it.

Eyes wide, Rovena had beckoned her from the bedroom into the bathroom where she had turned the shower on. Only then did Nesta realise she had been burning again. The crown of silver flames had only left when the spout had poured cool water on her. Azriel had promised to install a shower last time she had visited Rosehall so Nesta stayed there for a long time, letting the water soak through her night gown to wash her guilt away. Rovena had stayed too, waiting by the sink with a towel in her hands until Nesta was ready to emerge.

So it was good to be out. Good to be in the fresh air. Good to be awake.

They paused at a field teeming with tiny bleating lambs following their mothers. White and lilac clovers were dotted around the field, the odd patch of daffodils clustered along the fence. Nesta had a few seconds to admire the view until Zasha stilled then his hackles raised. It took both Nesta and Rovena’s strength to haul the dog away by the collar before his instincts kicked in and he slaughtered the lambs.

They doubled back on themselves, all the way past the war monument. It felt like a lifetime ago that she had kissed Cassian there in the snow. She was a different person then. Lost and broken, lacking purpose.

A high-pitched squeal sounded from the market then a girl came flapping towards Nesta with her arms outstretched. As she landed into her embrace, Lule grinned.

‘I lost my tooth!’ Lule pointed to the gap in her smile, wearing it like a war medal. It had been months since she had seen the girl, but for Lule it made no difference. Nesta had been away and come back, and nothing had changed.

Her dark hair was tangled and there were holes in the knees of her black tights. ‘What have you been doing? Looks at these scrapes.’

Nesta remembered Balthazar saying Lule had no fear. The girl grinned still then launched into a grand explanation of the adventures she’d been having clambering over roofs then leaping from them. Their poor grandmother had been run ragged by the two of them.

The time ran away from them at the market. There was more custom than usual at Marsela’s clothing stall with Marsela and Rovena busy with traders. A celebration was coming to Illyria and it was customary to wear a new gown, particularly if a son or partner had entered the Blood Rite. For some, their gown became one of mourning once they discovered the fate of their loved one.

It left Nesta to entertain the two children. Lorin was sturdier on his wings now, able to fly a few paces before his feet skidded across the grass. Lule chanted with encouragement, urging her brother to flap his wings faster, while she ran beside him.

Nesta found it more and more difficult to look at either child without her stomach dropping. One day Lule’s wings would be clipped and she’d be married off - or worse. And Lorin, this sweet little boy, who had spent his day with his arms locked around Zasha’s neck totally enamoured with the hound, would one day enter the Blood Rite where his life could be snuffed out due to a petty grudge. The thought of bringing a child into the world, of that endless love, and them suffering due to tradition made Nesta want to despair.

They were still in the market when it was growing dark. Nesta had found her eyes frequently wandering to the vacant spot where Balthazar’s stall had been. She hoped he would make it.

The two bats she knew well flew across the horizon. Their wings beat without the usual fervour, sluggish and aching. As they landed, Nesta heard Rovena’s gasp. The female was moving with purpose towards her son whose eye had been blackened. She spoke in rapid Illyrian, turning his face from side to side, searching for more wounds. Azriel refused to speak back in Illyrian, preferring to speak the common tongue of Prythian in answer to his mother’s questioning.

Cassian had a cut running through the middle of his bottom lip and the flesh was swollen around it. He gave Nesta a sheepish grin as he landed in front of her. The force of his wings had her staggering backwards a step.

‘What have you done?’ Nesta frowned, shifting Lorin higher on her hip as she squinted up at the bat.

‘Why do you always assume I’m the one who’s done something?’

Nesta frowned. ‘You destroyed a building in the Summer Court showing off.’

‘Hey,’ he grinned lazily, ‘you’ve not heard my side of that story yet.’

Lorin tucked his face into Nesta, uncomfortable with Cassian’s presence. The boy shied away from the voices of men – and Cassian’s deep rumble made Lorin cling onto the sleeve of her dress. The bat relinquished a few steps, letting the distance between them grow, to ease the boy’s discomfort.

‘When all the lords come together, it only takes a spark to start an inferno. They love nothing better than to start a brawl,’ Cassian explained, gesturing to his lip.

‘And what was the spark?’

Cassian gestured with his thumb behind him towards Azriel. He stood with a bored expression while his mother still jabbered away in their native tongue, scalding him. Marsela had joined in with Lule fluttering around their heads.

***

Under pressure from his mother and Marsela, Azriel caved in. For once in his life, Cassian was permitted entry into Rosehall for a dinner – and Azriel would stay. His brother had such dark circles under his eyes, he was turning into one of the wraiths he had trained. A point that Rovena had not missed and wasn’t shy to battle with her son over. In recent weeks Azriel’s fuse had grown shorter and shorter – though for his mother he’d hold that icy fury.

It had been Azriel who had snarled first in Windhaven, refusing to allow even one grumble from the lords as they discussed training for the soldiers who would survive the Blood Rite. They’d be moved to different camps to break any bonds so that new ones could be forged. They had a rough idea of who would survive based on assessments from the lord of each camp, usually they weren’t far off the mark; sometimes a male would surprise them and live, others who they expected to be heading towards Ramiel would be dead on the first morning.

Cassian had been grateful to Rhys for managing to get hold of Azriel to arrange Nesta staying with Rovena. It was a sensitive time to be away from the camp, but worse still to be away from Nesta when she needed a familiar face. He stood by his words: Rovena did get the better end of the deal. For all he loved his brother, the shadowsinger’s mood had been bleak, his wounds from Illyria still raw to touch. Being stuck with him for the last two days was the equivalent of waiting for a volcano to erupt.

Marsela and Rovena plied them with dish upon dish of their native food. Nesta sat with Lorin on her lap, sharing the same plate. She leaned over him to slice a cut of lamb into manageable chunks before the boy shovelled them in with his fingers. Even when he dripped mint sauce onto her gown, Nesta merely said an oh no, mopped it up, and continued talking to Lule about the horse she had back in the Spring Court. Lule begged her grandmother to take them to Spring to meet the horse and Nuala after Nesta had spent her day filling her head with tales of flowers and frogs. Her grandmother had only laughed and said the girl would be able to fly all the way there herself soon enough. Cassian caught Rovena’s gaze; the female gave him a small knowing smile then nodded in Nesta’s direction.

Part of him wished the inner circle could see who Nesta was when she was comfortable. Mor had a glimpse of the true Nesta with Emerie when the females had laughed themselves silly. She wasn’t vicious or vindictive when she felt safe. Cassian could have watched for hours as Nesta held a sprig of asparagus for Lorin to chew while she teased Azriel with Lule’s help about his late nights. The shadowsinger even offered a rare smile in response to Lule asking him why he looked so tired. Whether Nesta realised it or not, she was eating too. Lorin had held a runner bean up to her lips while she was talking and Nesta thanked him before eating it straight from his podgy hand.

When pudding had been set out, Rovena set Azriel on washing up duty while she and Marsela inspected the other gowns in the back room. He understood why Nesta felt comfortable in this home, beside the wards protecting it. It was a home. Every part of it felt as a home should feel. There were dishes on the side, a rack of half-used spices on the wall, plants sat on the windowsill with a sprinkling of soil nearby, the living room had blankets strewn across the back of the couch in a dishevelled way, and there were still ashes in the hearth that hadn’t been scrubbed clean. Cassian already felt at home at Rosehall. It was bigger than most Illyrian homes; it certainly put the tent he had lived in as a boy to shame. It had a homely, lived-in feel, better than one polished and preened by servants.

Once the children finished their dessert, they were tearing off around the house with Zasha, bringing much needed noise and joy to the walls. As Azriel dipped a pan into the soapy water, he caught Cassian’s attention. It was the signal to start the conversation he had been dreading. Azriel had winnowed to Rosehall at dawn to check in and his mother had shared her fears for Nesta’s wellbeing. They had decided broaching the subject in his mother’s house with children within its walls was the safest option in terms of Nesta’s reaction.

‘Nes, can we… We need to. So… Your magic.’

‘Would you like to repeat that in a cohesive way?’

It earned a snort from Azriel, but his brother took up the chair next to Nesta – blocking access to the doorway where his mother was in the next room.

Cassian tried again. He would keep trying with Nesta. He had to.

‘How can we help you?’

Nesta folded her hands into her lap and lifted her chin. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Azriel glanced his way and Cassian was ready to drop to his knees and beg him to broach this subject with Nesta instead to not ruin the steps they’d made.

‘At night, your magic acts independently of you.’ Azriel phrased it better than he could, shifting the blame off of Nesta and onto her magic. ‘What do you dream of, Nesta?’

Despite the size of them, Nesta didn’t feel threatened. Even if she had that day as a mortal, she’d still balled her hand into a fist and positioned herself like a shield in front of Elain.

‘I dream of Koschei. That my father promised me to him in exchange for Vassa’s freedom. That he apologised to me before he died because he had made that deal. I dream of my mother giving me to Koschei at our old home. And my father is there with a broken neck watching us dance. Then all the walls around us crumble to nothing. All the crowd rot until only bones remain. And I am still in Koschei’s arms as his bride.’ Nesta gathered up the children’s bowls and stacked them with her own, blinking rapidly. ‘Sometimes I dream of the King of Hybern and he vows to return for me in vengeance. Or the Cauldron calls me, it wants what I have taken. And sometimes even Beron. I imagine he is Koschei or the king, I drown in a river of his blood. But they are dreams. I will do better with my magic.’

Cassian didn’t even register moving, didn’t realise that he’d taken the bowls out of Nesta’s hand and moved them on the side, that he’d hauled himself using their bond to her and wrapped his arms around her, ignoring her shock. She stiffened at his touch. Then a hand snaked around his back then the other. He held Nesta tighter then thanked the Mother they had this chance. They had time.

The burdens she carried were enough to crack a spine. Cassian did not wonder now why she ensured her time in Spring was relentlessly busy so that when she finally slept, she was exhausted enough not to dream.

‘How can we help you?’ Azriel said, echoing what he had said minutes earlier.

A shade of pink had crawled up Nesta’s neck when she broke away from their embrace, scandalised at letting her guard slip and behaving affectionately with him. When they sat back at the table, Cassian couldn’t help but loop an arm around the back of her chair and sit closer. Nesta shifted a little in her chair so that her shoulder touched against his forearm; a signal that the touch was allowed.

For a time, they discussed how they could help – whether it was better for Nesta to also receive Azriel and Lucien’s reports about the mortal lands. Too much information might scare her, but not enough left niggling doubts. It was hard to bite down on his opinions, to let Nesta decide what was best for her, even if it ran against the grain of what he wanted. It was decided that Nesta needed to train her magic more and try to expend it during the day so it wasn’t so ready to bubble over at night when her emotions ran riot.

‘Would Eris continue training you?’

Cassian hadn’t said a word of their meeting in the Hewn City nor would he. Nesta tossed her sharp look between him and Azriel trying to work out whether Az was privy to the information then she curled up her hands so they were hidden beneath her sleeves.

‘Perhaps he could be target practise.’

Azriel raised his eyebrows, but Cassian subtly shook his head. The best option for training her magic was Rhys; Azriel knew it, he knew it, hell, Nesta knew it – but none of them was about to volunteer that information. Just getting her to open up about her nightmares had been nothing short of a monumental achievement.

The children burst into the room, Lule hurdling Zasha as she did so, putting a stopper into their conversation. Nesta jumped up to haul Lule into the air before she barrelled into the cabinet then that wonderful female was dragged off with the children to play. It was a life Cassian wanted. He dared to dream of a day when their own children would be hurtling into the room. All the love he never had as a child – the love Nesta wasn’t given either – would engulf their children.

As the evening rolled away, Nesta settled beside him on the couch, smiling slightly as Lule catapulted into the back of the armchair. Zasha jumped in after her, making the entire chair tip backwards. Cassian leapt forwards to pull four legs back onto the ground.

‘Is she always like this?’ He murmured.

Nesta rubbed her temples. ‘She made me and Balthazar time how long it took her to fly to the monument and back for the whole day. She’s like you in small, female form.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever had that much energy.’

Lule lay upside down in the chair with her legs kicked up towards the back and her hair draping down to the floor. Zasha splayed out across her chest, both staring into each other’s dark eyes in a moment of rare calm. At the sound of the cupboard opening in the kitchen, the pair scrambled from the chair out of the room.

‘Azriel will winnow me back to Spring in the morning.’

‘You don’t want to come back to my cabin?’

Nesta steeled her expression. ‘I have responsibilities that I must return to.’

Cassian fought against the roaring in his head, the instinct to keep his mate close when he knew she was hurting. They had made massive steps in their journey towards friendship and he did not want to ruin it, but the thought of her going back to spring left him desperate.

‘There’s a celebration held in Windhaven at the end of the Blood Rite. It’s also a chance to commemorate those who fall.’ Nesta stared at him, the gaze so heavy it felt like the roof was falling in on them. ‘I wondered if you would accompany me.’

‘You would like me there?’

‘Yes.’

How could he tell her that every minute without her was agony? That since she’d blazed into his life, everything seemed duller unless she was there.

‘The males get their tattoos. They’ll all have their shirts off, if that influences your decision.’

Nesta cocked an eyebrow up. ‘That helps. Will Azriel be bare chested? Do you know I heard that he has the largest wingspan and that the breadth of a wingspan correlates to-’

Cassian flapped his wings so a gust blasted towards her, silencing her.

‘I’ll be there,’ she said, a smirk on her lips.

‘Nes, it’s an Illyrian celebration. But Illyria is Night Court territory. Rhys and Feyre will be in attendance. Maybe Mor.’

That iron shield went up faster than any soldier would manage. The stark change in her expression had Cassian readying every pleading argument he’d been preparing all week to rebuttal all of her excuses and refusals. Her brow brunched, forming a downwards pointing arrowhead. Cassian could almost hear the cogs whirring in her mind as she ran through every single outcome, assessing them all.

‘Will Emerie be in attendance?’

‘I assume so.’

‘Then I shall be there.’

Chapter Text

Even with a butterfly dipping past as the Spring Court came into focus, Nesta already felt her heart aching for Illyria and the comforts that came with it: for the kind female who gave love with nothing required in return; even for Cassian’s cabin that had been a sanctuary during moments of distress. The Spring Court felt hollow as if all the light and warmth had been scooped out.

Nesta’s hand was still locked into Azriel’s. The dusty pink dawn softened his features, but while her hand was in his, Nesta seized her opportunity.

‘Not sleeping then?’

Azriel pursed his lips, a shadow came up over his shoulder and wrapped itself in front of his chest protectively. After their dinner, he and Cassian had ensured Marsela and the children returned home safely then – under his mother’s orders – he had returned to Rosehall. He’d been awake when Nesta had gone to bed then was still sat at the table when she’d emerged at first light, the grey pockets beneath his eyes more pronounced.

‘Are you interrogating me on Cass’ orders or my mother’s?

‘I have my own mission, spymaster: to ensure the kindness that was given to me is returned.’

The slight up tilt of his mouth was enough of a sign that she hadn’t wandered into dangerous territory yet though he slipped his scarred hand free of Nesta’s and stowed it beneath his sleeve. The image of the spymaster, towering and dark, striding past a field of colourful wildflowers with a pink sky stretching above him was so at odds.

‘If you ever want a break from shadowy things or whatever it is that is running you ragged, you are welcome here. Even if only for a nap.’

Azriel dipped his chin, a look of amusement fighting its way onto his lips. His hazel eyes scanning the grounds that they walked across for danger. His eyes settled on the large manor house, taking in every inch it.

‘I’m sure that will be met with open arms in Velaris.’

Nesta nudged him in the arm. ‘Then I will do something to take the attention away. I’m the disappointment of the Night Court, not you.’

‘You are not a disappointment.’

‘A failure then. Whatever word best fits. I believe Amren called me a pathetic waste of life.’

A hiss came from the shadowsinger, making his shadows skitter away. ‘Since she lost her own powers, she’s miserable and lashing out.’

They stopped on the front porch, the smell of pollen already tingling in Nesta’s nostrils. All the light of spring seemed to recoil from Azriel, shadows being the true part of him. But Nesta had never been afraid of Azriel; he’d never given her a reason to feel intimidated.

‘It’s curious to me that Amren is given free-reign to strike whoever she wishes with her words, and Elain is allowed to leave her powers undisturbed, but when I did this those things, I was vilified.’ Nesta folded her arms across her chest. ‘It’s almost as if the high lord simply did not like me.’

Azriel shuffled on the spot, his face soured with discomfort.

Nesta tried to tease a softer expression onto her own features, knowing her upset wasn’t directed towards Azriel. The sounds of the manor – of Nuala’s laughter leaking out through the open window, of the sentries training nearby – grounded Nesta before her anger devolved into something primal.

‘It is what it is. But if you do ever want a moment of peace, you are welcome here. You’re not in my employment, Azriel. It’s a gesture between friends.’

‘I appreciate the offer. See you in a few days.’

Her abrupt departure from Spring meant she was greeted by friendly sentries and servants as she stepped through the manor house who enquired where she had been. It was nice to have been missed. That her absence was even noted surprised Nesta. Nuala raced towards her, but threw her arms around Zasha instead. Both overwhelmed with excitement by their reunion. She made a promise with Aoife to meet for lunch, keen to get her hands on the baby again, and to tell Nuala all about Lule. Somehow, she wanted to arrange for the Illyrians to visit. Nesta would add it to her seemingly never-ending list of things to do.

Nesta came to a complete halt at the doorway to the office. The seat that was so often occupied by herself, was taken up by the imposing figure of the high lord of Spring. He glanced up at Nesta’s arrival, only for a second or two, then turned back to the document he was reading. A wave of blonde hair was tucked behind his pointed ear and hung down towards the desk.

‘Welcome back,’ he murmured, reaching for a pot of ink to sign his name at the bottom of the page. ‘Are you well?’

‘Well enough,’ she said, taking up a seat that Eris usually chose on his visits.

Tamlin continued working in silence, his quill scratching without relent, while Nesta observed. Had she really been gone that long that the high lord had been forced into action?

‘A letter came for you from the Summer Court. And another from Autumn yesterday.’

The first was from Cresseida and it named the first thirty families in the summer court who were in most need of charity. A mutual fund had been set up using a bank in the Spring Court, with Nesta and Cresseida both required to be present to access it. Cresseida had outlined a rough amount for each family, explaining why it was needed. In the return letter which Nesta scrawled perched on the edge of the desk while Tamlin worked, she suggested a place and time to meet to access the funds – as well as the first thirty families in Spring who needed the funds too. Together they made an ambitious but formidable pair.

Money did not heal every wound so they also planned to recruit fae to work for the fund to provide employment opportunities for those without work; builders were required to repair homes that still were damage; farmers were needed to till the lands around Spring Court that Tamlin had agreed could be used for harvests – the crop going directly to the fund to those who needed it. Nesta’s pride threatened to swell inside of her when she read through Cresseida’s letter. This was the best thing she had ever done in her life.

Her pride threatened to deflate when she turned over the second letter. She almost did not want to open it. The script was elegant but written in blood red ink, a move too crude for Eris.

‘Did he come here? Beron?’

‘Lord Beron,’ Tamlin corrected, ‘Yes. Twice. I dismissed him both times. I wasn’t in the mood to discuss whatever scheme he’s plotting for you. A third time will be a mark of shame reflected upon my court.’

Nesta understood the warning and tore open the envelope. The thick, glossy parchment carried the scent of forests and wild winds. Her eyes scanned the lines of looped script.

‘We have been invited to dine with the high lord and his wife.’

Tamlin snatched the letter from her hand and read the lines, a crease forming between his brows. ‘To refuse risks insulting. Write back that we will attend in four days’ time.’

‘Are you commanding me?’

‘Yes,’ he said plainly, green eyes turning back to his desk in dismissal. ‘As my self-appointed emissary, I expect you to do your duties. Building ties between courts is part of that role.’

‘I think I prefer you as an animal.’

There was a new found energy in the house. The servants buzzed around preparing foods and tending to the grounds, their chatter was quiet but noticeable. More and more males and females had answered a summons to train as a sentry, to bolster the forces obliterated by Hybern, so the noise of training rang out too – driven by Fionn’s strong, firm commands.

During her lunch with Aoife and Nuala, Nesta felt as if she was living a life her mother would have wanted for her, entertaining guests at the dinner table. She missed the lack of formality she could exhibit with Rovena, and even found herself yearning for Emerie’s company. Nesta had never been so comfortable with another female in such a short space of time before. Even with Elain, she could not have had the sorts of lewd conversations she’d had with Emerie. She’d spilt her heart about Velaris too and how unwanted she’d felt there, not caring if Emerie could even be a spy; but from the female’s understanding disposition, Nesta never felt threatened that she might run to the high lord and tell Nesta’s secrets.

Her heart was in Illyria, but the rest of her was Spring. This court had accepted her after Eris moved her into position. The changes she had implemented were starting to bloom and Nesta wasn’t ready to leave it.

The subsequent hours were spent in the wide office with the double doors opened to allow in the warm breeze while Nesta ran over the accounts with Tamlin. The male, despite his previous reluctance, had seized his court again while she had been gone. He was able to pick up the pieces that Nesta had left untouched when she’d been unsure how to manage. She discussed the steps she had taken with Dawn, providing access to the port, and provided a list of all staff currently under the high lord’s payroll. Tamlin soaked it all in, nodding in understanding.

‘It appears I took the wrong sister over the wall.’

‘I’d have ripped your throat out before we arrived,’ Nesta bit back.

Tamlin turned a ring on his finger; it was the only item of decadence he wore.

‘The wall needs repairing. Lucien is the Night Court’s emissary to the mortal lands,’ he said with a hint of bitterness, ‘but this court needs its own. Would you consider yourself for such a role?’

Nesta felt her chest harden like a breath of ice had filled her lungs. ‘No. The humans have suffered enough. I know that if I had remained as one, the last thing I would want is more fae inserting themselves into my business, telling me what I ought to do.’

‘Maybe so, but the wall remains exposed in areas. There is much to be done. Consider it, at least. As ones who have lived both sides of it, you and your sisters are most suited for the role.’

‘And whose fault is that?’ She asked, throat blistered from the memory of being dragged from her bed by Hybern’s soldier. Even now, Nesta’s hands tremored with fear. ‘There is no atonement for what you did. To me. To Elain. To Feyre. I never wanted to be this. And now I am for an eternity.’

‘Ianthe, the priestess, gave your whereabouts to the king. Lucien and I were innocent in that regard.’ He spoke with such flatness, Nesta had to wonder if he did not believe his own words. He did not give the order but he harboured guilt still. ‘Did you never ask who had befriended the priestess? Feyre told her every little detail about your life – the one she left behind. Why do you think they subdued Elain first? Because Feyre had told Ianthe that you would do anything for her.’

Nesta gripped the arms of her chair, bile rising in her throat. She knew it was true. Tamlin didn’t need to spin a lie. The soldiers had grabbed her and Nesta had been poised to let herself loose on them, but they called her attention to Elain who had a knife at her throat so Nesta had complied. That night still haunted her. Their refusal of guards, refusing to allow the house to be warded. Nesta felt sick thinking of it. How different life could be now. Feyre had known Ianthe to be a friend, and Nesta did not doubt for a moment that Feyre had opened her heart readily to the priestess.

‘When Feyre returned to the manor, I sent her with chests of jewels. They were for her. But the rest – supplied when she first came here – and the manor, as the eldest daughter they were in your name upon your father’s death. Your inheritance to be used as a dowry when you saw fit.’

‘I do not know what became of it.’

Tamlin raised his hands above his head, stretching the toned muscles of his back. ‘Lucien tells me the high lord and lady of the Night Court have a newly-built vast estate by the Sidra River. I don’t wonder where that money went to.’

***

With the Blood Rite coming to a close, more and more Illyrians were descending upon Windhaven, setting up tents on the periphery in an anticipation for the celebration. Without Nesta there, Cassian thought he might have been able to focus – but her scent of jasmine and vanilla clung to every surface in the home. Not to mention long golden hair had gotten everywhere. The dog shed enough but Nesta left a trail of hair wherever she went too. He’d made a point of asking Rhys if Feyre did the same and his brother had only laughed and wondered how Feyre had any hair left.

The males who survived the Rite would be winnowed back to the camp where their families would greet them – if they had them. Musicians would play throughout the night and the males would receive their tattoos. That was always the final test; if after a week of fighting to survive, they could stay awake long enough and endure the pain of a tattoo. There had been a few males who had slept through it throughout the centuries, but most survived on the euphoria alone.

The males that did not survive would be cremated on pyres overlooking Ramiel. It was the final honour given to the fallen. Their families could attend. Often they wouldn’t, too proud to grieve openly. Those matters were overseen by holy males. In the days that followed, Cassian would visit the families of those who had died to offer condolences on behalf of the Night Court.

Large bonfires were being built to stave off the worst of the cold during the night. Although it was spring, nights could still be harsh in Illyria with the mountain winds descending through the valley. Cassian hadn’t warned Nesta about the fires. It was a matter he had overlooked, one he already felt guilty for, but there were enough places she could stand where the musicians might drown out the sounds of the logs splitting.

Cassian had organised enough of these celebrations, but with Nesta willing to attend, this one felt different. He felt like he was showing her his heart – his home land – and he was afraid that she might find the celebration primitive. Illyrians were lesser fae, their culture looked down upon by the high fae. Enough of the males had called her a witch in the past too. The catering was organised; roasted boar with all the trimmings, barrels and barrels of wine were stacked up. The musicians were from the east of Illyria but they’d play popular folks songs that everybody knew. At the end of the night, lanterns were released to commemorate those who had fallen that year, not solely in the Blood Rite, but any family members or friends. It was a beautiful sight; a chance to soften grief and say goodbye. He just hoped Nesta would not share the opinion of Illyria as Mor – the one so many others did too.

In the afternoon, Cassian found his way to Rhys’ mother’s cabin. He groaned with satisfaction as he fell into the sagging couch after a busy day of preparation. Feyre sat cross-legged on a stool painting the view from the window.

‘How is my sister?’

Cassian pulled his boots off and tucked them by the arm of the couch. ‘She’ll be coming to the celebration.’

Feyre paused. Her eyes lit up. Even after everything between them, the thought of seeing Nesta still brought a brightness to her face. Rhys entered before she could respond and took up the space next to him.

‘I needed to talk to you two about that. For five hundred years, I’ve followed every command given.’

‘Every command is debatable,’ Rhys drawled.

That was fair. There were a few he’d downright ignored when he couldn’t be bothered. ‘I’ve followed more than Azriel and Mor. Far more than Amren ever has. And you’ve given me more than them over the years.’

‘I’ll give you that. Go on.’

Feyre moved from the stool to sit on Rhys’ knee, an arm draped around his shoulders in a casual display of intimacy. They both turned their heads towards him, waiting for whatever request he had.

‘Leave Nesta alone. Both of you, please. Don’t try and talk, don’t trap her, don’t even look at her unless she does it first.’

‘Is she a female or a wild animal? Has Tamlin’s magic rubbed off on her?’

Feyre poked her mate in the ribs. Cassian stilled the slight tremor in his hands from challenging his high lord and lady. For his mate, he should be prepared to wage war.

‘Please,’ he begged. ‘I want this to go well. I want her to like being in Illyria.’

To like being with me, he wanted to say, but the desperation was too shameful to give a voice to.

‘It would be nice to see her after such a long time,’ Feyre confessed. ‘But with Nesta it has to be on her terms or not at all, I suppose.’

It hurts her not to see Nesta. How can you deny your high lady that? Rhys spoke using his daemati powers as Feyre went back to her painting.

Nesta’s not in a place to be bombarded by the Night Court right now. Do you want her to throw you on your ass again? I’d quite like to see it, I’ll be honest.

Asshole.

‘Fine,’ Rhys said finally. ‘We’ll act like two ships passing in the night.’

***

The time to return to Illyria had managed to sneak up on Nesta. She had spent more time with Tamlin than she had ever previously, hammering out legislation for the court, discussing what could be done for the mortal lands and the wall. Nesta still refused the role, but her thoughts had strayed to the Children of the Blessed. The idea of them trying to pass through the wall – and the sorts of fae that would delight in their pain – did have her considering it. Even the creatures in the forests would thank the Dark Mother for an easy feast.

When Azriel was brought to the doors of the manor by two sentries, Nesta had almost forgotten that she was due in Illyria that evening. To his credit, Azriel walked placidly along with the sentries, face neutral.

Tamlin froze. ‘Why is he here?’

‘I have an appointment in Illyria,’ Nesta said, tidying up her paperwork. ‘You commanded me to make ties with other courts. That is what I am doing, high lord.’

‘Not the Night Court,’ he snarled.

‘Then you should have been more specific.’

Azriel turned his face to the floor to disguise his smirk. Nesta had the sentries take Azriel to the drawing room with Zasha to keep him away from Tamlin while she rushed to pack a few belongings for the night.

When she returned, Tamlin had departed the manor. He’d shifted into his beast form and headed for the forest.

‘He does that from time to time.’ She waved a hand in dismissal to the sentries and looped her arm through the shadowsinger’s.

‘Ready for Illyria?’

‘Are you?’

Azriel’s face tightened as they moved through the grounds away from the wards that protected it from winnowing. ‘I can handle Illyria in small doses.’

‘That’s your heritage.’

‘Unfortunately,’ he grimaced.

They fell through shadow and darkness, landing in Illyria as a gust of wind hit them. It was a sensation that Nesta would never be accustomed to; how the air was taken from her lungs, the sudden blast of coldness like being plunged through an icy lake, shadows clawing at them. Zasha didn’t seem to mind however and the dog bounded off over the hills.

‘Cass said you can stay at his cabin or Rhys’ one, whichever you prefer.’

‘What a choice,’ she said with a soft snort. ‘Cassian’s home.’

‘I’ll tell him you jumped for joy as you made the decision.’

Before departing, Azriel presented Nesta with a dress that his mother had made for her. Rovena would not be attending, but Marsela would. The children would spend that night at Rovena’s home instead.

It was the most beautiful gown she had ever laid her eyes on. Intricate and delicate. Her throat felt thick as her fingers touched the flowers sewn onto the dark tulle. When Nesta thanked him, Azriel shrugged.

‘Come and see her again to thank her yourself.’

Once the sun had set, the camp in the distance burst to life. Even from the bedroom window, Nesta could make out the roaring fires encompassing Windhaven as Illyrians descended upon it to celebrate. Fresh sheets were folded into a stack on the corner of the bed, but Nesta made the conscious decision not to make the spare bed. There was another bed she could share. The very thought of it sent sparks firing in her veins.

Emerie knocked on the door for her so she left Zasha curled up on the couch, knowing the dog would be more of a hindrance than a help around so many people. The female was wearing a black dress that dipped at her chest, her thick, ebony braid draped over her front. Her glorious black wings almost trailed the floor, they were so long. Nesta had always wanted to touch a pair of them to satisfy that itch of wondering how they felt, but Feyre had warned her off of it a long time ago.

‘Aren’t you cold?’

Emerie’s slender arms were bare, but she only shrugged. ‘My cousin entered the Blood Rite this year. I will be drinking so much, I won’t even register the temperature.’

The music from the camp crawled to them as they approached. There were many males and females already there enjoying themselves. Past the sea of wings, Nesta spotted the blonde head of Morrigan. She had selected Azriel to be her guardian that evening, with the male stood next to her and Feyre while they chatted. Nesta did not doubt that males had also said cruel words to Mor over the years. Rhysand was nearby talking to Devlon and another camp lord that Nesta recognised but did not have a name for. There was no sign of Amren, thankfully, nor Elain or Lucien.

Nesta felt Emerie’s arm come around her bare back. ‘Everything all right?’

The female was perceptive enough to notice the way that Nesta had tensed when she had seen Feyre’s family. That guiding arm, the warmth that came from it, was enough to encourage Nesta to continue.

‘Can we be away from the fires? If it gets too cold we can go near, but for now… I don’t want to be there.’

It did not take Nesta long to spot the hulking figure of the Lord of Bloodshed. It made Nesta almost envious, the way that Cassian bounced from group to group in easy conversation without a shred of self-doubt. He oozed confidence. Nesta did not fail to notice the adoring looks he received from a group of females. It happened in Velaris too. The fawning for him. After his efforts in the war, he turned the head of any female he passed. His size alone was enough to turn a head, but he’d proved himself to be strong and brave. Jealously crawled up her throat as she watched one female make him laugh. Another older female touched his arm then let it stay as they chatted.

‘See something you like?’ Emerie whispered in her ear. ‘Or something you don’t.’

‘What?’

Emerie gestured to her feet that Nesta had planted squarely into the ground then to the hand that Nesta balled into a fist.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said idly, turning away from Cassian, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

The males began arriving from the Blood Rite. Healers readied themselves on one area of the camp to heal any wounds sustained. Some were covered in blood, others just appeared dirty and tired. The sight of the celebration soon had their expressions changing from exhaustion to delight – particularly as drinks or food were pressed into their hands. Families celebrated as their sons or brothers returned, no matter how beaten they appeared. The same couldn’t be said for other families who waited anxiously for their own relative to return.

A battered, bruised Balthazar walked over to them, too tired to fly. Emerie held an arm out for him and he sunk into her embrace with a deep sigh.

‘You survived then?’

‘Just about,’ he groaned, pulling away. ‘Hello, witch.’

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the joy of seeing an Illyrian male who didn’t threaten her. Maybe it was because Emerie had done it first. Nesta brought Balthazar against her, hugging him until he winced.

‘I haven’t forgotten your offer,’ he said. ‘I’d like to explore Spring before I commit to it.’

‘You’re not leaving me,’ Emerie protested.

‘I’ve proved to all these gobshites that I can hold my own,’ he said, snatching Nesta’s drink from her hand and downing it. ‘I’ll forever be a bastard though. Maybe shoeing horses in the Spring Court is my true calling.’ Balthazar took Emerie’s drink next and swallowed that down, grimacing at the taste. ‘The high lord sent his cheap wine to Illyria again.’

That made Nesta snort. She did not doubt that Rhysand had given Cassian the tightest budget to arrange the celebrations in Illyria.

‘Did you see Bellius there?’

Balthazar shook his head slowly, eyes lingering on Emerie’s brown ones. ‘Sorry, I’ve drank all your wine. You’ll want it.’

‘He’s dead?’

Nesta was poised to comfort her new friend as she awaited news of her cousin, but as Balthazar nodded, a noise of pure joy erupted from Emerie’s throat. She threw her arms around the male, jostling him from side to side, despite his protests that it hurt his ribs.

‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!’

‘I didn’t kill him. I didn’t kill anyone.’

‘I don’t care if a bird dropped a stone on his head and that did him in, so long as he’s gone. Cauldron, you stink.’

‘I’ve not washed in a week.’

She raised the empty glass. ‘Fill it, Arktosian, we need to celebrate.’

‘Arktosian?’ Balthazar feigned a gasp. ‘I’ll have you know my title is Oristian. I started the climb up Ramiel.’

‘Whatever your title is, fill up our glasses,’ Nesta urged.

‘Or what, you’ll curse me, witch?’

‘Go,’ Emerie said, kicking the male on the backside.

While Balthazar brought re-fills, Emerie confided in Nesta that her cousin was a tyrant who had demanded she hand over her shop to the males in the family. Although there would be others as cruel and rude as Bellius, it took the pressure away for a while.

‘You and Balthazar are friendly,’ said Nesta coyly, flicking the end of Emerie’s plait.

Emerie roared with laughter. ‘No. No, no. Definitely not. For either of us. No.’

When Nesta protested to Balthazar that she didn’t want to be near any of the fires, Balthazar exchanged a quizzical look with Emerie but followed the request. They stayed in a quiet corner of the camp, private enough to talk without having to shout but the thrum of the instruments still carried to them. They were growing louder with every glass of wine, trading stories and Balthazar loudly singing and slapping his knees – the euphoria of surviving the Blood Rite coupled with his exhaustion, loosening all inhibitions.

***

Even with her back to him, Cassian could feel his mate across the camp. Feel her joy seeping down their bond. It was saturated with it. The way she tossed her head back without restraint, laughing so hard with the shopkeeper and the blacksmith was a beautiful sight. The shopkeeper was clutching her stomach in a fit of giggles as the male slung his arms around both of them to sing even louder. Nesta shoved him away so the male leapt onto a rogue log, serenading both females in a raucous display.

The dress was so Nesta. Cassian knew whose hands had laboured away stitching the delicate embroidery into the tulle fabric. The deep blue suited Nesta’s colouring but across the skirt and bodice were beautiful embroidered pansies and peonies wreathed by twisting stems and a tree stretched up a leg. Tiny finches had been stitched onto the branches. Rovena’s dress was a masterpiece: it signified Nesta’s growth and her alliance with the Spring Court but the glittering stars sweeping over the fabric were the lingering bonds to the Night Court, to Illyria.

The goose bumps on the bare flesh of her back and shoulders tempted Cassian enough to run a warm hand across them in greeting.

Nesta turned slowly, the coronet of burnished gold hair framing her face perfectly. Before Cassian could untangle his tongue to spill a compliment, her arm had come around him in return, clamping him to her side. The slight possessiveness in the move had his blood singing for Nesta.

‘Quite the celebration, Lord of Bloodshed. I do hope it will meet the same height as previous ones.’

Emerie grinned, colour flooding her brown cheeks, as she raised a glass. ‘We have been filling Nesta in on a few of the celebrations we’ve had after the Blood Rite.’

‘I hope the pig catches alight this year,’ Nesta smirked.

‘Azriel was in charge of catering that time. Did you tell her about when I caught on fire?’

The shopkeeper laughed. Seeing an Illyrian female laugh without restraint brought a feeling of joy to his heart. ‘I thought not to embarrass you.’

‘Did nobody tell you alcohol is combustible?’ Nesta took the glass from his hand and sipped at the drink, eyes alight with challenge.

‘I like danger,’ he murmured against her ear. Cassian shook the hand of the male, congratulating him for his victory in the Blood Rite. Balthazar waved it away.

‘I did all that and Nesta’s still trying to steal me away to the Spring Court.’

‘What better male to put shoes on my horse than one who climbed Ramiel?’

That easy relationship clanged through Cassian like a stone into a river. It was different with Emerie because she was female. There was a gut-wrenching primal instinct in him to haul Nesta away from Balthazar – one he knew that if he acted upon would damn everything he’d worked so hard to curate to hell. Instead, he focused on the hand still reaching around his back. The one Nesta had put there and seemingly forgot about.

‘He’s Carynthian,’ Balthazar said with a jerk of his chin. ‘The Lord of Bloodshed is better qualified to put your shoes on, witch.’

‘I think he’d rather be taking them off along with her dress,’ Emerie muttered.

Nesta snorted so hard, her drink shot out of her nose. The three of them laughed and laughed, the noise ringing across the camp. Nesta gripped onto his arm while she wiped wine from her face in between chortling along with the other two.

Cassian saw the eyes of his family on them – and he was glad for it. Glad they could see the core of Nesta; one who was doubled over with silent laughter, at how her face scrunched up with pure delight when she was with people who didn’t judge her.

He straddled three roles that night: general of the Night Court’s armies, Illyrian, and Nesta Archeron’s mate. The latter was proving to be his favourite. He saw a different side of Nesta; saw how her scathing words were wielded in jest towards Balthazar and Emerie – both batting them back to Nesta without causing an injury. This was the vivacious daughter their mother had raised, a born socialite who could build an alliance with her tongue alone. How different she was when she didn’t feel threatened or backed into a corner.

Duty beckoned, tugging Cassian back to his other roles. Before departing from Nesta, he pressed a kiss to her temple. It was an automatic move, one he didn’t consider until Nesta had frozen as he drew his lips away. She bit down on her own lip, forcing away a satisfied smile.

‘I knew it,’ Emerie cackled before downing another drink.

***

The drink had steeled Nesta’s nerves, enough to approach the high lord of the Night Court in a rare moment alone.

‘High lord,’ Nesta murmured, dipping her head slightly in feigned respect. From the corner of her eye she saw Feyre and Mor pause their conversation to watch with apprehension. If Nesta wanted a battle, the last place she’d do it would be in his court while there were hordes of shirtless men being tattooed nearby.

Nesta presented Rhysand with a document she had compiled with Tamlin’s assistance. His violet eyes flew over the text, his face passive.

‘What’s this?’ He asked softly.

‘I have calculated rough costs that I incurred during my stay in the Night Court. If you have an accountant or secretary they may be able to provide more accurate figures to the total. You can be thankful I do not eat as much as Cassian.’ Nesta took a breath then reminded herself to speak clearly, but slowly. ‘I never received a salary in my role; I scried for you, fought in the war, and told my story at the high lord’s meeting prior to that. Our manor and its finances were provided by Tamlin. As my father’s eldest child, upon his death they legally became mine. We can offset the costs I incurred as a resident by those owed to me as my salary and inheritance.’

‘This is what you want to argue about? You haven’t seen your sister in months and all you want is money?’

Nesta straightened her spine to draw herself up to her full height. She was still smaller than the high lord, though not by a vast margin. There was a reason why Feyre loved him, one he hid behind his many masks. Nesta wore her own impassive mask. It wasn’t about the money. It was about discovering if he’d admit to it, whether he’d wave the white flag and surrender.

‘I want what is owed, Rhysand. The entire sum will be given to the charitable fund supporting Prythian.’

The tension between them sizzled as if a whip had just cracked. Neither would back down. Both were too proud for such trivial things. It was part of the reason why they had never gotten along. He had come to her home, the home provided by his enemy, and Nesta and Elain had been dragged into their world.

‘Nesta, it’s so nice to see you.’

Whether Feyre had sensed the tense atmosphere fixing the high lord and Nesta in place or whether she simply wanted to greet her sister was left undecided. The brightness in Feyre’s eyes was already dimming as Nesta dragged her hard gaze away from Rhysand. Her fight was not with Feyre. She clung to that thought. Feyre likely did not know that her mate had taken Spring Court money – their money given by Tamlin – and absorbed it into his own bank account.

‘Feyre,’ she said shortly.

‘Your dress is lovely,’ she said. Nesta noticed how Feyre flexed her fingers so they curled into the palm of her hand as if she stopped herself from reaching out her hand.

‘Thank you. A gift from Azriel’s mother. We could talk in private, if you would like that?’

It shocked Feyre. And Nesta hated that. That she did not expect her elder sister to want a private moment with her.

They walked a few paces away to a quieter area where the sound of music could not penetrate fully. The violet eyes of the high lord were trained on Nesta like a target. By the way Feyre’s mouth ticked up as they walked, she knew they were enjoying a private conversation. Feyre’s dress, one of black velvet with panels cut away to expose the bare skin of her stomach, matched with Mor’s. The female watched carefully from her perch beside Azriel.

‘I’m sorry for what happened in Dawn. Mentioning him. We carried our burdens alone, nursed our wounds in secret in the cottage. I hunted, but you cooked. We both argued, we both said nasty things. The best memories I have of that time were when you put Elain and I to bed, reading us stories or telling us your own when we had to burn the books. We were children then. But we are still sisters.’

Nesta nodded slowly. This had not been the conversation she had expected to have. She had been filled with anger over Ianthe and the money taken from them. The burning coal of anger she’d been gripping slipped through her fingers, and with it came relief. She did not want to hurt Feyre. Feyre had died under the mountain. Like her, Feyre had found herself in a new body, in a new world. The trauma of what she endured was carried alone. Feyre had wanted a friend and Ianthe had been that; she was not to know the priestess would betray her.

‘I wanted us to starve then maybe father would have done something. I never wanted you to go into that forest, Feyre. I never wanted you risking yourself. Why a mother would make her youngest child promise such a thing is a mystery.’

‘Perhaps she thought I was you, we do look alike.’

Nesta crinkled up her nose. They were similar; the same eyes, nose and hair. Elain was their father’s daughter, but Feyre and Nesta had their mother’s face.

‘It surprises me that she has not crawled from the grave to scold me. Twenty-six and unmarried. At what age is one considered a spinster in a fae life-cycle?’

Feyre threw back her head in laughter that scrunched her own nose up. ‘I’d say you have a good few centuries. Maybe even a millennia.’

‘No Elain?’

The smile Feyre feigned was full of sorrow. ‘You know how she feels about Illyria.’

Again, that choice was offered to Elain to not attend. The choices that Nesta was never allowed. It was hard not to feel bitter that Elain’s well-being was always prized above Nesta’s. But she had been guilty of that crime enough, always ensuring that Elain was taken care of first.

‘Why don’t you visit Velaris soon? You haven’t seen the house since we decorated the east wing. And we could go to father’s grave.’

‘Why would I want to visit that? It is a stone. That is all.’

The poison was seeping onto her tongue, daring her to strike Feyre. Nesta had enough terrible words that her wound could be deadly. That their father cared not for Feyre by letting her hunt. That when Tamlin had taken her, their father was overjoyed to be rich so spent his evenings counting jewels rather than missing his youngest. That he could watch them starve for years and years but only sprang into action to grow his fortune.

We’re still sisters.

Feyre had said it earnestly. Hopeful. They were sisters. Only Feyre and Elain had known how it had been all those years in poverty. How painful the nights were in the winter when their fingers throbbed with cold and their stomachs ached from emptiness.

‘I’m sorry, Feyre,’ she said quietly, working hard to keep her voice gentle. ‘I do not wish to visit the grave. Give Elain my regards. Enjoy your night.’

That was the best that Nesta could manage. She found her way to a very drunken Emerie who brandished another glass of wine at Nesta. Balthazar had left her to fly Marsela home, so it appeared the female was drinking enough for both of them.

‘You look like you need this.’

‘You look like you don’t,’ Nesta replied, trying to pry the glass from Emerie’s hands.

The shopkeeper was too fast, thrusting the glass to her lips and pouring the drink into her mouth, before Nesta could take it. The playful grin Emerie gave her loosened her ribs, allowing Nesta to breathe again.

‘Continue and I will be carrying you home,’ Nesta chided.

Emerie rested a heavy arm around Nesta’s shoulders to steady herself. Her head came to rest against her own. ‘If my wings worked I’d fly us both somewhere far away from here.’

How nice it was to have a friend. The words that spilled from Emerie’s lips were slurred by alcohol, but Nesta could not explain the overwhelming feeling that took up residence in her heart when she had heard them. The sadness that her friend’s flight had been taken away. How special it was that Emerie would want to be at her side still even if she could leave.

‘We could read about stuffing turkeys all day long.’

That was enough to set Emerie off into a riotous display of laughter that caught the attention of a family nearby. She gripped Nesta’s hands to manage her staggering.

‘Why did I say turkey?’ She wheezed. ‘Stuffing a turkey!’

‘Nesta,’ a voice, sharp and prickly came, breaking Nesta out of her joyous mood.

Morrigan stood with her hands on her hips. Blonde hair flowed down her back, the dress accentuating the curves of her body.

‘What have you said to Feyre?’

Nesta felt that cold wave of disinterest sweeping over her as she looked down her nose at the female. ‘If your power is truth then you should already know.’

At the sound of Emerie snorting, Mor turned her attention on the Illyrian.

‘Be gone,’ Emerie said, waving her hand while her brow scrunched up. Then she spat something in Illyrian. From the tone, Nesta knew it wasn't a compliment.

She had to know who Morrigan was. Had to realise this female was the third in command of the Night Court. Either Emerie knew and didn’t care or she was too drunk to care.

‘This does not concern you.’

Emerie took a step in front of Nesta, shielding her from Mor’s view. A rogue wing clipped Nesta in the face as Emerie wobbled on the spot.

‘Fuck off back to Velaris. We know your sort don’t like Illyria anyway. You come here to strut around, thinking you’re better because you’re high fae. The disgust of my home is written all over your face. If you’re not going to do something about it then fuck off.’

Mor’s mouth had dropped open. Something like shock and awe at being spoken to in such a way by anybody, let alone an Illyrian female seemed to snatch the words from her lips.

Suddenly, Emerie doubled over and vomited all over the mud. The splashback hitting Mor’s shoes.

‘I think I’ll take her home,’ Nesta said, guiding Emerie away.

***

Mor had burst through the area where the males were receiving their tattoos, retching. She almost dropped to her knees, begging Rhys to remove the vomit from her feet.

‘Can’t handle your drink anymore?’ Cassian teased as Rhys waved a lazy hand through the air to remove it.

‘Not me,’ she hissed, eyes wide. ‘That damn guard dog of a shopkeeper with Nesta. She’d be better at rousing the Illyrian armies than you, general.’

Cassian glanced around for them, searching for that beautiful blue dress amongst the crowds, but came up empty. He had not thought to give Mor the warning about staying away from Nesta, hoping she might have stayed close to Azriel all night instead rather than be near the Illyrian males.

‘Was the vomit intentional?’ Rhys asked, brows raised high in amusement. ‘Because really that’s an attack method we’ve never considered.’

Mor stuck her middle finger up at the high lord. ‘I just wanted to check what had happened between you two,’ she jerked her chin towards Feyre. ‘That female wouldn’t let me get a word in edge ways.’

Cassian felt his pulse quicken. ‘What happened?’

Feyre shook her head casually. ‘Nothing particularly. I mentioned Nesta visiting our father’s grave and she froze. But,’ Feyre held up a finger to Rhys, ‘she mastered her emotions. She said nothing horrible. Even said sorry. So let’s leave it at that.’

Cassian excused himself from the celebrations, promising he’d be back soon, with the feeble excuse of ensuring the two females had made it home safely. He checked Emerie’s shop first, but that was locked and shrouded in darkness, so he followed the bond home. Home was what Nesta had called his cabin. The thought alone had him floating.

A chink of light escaped from the gap in the bathroom door. Cassian’s eyes fell upon the image of Emerie on her knees, head in the toilet and Nesta perched beside her, holding a dark plait out of her face while she retched. Another hand stroked below Emerie’s wings, rubbing along her spine.

‘Emerie’s cousin died in the Blood Rite.’

Cassian bowed his head. There were a long list of them this year; a long list of families he’d need to pass his condolences onto. He might have known the name or even the male himself if they lived near Windhaven.

‘I’m very sorry for your loss.’

Nesta shook her head sharply.

‘Don’t be! Have a drink for me,’ Emerie slurred, trying to raise her head. ‘Where did the wine go?’

‘Here,’ Nesta said, passing her a glass of water. ‘Drink it all. Cheers.’

The female was too drunk to notice that it was not wine that she guzzled down. Nesta mopped her chin with a flannel as Emerie dribbled the drink down her front. She hiccupped loudly then Nesta pointed her back towards the toilet.

‘Can she stay tonight?’ Nesta whispered as she stood beside him, eyes still trained on the drunken Illyrian. ‘I’m scared to leave her alone in case she chokes.’

Any hopes that he’d had were gone, but he found that he didn’t mind. There would be other nights – he knew that. He knew they were building a bridge together, one that would withstand any flame or tremor. It was far better for Nesta to take care of her friend.

‘I’ll put sheets on your bed.’

Nesta caught him by the wrist before he could leave. Whatever words she had for him, faded. Her brow remained bunched even as she released her grip.

The pair of them guided a staggering Emerie into the bedroom and down onto the bed where she flopped onto her back.

‘I hope she’ll fit. Her wing span is even bigger than Azriel’s.’ A snide smirk from that beautiful mate of his.

Cassian didn’t have the balls to tell her that occasionally Azriel had slept in that bed over the years – and he’d never slept in it alone. There certainly was enough room for the two females.

‘She’ll have to sleep in her clothes. None of mine will let those beautiful wings out.’

That caught him by surprise.

‘You like the wings?’

‘Yes,’ replied Nesta over her shoulder as she tugged Emerie’s shoes off and rolled her onto her side.

Maybe all the instances where she’d called him a bat were not derogatory at all, maybe there was affection buried within her tone. Cassian’s stomach let out a loud rumble as he unlaced the knots from Emerie’s boots, crouched down by the bed.

‘You might not miss all the food, if you head back now.’

Cassian watched Nesta tuck the blankets around a passed-out Emerie, at how meticulous she was with her duty, ensuring she didn’t touch the scarred wings. Lightly, she patted the covers then Zasha curled up beside the shopkeeper. Nesta drew back, coming to kneel beside him.

‘What if I didn’t want to go back?’ He asked hesitantly. ‘What if I wanted to stay here?’

Nesta swallowed. ‘But you’ve organised it. It’s important that you’re there.’

‘It’s more important to me that I’m here.’

A delicate hand touched his cheek. Hesitantly, Nesta’s thumb traced a line across his skin, marking him as her own.

‘What is that?’

The tenderness of the moment had been stolen. Her voice had taken on a new, exhilarated edge.

Nesta pushed him out of the way and crawled over his legs to retrieve a box from under the bed. She was still leaning across his lap, backside in the air, as she blew the thickest layer of dust off then used the bed sheets to wipe the rest. Her face lit up with excitement.

‘I used to play this with Azriel at Rosehall. Do you know it?’

Cassian scoffed. ‘Who do you think taught the spymaster everything he knows about battle tactics? Rhysand?’

‘Do you want to play?’

‘Only if you want to lose, Archeron.’

***

They sat cross-legged on the floor by the bed, Zasha and Emerie snoring quietly together on top of the mattress, playing game after game. Cassian was excellent at the strategy game; a mistake to show Nesta he’d realised soon enough. Nesta wanted to win, and even after he continued thrashing her, she still wanted more.

They only paused twice; once when Rhys had opened the connection between their minds and Cassian held out a finger up to halt them while they exchanged a silent communication, and the second was when he had felt how icy cold her feet were. He’d rushed off to his room and returned with a pair of thick socks that came half-way up her calves, but refused to play another move until she’d put them on.

‘There is a trick I’m missing. I just can’t win. Ever.’

‘Well, I’m the best at it - and Az cheats.’

‘He what?’

Nesta’s fingers hovered over her piece. She knew it. She knew he was using shadows or some sort of trickery to beat her. Cassian chuckled, loud enough to jerk Zasha out of sleep.

‘He’s a rotten loser. He’d rather cheat to a hollow victory than let himself lose. Look at my pieces. If you take this one,’ he said pointing to the rook, ‘you leave one of yours exposed for me to take next time. But if you take this one,’ he gestured to a pawn, ‘I might take your pawn in return but that moves me into position for you to take my queen.’

Nesta could feel her brow furrowing as she tried to soak it all in. She moved from her side of the board to wedge herself beside him, as if looking at it from a different perspective might help. She could smell the smoke from the fires on his clothes, the heat that always radiated from his skin as her hip pressed against his waist.

‘I have to analyse every move of mine then analyse what you might do – and then what benefit that will be of me afterwards. Is that correct?’

‘Yes. And then a step after that if you can. It’s like a dance, Nes. You have to anticipate your partner’s next move.’

Nesta narrowed her eyes at him. In those beautiful hazel ones, she could see her reflection. ‘I think you’re cheating too.’

‘I’m a male with honour,’ he protested.

‘Are you?’ She asked, voice light and teasing.

‘Sometimes.’

A hand cradled the back of her neck with enough pressure to tip her forwards towards him. Cassian allowed her a moment to withdraw or refuse. Their heated glances across the camp that evening hadn’t been enough. Nesta had felt the desire stirring in her body, understanding then the influence a mating bond could have; she had been swollen with jealousy at sight of other females smiling at Cassian; the sight of him towering over all of the other males gathered, imagining that weight pressing her into the mattress had invoked a yearning Nesta could no longer fight.

She brought her lips to his. It was a gentle, chaste kiss, despite the press of their bodies. Nesta pulled back, wanting to see the dilation of his pupils, the stillness of his chest.

Then Cassian surged forwards. A hand gripped her hip, holding her to him as their lips fused together. Nesta opened her mouth as his tongue swept in. The kiss was demanding. Demanding all of her.

She plunged her fingers into his hair, wrapping the ebony silken strands around them imagining how it would feel on other parts of her body.

If it had not been for her friend sleeping in the bed beside them, Nesta would have let him take all of her. That was the only tether keeping Nesta from losing herself entirely in his heart.

Tender, coaxing kisses were pressed against her throat, teasing their way down her pale skin towards her collar bone. A hot hand pressing into her back searched for a way to unclasp her dress.

‘Cass! You’ll miss the lanterns.’ Morrigan thumped her fists at the front door.

‘Your high lady commands your presence,’ came Feyre’s voice.

Cassian broke away from their kiss, growling. He pressed his forehead to Nesta’s, both catching their breath.

‘Why now?’ He groaned. ‘We can ignore them.’

Zasha had leapt from the bed and was whining at the door to be let out. Nesta prised herself out of Cassian’s lap which required more self-restraint than she realised she’d need. Cassian’s body deflated as the two females continued knocking on the door.

Emerie stirred in the bed at the sound, pulling Nesta back to her senses. She stroked a hand across Cassian’s face again.

‘There will be other nights,’ she promised.

And it was a promise. A promise that she still wanted to try with him.

Chapter Text

‘Why is everything so loud? And so bright? Please tell me the entire room is spinning for you too.’

Cassian had to stifle his laugh when he heard that through the wall from the shopkeeper. He took that as his cue to begin the day. While he boiled water for tea, he left the back door open for Zasha to tear across the heather-covered hills of Illyria.

When he’d returned at the end of the celebration, the dog had used his nose to pull back the door to the spare room and spent the night curled up next to him instead of his mistress. Cassian had risked popping his head into the females who were tucked together like puppies, the indent on the sheet where Zasha had been previously still evident.

The smile that he’d been unable to wipe off of his face was quickly noticed by the others when he’d left the cabin. They’d teased and teased then forced more drinks on him, trying to prise open his secrets, until he confessed to Azriel – the only one who’d stayed quiet – that he’d been in the middle of kissing Nesta when his high lady had demanded his presence. Azriel had only looked him up and down then muttered, ‘finally.’

Softly, Cassian knocked on the bedroom door. Nesta called for him to enter. She was perched on the edge of the mattress, her side of the bed already made, and she was dressed in a grey satin gown with her hair already braided into its coronet. Emerie was groaning beside her, massaging her temples, looking worse for wear.

‘I thought you might need these.’

Emerie sipped at a tall glass of orange juice packed with ginger while Nesta accepted the tea after spooning a generous amount of honey and squeezing a wedge of lemon into it. Emerie looked as dishevelled as Cassian felt. He settled in a chair in the corner, their game was still sprawled out on the floor. They’d knocked the pieces over in eagerness to have each other.

‘Please tell me that I have imagined myself being sick on Morrigan, the third in command of this court.’

‘It was quite spectacular,’ Nesta admitted. ‘You also did this,’ she motioned shooing Emerie away with a hand gesture, ‘then said something in Illyrian. From the tone, I gathered it was not a compliment.’

Emerie slunk deeper under the covers, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

‘You’re not here to execute me are you?’

‘With this hangover? I’d rather execute myself,’ Cassian groaned. Zasha took his groan as an invitation so the dog tried to get in the chair with him, hauling his sleek grey body onto Cassian’s lap until the pair were firmly wedged into cramped seat together. ‘Mor hasn’t taken it to heart. If anything she was quite impressed that anybody had the balls to say it to her.’

‘The vomiting was an added bonus,’ Nesta said with a wink to her friend.

‘I blame Balthazar. I blame him for all my woes.’

The quiet rap on the door came too soon for Cassian’s liking. Azriel had let himself into the house ready to winnow Nesta back to the Spring Court with Zasha the first to greet him downstairs. Emerie hauled herself from the bed, grimacing with every movement as she hurried away to let them say a goodbye.

‘Won’t you stay another night?’

The desperation was already leaking into Cassian’s voice. Those steel grey eyes settled on his, face revealing nothing. He could not look into Nesta’s eyes without thinking of his failings. How he’d vowed they would have time after the war and how he’d left her alone. He’d basked in the fawning, the adulations for his heroics from strangers, never thinking to ensure Nesta was still on the same path as them. Nesta whose pain had manifested itself in drinking in seedy taverns and sleeping with males who didn’t deserve her. That every fae who congratulated her for beheading the king of Hybern had only added to her guilt.

War was a bloody, horrid affair. She was young and had taken a life. More than that, she’d lost a parent during it. Cassian should have done more for her. Should have visited. Let her lash out at him because he was strong enough to take it. Let her release all the anger and shame and self-hatred rather than allow it to fester. He should have asked her to stay another night a year earlier. Should have swallowed his pride and gone to her sooner.

‘I have responsibilities,’ she said softly, touching his hand. ‘The celebration was wonderful. Your organisational skills are better than I expected. Thank you for inviting me.’

His hand moved to her waist. It spanned almost the entire width of it, drawing her a step closer. Nesta cast her eyes down to it than dragged her gaze back up to his face. Stay. Stay. Stay. The word bellowed in his mind, begging her to hear it to. Begging her to renounce the Spring Court and come home to him.

‘I shouldn’t keep Azriel waiting.’

‘Nes.’

What could he say that would convince her to stay? She did not want to be in Velaris, and although he loved Illyria, Velaris was his home. Instead, Cassian kept his hand on her waist and tugged her a few inches closer so their bodies were almost flush against each other. Regret was already glimmering in her eyes. Regret for their kiss. Despite her promise of other nights. She’d been drinking; her inhibitions had been lowered. Mistake. He could almost see the words forming on her lips.

Instead, an equally damning line came as he drew his arms around her in a hurried embrace, ‘You smell like a brewery.’

‘You flatter me at every turn,’ he said, trying to hide his hurt.

The playful Nesta Archeron that he’d seen the previous night had faded, she stepped away rigidly, swallowing slightly. ‘Will you check on Emerie this evening? If it’s not too much trouble. She has nobody here. No family.’

The coldness towards him was unexpected like an icy pail of water thrown on the flame he’d been tending to. How matter-of-factly she spoke as if last night had simply been a business opportunity. Nesta had embraced Emerie on the door step as the shop keeper departed then held out her hand for Azriel to winnow her back to Tamlin’s estate. As they faded from view, a look of sorrow had settled on her features.

***

A shower of rain fell upon the grounds. The gentle pitter patter against the window panes was enough of a distraction that Nesta gently closed her book and sat gazing out at the soaked landscape. There was too much in her mind churning endlessly seeking release, but Nesta would not lay those burdens on another. The meeting with Beron was imminent and Nesta had to lock away her joy before he took it from her. Her night in Illyria had surpassed expectations. Despite trepidation, Nesta had enjoyed herself. Emerie spraying Morrigan with vomit was an added bonus. The memory of her kiss with Cassian had her wanting to sink into the mattress with pure joy. Those strong hands, so sure of themselves, had held her firmly to his body. Nesta imagined herself running her own hand across the muscles of her stomach. How the hard planes of his body might press against hers.

Nesta shook her head and banished the daydream. It was reckless to allow Cassian so close. There were too many factors at play that already put Nesta at risk; she would not expose him to it too. She’d seen the hope in his eyes fade and hated herself for inflicting that upon him. The images of him broken on the ground by the Cauldron, trying to crawl to her as they faced down the King of Hybern, were ones she clung to; reminders of how badly Cassian had been hurt due to her. The only time she had managed to save him, when she’d screamed his name until her throat bled, a whole legion of Illyrians had died from the Cauldron’s blast. It was better to keep him at arm’s length until she was safer than have him hurt. To bring his court into her disasters. To bring Feyre and Elain into them.

A male voice she recognised carried from the dining room as Nesta descended the stairs with Zasha padding alongside her. It even managed to dredge a laugh up from Tamlin. A hard, rough laugh that sounded more like a bark than anything, but it still was a laugh.

‘Sit,’ Tamlin said gruffly as Nesta entered. ‘Eat.’

A golden eye whirled towards her. Lucien had tucked his silken red hair behind one pointed ear. He nodded in greeting. Both males had a glass of wine in hand, the picture of informality.

When Nesta sat and reached for a plate, Lucien loosed a chuckle.

‘Tell me your secrets, Tam. How did you tame Nesta Archeron into following orders?’

Nesta set her jaw and levelled him a stare. The urge to throw the bread roll she was holding at his head was strong. Lucien’s eyes – russet and gold – flickered down to her fingers where she clutched the bread and a beautiful smile flashed onto his face like he knew the desire that had seized her. Fire ran in the veins of all the Vanserras.

‘Lucien has provided us with a map of the Forest House. I want to ensure we know the exits thoroughly. I don’t put it past your father to try and trap us.’

‘Nesta is going?’

‘The invitation was written to her; I was an afterthought.’

The concern bunched on his brow; it was less concern of her, more the worry about what his father planned.

Lucien dined with them and stayed until dusk. His easy demeanour cracked open Tamlin’s hard outer shell and although the conversation was hesitant at some points, there were glimmers of the male that Feyre had loved beneath, coaxed out by Lucien’s light.

She could not imagine how it had been for the two males watching Prythian fall under the boot of Amarantha knowing their only hope was for a friend to die at the hands of a mortal. When all the courts around them crumbled. Tamlin had tried to protect his people. For fifty years he had tried.

Lucien’s eyes travelled the length of the wall as he drained a final glass of wine, examining the art hanging there. Sadness turned the corners of his mouth down. This had been Lucien’s home. A place of sanctuary when his father had exiled him. Brothers had hunted him across the Autumn Court. Lucien had lost his home when Feyre dismantled the Spring Court, lost the one safe place in his life. Would she have considered to bring Lucien to the Night Court if Ianthe had not tried to claim him? Would Feyre have left him behind with an unstable high lord – just collateral damage from her own mission?

‘Nesta,’ the male said, voice dragging her out of her thoughts.

Tamlin had departed; his furred form streaking past the window as he sprinted towards the forest.

‘Where is he going?’

‘Naga in the woods again. Did you not listen to anything for the last ten minutes?’

‘I found the conversation lacking,’ she clipped, saving face.

Lucien raised his eyebrows. He saw through her lie but was good enough to stay quiet.

‘My father is still weighing up his options. Deciding whether you’re an asset or a threat. Be on your guard tomorrow.’ Lucien slid a dagger across the table to her. ‘Pray to the Mother you don’t need to use it.’

‘Your brother has already given me one to wield.’ Nesta left Lucien’s knife on the table; the thought of being in a situation again where she needed it made her sick.

No peace could be found on the day they were due to dine in Autumn Court. Nesta had retched from nerves, and even on her walk around the grounds with Zasha, she could not calm the erratic beat of her heart. Nuala had leapt into her arms, face bright and hopeful, but Nesta could not even bring herself to smile at the girl.

In no uncertain terms had Nesta told Tamlin that if he dared claim ownership over her, dared to entertain the notion of entering her into a betrothal with any male, she would incinerate him on the spot. For good measure, she had eased out a flicker of her power as if loosening a tap; Nesta had let her silver fire engulf her hands. She did not need to mention the war general who was her mate – the message was already received.

When the time came to ride to the court, Tamlin was already irritable and snapping. It did nothing to ease Nesta’s discomfort. Their horses had galloped relentlessly, churning up the land as they went. A vanguard of sentries travelled with them though they knew Beron would not allow them into the Forest House.

The dress had been selected specifically for the occasion. The silk gown swept the floor, its colour a deep red like scorched blood. It was stylised to match one that the Lady of Autumn would wear; a political gesture. But the colour of it was scandalous enough to draw attention. On the curves of Nesta’s body, the satin was sinful. The dress made her braver like she was playing a role; Nesta Archeron emissary to the Spring Court, slayer of kings, pillager of the Cauldron.

Servants had shown them which seats they would be dining in – with the strict instruction to remain standing until the high lord himself had taken up his seat at the head of the table. It was a grand dining room panelled with mahogany wood that swallowed the light. A chandelier above the centre of the table flickered with candlelight as oppose to that of magical faelight. No paintings hung on the wall, but along one were glass cases with stuffed animals. It was decadent, reminding Nesta of the balls her mother had taken her to as a girl, of all the rich men she had placed her in front of with the prompt of smiling to them.

Beron entered first followed by his wife then his sons filed in behind them. Nesta had not spared a thought to Eris. Had not considered if he would be at the meal. They shared the same guise of aloofness, barely glancing at each other. Tamlin greeted Beron first then his wife – then Nesta followed suit. For the sons, only an incline of the head was given on Tamlin’s pre-explained orders.

The high lord took the seat at the head with his quiet wife to his right. Tamlin had the seat on the left and Nesta sat beside him. The diner opposite her had pulled the chair out for his mother then tucked her into the table. A slight bruise was beneath his eye; a smear of yellow across his cheekbone that might not have been noticed if Nesta didn’t know him well enough. Still, Eris refused to look at her. Even when Dolos clanged the chair next to her into her elbow and a hiss of pain escaped her lips, still Eris kept his cruel face trained on his father. It had been Eris who had passed the word to Cassian that she had her cycle and was racked with pain. Eris who had admitted their tryst, not out of spite, but out of guilt to a male he despised.

They ate in a strained silence broken only by the odd comment from Beron to Tamlin. There was a bitter taste to the food, one that lingered on her tongue when she swallowed the venison. It reminded her of soap. Nobody else mentioned it: Beron’s sons ate quietly with meticulous manors; the Lady of the court nibbled slowly, but was making her way through the meal; Tamlin shovelled it in, not using a knife, only a fork. Nesta glanced to the high lord but even he had no fault with the meal. Nesta wondered if it was a test – to see if she’d dare complain about the Autumn Court hospitality to claim there was an issue with her meal. She ate every bite, drowning the bloodied venison with rich red wine.

As servants cleared the plates away, it was too soon to breathe a sigh of relief. Only when their horses had cantered into the grounds of the Spring Court would Nesta feel safe.

They were caught in another standoff, nobody daring to move an inch until Beron decreed it. And when he did, he dismissed his wife and sons from the room – except for his eldest. They were led to a ballroom, the grandeur of which had faded through disuse. Beron seated himself and beckoned for Tamlin to take the seat next to him on a raised dais then his cruel brown eyes turned to Nesta and Eris standing sheepishly on the floor.

‘Dance.’

Beside her, Nesta heard the heavy breath Eris loosed.

‘Father…’

‘You fantasised enough about the female to give her a smoke hound. Enough to intercept my messenger and give that bastard-born Illyrian the order to take her from the Spring Court. You were denied the dance in Dawn. So dance with her.’

The tone in Beron’s voice left no room negotiation. And yet Eris tried.

‘Father, please.’

Beron stood and Nesta swore the ground quaked beneath them when he did. Tamlin did not move, only watched with a soured expression as Beron raised the back of his hand to his son and slapped him hard on his already bruised cheek.

‘I will not ask again.’

This was what Eris had tried to keep her away from. This cruel, horrid tyrant. She could not take the defeat taking up residence in Eris’ face, the shame burning in his amber eyes. That despite all he had done, his father would still stamp him beneath his boot. The whole family cowed from Beron. Eris could never let a female into his heart without the risk of his father hurting them; was that why he had not claimed Mor? The reason why he had left her on the brink of death in his court – to save her from what his father’s punishment might be for debasing herself with Cassian?

Nesta held a hand out for Eris, moved herself into hold, waiting for her partner to reciprocate. The hand that took her own squeezed tightly in apology for the spectacle Beron was forcing them into. The saving grace was that Tamlin was the only one to bear witness to their humiliation.

Without music, they danced a slow, fumbling waltz. The shame burnt in Nesta’s cheeks like a brand at being forced into Beron’s petty revenge. For once, Eris’ hand felt clammy. The confidence gone. The mastered aloofness had been exchanged for an expression of indignity. Nesta did not doubt that this was not the first time Beron had humiliated his son to remind him of his place. Even as they danced, Eris would not meet Nesta’s eyes, so strong was his embarrassment.

Finally, once he deemed they had endured enough humiliation, Beron clapped for an ending. Tears pricked at Nesta’s eyes as she stepped away from Eris. The male kept his red head pointed towards the floor in submission. Tamlin had one ankle crossed over a knee, lips pursed waiting for Beron’s next taunt. In all the games that Eris had played, he had took the bad fortune bestowed on Lucien and managed to save his brother. Managed to get him out of the clutches of his brothers and over the border to Tamlin. Lucien was alive because Eris had gotten word for Tamlin. In all the years of their father’s cruelty, there was still a streak of defiance in Eris. Nesta had once thought it was his ambition for power, but she knew now Eris needed his father’s death as a flower needs the sun.

‘Show me your fire.’

The command was spoken to Nesta.

‘Unleash it all on him. I want to see its potency.’

What could Nesta do against such cruelty? Eris stood in anticipation for the silver flames Nesta was ordered to release upon him. There was no outcome that was in Nesta’s favour. Strike the high lord dead and she was a criminal; strike his son and she was the same. Tamlin offered no assistance. Only clasped his hands beneath his chin and leaned forwards in his chair.

‘I am not fond of repeating myself. If you cannot do it now, you will do it when I fetch Briallyn.’

Nesta’s eyes shuttered closed. That name rocked through her causing a physical ache. That was the word that would always strong-arm her into situations. The threat that loomed above her like a shadow.

‘Do it,’ Eris urged quietly, his voice a gentle song in the bleak ballroom.

He tried to force his features into encouragement as if Nesta setting him alight was nothing out of the ordinary, but his eyes betrayed that fear. Nearby, she heard the rustle of Beron’s clothes. From the corner of her eye, the high lord made to stand.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.

Then Nesta loosed her fire. Let all of billow out of that bottomless well inside of her. Nesta’s head – her bones – they ached with the effort.

Her fire coated Eris, but only for heartbeats then it spluttered out. She tried again, tried again to will her fire into action. Only weak sparks spat from her hands, until she was spent, gasping on her knees. The cramp in her stomach enough to make her retch.

‘I was hoping for more,’ Beron said, voice edging on bored. ‘I had hoped to train you myself. But I see you did not take enough from the Cauldron.’

A sentry had to assist Nesta onto her horse on the return ride. Her magic had gone. Once that might have brought her joy, but there was a hollowness to her body. A never-ending pit without a bottom completely empty as though the tide of the sea had gone out and every wave took it further from Nesta’s reach. Even her senses, so enhanced since the Cauldron, felt horribly muted. One sentry even removed his cloak and offered it to her when he’d seen the rattle of her jaw despite the mild night.

They rode and rode until the Forest House was only a speck in the black forest; the lanterns surrounding it faint flickers of yellow. Only when the crisp air had changed to the pollen-rich scent of the Spring Court did Nesta find her voice.

‘Why didn’t you do anything? He humiliated me. Humilated Eris. He wanted me to kill his son.’

Despite the shake of her voice, Tamlin galloped on, face impassive.

‘You are weak.’

That was the trigger that set off his volatile temper.

‘No,’ he said sharply. ‘I am a high lord. I follow protocol. I cannot stand against Beron in his own home because he hurt your feelings. I am not Rhysand. I cannot do what I like and damn the consequences. I care about all of my court, not just a third of it. I have let you live in my home and I’m thankful for the things you have done, but do not think I will fight your petty squabbles for you.’

Tamlin leapt from his horse, shifting in mid-air into his beast form and streaked off into the darkness, leaving one of the sentries to try and seize the rogue horse’s reins.

Chapter Text

The sickly fear that had coated her insides congealed to something worse. Anger. A burning anger that Nesta clung to with all of her strength. Beron Vanserra was a marked male. And if Tamlin came home that night, he would be too.

There were different kind of cruelties, Nesta realised. There were fathers like her own who neglected their children, the ones whose instinct to protect never ignited. And there were fathers like Beron who delighted in misery, in stepping on those beneath him even if they were his children.

More than anything, Nesta wanted Cassian with her. Wanted to feel the heat of his embrace, to feel someone solid and strong to calm the quaking of her heart. Cassian was safe. For all his heroic exploits during the war and before that, Cassian had always felt like safety – a male with centuries of experience assessing an environment and protecting the weakest. A male with honour who would never have stood for the humiliation Beron had put them through that evening.

Nesta had spent most of the night huddled on the windowsill with Zasha tucked beside her, shame still burning in her cheeks. Eris had tried to teach her a lesson on pride on Calanmai; that trick of his to let her go stumbling towards the hollow while magic had seized Tamlin. It must run in the family, making spectacles out of others in the name of teaching.

Hidden beneath a willow tree in direct sight of her window, Nesta saw a flash of red hair and a sizzle of flame in the air to get her attention. The male motioned in the darkness, beckoning her to come to him.

A lie was span to the sentries that she wanted to walk the grounds shrouded in moonlight. When they volunteered to escort her, Nesta hated the ice that coated her voice when she dismissed them, hated she could make her voice such a weapon through years of scorning. Softer, she announced Zasha would stay at her side and they needn’t worry.

Nesta walked, feeling foolish and angry and ashamed for what Beron had made her do. Every now and then she cast a look over her shoulder to ensure the sentries did not follow or trace her steps. Her steps were meandering, her direction changed course a handful of times to pretend it was an aimless wander to settle her thoughts rather than carving a direct path to the male near the pond.

Eventually, she went to Eris. When they had last been in the Spring Court together, she had been ready to skewer the male with his own dagger while hunched over in bed in agony. If you were not you, it would be different. That was the line he had given to the crux of their demise. Of whatever they had been.

Nesta understood it now; although he’d fumbled the words, Eris had stripped it down to the bare essentials. That although he liked the core of her – it was everything else about her that was the issue. Even if she did not have Koschei or Briallyn’s eyes on her, Eris needed his alliance with the Night Court to seize his father’s throne. Not for power, but to save himself, to save his mother from a bully. Nesta was an obstacle. One he had to deny himself of.

Severing the mating bond she shared with Cassian for Eris would lose that alliance. He prized his court, his mother, all his people above Nesta – and she understood it entirely. Cassian was good and kind, willing to persevere and try with her, willing to whisk her to Illyria and care for her – he’d even been willing to break their bond if she wanted Eris. In the last few weeks, she had enjoyed Cassian’s company more than she ever thought possible. Even entertaining the thought of severing their bond had her throat drying up. Eris wanted the Night Court’s backing and Nesta wanted Cassian. She had since the first moment she had seen him, but she pushed and pushed, resisting him through fear and obstinance.

‘Did I hurt you?’ She whispered, drawing her coat tightly over her night gown when she was close enough to Eris.

Eris shook his head then brought a singular drop of fire to his fingertip. ‘Mostly fireproof. But against your magic at full strength, who’s to say?’

It was difficult to look at him now, knowing all the facades were distractions. The cold exterior was a barrier to never allow anything more than an acquaintance into his life lest Beron cleave the companionship in two. Lucien had suffered enough from Beron, but Eris – the eldest child – had likely endured far more for longer. How many games had Eris had to play throughout his life to protect himself, protect his mother?

‘I’m sorry.’ He pressed a kiss to Nesta’s knuckles. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘We endured it together. It was not your doing.’

By not claiming Morrigan, Eris had saved her from a marriage of humiliation where Beron would treat them both as his play things. What had it cost him to scorn the alliance between Keir and Beron? How badly did his father punish him when he discovered Eris had not claimed Mor for his own?

Eris turned his face away, the shadows of night making the planes of his face harder. ‘No. I’m sorry for another betrayal. I put faebane in your food.’

The grounds turned colder. The hairs on the back of Nesta’s neck stood on end. The sudden onslaught of fears made her stagger back a step. Would he surrender her to Briallyn? A sharp, sudden realisation about the male clobbered through her. Eris would - if he had enough to gain. Eris would give her up.

‘What have you done?’

Her voice was little more than a whisper. Deep inside of her, she clawed for her magic. For a scrap of anything that was left to use as protection. Nothing.

‘When my father discovered you were not in Spring, he interrogated his messenger. I intercepted him, Nesta. I bought you time. But the messenger was not one of my males and sang like a canary to him.’ Eris sucked in a breath. ‘I thought my father might try something against us. I know his cruelties well enough. I needed to ensure your power was weakened.’

‘You drugged my food.’

It had tasted wrong. Nesta had known. Known that the flavour was off. If she had said one word, it would have blown all of Eris’ schemes out of the water. He had gambled on her remaining quiet. Gambled that her fear of Beron outweighed raising the issue.

‘I know him well enough, Nesta. I know the awful things he makes us do.’

‘What if he’d attacked me and you had stolen my power?’ She swallowed. Her voice was rising – it would draw the soldiers if she continued down the path of hysteria.

‘He wouldn’t. Not without risking the wrath of the Night Court.’

‘How can you say it with such certainty?’ Nesta dug her fingernails into her palm, grounding her to where she was. The brisk night air caressed her skin. ‘What if Briallyn had come for me? You took my magic, Eris. I had no way of protecting myself.’

‘It’s not like you’d even use it to defend yourself. You won’t train it beyond parlour tricks.’

‘Leave.’

Eris dug his heel into the dry soil beneath the tree causing a divot in the ground. ‘You can’t banish me every time I say something you don’t want to hear.’

It was the matter-of-fact delivery that unsettled Nesta most. The complete lack of guilt that he’d put faebane into her meal. The belief that everything he did was the right course of action.

‘I needed to know it worked, Nesta,’ he said quietly, keeping his eyes turned to the mud on his boot rather than face her. ‘The dosage. You were the only person I could use it on without it being discovered.’

‘You could have come here and asked me. You drugged me, Eris. How can you not see that it was wrong?’

He still didn’t see the wrongness in it. In his pursuit for an end to his father’s rule, he would stop at nothing to achieve it. Those amber eyes, so wild and enchanting, flickered to her own then back to the ground without a hint of regret.

‘At least now my father won’t know the depths of your power.’

‘Don’t.’ Nesta raised her hands above her head. Zasha picked up on her distress, his tail was between his legs. ‘Don’t spin it as an act of chivalry. You did not know what your father planned tonight, Eris. You left me at risk.’

‘Could you taste it in your food?’

Nesta smacked him hard across the face. Eris only staggered back a step then wiped a bead of blood from his bottom lip.

‘I need to know, Nesta. Please.’

‘Yes. I could.’ The hope in his eyes had dimmed. The path to his father’s demise was harder. In that moment, she hated the male for ever trusting him. For ever believing he was more than a sly fox who never did anything without something to gain. But a lifetime with Beron Vanserra as a father... Nesta sighed.

‘I do not think your faerie laws govern me fully. I saw through Tamlin’s glamours as a mortal. Feyre and Lucien were given faebane. Ask them how it tasted. Maybe they can provide assistance.’

‘Will you ask Lucien?’

A hard laugh left Nesta’s lips. ‘You really are taking a liberty.’

‘Nesta. Please.’ Eris reached out for her hand but Nesta snatched it away from him before he had the chance to touch her. Hurt flashed on his face. ‘Hello, errant exiled brother, what does faebane taste like? That will not be suspicious at all. Nesta.’

Eris spat out her name, the two syllables hard and desperate. For the kindness that Eris gave her. For the memories of learning to play pianoforte and training the hounds, and all the quiet ways he’d encouraged her to eat and heal when he had no reason to. For their conversations in the library, for all the times she'd fallen asleep and awoken with a blanket tucked around her. For that last shred of decency within him that his mother had lovingly tended to all of his life.

‘I will ask Lucien. This is the last thing I will do for you. The last time you involve me in your schemes. And Eris, if you drug me with faebane again, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.’

***

Evidence of the war that had ravaged the manor house in the human lands still lingered. Mor had winnowed Cassian directly to the arched wooden door, kissed him on the cheek then departed back to Velaris under the veil of darkness. The grass had grown high around the grounds and moss crawled across the trunks of felled trees. The gray-stone house was hard on the eyes, lacking any beauty, but it had survived the war. He had a meeting with the Band of Exiles, as they’d taken to calling themselves, and a slippery snake by the name of Eris Vanserra.

The narrow wooden slat slid to one side and a golden eye met his. Lucien raised his eyebrows in greeting. The tautness in his shoulders as he opened the door was not missed by Cassian.

‘My brother is already here.’

If one word of their tryst spilt from his lips, Cassian would slit his throat. If Nesta’s name even touched his tongue with any sort of mocking, Cassian would not hold back. Since she had returned to Spring, Cassian kept his distance despite the instinct bellowing in his head to go to her. He would not stand for Eris’ gloating.

Eris lounged in a golden chair, with an ankle crossed over his knee, lingering echoes of sleep deprivation on his cunning face. In five hundred years, Cassian could still not stop the blinding rage that threatened to consume him when he set eyes on the male. Ally or not, he hated Eris Vanserra. Always would.

‘Look who’s playing courtier,’ he drawled.

Ignoring Eris entirely, Cassian gave a swift bow to Vassa who was sprawled across a ludicrous pink couch with her bare feet resting on Jurian’s knees. Jurian, the male who had once been human before five hundred years trapped in Amarantha’s ring, gave a terse nod. Lucien perched on the arm of the couch beside Jurian, allowing Cassian the final seat opposite Eris rather than making him stand. His wings wouldn’t fit so he had to settle with lingering on the edge of the cushion.

Jurian spoke first. ‘Graysen has been in contact. The Children of the Blessed are amassing in numbers again. They will seek a pathway into Prythian. Hybern has not dimmed their fanaticism for your kind.’

‘The wall needs to be a priority,’ Vassa mused, her hands pressed together as if in prayer.

Lucien nodded. ‘More and more foul creatures are making their way to the forests of Spring. Tamlin has been keeping them at bay. Nesta will meet me tomorrow to inspect the wall. I’ll try and convince her to move sentries deeper into the forest. The last thing we need is naga getting into the human lands or humans in Prythian.’

The mention of his mate’s name had Cassian perking up. As did Eris. The male sat forwards slightly in the chair, head cocked to the side in amusement.

‘And what duty does Tamlin have Nesta Archeron embarking on now?’

‘Expanding her role as emissary to these lands too,’ Lucien said flatly, ‘on a trial basis.’

The pleased expression on Eris’ face unsettled Cassian. ‘I bet Nesta insisted on that last part.’

Hearing her name in Eris’ mouth was a foul poison. The casual intimacy of it. That he knew Nesta well enough to predict her behaviour. Cassian hated it.

A creak sounded from the hinge of the front door. Jurian glanced either side of him, apparently surprised that anybody else was entering the house when his companions were already assembled. Cassian’s siphons pulsed lightly, not in warning but greeting.

Shrouded in shadows, Azriel stepped into the living room. That unreadable face stayed blank as his hazel eyes flitted to Cassian then to Eris. As he settled on the arm of the chair, Cassian could smell frost and wind on his brother’s skin. He'd winnowed from some distance. His scarred hands were white with cold.

‘Sorry, I’m late,’ he murmured.

‘Do you have news?’ Vassian’s blue eyes were on Azriel, sweeping him over with an intense gaze.

Az dipped his chin once, face revealing nothing. ‘Briallyn seeks the Cauldron to reverse what it did to her. Koschei whispers in her ear, still trapped at the lake, but he seeks a way out. He's getting desperate. The Cauldron is his way to do that. Briallyn is too blind to see she’s being used.’

‘She won’t be able to find the Cauldron,’ Jurian said dismissively.

The Cauldron would be safe with Drakon and Miryam, undisturbed and untouched.

‘Not alone. There are two sisters with that innate power though,’ Eris said with a shrug. ‘One of whom Briallyn already bears a grudge against.’

A shadow brushed over Cassian’s hand, quiet and unseen. A silent warning from Azriel to not display his heart so brashly with Eris present. His brother knew him well enough to know that Cassian had been on the brink of declaring Nesta would never be harmed – that he’d rather spill every drop of his blood then ever have a hair on her head touched. From the corner of his eye, Cassian spotted another shadow slinking away from Lucien too. Another warning to stay calm around Eris. Even if Elain would not accept him, Lucien still felt that same fiery need to protect her.

‘So we ensure Nesta and Elain are safe,’ said Vassa. ‘Done.’

‘That’s your plan? Hide the Archerons forever?’ Eris scoffed. ‘You clearly do not know Nesta. She delights in doing the opposite of what she is told.’

'Nesta's already exposed in the Spring Court. It's no secret that she's an emissary in Prythian. It will be known on the continent too if anybody wanted that information enough.' Lucien spared a sorry look to Cassian as he spoke.

Azriel coughed. ‘There are other ways to track it. I’m still pursing that thread. She has Koschei as an ally. His knowledge spans millennia.’

They would need a being just as old who would share that knowledge. Maybe Amren would know another way – or another creature from the Prison. Cassian would not voice his musings there. Would not let Eris have that information for free.

‘And what of your father’s forces? Has he aligned himself with Briallyn yet?’

Eris examined his nails idly, taking his time to inspect each one individually. Lucien rolled his eyes, apparently used to the male’s behaviour whereas Jurian stared at him with a sour expression willing him to hurry up.

‘I have delayed him for a time.’

‘And how did you manage that?’

Eris grinned to Jurian. It was vulpine enough to display his canines.

‘A good player never shows all of his cards, Jurian. You of all humans should know that.’

Humans. Cassian felt the blow land. That he would never be like them. Despite fighting alongside them as a double agent and pulling the rug from under Hybern’s feet, Jurian was not one of them. Jurian only shrugged in response, unruffled by Eris’ goading. The male had endured five hundred years trapped with Amarantha; it would take more than Eris Vanserra to unsettle him.

‘He is re-assessing if his asset is worth the risk.’

If Beron allied with Briallyn, Eris would be forced to make a choice; familial duty or Prythian. It would expose him, expose the alliance he had long coveted with the Night Court.

‘His asset?’

‘Too much of a good thing can spoil you, Jurian. I can’t give you all of my father’s secrets now, can I?’

‘Eris, do you ever get tired of hearing your own voice?’

It was the fire-bird queen who had spoken. She finished it with a long snore. Eris could only blink in retaliation. A tense few moments followed before Jurian bellowed with laughter.

‘I’m glad another is on the receiving end of that,’ he said, jerking his chin towards the flame haired female.

Eris stood then sketched a bow. ‘Well, some of us have duties to attend to that go beyond skulking in a hovel. Enjoy your kingdom, your majesty.’ Eris gestured to Jurian and Lucien before departing.

As the front door slammed shut, Vassa let out a long, rich laugh.

‘Lucien, however did you put up with him?’

Lucien grimaced. It warped the harsh scar slashing down his face. ‘Would you believe me if I said Eris was the most amenable of all my brothers?’

No hospitality was extended to them once their meeting was finished. Lucien appeared apologetic that none had been offered as the two Illyrians announced they would leave. Cassian had to wonder who collected food for them with Vassa a firebird by day and Lucien having a unique look. They had no servants. The idea of Jurian, the mad general, heading out to the village to stock up their pantry brought a glimmer of amusement to Cassian’s lips.

Azriel winnowed them just above the House of Wind and their wings spread out catching a draught before they flew the last portion of the journey. There were faint smears of blood on Azriel’s armour, some on his wrist that he’d not managed to wash off in his hasty return to the human lands. Cassian waited until they had descended the stairs into the empty house, before interrogating him.

‘Rough few days?’

Cassian gestured to the gauntlet holding the siphon onto Az’s hand, at the blood staining around the straps.

‘A necessity.’

‘You’re okay?’

‘Fine.’

Azriel could make ten minutes feel like a lifetime of brutal pain. The symphonies he conducted of drawn-out torture were enough to make Cassian blanch. He always worried for his brother. Worried for the core of him that had suffered such damage as a boy that he could inflict that sort of misery on another. There were wounds that never healed. It was hard not to wonder that if Azriel could have a different path, one where his skills did not lie in making another suffer, his own healing journey could begin.

‘I’ve told Rhys already,’ he said, tapping his temple lightly. ‘Will you tell Nesta about Briallyn?’

‘I presume Lucien will.’

Az cocked an eyebrow as he stripped off the outer layer of his armour. ‘Is that wise?’

‘Do you have a better suggestion?’

The shadowsinger hummed an answer then began the laborious task of removing the various pieces of armour and weaponry.

‘Nesta made it clear that her visiting in Illyria was a mistake.’

‘Did she say that?’ Azriel pulled the buckles of his wrist guards, loosening the piece enough to slip over his hands and place gently on the table.

‘She didn’t need to. I could tell by the look on her face.’

‘I would have thought by now you’d know better than to presume anything about Nesta,’ he quipped, removing the breastplate and lining that up in an order with the other items. He had enough knives strapped to him to be a walking armoury. ‘Just talk to her. Better that news comes from you than another. Say Rhys wanted you to inspect the wall too if you need an excuse. She kissed you didn’t she? That has to count for something.’

Azriel withdrew the Illyrian sword from its sheath and settled the blade across his knee, inspecting the surface for any marks. His weapons were always gleaming. He motioned to Cassian to pass him a whetstone then began running it along the cutting edge. It was a gesture he did for both Cassian and Rhys, sharpening and polishing all their weapons. He’d thought it odd when they had first become close. It was Azriel’s way of ensuring they were always ready, that their weapons would never fail them in crucial moments. His way of showing his love.

‘Sage advice from a male like you.’

‘A male like me?’ The voice was as sharp as a blade.

‘A male who'd rather play with his own sword than a female.’

Chapter Text

Aoife, with her shadowed eyes, poured orange juice into her bowl of porridge then spooned honey into a glass. Nesta coughed lightly then inclined her head towards the strange, runny combination in the bowl.

The female let out an aggrieved sigh. ‘I’m so tired. I put my shoes on the wrong feet this morning already.’

After her late night visit from Eris Vanserra, Nesta had heard the baby crying again. Even Nuala had delicate purple marks taking up residence beneath her blue eyes.

‘Eimear wants to be up at night and sleep during the day. But in the day, I’m chasing after this one,’ she smoothed her eldest daughter’s hair.

‘Fionn?’

‘Still in the east. Hopefully back tomorrow.’

Kindness ought to be shared. Although Nesta had plans of curling up with a book that Emerie had recommended, she couldn’t take the exhaustion on the young mother’s face for another moment.

‘I’ll take Eimear for a few hours. You and Nuala have a nap or-’

‘Yes please.’ There was no hesitation from Aoife. She’d almost snapped Nesta’s hand off in eagerness when those words had come out. ‘I’ll feed her then she’s all yours. Thank you.’

Zasha loped the grounds with them. The smoke hound kept his muzzle pressed to the ground along one of the edges of the flowerbeds, sniffing wildly until a terrified rabbit darted from its warren. The dog tore after it. Not a single command from Nesta would bring him back. She couldn’t bellow with Eimear wrapped up in her arms either. The baby was awake – barely. Full of warm milk, her eyes were fighting to stay open.

Deep down inside of her, like a frost beginning to thaw, Nesta felt the dripping of her magic coming back. It was strange to be without it. After so long hating that power, to be stripped of it left her exposed and empty. She’d grown accustomed to its presence, a shadow always in the corner of her vision. It was a relief to feel it coming back to her. Nesta still did not know how she’d broach the subject with Lucien, but she had seized an opportunity to be alone with him. She would investigate the wall under the guise of considering a role as emissary to the human lands. A messenger had been sent at dawn to Lucien that they would meet tomorrow.

They paused by the rose garden. Nesta tipped a yellow-headed rose towards Eimear and the baby blinked in recognition of a yellow blob in front of her face. Newborns were easy, Nesta decided. All they wanted was to sleep and eat. It was when they could move that the trouble began – particularly with Aoife already chasing after Nuala all day.

There was a name in the back of her mind. One that hurt to think of. With fresher eyes, she could understand Eris’ perspective, could understand why he’d laced her food with the faebane but also could not understand it either. Could not understand why he didn’t ask her to willingly take it. She likely would have. That was probably what stung the most. That despite the embarrassment that had occurred between them when her hand had found itself within his trousers, she still wanted him as a friend. Eris could trust nobody. Years of scheming and trying to stay a step ahead of his father meant he had nobody to rely on – or nobody he wanted to risk.

Two sentries approached, faces hard, requesting Nesta’s presence. She scanned for Zasha, but the dopey dog was too busy hunting rabbits to care. Eris had given her a hound that was as stupid as he was large.

On the edge of the property boundary, a large swam of sentries stood, weapons pointed at a lone figure.

‘Nesta,’ the high lord of the Night Court said, face a picture of arrogance.

Despite the swords brandished in his direction, Rhysand only grinned as if it was all a game. Whorls similar to Illyrian tattoos were stitched onto his sleek black jacket; a reminder of who he was.

‘Why are you here?’

‘Hello to you too,’ he crooned.

With only dribbles of her power returned and a tiny baby in her arms, Nesta did not feel like engaging the high lord in a physical battle. Nor one of words.

‘You ought to have written, Rhysand.’

‘I did. Two letters. Both ignored. Where is the high lord of this court? I’m beginning to think he’s avoiding me. I can’t think why.’

To scorn Rhysand three times reflected badly on the Spring Court; a court that did not need more enemies. Regardless of what occurred between Tamlin and Rhysand historically, the Spring Court was weak enough. Nesta’s petty arguments with Rhysand did not need to bring it to its knees.

‘Tamlin is away on urgent matters.’

Rhys’ violet eyes seemed to glitter at that. ‘Is he now?’

They were locked into a stalemate, only interrupted by Zasha’s return. The dog padded over, blood staining his muzzle as he pushed against Nesta’s hand for affection. Then he wove his way through the sentries, unbothered by their swords or fighting stances, searching for whichever male would satisfy his hunger for a stroke.

‘Zasha,’ Nesta called through gritted teeth.

‘It’s you I came to see actually.’

Nesta had Rhysand brought to a drawing room – and did gain some satisfaction in watching him be led across the ground with sentries not allowing him an inch of space. A servant brought tea, in an attempt at appearing welcoming, but the female carried the tray with quaking hands as she settled the tray on the narrow table. Rhysand’s reputation remained in the court. The servants knew him to be an arrogant, cruel prick – and Nesta was in no mood to change those opinions.

‘Sit,’ Nesta commanded, pointing to the chair, in a far stricter tone than she’d use on Zasha.

She had already taken up one seat, fighting every instinct in her that wanted to be far away from him. Emissary was a role she was playing. Like she had at Beron’s Forest House, Nesta could disengage her feelings and force herself through it.

His eyes lingered on the tiny hand that gripped one of Nesta’s fingers, mouth quirking into a smile.

‘Babes are a blessing to high-fae - more precious than any amount of jewels.’

‘Tell that to her exhausted mother.’

When Nesta poured them both a cup of tea, Rhysand asked, ‘Is it poisoned?’

The little laugh that escaped couldn’t be helped. It hit too close to home after last night.

‘That’s not my style.’

The high lord waved his hand and a piece of parchment was summoned from thin air. It drifted towards Nesta. As she rocked Eimear off to sleep, she frowned.

‘What is it?’

‘What was owed. Plus a donation from the Night Court at the behest of your sister towards the fund.’

‘What’s the trick?’

Rhysand’s laugh was a low rumble that rippled through the room. He stretched back in the chair, casually - comfortable even. The fine tailoring to his ebony clothes devoured all the light in the airy room. The carefully designed wickedness about him was ruined by the brightly coloured vase of roses on the table between them.

‘Thank you.’

Nesta could have argued with him about Illyria, about his lack of action that resulted in the misery of so many lives, argued about the Hewn City and the cruelness of condemning a third of his court. But why was it her responsibility? Nesta had enough on her own plate to add more to it, even if she wanted to. If he had not noticed the failings of his leadership in five hundred years, Nesta doubted she’d be able to open his eyes.

The door creaked open. First Nuala peered around the doorway, blue eyes blinking, then Zasha pushed his way into the room, not caring who Nesta was taking tea with.

‘Mama is still sleeping,’ Nuala whispered, plucking at the hem of her dress.

Nesta beckoned to the girl to come to her where she lifted the girl to her lap beside her slumbering baby sister. A knot had formed in Rhysand’s throat as his eyes darted between the two children.

‘That’s special to have two so close in age.’

Nesta murmured in response, pulling Nuala a little closer. Zasha settled himself on top of her feet. The warm weight was welcoming.

‘This is Nuala. Not named after your shadow-wraith.’ Rhys gave a short wave to the girl. ‘Do you want children with Feyre?’

Rhys did not hesitate. ‘Yes. When she’s ready.’

‘Would the child have wings?’

‘Unlikely. I’m half Illyrian. For a male like Cassian, his child likely would.’

Nesta blinked to cover her shock at that name being thrown into conversations about babies. Rhys seemed to know what he’d done as he used his cup to hide his smirk.

‘And is the birth more difficult? I assisted with Eimear’s birth and it was not an experience I wish to have for myself anytime soon.’

‘Illyrian wings aren’t pliant. It can cause issues. Our healers are trained well-enough though. Sometimes the mother needs an incision, but a winged baby is not a curse. Cass had his guts hanging out and Madja poked them back into place.’

‘I don’t know why you keep mentioning him.’

‘Don’t you?’

***

As soon as a peachy dawn cracked into the skies of Velaris, Cassian hammered on the doors of Feyre and Rhysand’s riverfront estate. The front door was opened with a hiss from Cerridwen. Despite the few hours of sleep he’d gotten, Cassian felt fresh.

After polishing his weapons, Azriel announced he was going down to the library to help a priestess with research on his abilities. The House of Wind was too empty for Cassian, so rather than tossing and turning in bed, he’d sprung out of it and raced across the city as soon as it was acceptable to. A nervy excitement put a spring in his step.

Rhys ambled into dining room, hair askew, squinting slightly. Beneath his dressing gown, Cassian would bet his brother was naked.

‘Is there a reason you’re here at such an unacceptable hour?’

‘Can you winnow me to Lucien’s?’

Rhys blinked. ‘Why?’

Cassian rocked back on his chair, enjoying his high lord’s morning confusion.

‘I want to inspect the wall with him.’

‘I’ll ask again: why?’

Nuala scuttled in to bring them both breakfast. The wraith disappeared into shadow. Cassian examined the tray then selected a pastry flecked with sugared nuts and a punnet of blueberries to wash it down with.

‘Nesta will be there.’

‘Oh,’ he hummed. ‘I met Nuala’s namesake yesterday.’

That tiny little girl who’d forced Cassian to read no end of story books while she should have been sleeping.

‘You were in Spring yesterday?’

Finally, Rhys took up a chair and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. With a wave of his hand, he conjured a hot drink in front of him.

‘I had a debt to settle.’

‘And Nesta? Did you see her?’

‘Yes. The debt was with her.’

Damn this bastard, Cassian thought, watching Rhys keep the information from him that he desperately wanted to hear. He’d make him say it.

‘How was she?’

Rhys sipped the tea then let out a long yawn. ‘Fine. No arguments. I was going to catch up with you yesterday evening but you’d already gone to the mortal lands. Nesta was asking questions about winged babies. About birthing them.’

A chunk of pastry flew down Cassian’s throat on his inhale. He coughed and spluttered until Rhys came behind him to slap his back.

‘There’s not a little surprise due is there?’

Cassian did not know what to think or do. He knew there was absolutely no possibility of Nesta carrying his child when all they had done in Illyria was kiss, but the thought of her one day being the mother of his child had him blinking in shock. That she’d even asked Rhys the question nearly sent him feral with that overriding mate instinct.

‘No,’ he said firmly, heart still beating erratically.

‘In five hundred years, I’ve never seen you look so scared, brother.’

When they arrived at the manor in the mortal lands, Rhys had them glamoured from view. Lucien did not seem to mind Cassian’s addition to his meeting with Nesta despite only seeing him the previous evening. If anything he was grateful that he didn’t have to be alone with her in the woods. Jurian was still abed and Vassa was transformed again into her firebird form. Lacking any reason to stay, Rhys winnowed back to Velaris – and, he informed them, to bed.

They winnowed as close as they could to the wall on the mortal side. Lucien, dressed in a fawn-coloured jacket, lead the way. They reached nothing… but Cassian could feel it. His siphons hummed in response to nothing in particular, to a ghost of magic separating the mortals from fae.

‘The gap used to be here,’ Lucien said. ‘That’s where Feyre came through.’

‘Could you see it before?’

‘Faintly,’ Lucien admitted, face twisting to discomfort. ‘At certain lights out of the corner of your eye. Nothing concrete.’

Lucien indicated to the trees where tiny marks had been carved into the trunks to indicate the direction of the wall on the fae side.

The forest was in full bloom. The final scattering of blossom petals settled on the undergrowth beneath their feet. Small, furred animals scurried away from the sound of hooves approaching. A magpie hopped along a branch then swooped into the distance.

Four paws were quicker than four hooves. The great grey maw of a smoke hound hurtled towards Cassian so quickly that he had to stagger back a few steps when the dog leapt up at his front.

Nesta came into view, regal as ever, astride a dappled grey mare. ‘Sorry for my lateness. I got lost. Every tree looks quite similar.’

‘I did say to keep to the chestnut trees in the south-east. Did you follow the trail by the silver birch?’

‘Lucien,’ Nesta said sharply, looking down at them both from atop her saddle. ‘Do I look as if I can differentiate between tree species?’

Nobody followed with Nesta. ‘Where are your sentries?’

That glare landed on Cassian next. ‘I have no need. I have Zasha.’

Lucien appeared to be on the edge of speech then decided to leave that battle to Cassian.

‘There are naga in these woods. And the bogge.’

‘Yes. As many have told me. And I still don’t know what they are.’ She dismounted easily, feet landing with a soft thump into the undergrowth. ‘Tamlin is also roaming around the woods hunting them down. I have enough enemies that adding more to that list makes no difference.’

There was no thrill in Nesta’s voice, no delight in seeing him stood there. If anything she’d appeared disheartened when she had realised that Lucien was not alone.

‘Is this the wall then?’ Nesta squinted towards them, cocking her head to one side as if she might see the remnants of it. The tone was so clinical, so unimpressed, Cassian barked out a laugh.

Nesta tethered the horse to a tree and called Zasha to her as they walked along the border between the mortal lands and the Spring Court. Lucien gave them as much space as he could, as if he felt like a spare part. He didn’t acknowledge Nesta’s less than enthusiastic welcome towards Cassian, perhaps realising their Archeron sisters weren’t the most forthcoming with their affection.

‘At least it’s spring now. The border can’t be marked as easily.’

Nesta whipped her head towards Lucien. ‘What do you mean?’

‘If it snows in the mortal land, it will raise a few eyebrows when the land next to it remains in perpetual spring, no?’

‘You can’t tell the difference now?’

Lucien looked to Cassian then to Nesta. ‘You can?’

From the blush flooding up her neck, Nesta could – even if she turned her head away and said she couldn’t.

‘Nes, what do you see?’

Nesta swallowed then raised her chin, still not looking at him. A light breeze blew through the rogue strands of hair curling around her face. She smoothed the grey satin material of her skirt.

‘I don’t see it. I feel it. I can feel when I cross into courts. Here,’ she said gesturing to the floor, ‘I can taste the pollen, hear a bird flying north. But here,’ Nesta took a few side steps to the left, ‘the air is different. The sun feels dimmer. The world quieter.’

It was an admission she hadn’t wanted to reveal. She glanced between them fearfully, as if they might join in Devlon’s campaign that she was a witch. The depths of Nesta’s magic were unknown; the gifts she had taken still remained to be seen. More than the enhanced senses of the fae, Nesta had another sense. When she had called for him on the battlefield, they’d believe it was because she knew where the Cauldron was targeting. But what if it was something else? A different sort of sense – one which could recognise magic and feel it out.

‘How was the wall built?’

Lucien, educated by scholars as the son of a high lord, was able to provide the history lesson, that Prythian and all the other lands had been created by the Cauldron. He discussed the war – one he had not been alive for – explaining how humans had been slaves to fae. Nesta listened to it all without interrupting, simply keen to devour more information. The wall had been created to protect mortals following the treaty at the end of the war.

‘Then surely it can be built again.’

Cassian had to admire his mate’s ability to strip something to the bare bones.

‘Most of the high lords were alive during the war, were they not? Surely that knowledge has not been lost.’

‘If anyone were to have that knowledge, I’d imagine it would be Helion,’ Cassian offered.

‘Why?’

‘The Day Court has a thousand libraries.’

Her jaw hung open at that. An endless supply of books and knowledge.

‘I bet you regret not entertaining Helion’s advances now.’

The smirk Nesta gave in response was the first sign that she didn’t mind his presence.

‘There’s still time,’ she said, striding away with a final sultry look over her shoulder to him.

They paused for an early lunch huddled on rogue logs beneath a copse of sycamore trees. A servant had provided the lunch for them and strapped it to the horse. Nesta let out a delighted little noise when she had discovered its existence. They feasted on cured meats and cheeses with their fingers, piling them onto crackers. It filled a hole at least.

Nesta peeled an apple with a knife, taking care to try and take all the skin off in one coil like a snake. Zasha bumped her hand with his massive head, making her rip the skin too early. She tapped him on the nose with the skin.

‘You won’t even like this.’ She lifted the green skin upwards. ‘A servant when I was a child used to peel an apple for me like this and say whatever letter it resembled would be the first letter of my husband’s name.’

Lucien called the dog to him and fed him the bigger crumbs of cheese from the basket so Nesta could munch the apple skin in peace. ‘Last time I was here, I was with Feyre, when we’d come with Jurian and Hybern’s twin sadists.’

Cassian knew Nesta well enough to know when something had quirked her interest. She feigned her curiosity for a moment or two as she plucked dry bark from the log she was sat on, still munching her apple.

‘Was that when you left this court?’ At Lucien’s nod, she continued, ‘And you had no magic at all?’

‘Not a whisper of it.’

‘Faebane can truly take your powers?’

The Autumn Court had always been the bane of Cassian’s life, but their magic in the war had destroyed Hybern’s stores of it. They would owe them for that. And he hated it.

‘They came back eventually. Enough for us to fight back against my brothers until you and Azriel came to us,’ he said, inclining his head towards Cassian.

‘When I stabbed Eris through the stomach?’

The memory still brought Cassian joy – though he wished he had ended him that day on the ice. Nesta shushed him.

‘But you did not know your powers had gone? Had no inkling that you had been given it?’

Lucien petted Zasha on the head. For a moment, Cassian wondered whether Lucien had once had smoke hounds of his own. Whether he’d had to surrender them when he was exiled. The dog settled his chin on Lucien’s lap. It was the worst guard dog he’d ever seen. Previously, he had heard they were elite hunters – perhaps they needed constant training. Or Zasha was just wrong.

‘In hindsight, there were signs. Tam had been suffering with headaches - Feyre too - whenever they’d used a sprinkling of their power. We’d been dosed with it for quite a while.’

Nesta leaned forwards so her elbows rested on her knees, face in her hands, staring at Lucien as though he were an artefact to study. ‘I thought fae were supposed to have good senses.’

‘We do,’ both Lucien and Cassian said together.

‘You couldn’t even taste that you were slowly being poisoned?’

‘It’s tasteless and odourless. Maybe Nesta Archeron with her many gifts would be able to taste it, but us mere fae cannot.’

Cassian could have sworn that Nesta shrunk back slightly at that comment. Her magic was a sore spot and Lucien had accidently hit a nerve with it. The male blanched, brows drawing together.

‘Forgive me, Nesta. That comment was uncalled for.’

Although he’d been tending to Elain when Nesta was dragged into the Cauldron, Lucien had been there for it. Had seen Nesta point to the king of Hybern as she hissed and spat like a bucking hellcat into the depths of the Cauldron. They were not gifts.

Nesta just shook her head as if shaking the comment away without letting it settle. ‘Wait,’ her bottom jaw dropped. The piece of bark in her hand fluttered to the ground. ‘For months I had to train my magic with Amren when knowledge of the wall’s construction could have existed in Helion’s library?’

‘Amarantha plundered a lot of it,’ Lucien said with a wince.

‘You and Amren were our best hope.’

‘We failed,’ she said icily. ‘And not for my lack of trying. Tell me, what is it Amren does besides step on those she deems below her? Since she lost her useless powers, what has she done for the Night Court? But according to her, I am the pathetic waste of life.’

‘She didn’t mean that, Nes.’

Nesta tossed her head back and laughed, the same shrill noise he knew to be false. ‘Am I to forgive her? If only forgiveness could be so easy. If my reputation will forever be tarnished by decisions made as a child, horrid words said by a little creature that crawled out of the depths of hell will be held against her in retribution.’

Cassian had never considered Lucien Vanserra has a friend. Perhaps an acquaintance in the best circumstances. As the red haired male clapped his hands together and got to his feet, cracking the ice forming between them and Nesta, he was thankful for his existence.

‘Shall we continue?’

Never would he mention Amren’s name again. Especially not to associate it with Nesta. There had been an argument. No, more than that, a massive blowout where even Amren had refused to speak of it. A pathetic waste of life. No wonder Nesta hated talk of her magic, hated using it. She had tried hard to protect the wall. For hours and hours, she had been locked away with Amren searching for an answer. It was what hurt her most; that she had tried so hard and still failed. She’d rather not try again than ever risk her pride.

‘I’d like to visit our old cottage,’ Nesta announced as they had begun their goodbyes. ‘It’s why I didn’t bring sentries.’

‘Alone?’ Lucien frowned. ‘You know the way?’

Nesta tipped the hood of her grey cloak over her golden-brown head, hiding her pointed ears from view. ‘I’m sure I will manage it. I came once in the snow with a mercenary when Tamlin had first taken Feyre. I wanted her back. Wanted to say sorry.’ Nesta’s voice had gone tight. She shook her head slightly. ‘There’s a stream that leads quite close.’

‘Can I come with you?’ Cassian had learnt not to force himself into Nesta’s company, even if he wanted it. Had to accept that she might say no and he had to live with that decision, that it was hers to make.

‘Please.’

Chapter Text

When Nesta’s eyes settled upon the cottage, a breath she’d been holding since she’d been Made escaped her. The little thatched roof had balded in spots. The weeds had overtaken Elain’s carefully tended to garden and the grasses reached as high as her thigh as they trod a path to the door.

She touched the claw marks gouged into the front door. The locals hadn’t known what had made such marks. They had never given them an answer when nosy ones had enquired. Elain had only ever blinked as if surprised the marks were there at all and Nesta had snarled at them all to mind their damn business.

‘Tamlin?’ Cassian murmured behind her.

‘Elain and I had to rehang the door. It took us hours. Our father sat there telling us we were doing it wrong rather than helping. We had no idea what to do, only that necessity to keep winter from creeping in managed it. Tomas had promised to do it,’ her voice trailed off to nothing.

Nesta did not want to think of him. Not now, not ever. Even the thought of killing him never crossed her mind such was her fear of him. Nesta was now faster, stronger, and more powerful than he’d ever be – but that fear would never leave her. There would always be men like Tomas Mandray.

A dusty half-rotten scent filled her nostrils as they crossed into the tiny room. The warm hand that settled on her lower back was welcomed. The planks were damp where rain had continued leaking through the damaged roof. Those planks in winter were as cold as blocks of ice. She remembered those awful mornings where it was so cold their breath curled around them. They had been the hardest days to even bother rising from the bed. Why did they even leave the warmth of the duvet? They would huddle at the table until they all finally caved in and lit a fire, all fighting to get a bit of heat on their stiff, frozen bodies. On the nights they had a fire, they didn’t light candles. They could never have the luxury of both.

Their father’s cot was still placed in front of the hearth, the stained blankets they’d used for years still gathered in a ball. Muddy paw prints covered it as if an animal had taken up residence in the scant shelter the cottage provided.

It was shameful to be here. Shameful to show her past to Cassian; a male who’d fought in wars for generations, who’d visited every court in Prythian, dined with nobility and waltzed in balls. Her hands trembled as she stood in the centre of the tiny room.

A gentle kiss touched the back of her neck. A reminder that she was not alone.

‘Do I get to see the bedroom or is such a thing frowned upon in the human lands?’

Cassian’s arm came round her shoulders, solid and steady. That teasing stopped her from stepping off the edge.

‘Nesta, if you want to leave, we can. It’s alright.’

Nesta steeled herself. This would be the only time she would visit this cottage. She had to see all of it, see all of it and say goodbye.

‘You never call me Nesta,’ she said accusingly. Trying to keep her voice light, she pointed to the corners, ‘We didn’t have cobwebs. We at least kept it clean.’

The general’s eyes caught on the flaking paint, all the intricate designs that Feyre had painted in her moments of escapism from their terrible life. Nesta took hold of his hand, letting the other one stay looped around her shoulder, leading him to the bedroom.

Nesta was amazed the little dresser hadn’t been taken by the locals and chopped into firewood – or that her family had never resorted to it. There had never been many clothes in it anyway; one to wear and one a spare. And they’d wear them for days while the other was washed and dried in an attempt to not waste too much soap.

It was so bleak, all of it. So horrid and foul. Cassian marvelled at Feyre’s paintings on the dresser, at the stars, the flowers then finally the flames for her, pretending the place didn’t embarrass him. His finger touched against one of the flames. None of it conjured any nostalgia for Nesta, only sadness. She tried to stop Cassian from picking up her shoes tucked away in the corner, but he just held them, inspecting the burst seam across the toe, the broken heel, the ripped leather where the shoe had walked miles and miles.

Cassian brought her against his body, gently placed her ear against his heart so the steady thud of his heart washed over her.

‘I understand it. The anger. All of it. It was your way of surviving this.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘If you didn’t have that anger to keep you burning you’d have stopped and given up. I understand the shame that this is where you came from. That feeling that it is all you will ever be. That at any moment you could be back here. I know, Nes. I’m like you. I spent my first years in a discarded tent that a female was kind enough to mend so I wouldn’t die. I never knew what it was to be warm or full or happy. I know you because you are me.’

Cassian tilted her face up so she was looking at him. Those warm brown eyes felt like home. His lips pressed against her forehead.

‘I don’t know when my birthday is, only that it is in winter,’ he admitted. ‘Rhys had me pick a date so we could celebrate. I don’t even know my family name. Every time someone calls me a bastard, I’m still that scared little boy fighting every day to survive inside. You have come so far.’

The wooden figurines on the mantelpiece were inspected by Cassian but Nesta didn’t want to touch them, didn’t want to be reminded of her father’s lack of drive to save them. That he’d rather spend his days whittling wood they could have burnt then had the gall to ask them to try and sell them at the market for a handful of coins. All the money they’d spent on him being able to walk had been wasted by the fact all he did was sit and stare at nothing half the time. He’d rub those coins together, the few pitiful coppers from his carvings, all night, counting them over and over as if they’d magically double in his hands.

‘Will you go to his grave one day, do you think?’ A casual, careful question. One that left the decision in Nesta’s hand. No doubt Feyre had told him how she had frozen in place when her sister had mentioned it in Illyria.

‘I have no need. I’m still so angry with him,’ she confessed. ‘Then I feel worse. I feel so guilty that I’m angry with a dead man. I try and tell myself that he did enough by bringing the ships and the army when we needed them most. But he failed me. For years and years, he failed the three of us. And I can’t move past it. I had a mother who was cruel and a father who cared less. A grandmama who beat me, a mother who made me as vicious as she was, and a father who let them twist me into their little creation without trying to stop it.’ Nesta swallowed then brushed away her tears with the back of her hand. ‘I was horrid to him. Horrid to try and spur him into action. He never carved anything for me. Never. Because I was spiteful and horrid. That was his own form of punishment, to remind me I am my mother’s daughter, never his. Elain and Feyre act as if he was a doting father who never did anything wrong. He sat by and let us starve, let her hunt. When Tamlin took Feyre, he was delighted at his new found riches. He’d found his purpose again. When she came home, with trunks upon trunks of jewels, do you know what he did?’

Cassian shook his head.

‘Locked himself in his office to count them all then declared we ought to throw a ball. He hadn’t seen Feyre for months and he couldn’t wait to see which rich suitors would turn up to claim his daughters. I can’t let it go. I don’t know if I even want to let this anger go, Cassian. I’m even angrier that he’s dead and I can’t do anything about it.’

‘You wanted closure.’

‘And I’ll never have it. Death shouldn’t absolve someone of the things they did in life. And then I hate myself for thinking such a thing. For hating a dead man.’

Then Nesta cried and cried. She let Cassian scoop her into her lap while she sobbed into his neck, soaking the skin with her salty tears. He was patient, never telling her to stop crying or quieten, only drew circles on her back with a warm, gentle hand.

***

Once all of Nesta’s tears were spent, she abruptly climbed out of his lap and declared she’d had enough of being in the cottage. It was so matter of fact, so clinical, it was jarring. The ease in which she could suddenly leash her emotions again would always worry him. Because they were not spent. There were still more issues bubbling away inside of her but only once they’d grown too heavy to carry would Nesta ever set them down – and only for a moment until she carried them again alone.

There were elements of the confession that Cassian could not leave buried. He had known that their mother had treated them differently, favouring Nesta above the other two – but it was not love or favour. Only a desire to push her daughter into the most advantageous marriage without a regard for her wellbeing. And the grandmother. Elain had mentioned that she’d witnessed it once, the beatings, and Feyre had not known. In silence, Nesta had suffered those two females. Cassian had asked her once if someone had hurt her.

Would it change anything if someone had? Would it make you see me differently, treat me differently?

That was what she’d answered him. Even then he’d wanted to shatter the bones of anybody who had hurt her, but maybe his family would have been less inclined to judge her, maybe they would understand her better.

He felt so guilty. So guilty that all of Nesta’s suffering had been stuffed so deep inside with nobody ever helping her carry the load. Their treatment of her from the moment they’d met her was downright disgraceful. She had been a young mortal woman opening her home to three fae males – she had every right to feel defensive.

It was one thing to hear from Feyre about the poverty that they’d lived through, but another thing entirely to see it. It was so sad, all of it. Two tiny rooms with absolutely nothing. No belongings, no way to keep themselves entertained. How bleak and hopeless they must have felt. Cassian understood Nesta’s anger towards their father. The moment he stepped into that cottage and saw how destitute they must have been, how painful the winters must have been, he understood her anger. If he had a child, there would be nothing in the world that could stop him from ensuring that child was always safe, always happy.

Cassian understood all of his mate better now. And he was thankful she had given him that chance to see her beginnings. Nesta was not materialistic; he’d never yet seen her desire any jewellery or any sort of wealth. The belongings that she’d carted out of the House of Wind to her apartment, to Rovena’s, to the Autumn Court then finally Spring had been nothing really beyond a handful of gowns and books. Nesta did not need possessions. He’d seen her at her happiest chortling away with Emerie – with good company the key to her heart.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said quietly, taking her hand on the step. ‘For everything I didn’t do for you. I am sorry.’

His rough, calloused hand was brought to her lips. ‘We all make mistakes.’

They crept around the back of the house and carved a trail towards the forest through the overgrown grass. Cassian’s heightened senses would pick up on any mortals long before they were spotted – but they had the option of bolting into the sky with his wings if that was the case. Lucien had gone ahead to Spring to return Nesta’s horse, with Zasha loping alongside them, and to see if he might try and coax Tamlin out of his beast form. It allowed Cassian extra time with Nesta: there was not a chance she was walking back through the forest alone.

‘I think it will rain,’ Nesta said, squinting up at the sky.

Despite the heavy grey clouds, the sun was still shining, casting a golden hue through the trees. Leaves were unfurling from their buds. A handful of starlings dipped low above their heads as they walked.

‘Was that a prophecy? I thought Elain was the seer.’

‘Common sense, netopier. It seems in short supply in Prythian,’ she quipped. ‘Or perhaps it’s because all you males do is clobber each other with weapons. Your brains have taken so much damage.’

‘You chose to align yourself with Eris and Tamlin. Don’t tarnish all us males with the same brush.’

Nesta snorted. Cassian held a bramble branch out of her way which received a sharp nod in thanks.

‘Eris is Eris. And Tamlin. Well he’s not been home for a few days. He’s too busy howling in the forest covered in fur. It’s quite irksome when I’m trying to sleep.’

Cassian couldn’t help his chuckle. Nesta paused with her hands on her hips. Face as formidable as ever.

‘What?’ She demanded.

‘Tamlin is a high lord with brute strength and magic that could wipe most fae off the map. And you say “he’s irritating” like he’s a fly.’

‘He is. All the high lords I’ve encountered are irritating. Maybe not Tarquin. He’s quite likeable.’

‘I thought you had sets your sights on Helion and his vast libraries?’

Nesta shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Why can’t I have both?’

In a move more daring than any he’d tried before, Cassian extended his hand for Nesta to take. There was an internal war; her mouth had quirked into a slant then she sighed through her nose and slipped her own into his. For good measure, he gave it a short squeeze.

‘You really came here searching for Feyre?’

Nesta brushed her hair from her face, nodding stiffly. ‘It’s not like it made a difference. We couldn’t find the way through.’

‘Does Feyre know you did that for her?’

That razor sharp gaze, more deadly than ever blade he’d ever trained with, landed on him. ‘Yes.’

Cassian wanted to crow it from the rooftops of Velaris, all the ways Nesta had shown her unrelenting love – to show Rhys that Nesta had a heart, one that beat so fiercely for the ones she loved. Nesta’s love was hard to win, but it was genuine and unassuming, done through deeds and quiet words.

The first of the spring bluebells had erupted across one part of the forest. Too good to resist, he swooped down on one and tore the stem near the undergrowth. Cassian wove the stem through the vice-like grip of Nesta’s plaited coronet so the stream of violet flowers dripped above her pointed ear.

‘Beautiful, beautiful Nesta.’

Nesta only huffed on a laugh, picked her own bundle of bluebells then rose up on the balls of her feet to tuck it behind his ear.

‘Beautiful, beautiful Cassian,’ she countered.

They only managed another few yards when Cassian felt his siphons glow in warning, magic spiking at his senses. His hand was still in Nesta’s as he tugged her behind a tree to a stop.

Within a coppice, mortals were gathered. One clad in light grey robes spoke to a male and female before him; the female wore a pure white dress, a bouquet of flowers clutched in one hand and the male held her other. The remaining mortals watched on with faces painted with joy and love. It was a wedding, Cassian realised with a jolt. All around them the purple crocuses and white snowdrops springing up from the ground created a lovely scene.

‘Is that what you wanted?’

Cassian gestured to the joyful occasion, the bride dressed in white to symbolise her purity, beaming with delight as her new husband led her through their unified families. Flower petals were scattered over the newlyweds as they kissed; a delicate, chaste kiss that had them both blushing.

‘Yes.’

Wistfully, Nesta watched from her hiding place as the husband kissed his wife’s hand. Watched what she had been denied the day Hybern dragged her from her bed. A mortal life. All the traditions that she’d wanted. That she’d grown up dreaming of. A marriage would have been her one way out of poverty. The one thing her mother had primed her for. And she’d been denied it, all of it.

His hand turned her chin so she could look at him. ‘What does it entail?

A light laugh came in response. ‘A vow of forever. A nice excuse for cake. The first night of passion between a man and his wife. The male tends to ask a father if he can have the daughter’s hand and goes to one knee to ask her. It’s quite formal.’

‘Nesta, the first time I met you, you nearly brought me to my knees. Both of them. If I’d have known that’s what mortals did, I probably would have asked Feyre for your hand there and then.’

Cassian swallowed. She hadn’t ran with terror at his words or thrown him across the forest with magic, so that was a good sign.

‘I can think of other reasons to want you on your knees.’

The blood in his veins stilled. The purr in Nesta’s voice had awoken a dangerous, dangerous spark in him.

‘What reasons?’

It was as if a match had been struck, that hiss of fire alighting something dangerous in them both. Nesta trailed a finger down the front of his leathers.

‘Come home with me and I’ll show you.’

***

Nesta hurried into the house, feet flying over the floorboards and tiles ensuring the servants had left for the day. Her heart was thumping in anticipation.

Once sure the house was mostly empty, she rushed to her room and pulled back the large windows, still not even sure Cassian would fit through the gap. Hidden well enough that even Nesta struggled to spot him despite knowing his position, she waved frantically from the window. He was staring up at the wrong bedroom. Nesta fumbled for something to throw at him, not even sure her aim would be good enough, but came up empty. Instead she whipped the white pillowcase off and brandished that from the window.

It caught his attention. The darkness swallowing the house made it more exciting. Made her heart race faster like it was forbidden to take a male to bed. But Nesta had fantasised enough about taking Cassian to her bed, imagining how that confidence would spill into the bedroom.

In one fluid motion, Cassian burst upwards and into the open window, landing with a quiet thump on the dark carpet.

‘What?’

Nesta felt her blush already reddening her cheeks. ‘That was quite impressive.’

‘That’s only the beginning,’ he winked.

No sooner had her hands pushed the windows closed and drew the curtains, did Cassian’s own hands find their way to her body, turning her towards him. Slowly, he kissed her. Let his lips linger before pressing another there.

‘You want this?’ His voice was heavy.

A slender hand settled on the red siphon glowing on his chest. ‘I want you.’

There was an intimacy in watching him remove his armour. The well-practised motions as he swiftly stripped it all and left it in the chair. Even without it, Cassian was enormous. Nesta let her hand settle on the hard muscles of his arm.

In between fevered kisses, Cassian pulled the dress over her head, discarding it on the floor. Nesta watched him lift his own top off and over his wings with one practised tug. Muscles rippled on his stomach and she found her gaze trailing the tattoos over his broad chest and shoulders. Then it dropped lower, to the dip of his hips and the trail of fine black hair leading from his naval. He caught her looking and a smirk flickered onto his lips. Why hadn’t she wanted him undressed sooner?

Gently, he lay her onto the bed. His wide hands stroked up her thighs, parting them slightly as he peeled down her underwear. There was a whisper from him, a final check if this was fine. Kisses were trailed up the inside of her thighs with no haste. Yes, she wanted this. She’d denied herself it for so long as atonement for all the things she’d done.

At her nod, Cassian prised her legs wide open, so he could take in every inch of her spread out just for him. His hands stroked the entire length of them while his breath came out shaky.

A shuddering moan escaped from the jail of her lips as Cassian’s tongue finally entered her. One hand cupped her breast, squeezing the skin, while the other traced a circle around the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. Cassian feasted like a male starved. Tongue darting in and out, pulsing then stilling, circling all the delicate parts of her. Every now and then, he’d pause and kiss the skin of her thighs again, easing away Nesta’s trepidation over her vulnerability. Cassian was in no hurry as his tongue waltzed over her skin and his fingers stroked in and out of her. He knew what he was doing: he wanted to be remembered.

Her back arched as she tipped over the edge. It was pure bliss. Why had she denied herself of something so good? His fingers still pumped inside of her until her hand clamped around his, unable to take anymore.

‘Beautiful,’ he murmured before coming to lay beside her with his wing curled over them.

Cassian was trapped in two minds, one where he wanted to hold her body to his, the other where he was desperate to take in every inch of her with his hungry eyes. Nesta stretched out on the bed, letting his eyes wander over her bare skin, as she caught her breath. He trailed a finger between the valley of her breasts then down to her naval. Her heart rate slowed to a more acceptable pace as she regained control of herself.

The male beside her seemed content enough just from giving Nesta pleasure. His wings were sprawled out beneath him, hands behind his head, a satisfied smile tugging on his lips. But Nesta hadn’t had enough of Cassian.

She straddled his hips, feeling the hard length of him hidden beneath his trousers. A look of delight flitted onto his face when Nesta took control. She kissed his lips once. Then traced a path towards the delicate curve of his ear.

‘Take it off. All of it.’

Nesta kissed him slowly while astride his powerful thighs. He was huge. Nesta did not know how the length of him would even fit in her body. Even two hands wouldn’t be enough. But she’d be damned if she didn’t try.

She only allowed the briefest of touches as her hips drove into his lap, teasing him until he growled with frustration. She wanted him solid as a rock. Hard only for her.

Little kisses were dragged along the column of her neck as she bared her skin to Cassian as if he wanted to encase all of her in his scent. He soaked in every inch of her. She no longer ruled the body that writhed on top of this beautiful male. Cassian had bewitched every part of her.

A hand looped around her lower back, encouraging her to lean backwards so he could get a better view of her breasts. His eyes had caught on them often enough in the past. His fingers trailed down the soft skin, pupils dilated with delight, he pressed kisses between the valley of them then his tongue worked in circles around her nipple. Another hungry smile flickered onto his rugged features.

He guided himself inside and pressed his lips to hers, catching the first moan that escaped her lips. Nesta wanted to feel every inch of him stretching her.

Cassian’s hands gripped her hips, lowering her to the hilt of him. For a moment neither of them moved. His rough breathing in her ear as he got accustomed to her was almost enough to tip her over the edge again.

‘You’re so big,’ she breathed, feeling him move inside of her.

‘And you’re so wet,’ he murmured in her ear, confidence dripping from his tone. ‘How long have you been waiting for this for?’

Cassian helped her to roll her lips in a fluid motion. Helped her to take all of him. Nesta was thankful for it; she could barely focus. Cassian pressed his teeth into her shoulder in a weak attempt to ground himself as pleasure chased him to the edge.

Nesta had ridden him until both were panting and sweaty, the skin of their chests sticking together. Then he pressed her against the mattress and spread her legs wide again. For a heartbeat, he gazed at his prize like a king who had conquered. Nesta had almost begged him to continue, desperate to have him back inside of her.

He buried his impressive length deep inside. Her nails dug into the sweat-soaked skin of his back, clawing at the skin, imploring him to thrust without forgiveness as her legs knotted around him. His wings splayed out as wide as the bed.

When Nesta’s back arched again with pleasure, her moans became untamed. Cassian was holding on so she could reach her release first. A ripple of cold delight tore through her body as she came again. Cassian relished every moment of her pleasure. Starved eyes devoured her image. Then he pulled himself free from her, ready to spill his seed. Nesta crawled to him, reaching for his cock before he shattered.

Cassian cradled her face, watching with dilated pupils, as his seed dripped onto her tongue. Watched as Nesta held it there, keeping her gaze trained on his, until she swallowed every last drop as if it was a nectar from the Gods. His thumb traced her lips then planted a kiss on her forehead.

‘Good girl.’

***

They pretended to sleep. Though neither of them would after that. A darkness descended upon the house and rain fell heavily against the window panes. Now that he had her, Cassian kept Nesta close. Their naked bodies stuck together, the blankets thrown down to their waists. When Nesta shifted slightly on her side, Cassian stroked along her thigh in a silent message that he was still awake too. She arched her back against him until she could likely feel the throb of his erection against her. He could only imagine the wicked smile upon her face when she realised the power she held over him.

Nesta laced her fingers with his own and brought the hand to cup the softness of her breast. That was all the invitation he needed.

Still wet from their earlier coupling, Cassian slid his cock into her, taking her slowly from behind as their hips dug into the mattress. He raised her leg slightly to improve the angle and the whimper of pleasure as he deepened his thrust would send him mad with lust.

Cassian lasted only a handful more thrusts before he’d brought Nesta onto all fours. It provided a better view of her spectacular body and she could take his length easier. The way she gripped the bed sheets, readying herself to be fucked hard, snapped all of his senses.

He drove himself all the way to the hilt inside of Nesta. One hand gripped her hip, the other curled under her ribs to squeeze her breast.

‘Slower,’ she moaned, raising her hips higher and pressing her head into the pillow.

Cassian paused for a moment to regain control of himself then drove in and out, gently but with purpose, ensuring Nesta felt every inch filling her up then withdrawing. He’d teach her other pleasures; wing play and all the parts her body that could be yielded to him.

It was better than anything he could have imagined, better than all the fantasies he’d chased since he’d met her. The sound of him sliding in and out, Nesta’s wetness a signal she had been craving this moment too, his own groans of satisfaction as his climax built again.

‘Finish on me.’

Those words were a trigger. He pulled himself free of Nesta as she flipped onto her front and arched her breasts towards him.

There was no sight as desirable as his mate’s breasts covered in his seed, the colour blooming high in her cheeks. They collapsed in a breathless heap with the covers tossed on the floor.

‘I’ve made a mess of you,’ he said, searching for a cloth to clean her.

‘I quite like it,’ she admitted. ‘It’s like you’ve claimed me.’

The words were the wrong ones. Nesta’s cheeks reddened further from embarrassment. ‘I didn’t mean the bond. I meant. I meant. I don’t know what I meant.’ She took the damp cloth from his hand and her own trembled as she cleaned herself quickly. After a dash to the bathroom, Nesta was drawing a dressing robe around her slender waist. ‘Maybe you ought to go. There’s no reason for you to stay.’

Chapter Text

‘What did I do?’ It was no good in trying to keep the rejection out of his voice. Cassian had a family that loved him, a family who was safe in a city that he adored. They had a fragile moment of peace. But it wasn’t enough. There was a hole in his heart without Nesta. He had given her time, given her space, followed her lead, listened to her, tried to be better.

Nesta bit down on her lip, a frown creasing on her forehead. ‘You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not. It’s not you, Cassian.’

‘Then why are you pushing me away again? You start to let me in then jam the door back in my face.’

‘You just need to go.’

The voice that had responded quaked. Nesta drew the soft pink robe tighter around her middle and swallowed, trying to master her emotions.

Being told to leave immediately after sex was mortifying enough but having that conversation while he was still sat on the bed stark naked was worse. His clothes were thrown on the other side of the room in their lust – and going to retrieve them seemed too brave of a thing to do.

‘Is it the bond, Nesta? I’m not trying to push you into it.’ Cassian hauled a pillow in front of his body to protect the last of his dignity. A horrid blinding thought tore through him. ‘Nes, did I hurt you? Was I too rough? Are you hurt?’

‘No. You didn’t. Cassian, please just go home. Go and stay away from me.’

Desperation sunk its claws into his chest. It was the middle of the night and pouring with rain. She surely didn’t mean for him to fly all the way back to the Night Court. He’d thought they’d made progress. He’d thought visiting her old cottage had been a turning point for them. Why didn’t she want him?

‘I can’t stay away from you. I can’t keep being trapped in limbo either. Give me the reason. Why can’t I stay? Please, Nesta, don’t send me away.’

The knot that had formed in Nesta’s throat bobbed as she swallowed again. Even with only his siphons to light up the room, he caught the shine of the tears slipping down her cheeks then the wobble of her bottom lip as if the dam was about to break. Cassian couldn’t help himself – even though he felt like he was treading on quicksand – he rushed over to her, hauling Nesta against his chest before she burst into tears again.

Her forehead pressed against his skin as she cried. That Nesta had crumbled twice in a day terrified him; the iron fortress that she had guarded was cracking. The fact she hadn’t pushed him away either was unsettling. And he was still naked.

Trying to lighten her mood, he quipped, ‘Was I that bad?’

Nesta choked on her laughter then peeled her face from him. ‘You do yourself a disservice. That was more than enjoyable.’

‘Is it Eris?’

Nesta sighed. ‘No. Not him.’ Nesta tried and failed to string together a sentence; her voice trailed off to nothing. The defeated look in her eye would eat him alive.

‘I don’t want you hurt because of me. I will not live with myself if you are hurt again. Don’t you understand?’ A soft hand cradled his face. ‘Cassian, if something happened to you… I can’t. It feels as if the walls are closing in on me and I don’t want you there when it happens.’

‘Do you want me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then that’s all there is. All there needs to be.’ Cassian kissed the top of Nesta’s head, letting that jasmine and vanilla rich scent wash over him. ‘I don’t want to be parted from you. Let me fight those battles with you. You don’t have to face everything alone.’

‘You nearly died. Twice.’

‘That was bad timing. Or bad luck. In five hundred years, they were my worst moments. But look at me – no scars, no missing limbs. I survived it. We survived it. Please, Nesta, let us face these things together. Stop pushing me away.’

And Nesta stopped. Her arms fell limply to her side, admitting defeat. But it wasn’t a defeat to need help, to need someone with you when life was hard.

‘Here’s what I’m going to do. I will go to the kitchen, find food and a warm drink then we are getting under that blanket to talk. You know earlier I said I was like you? I meant it in terms of stubbornness too.’

Nesta swallowed then nodded. She glanced at his body. ‘You probably need to put clothes on too.’

When Cassian returned to Nesta’s room, Zasha had found his way in too. The dog lay on the bed, tail wagging in recognition, while his owner was lighting an oil lamp to brighten the room. He had noticed she preferred candles and firelight to faelight; another reluctance towards their kind. A soft shower of rain still fell against the window, pattering lightly in the darkness.

They nestled beneath the blankets with a tray of food laying across his lap. Cassian had found enough sweet items to perk Nesta’s interest and she’d dived straight into a slice of carrot cake.

‘When you left Illyria, you didn’t regret kissing me?’

Nesta licked the icing from her lips and shook her head. ‘I’m so afraid that if I let you close to me you will be hurt or worse. You barely knew me that day when I was Made and you still tried to move towards me.’

‘I understand that, I do, Nes. But in the same vein, I could get trampled by a horse tomorrow and die. I might choke to death – which nearly did happen this morning at Rhys’ table.’

‘That’s not the same.’

‘Bad things can always happen. Good things too. When you shut the door, you don’t let either of them in. Pushing me away because you’re scared of what could happen means you deny yourself of all the good that can come with it.’ He turned to look at her. She was the most beautiful, wonderful female he’d ever met. ‘Do you not think I feel the same about you? But I’d rather be there with you when the world goes to shit rather than knowing you’re going through it alone.’

Nesta had calmed. Her shoulders had gone slack as she sunk into the pillows, the tension in her forehead had eased and drowsiness was beginning to tug her eyelids down. Cassian wished he could let her just sleep. Let her have a night of sleep without nightmares and stress and worries. But if he did not tell her what he’d learnt about Briallyn from Azriel, he’d never forgive himself – or she him. He wished he’d said it sooner in the day, but there was no opportunity in the cottage or afterwards when they’d both chased their passion.

Nesta held the tray steady while he poured them both a cup of tea. It was so domestic; the pair of them drinking tea in bed with the dog curled up at the bottom of the bed, paws twitching in a dream. The foundation of love was made from those simple moments, of being beside the one you adored, happy to do nothing.

Cassian told Nesta all he had learnt in the mortal lands from Azriel and Jurian. If she was nervous, the only tell was the way she clutched the warm cup closed to her chest. Her blue eyes stared at the candle flickering on the vanity opposite them.

‘How much does Eris tell you about his father’s plans?’

‘Not a lot,’ she admitted.

‘Beron might align the Autumn Court soldiers with Briallyn. Eris has managed to delay him. Do you know what Beron’s asset might be? If we can work out what that is, that might give us an advantage.’

Nesta’s eyes fell to her lap. Quietly, she said, ‘Me.’

In a frail voice, Nesta explained how she and Tamlin had been invited to dine at the Forest House. That Eris already had a bruise beneath his eye when they had arrived and how Beron’s sons did not make a noise the entire dinner unless Beron allowed it. Then the dance he forced Nesta and Eris into. The male was a sadist. Cassian had always known it, but he’d presumed his sons escaped that treatment.

‘I know you all hate Eris. There are things he has done that are unforgiveable. But that male has suffered his whole life at the hands of his father. Eris has probably suffered more than anybody. When I lived with him, he made sure I ate, paid for dance lessons, riding lessons. He gave me Zasha. The mare I have, that’s one of his own and he’s never asked for it back.’ Nesta set the cup down on the tray then wrung her hands together. ‘I do not think he ever would have hurt Mor.’

The growl that broke out of him was instinctual. Nesta pursed her lips, letting whatever barbed response she prepared in rebuttal fall into silence. Cassian righted himself, righted the anger that always came out when Mor’s pain was mentioned and quietly apologised.

‘Eris, he just looked resigned to his fate. That his father had done such things over and over. I realised that perhaps if Eris did claim Mor that day in the woods, she would have been subjected to Beron’s cruelty too. Beron has beaten him twice for speaking up on my behalf – and Eris still spoke up for me, knowing the consequence. There’s a part of him that is trying to be good. I know you might not want to imagine that Eris’s lack of action was a benefit to Morrigan, but there is more to him than you know.’

Cassian had known Eris for five hundred years, known he was a snake all that time. He wanted to call Nesta naïve, that she was too trusting. But Nesta had seen Eris in his own home, seen him in ways none of the Inner Circle ever had. He had angled his body at their meeting to protect his mother, had managed to get his father’s soldiers, with Tamlin’s assistance, to join the war, had managed to get Lucien across to the Spring Court to safety. Eris had hunted Feyre and Lucien on his father’s orders; Cassian had never considered the consequences the heir might have faced for not following one Beron had issued.

To show, he was not angry with Nesta, Cassian reached for her hand and kissed the top of it.

‘Beron threatened to get Briallyn if I did not comply and dance with Eris. I’d never felt as small or insignificant. He had that hold over-’

‘He’s blackmailing you? Beron? That piece of shit.’

‘I feel as if I’ve gotten myself into a knot and the more I try to unpick it, the more it knots.’

‘You know what you do in those instances? Cut through it.’ Cassian held his palm flat, readying himself to count out on his fingers. ‘Briallyn firstly seeks the Cauldron. It’s safe with Drakon and Miryam. Her only ways to track it are you and Elain. Your sister is safe in Velaris. You are the one we need to worry about. This house is warded; you can’t winnow in and out. The guards are questionable however.’

Nesta nudged him in the side, frowning. ‘Thank your high lady for that. There was absolutely no need to destabilise an entire court.’

‘Tamlin was-’

‘Was what? Suffering from what Amarantha and Rhysand made him endure under the mountain too? Was terrified of something happening to Feyre after he watched her die – watched her paraded out every night like a harlot by Rhys - so his fear spiralled as a priestess preyed on his insecurities? Tamlin did his best to protect this court for forty-nine years. He stood against Amarantha, allowed refugees into this court, protected them and sought a way to break the curse.’ Nesta blinked, apparently shocked herself she was defending the high lord. ‘I will not forgive him for what he did to Feyre. But as a ruler – one who never even wanted to rule – he did his best by this court until Feyre exacted revenge at a critical moment. It exposed Prythian to Hybern’s forces. By weakening it, Feyre is accountable for the suffering of many in this court and Summer.’

Nesta’s brow furrowed with a frown directed at him. ‘What? Why are you grinning like an idiot?’

‘You’re so clever,’ Cassian said dreamily. ‘I’ve never met another whose mind turns as quickly as yours.’

‘I told you: it’s because I don’t let my head get clobbered in a training ring. It still functions properly.’

Cassian couldn’t wipe his grin still, Nesta was clever and witty. ‘You are desired by Briallyn to find the Cauldron and for revenge. Your hands are tied by Beron, but while you’re useful to him, he won’t trade you in with her.’

‘That’s an accurate summary, I suppose,’ she conceded. 'Let's ensure I keep Beron happy.'

‘What I don't understand is that you are Spring's emissary, so you’re a fairly open target right now anyway, so why haven’t they moved for you? Az and I are going to the Prison soon to talk to those foul inhabitants about what knowledge they have on Koschei. There has to be a reason why they’re not acting,’ he mused. ‘When is Balthazar coming here?’

‘In a few days. He will bring Emerie so they’ll travel slower.’

‘What if I could arrange for them to be winnowed sooner? I’d feel a lot more comfortable if you had him here.’

Nesta snorted with laughter. ‘Did you meet Balthazar? He didn’t kill anyone in the Blood Rite. He kept his head down and just worked his way towards Ramiel. He’s not a warrior.’

Cassian groaned. ‘He could fly you if needed though.’

‘No,’ Nesta said sharply. ‘I’m not involving him. I feel guilty enough that there are two children living here who could be risked.’

‘So Rovena’s is out of the question?’

‘I would never risk Azriel’s mother.’

They both folded their arms in synchronisation. Tiredness was getting the better of both of them. It was difficult to find the path out of the mess that was the mortal queen. All Cassian wanted to do was to hunt down her and Koschei to run them through with a sword. That usually solved most problems.

As if it were a natural occurrence, Nesta extinguished the last of the candles then rolled towards him. She adjusted her pillow so it was tucked into the crook of his arm and chest where she settled herself. A hand wrapped around his bare chest. It did feel natural though to have his mate tucking in next to him. Her thumb touched the mass of scar tissue on his left pectoral; gently she traced a path along it, her breathing growing heavier with every touch. Just as they were drifting off, a foul smell filled the air.

‘I sincerely hope that was Zasha and not you. Or it is the last time we share a bed.’

At the turn of morning, they were still tangled with each other. Nesta rolled away first, heading straight for the bathroom to turn the taps on then to the door to let Zasha tear around the house. Cassian stretched out his muscles as he gazed out from the window. It was a nice view in the Spring Court – but he knew that if he went out there, he’d be scratching himself into oblivion. Nuala was already skipping around the gardens despite the early hour, golden hair bouncing.

As the sounds of water sloshing filled his ears, Cassian sought out Nesta in the bathroom. She was poised to fill a bucket when he interrupted.

‘We could bath together? Would that help?’

Already, he sensed her trepidation as she glanced into the bathtub as if she could see something within the depths of the water. Cassian climbed in and extended a hand for her, showing it was safe. A shaking hand enclosed around his as Nesta stepped into the bathtub. They settled in together, Nesta between his legs, her back against his chest as they leant back in the water.

It had been a wonderful idea – the reality not so much. The tub was a tight enough fit with just him inside of it, but the pair of them struggled for space, his legs were cramping, and it was chilly out of the water. Washing themselves was another matter.

‘Is this supposed to be romantic?’ Nesta echoed his thoughts.

‘They must have bigger baths in your romance novels. My wings are being crushed.’

‘This was your idea.’

When they clambered out of the bath, both shivering, Nesta towelled the water from his arms and chest then paused. After a private conversation with herself, she leashed her nerves and moved lower down his body. He’d been hard since he had opened his eyes and found Nesta naked next to him. It didn’t take much to trigger the inferno; just one brush of Nesta’s hand against his hard length then they were rushing back into the bedroom, hands roving over bodies, lips moving together.

Cassian bent Nesta over the bed and splayed her legs. He kissed the length of her spine before entering; by the wetness as he slid in, she had been waiting for that moment since she opened her eyes too. Their coupling was more restrained. Nesta pressed her face into the duvet, muffling her moans. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

He turned Nesta onto her back, wanting to see her face as he moved inside of her. There was no position Cassian loved more. With every thrust, he caught her moan on his lips. It was less frenzied than the previous night. Their lips worked in tandem, kissing as if they might not have the chance again, as he drove deep inside of her.

At her instruction, Cassian finished again on her breasts. It was a habit he could get used to.

‘You look so proud,’ she drawled with a roll of her eyes.

Cassian gave a lazy salute as he sought another cloth to clean her off with. At the rumble of her stomach, that was their cue to seek food.

His steps felt heavier than usual as he traced a path towards the dining room. Cassian felt sheepish, nervous even. From where he stood in the doorway, appraising the exits incase he needed to leave swiftly, he spotted two males eating breakfast. Lucien yawned as he rocked on the back legs of his chair. The second stilled.

‘What is he doing here?’

The red haired male snorted. ‘He didn’t sleep in my room.’

He had banked on Lucien winnowing to the mortal lands or Velaris rather than being sat at the damn table – especially not with the high lord. Lucien had been successful in coaxing him back out of his furred form evidently.

‘I’m your emissary’s honoured guest. You told her to make bonds with other courts.’

Tamlin stared at him as if he were sucking on a lemon, bottom lip puckered with disgust. His hands clung to the table, and Cassian would wager at any moment those claws would erupt. They’d gone toe to toe in the past when Rhys had counted Tamlin as a friend. Between Eris and him, Nesta had to get better companions.

‘Easy,’ Lucien said.

Tamlin continued snarling while Cassian continued spreading his wings out to devour the space.

‘Easy,’ Lucien repeated. He glanced between them, flame sizzling in his russet eye.

The sheer, unexpected dominance in the tone and the fire hit both of them over the head like a stone, knocking enough sense in them to stop the show of bravado.

Cassian turned a chair backwards to settle in with his wings at the table. He flashed a smile to the high lord of Spring. On his best days, Tamlin could beat him in a fight; he could admit such a thing.

‘We can manage civility over breakfast,’ Lucien said to nobody in particular.

When Nesta finally entered the room after an agonising wait, she seated herself opposite him. Tamlin’s nostrils flared then Lucien raised his eyebrows. Nesta didn’t seem to notice. Cassian wanted a hole to rip open in the floor and swallow him. Why did they have sex after their bath?

While he’d considered Lucien a surprisingly decent male, he supposed there was still Autumn Court fire writhing in his veins. He tipped his glass to Cassian in a toast, winking with his golden eye.

Nesta caught that and frowned but made no comment, only continued buttering a slice of toast. She shook her hair out of her face and another blast of him wafted down the table.

Lucien snorted with amusement.

‘Is something funny, Lucien?’ Nesta stared him down, voice as prickly as the rose garden outside.

‘You look tired, Nesta. Were you kept up last night?’

It was Nesta’s turn to wish for the ground to swallow her whole. Her eyes had widened as she brandished the slice of toast in the air, poised to take a bite.

Tamlin grunted, ‘you absolutely reek of his scent.’

‘At least someone’s getting some,’ Cassian muttered.

Wrong choice of words. The line had escaped before he could leash it.

‘You males have absolutely no manners!’

The chair clattered against the ground as Nesta stormed from the room, flames already spreading up her body. Lucien howled with laughter, his laugh rich and rippling. Even Tamlin had had to bite down on his bottom lip at Nesta’s outrage.

‘She’s going to kill me for that remark,’ groaned Cassian.

Tamlin appraised him. ‘You’re braver than I give you credit for.’

Cassian debated searching the grounds for Nesta and risk being barbequed or scurrying away like a coward. There was no shame in running from a fight, he reassured himself as he took the stairs back to the bedroom with Zasha at his heels.

After depositing her bed sheets with the servants and airing out the bedroom, Cassian found Nesta in the stables. A servant was teaching her how to saddle her own horse. He could have watched that moment all day. How her brow furrowed as she listened, head tilted slightly. How she deferred back to the servant to ensure she had followed his instructions correctly. It was a different horse to the one she’d rode through the forest yesterday; this one, even Cassian could tell, was expensive – likely the gift from Eris Vanserra. The mare was big enough that he could even ride her without an issue.

‘Nes,’ he said, quietly, ‘I have to go. Lucien will winnow me back.’

‘Fine. Take care.’

‘Nesta.’

‘Excuse me a moment, I need to manage this bat infestation,’ she said to the servant, patting the lad on his shoulder as she strode out from the stall.

‘Milačik, you flatter me at every turn. Is she this kind to you?’

Nesta gripped his arm as she tugged him out of the stables, muttering curses under her breath. She kept on walking along the fence of their paddock until she pushed him hard against it and braced her hands either side of him.

‘Oo, I like this side of you.’

Nesta sprang away from him, hissing. ‘You could have told me I stunk of you.’

‘You say it like it’s a bad thing. I’m hurt.’

‘I am mortified. They know we had sex.’

‘You are a grown female, Nesta. There’s no shame in having sex with your ma- your male who is incredibly handsome.’ A quick recovery from dropping the word that made her physically recoil from him.

‘I don’t need the world knowing my business.’ She scrunched her nose up. ‘Who said you’re my male?’

‘You did. Last night.’

Nesta shooed away his words with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘There’s a difference between wanting and having. The House of Wind has a library you can find a dictionary in to research the meanings.’

That was the moment that Cassian knew he loved that immovable, remarkable female. Not because of the bond, but just her. A vision of loveliness in the spring sunshine, as elegant as a queen and a mouth sharper than a razor blade. If she was kissing him or savaging him with her words, he wanted all of her.

‘You have that idiotic look on your face where you’re about to say something stupid.’

Cassian couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I was about to say I loved you.’

Nesta shook her head. ‘One night with the Cauldron born bitch and you’re head over heels. You males need to be less sensitive.’

‘What do you read all those romance novels for?’

‘For the sex.’

It was a blissful day in Velaris; the sun beat down on Cassian’s wings as he walked along the curve of the Sidra with a spring in his step. They had kissed goodbye with the promise of meeting again soon. Nesta assured him the only plan she had was to meet with Cresseida from the Summer Court so would remain at the manor house until they could see each other again.

Every now and then he was stopped by citizens who simply wanted to greet him or acknowledge him. Cassian never minded this part – it was nice to be recognised. He found his way to a bookstore that he knew Nesta had frequented when she had lived in Velaris. The double doors were propped open to allow a light breeze within and as Cassian passed by the navy painted storefront, he took a long breath to bolster his courage.

He could have asked Mor for a copy. She probably read those books – but it wasn’t worth the headache of her knowing he wanted to read it. He’d never live it down.

As best he could, Cassian tried not to look as if he was heading straight for the romance section so pretended to browse other books, turning a couple over before hastily grabbing the title he was after and shoving it on the counter. It felt illicit. Like he was about to be caught doing something scandalous.

The shopkeeper glanced at the title then up to him. Her eyes widened in acknowledgement. Perhaps it wasn’t always nice to be recognised.

‘It’s for a friend,’ he blurted.

The female rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve heard that before,’ she drawled.

Cassian didn’t bother walking in case another stopped him and realised the type of books the general of the Night Court’s armies liked to read. He bolted into the sky, relishing the freedom, and up to the House of Wind.

It was riveting. The first hundred pages were filled with tension and lustful glances between a high-ranking female and a lesser fae who worked with the horses for her family - then the exciting parts came. Cassian had never even read some of those words before. And other passages he had to read again to ensure the positions he was imagining were correct.

Rhys or Feyre hadn’t summoned him, Illyria was in a rare moment of peace, so Cassian had continued reading with his feet up on the couch not feeling guilty that he was doing nothing. All those weeks Nesta had spent holed up in the library, nose pressed to the pages, she was reading these stories. He couldn’t help but wonder if she had imagined herself as the protagonist lusting after the handsome stable boy. Now he knew why she used to slam the book as quickly as possible.

‘What are you doing with a Sellyn Drake novel?’

Azriel had crept up on him silently. Cassian stuck his middle finger up then a deliciously wicked thought hit him. ‘How can you recognise what sort of book this is?’

Shadows engulfed his brother, disguising his embarrassment, until Azriel said, ‘touché.’

Azriel flopped into the chair and ruffled his wind kissed black hair.

‘Is your mind all out of fantasies so you need more inspiration to keep your hand busy?’

Cassian wasn’t quick enough with a retort. His tongue tangled itself into a knot as he fumbled for words. A flush of heat spread up his neck and Azriel’s jaw dropped.

‘You slept with Nesta?’

Cassian threw the book at Az, who swiftly ducked, then shushed him. ‘Don’t. Lucien and Tamlin already found out this morning and I don’t think she’d be happy if all of Velaris knew her bedroom activities.’

‘You’re the blabbermouth, not me. Besides, her scent is all over you.’ Azriel flicked idly through the book then read aloud. ‘“-her backside still upraised as she lay on the bed, her beautiful sex swollen and gleaming, wet with his seed.” Females like this talk?’

‘Apparently that’s the best bit.’ Cassian lunged for the book but Azriel was quicker, raising the book out of his reach.

‘“He needed more, needed to be deeper, needed to crawl so far inside her.” Crawl inside of her? This is arousing for them? It sounds like a tapeworm. You’ll tear Nesta in two if you try to-’

‘Enough!’

Azriel could only grin in retaliation. A spark had at least returned to his hazel eyes. He looked less tired too which was a relief – between Nesta and Azriel, Cassian didn’t have time to worry about himself.

His brother spread out his hands. ‘So. What’s next for you two?’

‘We didn’t really discuss that.’

‘She’s not in any hurry to return to Velaris, Cass. And I don’t see you switching allegiances and becoming part of Tamlin’s court.’

Not a chance in hell. Azriel had a point though. His face must have fallen because Azriel said, ‘I don’t mean to dim your hope. Just thinking practically. Sorry. I’m happy you two are working through things.’

The reality of them– him and Nesta – pricked his good mood like a pin. Cassian felt it hit the ground with a smash. He had been so intent on improving his relationship with Nesta, in finally becoming friends then more, Cassian had not stopped to consider what a future would look like. It had always involved Velaris. Naively whenever he’d imagined a future for them it involved walking alongside the Sidra in fair weather, of solstices spent with his family. Her family. Elain and Feyre were Nesta’s only family. He never wanted to uproot his life from the Night Court – so how could he expect Nesta to uproot herself again to a place she detested?

‘Shit,’ he conceded, rubbing his face with his hands.

‘Can I speak frankly?’ Cassian nodded to Az’s question. ‘I think for Nesta it’s less of an issue with Velaris itself, more of an issue with the male who presides over it. Even Illyria, she won’t call it home if her and Rhys can’t be in a room together. She is afraid of him.’

‘He went to spring the other day to talk to her.’

Az’s shadows deepened around him. ‘That’s different. That was in Nesta’s own den. She would have to submit to Rhys here, be part of his court, follow his rules. Would she want to surrender her role in Spring? Just think about these things. Maybe they won’t come into play right now, but one day down the road they might.’

Chapter Text

As promised, a shadowsinger arrived to the Spring Court under a flurry of blossoms. Nesta still hadn’t figured out the faerie magic that meant the trees were in a constant flux of pink blossoms and unfurling leaves – never quite reaching maturity or running out of blossom to scatter across the ground.

Clinging onto his arms, slightly dazed from the distance they’d winnowed, were Emerie and Balthazar. Nesta pulled Emerie into a one armed embrace then the blacksmith before looping both arms around Azriel’s neck. A kiss, cool and swift, touched against her cheek.

‘Two days?’

‘Please,’ she replied, releasing him.

Azriel spared a look towards the sprawling manor house in the distance. There had been a difficult conversation with Tamlin when Nesta had broached the topic of hosting two Illyrians. She had already managed to persuade him that they needed a new blacksmith – she just hadn’t explained that the one she had in mind was from the Night Court. They’d rowed until Nesta’s voice was hoarse then Tamlin had yelled at her that she did what she wanted anyway so why would his opinion even matter so that settled it.

It was safer for the pair to be winnowed as well as it cutting down their journey time. Balthazar would have had to have flown Emerie across the Autumn Court and risk Beron shooting them down. Two days already didn’t feel like enough time to have them visit. Nesta had been bubbling over with giddiness after her coupling with Cassian and then the thought of having those two in her den left her teetering over the edge. For the first time in a long time, Nesta looked forward to life. There were better days ahead and she could see them on the horizon - wanted to be around to see them.

‘I’ve broached this subject with Cassian: I think you should also come to the Prison with us.’

The Prison had unnerved Feyre where not many things did. But Nesta would be lying if she hadn’t considered that foul place since Cassian had mentioned going to investigate any who might have information on Koschei. Although she was beginning to trust him, he still wasn’t always freely open with her. She did not doubt he would consult with beloved Rhysand over her.

‘And how did he take that suggestion?’

The shadowsinger cocked his face into half a smile. ‘He said “there is not a chance I’m letting her go there” to which I responded that it would only make you more intent on going.’

‘You know me so well,’ she said, with an incline of her head. ‘I am curious but need some time to consider it.’

‘Understandable. You would be safe. I’d ensure it,’ Azriel vowed.

With a nod, Azriel disappeared into shadow leaving Nesta alone with her friends. Since she had slept with Cassian, Nesta had spent her days locked away in an office either trying to sweep away her daydreams of him or reminiscing about their night together. There had been some work undertaken when Nesta had managed to snap out of her love struck fantasies; she had written to Helion requesting access to his libraries or whether they could be searched for information regarding the formation of the wall. Nesta had also met with Cresseida and the first few families had received compensation to assist them.

Using her position as emissary, Nesta had also requested a meeting with Vassa, the firebird mortal queen. Their last meeting had occurred shortly after the war, when her father’s death was still a throbbing open wound. Vassa had spoken of how brave he was, how wonderful, what a father he had been for her, and how lucky the Archeron sisters were to have a father like him. Nesta knew she’d have to master her emotions for that meeting, be able to wrestle her insults and acid back into their cage. She needed to know as much as she could about the mortal queens – particularly Briallyn - to try and understand any weaknesses.

The Illyrians were shown to their rooms; Balthazar was opposite Nesta and Emerie adjacent to her. It was so good to see friends. A servant had prepared a picnic for them to enjoy in the grounds that Aoife joined them for with the children. They sat on a blanket, talking about idle things with Nuala forcing Balthazar to teach her how to make daisy chains.

Nesta recalled her conversation with Cassian from long ago where she’d asked whether females becoming warriors was progressive – and whether the males in Illyria could choose a different path than bloodthirsty fighters. Balthazar was proof of that; he’d survived the Blood Rite by keeping to himself and not ending lives. There was still strength to be found away from a blade.

Time slipped away so much quicker than she’d like. When Aoife took her daughters for a nap, the three of them had remained laying on their back staring up at the rolling clouds in the azure sky trying to find shapes in them.

After a long dinner spent chatting and laughing - in which Tamlin did not make an appearance – they headed to their rooms. It did not last long. Emerie waltzed in clad in her night gown and Nesta patted the empty space beside her for the Illyrian to slip into. She had barely settled beneath the blankets when the door swung back open and Balthazar entered. The male flopped on the bottom of the bed with Zasha eagerly greeting him.

‘So… The Prison.’

‘Can you two not eavesdrop for once?’ Nesta huffed a sigh. ‘You waited the whole day to ask me.’

‘I heard that Amren was even locked up in there,’ Emerie whispered as though Amren might be able to hear her all the way back in Velaris.

Balthazar perched on his elbows, Zasha fighting desperately to wedge his head into the gap. ‘Is it true she drinks blood? You must know her, Nesta.’

Nesta swallowed her vitriol. Somewhat. ‘She used to. Since the war she lost her powers and is just high fae with no magic who must eat like the rest of us.’ Both still watched her, eager for more tales of Amren. ‘She’s just miserable. Her days are spent snapping at others and doing puzzles. Not quite the enigma stories lead her to seem.’

There had been a time where Nesta considered Amren a friend – the only one she had. Nesta had turned up to the end-of-summer barge party already steaming with alcohol and Amren had dragged her off to the shadows, pinching the skin of her arm as she did so.

“What a state you have become, Nesta Archeron. You’re drunk already and the sun hasn’t gone down. Have you ever done anything for anyone but yourself?”

“I’ll have you know that I’m doing the high lord a favour. I’m supporting the local taverns with my coin - and saving him money by not drinking the alcohol aboard the barge.”

Nesta had tried to push by Amren, but the little creature dug her nails in deeper to Nesta’s forearm.

“All that power simmering in your veins and you still won’t use it. You could be great, Nesta, if only you stopped fearing that power and relished it instead. You are weak. If you leave that power dormant it is a waste. You will always be weak.”

Nesta had snorted at that remark, not wanting the blow to land until she was alone and could nurse the wound. If Amren wanted to strike her, she would leave a mortal wound. “And what of your power, Amren? A little spurt of it during the war and now what? What can you offer the citizens of the Night Court now you are little more than a husk, devoid of any magic? You are a jealous little creature.”

“You are a pathetic waste of life. It would be better for your sisters if you no longer existed.”

Nesta had wanted to throw the insult back in Amren’s face that Nesta already knew that. She’d thought of it endlessly, wondered how she could free herself of the life she was shackled to. Her sisters coped just fine without Nesta; they had their own lives and had moved on without her while she rotted away in her mouldy apartment in Velaris. Only Azriel, for settling her in his mother's house, had had any involvement in Nesta's recovery.

‘I’ve never seen her,’ admitted Emerie. ‘She never comes to Illyria.’

‘Nobody bothers with Illyria,’ Balthazar said with a yawn. ‘Only interested in us when they need us to fight a war.’

There was no denying Balthazar’s words. The Illyrians were treated poorly – those of the Hewn City no better. The only time Morrigan’s father was included in decisions regarding the Night Court was when Rhysand wanted his darkbringers.

Nesta found herself gravitating towards Emerie in the bed as the oil lamps extinguished. The Illyrian’s skin was warm and inviting as they snuggled up to each other. It wasn’t appropriate to have a male in the room – although Nesta had done it many times – but Balthazar remained curled at the bottom of the bed with Zasha like a second dog, a blanket was slung over both of them. They whispered in the darkness, sharing scary stories of the Prison until Nesta’s eyelids collapsed and sleep took her.

‘Most males won’t let you lot near a forge lest you taint the weapons. Creating a sword is a craft that takes years to perfect. It’s a piece of art. To even begin-’

‘Cauldron, get on with it,’ Emerie said with exasperation.

Balthazar threatened to throw a horseshoe at both of them if they interrupted his monologue again.

As morning broke across the sky, Nesta had woken with Emerie's wing pressing into her back, Balthazar's foot in her face where he'd slunk under the blankets, and Zasha draped across her foot causing it to tingle with pins and needles. After breakfast, they decided they ought to explore the abandoned forge as that was the reason Balthazar had been invited to the Spring Court. Emerie was an additional treat.

Nesta leant against the bench, but Emerie had hauled herself so she was sitting on top with no care for the lingering soot on her dark dress. Begrudgingly, they listened as the male explained the various stages of forging a blade from the quality of the ore to proving it.

The coals did not spit, but with the warm spring day, they were beginning to sweat in the forge from the heat. When Balthazar stripped down to a vest on top, Emerie whooped and Nesta pretended to fan herself.

‘You two are horrid,’ he muttered, shaking a lock of dark hair from his eyes.

‘Why is one of your arms noticeably bigger than the other?’

‘Nesta, when a male is very lonely, he tends t-’

A horseshoe clanged to the ground a few foot from where Emerie sat.

‘Bad shot,’ she sniped.

‘Final warning,’ he quipped back. ‘It’s from the hammer. You hold it all day, every day, as heavy as it is and you see if your arm doesn’t bulk up.’

Balthazar set to work on repairing chips in a couple of the swords, after his long winded explanation of each type of tool and their function.

After a while, he allowed them to have a go. Emerie winced each time the hammer clanged against the sword and was quickly bored of it, but Nesta felt herself going into a trance. Even with Balthazar stood behind her, a sturdy hand wrapped around her arm helping to guide the hammer on every stroke, she barely noticed him. Her eyes had glazed and her fire blazed through her. Every strike seemed to loose her tension and she lost herself in it, loved the ache of holding the hammer, of hauling it downwards onto the blade.

‘Shit.’

Balthazar tugged Nesta back from the forge, eyes wide. The blade laying across the anvil glowed silver. The light danced and spurted as pure crackling magic danced down its spine.

‘You Made a sword.’

Nesta blinked. ‘I only fixed it. With your help.’

‘No, Made. Like Gwydion.’

From behind her Emerie let out a little gasp and scurried over. ‘That sword is magic!’

‘Who is Gwydion?’

Balthazar cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head. ‘Not a who. A what. A Made sword that’s been missing for millennia. It once belonged a Fae High King, long ago. I don’t know how this is even possible.’

Nesta enclosed her hand around the hilt. It was her sword. She had poured herself into the glowing metal, poured all of that relief into it. She held it in front of her body so the blade split her face into two halves. Balthazar was still hesitant, but Emerie, with bright eyes grinned.

‘Do it again!’

***

Cassian could not hide his surprise when Azriel descended the stairs from the roof into the House of Wind with Nesta following in behind. The last thing he ever expected was to see Nesta willingly in Velaris- certainly not on the morning they were due to go to the Prison.

His joy dribbled to anger. Azriel had been insistent that Nesta should visit the Prison and Cassian had been resistant to the idea. He’d offered the compromise that they could leave the decision with Nesta. And of course Nesta did the opposite of what he’d wanted and turned up in Velaris with that damn shadowsinger.

‘No.’

His eyes locked onto Azriel’s. Cassian knew what sort of monsters were locked away in there, having locked many of them away over the centuries. The fear already roiled in his gut.

‘A greeting would be better,’ Nesta sniped, eyes narrowing in his direction.

Cassian’s gaze dipped to the small bag Nesta carried. Azriel had already winnowed to Spring and then back to Illyria to drop off Balthazar and Emerie. To take them to the Prison and back would use more of his magic. She planned to stay the night, unannounced and unexpected – but definitely welcomed – because Azriel would be too spent to winnow her again that day. It was an olive branch. A promise of a night together in his city.

Shaking himself out of his rigid fear, Cassian leant down to kiss her cheek. When he pulled away, a blush bloomed on her cheeks where his lips had touched her skin.

‘You never do that to me when you’ve not seen me for a while,’ Az muttered.

They were both dressed in their fighting leathers and armed to the hilt. Nesta, however, wore a plain grey gown that reached the floor, a dark cloak, and boots that looked brand new. That was not the most surprising thing… in a sheath on her hip was a broad sword. Cassian refused to believe that Nesta had begun training with a weapon especially not with Spring Court sentries or Tamlin himself.

‘Who gave you that?’ He asked, jerking his chin at the blade.

Nesta crinkled her nose, ‘It is mine. Balthazar helped me to make it.’

If he argued with her now, he could say goodbye to all of their progress. Cassian did not want Nesta anywhere near the Prison – and certainly not armed. If she needed to draw her weapon she’d be more of a danger brandishing it untrained. And he did not doubt that Nesta would try to run him through with it if he started that argument.

‘You surprise me every day,’ he said through gritted teeth, planting a kiss on her forehead.

Cassian decided they should hike the rough terrain, glad to have a reason to make his thighs burn and think of something other than how stupid it was to bring Nesta to the Prison. Nesta and Azriel talked quietly behind him, mostly complaining that he’d forced them to walk it. It was strange to see either of them at ease with another. The pair had always had an understanding of the other; both preferred privacy and solitude. Sometimes he wondered if the Cauldron had tied Nesta to the wrong brother when he saw the quiet companionship that was blossoming between them.

On the areas where they had to scramble, the lazy option was taken instead. Cassian could not deny the stab of jealously as Azriel’s hands settled on Nesta’s waist – with her permission – and he flew her a few paces until the ground levelled.

The Prison was a barren place shrouded in mist and biting wind. Rather than waste energy shielding themselves from the elements, they let the wind rattle through them. The cold seeped through their leathers; Nesta had been obstinate when she had declared her gown would do just fine and she'd rather die than wear those "skin-tight monstrosities". They kept on until a wall of stone met them. The grassy slopes that swept far behind them were swallowed by the grey sea.

It was an instinct to glance to Nesta. A sickly feeling settled in Cassian’s stomach as her eyes landed on the rock in front of them. The Prison was warded and glamoured. It had the strongest protections – ones that even predated Prythian. And Nesta was staring exactly at the gates made of bone – the ones not yet revealed.

‘What do you see, Nes?’ He asked, praying to the Mother she wouldn’t say it.

‘The gates.’

What else could that magic see? What could it feel that others couldn’t? This was exactly why he did not want Nesta at the Prison. None of them knew the depths of her powers – of what lurked beneath the surface.

When Azriel leaned forwards to touch his scarred hand against the rock, the glamour peeled away to reveal the gleaming white gates and the inky darkness within. Nesta had not reacted; she had seen through the glamour from the start.

Down and down they went on the narrow stone pathways. The air was always slightly warm but stale, as if it had not been stirred in some time. Cassian had Nesta close by, her rapid breathing the only indicator of her fear. Azriel stayed behind them padding so silently that if it was not for the glow of his cobalt siphons, Cassian would not know he was present.

The sentries spelled within the walls acknowledged the shadowsinger as they passed; from the corner of his eye, Cassian could see the odd blur of shadow as it drifted briefly from the rock.

Before winnowing, Cassian had warned Nesta not to tell the inmates anything important. And not to lie. And never to initiate a conversation. Then another fifty rules. He’d then decided it was too dangerous and she ought to not go, so Azriel had clung to them both and winnowed them to the edge of it before they argued.

They walked slowly, passing by each cell so Nesta could take a moment and see if she felt anything like she had by the remnants of the wall. Him and Az had already gone over who was likely to know anything about Koschei and it would be the ones deepest within the Prison, those who’d been locked up for an eternity.

What came out was not what went in. How lovely she is—new as a fawn and yet ancient as the sea. How she calls to you. A queen, as my sister once was. Terrible and proud; beautiful as a winter sunrise.

Why had he even entertained the idea of bringing Nesta to the Prison? Cassian had lost his mind. He reached out his hand behind him, wiggling his fingers until Nesta’s slender ones gripped his, anchoring her to him. He needed that touch to remind him how special she was, how far they’d come, and what he’d do to protect her.

At an alcove cut into the rock, Nesta tugged his hand to stop. Cassian glanced over the iron door beside it with a singular rune carved into the surface. He felt the blood still in his veins, as if his heart wanted to give up. Azriel’s face had twisted into a grimace.

Lanthys.

But it was not the door Nesta frowned at. Nesta place a hand on the stone until it was no longer visible as if she was seeping through the rock, weaving through the heavy spells and wards placed upon the Prison. He’d never known any with the ability to do such a thing - or what lurked on the other side.

Cassian tried to pull her back to him, but she shook her fingers free and made a noise of irritation. He heard her take a breath then, ‘Please, let me do this.’

‘Nes, you can’t pass through the stone. We don’t know what’s there.’

‘Let me try.’

Azriel looked at him as if to say it was his call. Cassian’s hands were tied: deny her and she’d likely try it anyway or be angry with him; let her pass through the stone and let her face whatever was there alone or never see her again. What if she got stuck?

At the raw worry in his eyes, Nesta tucked his hand against her cheek and closed her eyes. Down their bond he felt a wave of tranquillity pass to him; a silent message that she was not afraid.

***

If Nesta stopped for a moment to question how she was slipping through the rock, she would be lost. All she knew was that her blood had sang by the alcove; it had begged her to stop. Both Cassian and Azriel had touched the rock but it had been solid for them. She passed through the stone as if sinking into water. Each movement in the room was like wading through mud, the crackle of spells sounded from behind her as if it was slightly out of reach.

A light filled the room – not the light of torches burning or the silvery glow of faelight but a strange shimmering blue as if Nesta was trapped below the waves of a vast ocean. Beneath her feet were stars, hundreds and hundreds of tiny glittering stars spiralling in constellations towards the centre of the room. Upon a dais, bathed in a glow was a golden harp with silver strings. It sat atop an eight pointed star and Nesta had the strangest sensation that she was meant to find it; that she was meant for this moment.

In the tales she had loved to read as a child, the item in an otherwise empty room ought to have been cursed. But the harp didn’t feel that way. It beckoned her closer.

Nesta’s hands enclosed around the frame, lifting it to her chest. As if in answer to her touch, it seemed to hum beneath her fingers.

She plucked a string, one of the thinner ones at the head to see if it was capable of music.

It has been a long while, sister, since I played. Shall we sing together? My final strings can create such great and monstrous magic. Shall I show you? Tell me to sing and I will. I will sing for you, my sweet girl.

Nesta wanted to throw the harp, but she couldn’t. Her left hand was clamped to the frame. It had spoken to her. The harp had spoken. A strange, ethereal voice had spoken straight into her head.

Don’t you want to play? It has been an eternity, my little queen.

Screams echoed from the walls. All around her, the rock trembled as if thousands of fists hammered from within trying to break out. Fighting against the spells and wards weighing her down, Nesta rushed back to the alcove, her own hand slapping the rock trying to find the way through.

Let me out, Mother above, let me out, she thought desperately to herself.

Let you out? But I have been so long without being played, my blossom.

It was in her head, that strange voice still, reading her thoughts. Nesta begged it to let her free from the room, let her back through the wall to Cassian and Azriel.

Pluck the first string, my little queen.

Without hesitation, Nesta’s fingertip curled around the first string as she plucked it. One note rang out, brief and high pitched.

The rock remained solid. Despair welled up in Nesta’s chest as her palms beat against the rough surface.

‘Let me go, please, just let me go,’ she begged, voice cracking with desperation.

I did. But I have found you a new door.

Feeling sick, Nesta fumbled her way along the wall, pressing her hand against it until she had the strange sensation again as she began pushing through it. Her whole arm was through then her leg before passing her whole body and the harp through the stone.

Nesta found herself in an empty cell that was cold and damp. A lone torch burnt in the wall, eternally burning within. Her fingers touched the iron door. On the other side of it were Cassian and Azriel, still waiting for her to appear from the stone that would no longer allow her entry. She called their names, as loudly as she could. Through the iron they could just about hear her.

‘I’m trapped in an empty cell. Can you get it open?’

A white-hot pain burst down the bond she shared with Cassian, so fierce Nesta dropped to her knees.

Cassian’s roar came over and over.

‘Get her out!’

Then Nesta felt it. A coldness twined around her shoulders like a caress of death. A mist swirled within the cell, gathering itself around her body.

‘Nesta!’ Cassian’s voice screamed from the other side, his magic blasting hopelessly against the iron cell door.

‘Nes-ta. Nes-ta.’ A horrid, icy voice that awoke a primal fear in Nesta’s chest whispered in her ear. ‘We heard about you down here. You are the one the sea and wind and the earth whispered of. You took from the Cauldron itself, Queen of Queens.’

Chapter Text

‘We heard about you down here. Even the stone moaned your name: Nesta. You are the one the sea and wind and the earth whispered of. You took from the Cauldron itself, Queen of Queens.’

The door continued taking the reverberations from the pulses of Cassian and Azriel’s magic. Nesta knew it was hopeless; whatever creature was slithering around her shoulder in a swirling form of mist had been contained long enough by the door. They would not move it.

Nesta had to fight, had to fight again for her damned life. She had vowed never to wield a weapon like she had that day in the war – it was only her rabid fury that had given her the strength to part the King of Hybern’s head from his body. Now, again, every fiber of her body twitched ready for action. There was no Cassian to save her, no Cassian to give her time to run, no Cassian to try and shield her from pain. She had to fight for herself.

The sword was drawn from its sheath; all along the length of it, magic seemed to crackle like static. Nesta slashed the blade wildly through the mist, without skill, without thought.

The creature screamed – an earsplitting sound of pure shock and fury. A bolt of her magic slammed through the mist, shaking the cell they were in.

The mist contorted, writhing and shrinking as if it fought an invisible enemy then it became a solid, stretching mass that bloomed with colour.

A naked, golden-haired male stood before her, eyes black, and his sharp-boned face simmering with malice. His body was sculpted with muscles and not a mark marred the golden skin. Those eyes, devoid of any light, settled on the blade, a note of wary curiosity in his voice as he spoke.

‘That is not Narben.’

Nesta thrust her sword at him, not caring if her arms would soon tire from holding the blade outstretched. She did not know what Narben was, nor did she care.

The male leapt back, eyes wide.

‘You do not know what you took,’ he whispered, eyes darting between her and the sword. 'You do not know what you stole.'

Feeling silver flames lick around her hands, engulfing the pommel of the sword, Nesta thrust the weapon again towards the male’s chest so he was backed against the wall of the cell.

‘What is that blade? I know it not.’

‘And you know every sword?’

A slight smirk flitted across his handsome face. ‘I rode in the Wild Hunt before you were even a scrap of existence in this realm, Queen of Queens, when fae and beast bowed to me. I know every death-sword. That is not mine. Whose fire did you take in the endless depths of that Cauldron? Who lurks beneath that prison of flesh?’

The man paled, his golden skin lacking its shine, as his view stopped on her eyes. She knew they were ringed with fire, could feel the blaze of flames crowning her again. Then his dark eyes fell to the harp she still clutched against her chest with her left hand. They widened with delight.

‘We can return what was once lost, Nesta. A queen to resurrect the Wild Hunt. My queen. Together we will run rampant through the night.’ The words were a lullaby, a honeyed promise of what Nesta could have at his side. ‘A palace of ice and flame awaits us, palaces between darkness and starlight, made only for us.’

The male wove a portrait in the air around them and with the image came a feeling of relief and warmth so strong Nesta even let out a noise of satisfaction. She saw herself, poised on a black throne with a silver crown in her golden hair and beside her was the male, his hand laced in hers with a golden crown atop his head. Enormous onyx beasts that reminded her of the pillars in the Hewn City lay at the foot of the dais to guard them. It was their palace, one built of pure magic that lived and thrived around them. The harp remained in her hand and across her lap… it was something new. A mask. Nesta felt happy. Indeed, the vision of her smiled to the male as his thumb stroked her hand and she felt the corners of her own mouth tilting upwards, influenced by the vision.

The vision shifted and she saw the golden skin of the male’s back as he writhed on a great black bed with Nesta beneath him. Pleasure rolled through her, clawing up her spine with tingling delight, as she watched the vision of herself making love to this male. It would be a pleasure that would shake the world. His seed would take root in her womb and the child she would bear him would rule entire realms, a child of-

‘Nesta!’

The voice roared louder than before. Nesta heard the slam and she imagined Cassian throwing his whole body against the door. He would do anything to save her. To protect her.

The vision felt stale all of a sudden; the male only wanted her for power, not for love. She would be his queen but that was nothing more than servitude with a title.

The golden male extended a hand to her. ‘Pluck the strings, Queen of Queens, and you and I can write the future. I will give you everything you want.’

Cassian’s voice bellowed so loudly through the door his throat ought to have been bleeding. His anguish seeped through every brittle part of Nesta, desperate to get to her.

Her hand tightened around the hilt of the sword.

‘I have everything I need.’

A bright wall of silver flames shot from her, pinning the male to the wall. With one solid thrust, the sword pierced through the male’s gut. He shrieked with such a raw pain, the hairs on Nesta’s arms stood on end. The blood that poured from his wound was black as she withdrew her sword. Again, she slashed until another wound ripped open across his chest.

He fell to his knees, blood bubbling from his mouth as he choked. Her afternoon spent learning how to swing a sword with haphazard accuracy under Balthazar’s tuition while Emerie cheered the day earlier had not prepared Nesta for this. And yet the only feeling roiling through her veins was clarity as she planted her feet, drew back the blade and whipped it through the air. There was no regret, no time for hesitation.

With a thump, the male collapsed in a heap on the stone floor. His head fell a moment later and rolled a couple of paces away. Her flames engulfed him, blazing silver and crackling.

Nesta plucked the same harp string as before. A heavy scrape of metal sounded as the door swung open.

Nesta turned to see Cassian and Azriel readying themselves to fight, their siphons pulsing and Illyrian blades drawn. Black blood seeped across the floor, staining the hem of her dress. Her fire burned without control now, setting her whole body alight with silver. The sword dropped out of her grasp, hitting the stone with a clang. Her knees went. Her head hit the rock hard. Then nothing.

***

‘Lanthys is really dead?’

Rhys stood beside Cassian, watching Madja search Nesta for any further wounds. The moment that door swung open, both he and Az had been ready to unleash their power upon Lanthys. Thank the Cauldron they had hesitated or Nesta would have been in the firing line.

She’d hit her head on the stone when her legs had given out but Madja was healing the gash in her head. It did not bear thinking about what would have happened without Azriel. He had spoken to the shadows in the stone, persuading them to open the door despite the wards that would never allow a prisoner to escape.

When the door had finally swung open, he had not expected to see Lanthys in his flesh form, nor did he expect to see that Nesta had disembowelled and beheaded him. Whether it was the expulsion of her magic or the trauma of death that had caused her to collapse, Cassian did not know. All he knew was that he wished she’d wake up.

A harp was clutched in her hand, pressed against her chest and a sword lay beside her. Only when the flames engulfing both of their bodies subsided could they go near her. Nesta’s skin had been so cold. Lanthys appeared as if it had been frozen for a millennia.

They had rushed from the Prison, feet hammering on the stone to get Nesta out. Once through the gates, Azriel had swallowed and told Cassian he needed to remain until Rhys arrived. It made sense to keep one of them there, guarding the corpse of Lanthys and the strange sword that seemed to pulse with magic on the floor. The inmates were howling inside, throwing themselves against the stone as if afraid of the magic that had come from Nesta.

Since Az was the only one who could winnow, Cassian had to stay behind. It was agony to see Nesta unconscious in his brother’s arms, blood streaming from the wound on her scalp, knowing he had to remain.

The moment Rhys had arrived, he flew up the rough terrain, wings beating powerfully. Neither spoke a word to the other, only descended to the depths of the Prison where Lanthys cell had been. The sword had been repelled by Rhysand, and him by it. Using his magic, he sheathed it back into the holster then wrapped it in a cloth. His face was unreadable. Even when he stared at the corpse of Lanthys, his expression revealed nothing. The cell was sealed shut behind them. Neither of them trusted Lanthys enough not to be faking his own death somehow to find a release from the Prison. His corpse could rot for an eternity for all Cassian cared.

‘One of you needs to explain how your trip to the Prison to discuss Koschei has resulted in taking Nesta there and her managing to kill one of the longest serving inmates: a creature with no physical form who cannot be killed.’

Azriel kept his head pointed to the ground. ‘It was my idea to take her. I promised her she’d be safe.’

It had been Nesta’s choice to go. Nesta’s choice to pass through the wall. Cassian reminded himself of that rather than launch across the room and hammer his fists into his brother’s face.

Madja stepped away from the bed where Nesta lay unconscious still. ‘I’ve healed the wound on her head. She delved too deeply into her magic too quickly. She will wake in a few hours, but with the head injury too, she’s likely to be groggy.’ Her fine grey hair was swept back from her face. ‘I have to say that even in this state Nesta looks a lot better than when I last saw her.’

‘What do you mean?’

The healer clasped her knobby hands together in front of her stomach. ‘Nesta came to me last year hobbling in agony. She snapped a tendon in her knee falling down the stairs drunk and waited three days before seeking a healer because she could barely move. Her face must have taken the worst of the fall,’ she clucked, ‘broken eye socket, black eye, lip split.' Madja stroked Nesta's face gently. 'She appears healthier than the wraith that visited me and I’m glad for it. I told her if she continued down that path, she would die. She laughed and said good.’

Guilt welled up inside Cassian as he imagined Nesta alone in her apartment in such pain that it had taken her three days to manage to get to Madja. Nobody ever checked on her or went to visit. He thought of her crying out in pain with nobody to help her or bring a healer. She would die. Good. His mate had been a broken, little thing in a world she didn’t know with not a single friend to stand beside her. He hated all the things he didn’t do for her.

‘What is that in her hand?’ Rhys murmured as Azriel escorted the healer back to the city.

The harp remained in Nesta’s hand as if welded to her skin. Rhys’ tan skin drained of colour. ‘That’s the harp. She has the harp.’

‘What is it?’

‘From the Dread Trove. Created by the Cauldron.’ A streak of black magic curled around the harp like a tendril, trying to pull it from Nesta’s grasp but it refused to leave her. Rhys recoiled with a gasp. Red marks appeared on his hands as if he had touched the harp himself. ‘It hates my magic. That sword is the same.’

Cassian relayed as much of the story as he could to his high lord of how Nesta had managed to pass between the stone as if the wards did not affect her then after an agonising wait where Azriel had had to calm him down, her voice had come from Lanthys’ cell. At first, he believed it was a trick. Hoped to the Mother it was a trick by Lanthys to lure them in rather than her being trapped with him.

‘Nesta made that sword with Balthazar. It was able to kill him.’

Rhys rubbed his face. ‘She what? That sword is imbued with her magic. Fuck. What do we do with her?’

‘Do with her?’ Cassian snarled. ‘You make her sound like an animal.’

Rhys’ violet eyes glittered with challenge. ‘While she’s in my city, she’s a threat. At this point, she’s as dangerous as Lanthys himself.’

He had never understood before how Nesta could be afraid of Rhys. But there were subtle things he’d done to her to unsettle her that Cassian had brushed aside. Things that Nesta had likely felt deeply. Rhys had once flown her as fast as he could and they’d all listened to her vomiting in the small powder room beneath the stairs. She had barely flown before – had trusted him to carry her in his arms and fly her, and he’d done that to be spiteful.

‘You really hate her,’ he whispered, incredulously.

‘She is dangerous, Cassian. If she can Make weapons capable of killing immortals without any awareness, there is no telling what she can do.’

‘No,’ he said quietly, stepping in front of Rhys so the path to his mate was blocked off. ‘You’ve always hated her. Don’t act like this is the only reason. I could never understand why she was scared of you. I see it now. You will find any excuse to hate her. If this was Feyre, if her powers could do that, you’d congratulate her, praise her, but because she's Nesta you find fault in her. You are my brother, but Nesta is my mate.’

Rhys took a step back – for a moment he appeared regretful then he schooled his features back into neutrality.

‘While she’s here, I will ask Feyre to visit.’

‘No.’

Rhys blinked. ‘That’s her sister. Feyre will want to be with her. You need to rest too. Let Feyre be beside her.’

‘She’s dangerous,’ Cassian said, echoing Rhys’ words, ‘I wouldn’t want your mate in danger. There's no telling what Nesta could do. Feyre and Elain don’t come in this house unless Nesta agrees to it. If you can’t obey that then I’ll fly her back to Spring with the harp and the sword. Tamlin will be able to decide what to do with her, as you so delicately put it.’

Cassian knew that Rhys would not let that sword or the harp leave Velaris without examining the extent of their powers fully. He wouldn’t risk them freely out in the world. Every instinct in Cassian’s body was roaring at him to just rip out Rhys’ throat and be done with it. He was a threat to Nesta. She was at her most vulnerable unconscious in the bed and their bond constricted around him, making sure he took his duties as her mate seriously.

‘I would like to speak with her,’ Rhys conceded. ‘I will be civil.’

‘When she’s ready and if she agrees.’

Rhysand might have been his high lord but Nesta was his mate and every part his body was ensuring he remembered that as his wings splayed out to hide Nesta from view. The glow of his siphons drowned out the faelight, casting a red glow upon the furniture. His chest rose and fell with the swell of his anger.

‘If you need anything, let me know,’ Rhys said, voice quiet as he departed.

When Azriel returned, Cassian was still sat beside Nesta. He’d gripped onto her cold hand, padded more blankets around her filthy dress, and was almost asleep. His brother carried food for them both.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, voice low and raw. ‘I promised her – both of you – that she wouldn’t be hurt.’ A muscle ticked in Azriel’s jaw. His brother would never forgive himself, and although Cassian was furious, he did not need Azriel to punish himself for it.

‘She’ll be alright,’ Cassian replied, accepting the food. ‘I’m just thankful you were there to get the door open.’

Azriel swallowed. ‘My shadows couldn’t, Cass. The sentries couldn’t. It was that harp; she plucked the strings. Nesta did it.’

'Do you think she's dangerous?'

Cassian tracked Azriel's gaze from Nesta's face to the harp then to the sword on the desk tucked against a wall. His shadows swirled around him.

'I think she could be, Cass.' He held up a hand. 'I don't want to believe it. The core of her is good. I worry who will want to use her powers. I worry who will take advantage of her, force her to commit atrocities.'

One name came to the forefront of Cassian's mind: Beron Vanserra.

Late in the night, a broken voice called his name. Cassian leapt to attention, hauling himself from the chair and onto his knees beside the bed.

‘Nes,’ he whispered, stroking her hair. ‘You scared me. You okay?’

‘Water, please.’ Nesta guzzled the water from the glass he held for her then settled back on the pillows with a groan. She placed the harp onto the bedside table. ‘I’m in the House of Wind, aren’t I?’

Cassian nodded, fully prepared for Nesta to run to the roof and leap from it. Instead, she drew the blankets higher around her chin, blinking in the darkness.

‘Your bedroom,' she stated, squinting at the arsenal of weapons strapped to the wall and the pile of curled up maps on the desk. 'What was it? The male I killed.’

Moving to sit beside her, Cassian explained how, when he neared three hundred, he managed to trap Lanyths in an ash mirror by flattering and taunting in equal measure. He did not want to tell Nesta how dangerous Lanthys had been. That the male had no mercy, no morality at all. He craved only pain and death. Cassian pressed Nesta’s cool fingertips to the scar slashed beneath his ear.

‘He promised me kingdoms. A child to rule them all. He wanted me to free him so he could use my power for his own gains.’ Nesta shuddered. ‘I don’t want to go there again.’

Cassian pressed a kiss to her forehead. ‘You won’t. You won’t ever need to.’

A cold body wiggled closer to him, and Cassian was only too happy to engulf her in his warmth. Even when the king of Hybern had come for them, Cassian had not been as filled with fear as today.

‘Sorry. I planned for a better night than this,’ she whispered, tucking her head against his chest.

‘Having you here safe is enough. More than I could ever want.’

Chapter Text

Nesta waited for that wave of regret to drown her – but it never came. She had killed. Again.

One thrust of her sword would have killed the male, but she had beheaded him. Set him alight with her powers. Driven again by wrath, she had slain another. For once, Nesta did not care. She had not analysed every move, not evaluated her decision with intense scrutiny. Lanthys was dead at her hand and she could not give a damn.

Hot water pounded upon her bare skin from the shower. The water running down the drain was dark, stained with her own blood and that of Lanthys. Her magic ached within her body. Cassian had explained that she had delved too deeply into it and hit the bottom.

Nesta did not know how to tell him that there was no end to her magic - that the floor he spoke of when it ran out had not come for her. That her magic was a bottomless pit inside of her. There was no end to the abyss. She could have continued diving deeper, deeper into that magic.

When she emerged from the bathroom, Cassian waited on the edge of the bed, feigning a casual pose. His eyes constantly snagged on the harp and the sword. When he smiled, it did not meet his warm, hazel eyes as it usually did.

‘Say it,’ she gritted out.

‘Say what?’

Nesta shifted her yellow towel tighter around her body then folded her arms across her chest. ‘The question you are trying to find the right words for. I presume your high lord has visited and has sewn the seed of doubt. Say it.’

The Illyrian set his jaw. ‘How many weapons did you make with Balthazar?’

‘Three. Two swords and a dagger.’

‘You put your magic into them, Nesta. The likes of which have not been seen for centuries… millennia even. This is ancient magic.’

‘I know.’

‘You know?’ Cassian choked.

Nesta drummed her fingers against her arms. ‘Do you really think Balthazar, who has spent his entire life learning about swords, didn’t know what I’d done? They’ve been Made. I can’t unmake them, so I may as well use them. And before you start, they’re safe to use.’

Cassian was staring at her as if she had sprouted another head. ‘When else have you used them?’ He whispered, hands trembling.

Nesta took a breath to fight away the amusement. He looked absolutely petrified. ‘In the garden at Spring with Emerie. We were just playing with them.’

‘P-playing?’ Cassian jumped up from the bed then hurried to the door frame where he pressed his face against it. ‘Mother’s tits.’

It had been fun. Balthazar had tried to teach them the proper stance and manoeuvres, but then Emerie had clattered her sword against Nesta’s to scare her and a spark of brilliant silver shot into the air. They’d had a mock battle, laughing at the chaos that sent a flock of thrushes speeding from the hedgerow. From the look on Cassian’s face, that had not been an appropriate use of a magic sword.

Azriel stepped into view, frowning slightly at the dishevelled state of Cassian, banging his head off the wooden frame and groaning. ‘You two alright?’

‘She’s been having swordfights with that shopkeeper from Windhaven with Made swords,’ he said, voice unnaturally high.

Azriel’s brows went high with amusement. ‘Who won?’

‘That’s not the right response!’

‘I’d rather not have this conversation in my towel,’ Nesta said drily.

Cassian’s eyes shot open at that and his eyes roamed across her bare shoulders then down to where the towel skimmed her thighs. Then his wings flared open, hiding her from Azriel’s line of sight. He snarled and slammed the door in the shadowsinger’s face. A cool chuckle could be heard on the other side of the door.

‘What do you want me to say, Cassian? I don’t know how it happened, but it did. Why is it such a bad thing?’

‘It’s a bad thing because you are dange-’

He cut himself off. Nesta noticed he held himself more rigid than usual. She had lost count of the amount of times in previous meetings that he stole every opportunity to touch her, now however he was holding back. The feeling of dread slithered within her skin. He was afraid of her. If not afraid then wary at the very least.

‘Tell me. I’m what?’

Cassian’s eyes screwed shut. Nesta braced herself for whatever harsh words whispered to him by his high lord were about to her hit her. She’d endured enough in this court. She could take only a little more.

‘You could be dangerous. If you don’t gain control of your power, there’s no telling what might happen. You can be manipulated or forced to use your powers, Nes. And with power like yours, it will be highly sought.’

‘So when I scried for you all, told my story, saved you from being turned to ash like the rest of the legion… that was an acceptable use of my power?’

‘That was-’

‘Different? Because it suited your court?’ Nesta’s nostrils flared. ‘When my power fits your agenda, it’s acceptable, otherwise I’m dangerous.’

Nesta slammed the door to the bathroom as she returned to dress. She could not bear to even look at her reflection and see the creature Cassian believed her to be. Dangerous. Nesta would rather cut off her hand than harm the ones she loved. The word rose up in her throat, bringing tears to her eyes. That was why he wasn’t reaching for her, didn’t even try to kiss her in the morning. Nesta would not let herself cry. He made her sound like a wild animal, unable to be restrained. She had dug her own grave by her previous actions. She did lash out and hurt others on purpose. She was nasty. She had always been horrid.

‘I didn’t mean what I said, Nes,’ Cassian said, reaching for her hand as she emerged from the bathroom. ‘Not like that. I worry that-’

‘I don’t want to hear it,’ Nesta interrupted. She couldn’t look at the sadness welling up in his eyes. The way his hand hung limply in the air waiting for her to reciprocate the touch. ‘If I’m not too deranged to be allowed out, I should like to visit the library downstairs. That is if you can trust me around others.’

Cassian nodded then swallowed. ‘I’d be glad to go.’

‘I don’t want you with me.’

The words hit their mark and Cassian stepped back, stung by them. Again, he nodded. ‘I need to go to Illyria. Make yourself at home while I’m not here.’

‘When can I go back home?’

Home. Another word she could wield against him to make him hurt.

‘Rhys wants to talk with you. Feyre wants to see you too.’ Cassian’s voice lacked any emotion as he spoke and Nesta felt a sudden wave of regret at her reaction.

‘Fine. This afternoon then. Will Azriel be able to winnow me back this evening?’

Cassian turned his back to her and shrugged. ‘Ask him yourself.’

***

When Cassian bolted from the roof, he tucked his wings in tightly, let his body plummet towards the gleaming streets of Velaris before spreading his wings as far as they’d go. He caught an updraft and then flapped them as hard as he could in the direction of Illyria. He had no business there today, no reason to even be in that land. Cassian needed the release that came from pounding his fists into another.

He could not shake the hurt on Nesta’s face from his mind. She had never asked for those powers. As far as he knew, Nesta did not want them either. Cassian was not a courtier who could use his words effectively, all he did was fumble them and stick his foot into his mouth. If Nesta was taken by Briallyn or Koschei, the damage she could do with her powers didn’t bear thinking about, but Cassian knew that Nesta would never willingly do such a thing. In all the time she had spent with Eris and Tamlin, she had never once mentioned Velaris. If she wanted to be malicious and hurt the Night Court, she could have sang like a canary about their carefully warded city. Nesta never sought to hurt them.

‘We were not expecting you,’ Devlon said by way of greeting as he landed in Windhaven.

‘Surprise inspection. Line up your males.’

***

Sheepish and ashamed, Nesta shuffled into the living room to approach the shadowsinger. If he hadn’t heard their argument then he definitely saw Cassian streaking across the sky from the large windows. His brow was furrowed as he watched a black blur bolting through the blue sky.

‘Please, can you take me back to Spring this evening?’

Azriel gave her a once over. A shadow slithered up his arm and curled beside his ear as if whispering something to him. ‘If you want to go now, I can take you.’

Nesta shook her head, still grateful for Azriel’s offer. She could get through today. She could manage a day in Velaris, including a meeting with Rhysand. ‘I will spend the morning in the library researching.’

‘How’s your head today? No lasting effects?’

Was Azriel giving her the opportunity to blame her most recent outburst on a head wound? She offered him a tight smile.

Azriel offered to escort Nesta down the winding staircase to the library where females took shelter from the awful things they had endured. He spoke softly to the one on the welcoming desk, a female named Clotho with gnarled hands. She did not speak in return, merely wrote on parchment with a wave of magic welcoming Nesta to the library. Her fingers were bent at odd angles that still seemed painful.

It had been an age since Nesta had stepped foot in the place. Not since Hybern sent twin ravens after her and Feyre. They had ran towards the depths of the library, to the blackness that had terrified Cassian centuries earlier. That darkness was the only thing that had likely ever scared him. And he’d gone back towards it again for Nesta, to save her. The thought was painful enough to draw blood. Right from the start, he was always willing to do whatever it took for her.

As Nesta followed the graceful shadowsinger down the sloping pathway, she heard the quiet rustle of papers and the shuffle of feet as various priestesses worked. Azriel moved with purpose though she had not told him what she intended to research that day.

In a quiet alcove with glittering golden lights cut into the stone, Azriel gestured for Nesta to take a seat at a desk. A couple of books remained stacked in one corner, not yet re-shelved. Azriel stalked along one of the bookcases, examining the spines.

‘You’re early,’ a light, female voice said. ‘Very early. Seven, we said, didn’t we? Or can you not stay away from the quiet here, shadowsinger?’

Azriel coughed slightly. ‘I like the quiet - easy to eavesdrop.’

‘I think you only come here to nap.’ A beautiful female with flowing coppery hair strode forwards, a slight spring in her step. Even from the alcove, Nesta could see the sparkle of her teal eyes as she approached Azriel. The female was a priestess, her blue hood thrown back to reveal the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

‘That was once,’ Azriel murmured.

‘I’ll try not to be too wounded that I bored you to sleep.’ She grinned brightly, stepping even closer so there was little space between them. For a female, she was tall – but still small enough that she tilted her head up towards Azriel.

Remembering Nesta was there, watching the entire exchange, Azriel blushed deeply. ‘I brought a friend to talk with you.’

‘I didn’t know you had friends. So many secrets, shadowsinger.’

Azriel rolled his eyes and gestured to Nesta. ‘Nesta, this is Gwyneth Berdara. I think you’ll get on well.’

‘Call me Gwyn,’ she said, offering Nesta a bright smile she did not deserve. ‘Only he calls me Gwyneth.’

Azriel tracked her steps as she took up the chair beside Nesta. It wasn’t the usual intense scrutiny the shadowsinger displayed as if registering every detail, there was a fondness to his expression – especially when the priestess smiled back to him over her shoulder. They were familiar with each other. Familiar enough for her to tease him in a way that Nesta had not seen anyone do to him. And Azriel had a lightness that Nesta had never known him to possess. It had been months since she was in Illyria with Rovena and Azriel had mentioned helping at the library with one priestess’ research. These females had suffered badly, but as Gwyn fought another smile off her face, Nesta couldn’t help wonder if Azriel had been part of her healing journey.

‘See you later,’ he said, dipping his head.

‘Seven, wasn’t it?’ Nesta teased.

His response was a muttered curse as he threw a wave over his shoulder and left them in peace. Indeed, Azriel had suffered badly in his life too; his burnt hands were proof of that. It wasn’t Nesta’s place to pry, but she could not deny the way Azriel’s shadows seemed to dance with joy and try to reach the priestess even after he started walking, as if they couldn’t resist another goodbye with her.

‘Let me guess,’ Nesta said, drumming her fingers on the table. ‘You’re the priestess who has been researching shadow singing and Azriel has been all too willing to assist for the last few months.’ When Gwyn could only blush in response, Nesta snickered. ‘I hope you’ve given him a thorough examination.’

The priestess dissolved into laughter that earned a reproachful shushing from a passing acolyte. ‘He’s been most helpful with my research.’

‘I bet he has,’ she said drily. ‘Are you solely researching shadow singing?’

Gwyn perked up at the mention of shadow singing. ‘No, Merill has me research lots of topics for her. Histories mostly. I spend my days blowing dust off old volumes about a war that happened a million years ago. The shadow singing is just an interest of mine.’

Nesta watched the numerous females who worked quietly either shelving books or busily scribbling down details from volumes at desks. She could understand the appeal to those who had suffered and needed sanctuary. But looking at Gwyn, who was full of vivacious joy, Nesta wondered what horrible incident had happened to her that made her prefer the library over the rest of the world. There were wounds that were invisible but wounds that could bring you to your knees.

Perhaps sensing the way Nesta surveyed her, Gwyn drew herself straighter. 'Azriel was the one who rescued me after Hybern's soldiers slaughtered the temple I resided in.'

Nesta could not take the distant, pained look beginning to settle on Gwyn's face. The way the tight smile she wore was only a feeble defence against whatever traumatic memories were slowly filling her up.

Changing the subject, she asked, ‘Are there any interesting books to read?’

‘Oh yes,’ Gwyn nodded eagerly. ‘I was reading a log of the imports to a tiny harbour on the east of the Night Court about seven hundred and forty years ago. A barrel of cinnamon, two of nutmeg. Really quite riveting.’

Nesta rolled her eyes. ‘I meant good books. Stories.’

‘Not enough,’ she admitted. ‘Mostly non-fiction… to further education.’

The two women sat in silence for a while. It struck Nesta that besides Emerie, this was the easiest conversation she had had for a long time – even if they had whispered to not disturb the serene hush of the library. Gwyn broke the silence, asking what kind of stories Nesta liked so their whisper somehow quietened further as Nesta explained her favourite genre: romance. A rosy hue took up residence on Gwyn’s cheeks – the blush even reddening her ears – at the tame details. Nesta did not dare speak of the more explicit ones in such an environment.

‘Can you point me in the direction of information about Made swords?’

Feeling like a donkey, Nesta followed behind the willowy priestess as she tip-toed along the various aisles of the library. Every now and then Gwyn would pause, smack her lips together then draw another book from the shelf. Nesta had eight already in her arms and the priestess was still not done. As well as Made weapons, Nesta asked for information on the wall, and any relating to the Cauldron. Gwyn had eyed her with suspicion but led her to further levels of the library.

Another dusty volume was thrust on top of the heavy stack in her arms. It was so tall that Nesta had to peer around the side of it.

‘Hang on, this one is about a war. I didn’t ask for this.’

‘You’re doing such an excellent job of carrying them, I thought you could carry mine too.’

‘I’m not your errand girl.’

‘If you were my errand girl, you’d be silent,’ she snickered.

Nesta was flabbergasted. Nobody ever spoke to her like that. Ever. Everyone was afraid to speak to her like that. Did Gwyn really not know who she was? What she was?

Gwyn paused, scanning the area until she decided on a table on one of the lower levels for them to settle on. Only a few priestesses were on this level – and far enough away that they could talk freely rather than in a hushed whisper. Amongst the rows of books and the flickering lamps, it was quite cosy, Nesta could admit. The priestess offered to help Nesta skim through the books as she had some free time. The gesture made Nesta feel suddenly tearful, that someone would offer to help her for no reason except because they wanted to.

In silence, they flicked through the numerous books until Gwyn made a little noise of triumph and pushed one towards Nesta, her finger pointing to a paragraph half-way down.

“The most well-known of all Made blades is the great blade Gwydion which was said to be blessed when the high priestess Oleanna dipped it into the Cauldron during its crafting. Dark as night and equally as beautiful, Gwydion belonged to the high fae king, Fionn, during a time of peace, but the blade has long since been lost.”

Nesta continued flicking until another familiar name appeared: Narben. That was what Lanthys had referenced at the sight of her sword.

“Even older than Gwydion, was the blade Narben. Where Gwydion had been a holy, saviour’s light, only death and destruction could be wielded by Narben. The blade only knew darkness. The origin of Narben is unknown but many creatures have sought the sword’s powers for their nefarious pursuits.”

Nesta had no doubt that Narben had once been in Lanthys possession. In a different colour ink, an additional piece of information had been added to the entry.

“Unfounded claims have said that Amarantha the Deceiver discovered the blade, but following its revulsion to her, she discarded it in the sea.”

The hairs on her arms stood on end when she read it. Gwyn noticed it too. ‘Forgive me, but you don’t seem the sort to enjoy reading about weaponry.’

Nesta dipped her voice low so it was barely audible. ‘I Made three blades.’

The priestess nearly tipped off her chair in shock. She mastered her surprise and whispered in return, ‘What will you call them?’

‘I don’t know. Must swords have names?’

‘I’d call mine Silver Majesty.’

Nesta couldn’t hide her snort. ‘That sounds like the name of a horse.’

The priestess’ brow furrowed. ‘It’s a good name.’

Time dribbled away from them. It was nice to sit next to somebody without having to speak – or to feel guilty about not speaking. Reluctantly, Gwyn perused her own books, noting down key information for the priestess she worked for, as well as adding tabs to return to later. Every now and then she’d lean across Nesta to read whatever paragraph she was on then would make a little noise of satisfaction and continue working.

In a book, as ancient as even Amren likely was to be, Nesta found herself reading a cramped script regarding the Dread Trove; unholy objects crafted by the Cauldron. Three objects from it remained in the world: a mask, a crown, and a harp. Nesta’s stomach tightened when her eyes flew over those words. Lanthys had shown her all three in his vision for their future - but he had been the one to wear the crown. The harp currently sat on the desk in Cassian’s bedroom.

“A death mask, capable of raising the dead and commanding them, was created in the image of a long-forgotten king. The harp can allow its wielder to open any door – physical or otherwise – even between worlds it is said. The crown has the capability to influence despite mental shields however initial physical proximity is required.”

Gwyn’s breath tickled against her neck as she leaned over again to read the same passage of Nesta. The priestess’ hand was on the back of her chair, unperturbed by who Nesta was still.

‘If Azriel is training you to be a spy, you’re not very inconspicuous.’ Nesta glanced to her book then to Gwyn.

‘I’m just nosy,’ she said with a grin. ‘My curiosity has nothing to do with Azriel’s influence. What’s this for anyway?’

Nesta swallowed. ‘I have a meeting with the high lord shortly. I’d like to be as prepared as possible.’

Chapter Text

A morning spent arguing with Devlon did nothing to appease Cassian’s temper, but running through drills with arrogant young males who needed putting down a peg or two did help to cool a portion of his festering anger. He didn’t know who he was angrier with: Rhys for putting that seed of doubt in his mind or himself for allowing it to bloom.

After a shower, he realised that Nesta’s belongings were still stored neatly in the corner. She hadn’t asked Azriel to whisk her away to Spring then. Azriel had been resolute in his decision that he would try to be neutral between the pair of them though would assist Nesta in travelling if required. Cassian knew Azriel was more on Nesta’s side, but he didn’t take it as a slight. The grey areas that others struggled on didn’t exist with Az, he was clinical enough to see black and white, and to wade through all the drama. Even if Az was his brother, Cassian was glad Nesta had someone on her side. He did not want to think what would have become of Nesta if Azriel hadn’t taken her to Rosehall all those months ago.

While he prepared a few light bites to have when the others arrived, he could hear the quiet, precise footsteps of his mate. He’d know the way she moved anywhere. This house had been the centre of many battles between them when she had emerged from the Cauldron. He knew then what they were. Mates. Knew why he couldn’t stop himself from being near her, no matter how much she argued with him. The moment his eyes had opened after Hybern had taken them, and he’d realised that Nesta had been turned and they were both in Velaris, he almost crawled up the ten thousand steps to her. There had never been another female who engaged him in such a way; Nesta had him in a chokehold the moment he’d seen her.

Two hands wrapped around his middle. The warmth of her body pressed against his back. He could feel her cheek resting against the gap between his wings.

‘Hello, Nes.’

‘It’s actually Azriel,’ she said. He could imagine the smirk on her face as she said those words.

‘Don’t you have a face full of wing right now?’

When Nesta huffed out a laugh, the warmth of her breath tickled a delicate area of his wings. Cassian threw himself forwards, hitting the marble surface of the kitchen sides. ‘Sorry. Sensitive area.’

Nesta released him then stood regally beside him. Her grey eyes scanned his face then her brow creased. ‘You’re hurt.’

One of the males had been able to get an advantage on him when he’d staggered on a patch of slippery mud. The split-second moment spent righting his stance was one the male had seized, charging him roughly into the boundary. Cassian had him on the ground moments later, but for taking his chance, he congratulated the male. It had left an ache in Cassian’s shoulder where he’d collided with a pole and a purple bruise had taken up residence on his ribs.

‘Just bruises. They’ll heal quickly enough.’

Nesta narrowed her eyes then her face changed into a softer expression. She drew her hands together in front of her abdomen, twisting the fingers together. ‘Physical wounds do that,’ she said quietly. ‘Others never really leave. I understand your words from this morning. I understand that I can be a danger – that my magic could be. I’ve been reading about Made weapons and the harp I found. I understand they can be dangerous in the wrong hands. Even if I wouldn’t think of doing something like that, others could force my hands. And I’m sorry that I took your truth as an attack. I’m sorry that my first reaction was to lash out.’

Cassian swallowed then touched her cheek. ‘I don’t believe you’d ever be a danger to us willingly.’

‘Are you scared of me?’

‘No.’ He did not need to even think about the question. ‘No. Even when you were hissing and spitting like an alley cat as a mortal, you didn’t scare me. I’ll take every part of you, just as you are. I’m sorry I made you feel that way.’

Nesta rose up on her toes and reached her arms around his neck. That was all the invitation he needed to kiss her tenderly on the lips.

‘When Rhys and Feyre arrive, do you want me to be there with you? Or should I make myself scarce?’

‘Please stay. I need you.’

Nesta departed to the bedroom to prepare herself, as she put it, for her sister’s arrival. Cassian knew if Nesta could fly, she might have broken through the window and disappeared back to the Spring Court. Their meeting in Illyria hadn’t been a disaster; Rhys had also met with her after that without any consequences. He debated going into the room in five minutes in case she’d run herself through with the sword though.

A high-pitched squeal from the bedroom had him hurdling the couch and charging through the door way.

Nesta was bent double, riotous laughter breaking free. A book was clamped firmly in her hand.

‘You’re reading this?’

Cassian lunged for the book but Nesta anticipated his move and span out of reach. He wasn’t a general for nothing. With one hand, he reached around her tiny waist and tossed her onto the soft bed. She wiggled, trying to lift the book out of his reach, as Cassian clambered on top of her.

‘Did you write in the margin? Are you in such need of assistance in the bedroom?’

He couldn’t hide his mortification that she’d caught him with a Sellyn Drake book. One that he’d hastily stashed under the bed so others wouldn’t discover it.

‘Let’s have round two and you can rate me afterwards,’ he said, voice low and teasing as he pinned Nesta’s wrist against the mattress to prise the book from her hand. ‘I bought it because of you. To see what you liked.’

Nesta laughed richly again. ‘You could just ask me.’

Cassian smoothed her hair flat. She hadn’t yet protested that he was crushing her so he took that as a sign he could remain on top of her. ‘I didn’t mean just sex. I meant that you like these books so I wanted to read them and you could talk about them with me.’

He felt a luxurious wave of warmth down their bond and Nesta stared up at him as if she had never truly seen him before. She brushed a finger along his bottom lip.

‘Judging by the scarlet glow of your cheeks, it’s not something you would enjoy too much. I appreciate the gesture. Truly. I have Emerie to talk about such things with.’ Giving him a sultry smile, she said, ‘I prefer the practise with you.’

When he felt the thud of Feyre and Rhys landing on the roof, Cassian saw - swifter than any soldier - how Nesta donned that armour to protect herself. He wished she didn’t feel the necessity of it. ‘It’s your sister and her husband, remember that.’

‘No,’ she said, swallowing audibly, ‘they’re the high lord and lady of this court. They’ll ensure I know it.’

At the slight tremor of her hand that she tried to hide, Cassian wanted to give her that escape. He’d fly her wherever she wanted to go. He just hoped that his snarling with Rhys the previous night would be enough to stop any wars with Nesta.

He had to push her down by the shoulders onto the couch where she sat as stiff as a board. Cassian took the seat beside her and wrapped an arm around those tightly wound shoulders. Cassian kissed her temple.

‘I’m with you through all of it.’

‘But will you be on my side?’

She stared at the doorway as Feyre entered first. She was feeling outnumbered. Cassian had stood up for her on occasion, had ensured Nesta was out of Amren’s firing line when Rhys had pressed her about the Prison. But he’d never done it enough, not when she had needed someone - anyone - on her side.

After a slightly frosty reception from Rhys, Feyre stretched up to hug him so he kissed her on her cheek. The same embrace wasn’t extended to her sister. Nesta smiled tightly from her spot as he settled back down beside her, the smile dissolved into nothing as Feyre and Rhysand sat opposite them.

‘You look much better than yesterday. I’m glad to see it.’ Rhys said, opening the conversation. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine. Thank you.’

‘Nes has spent her morning in the library downstairs.’ He placed a hand on her knee, stilling the bounce.

That seemed to catch both of them by surprise. To seize the opening, Cassian nudged Nesta slightly, encouraging her to speak. She cleared her throat.

‘Researching. This time was much better than the last time we were there,’ she said quietly, glancing to Feyre.

That day would never be forgotten when Hybern’s twin ravens had breached the walls of Velaris and tried to take her. Take both of them. How he’d flown into the heart of the black pit in the library, panic seizing every limb as he saw Nesta stagger out of the darkness, wide-eyed, like an injured animal. Cassian had sworn he would never go near Bryaxis again, but that hadn’t even been a thought in his mind when he’d plummeted through the blackness to reach Nesta.

They waded through pleasantries that felt false but necessary. Cassian had already ate his weight in cheese and crackers trying to keep his hands busy. The others had refused his offer of snacks so he took it upon himself to keep eating until Rhys drew the conversation in the direction he desired.

‘Nesta, your magic requires training. Since you’ve created a magic sword capable of slaying Lanthys, it needs to be a priority. You either train with me or you train with another, but you must gain control. I cannot allow you to continue without being trained.’

‘Cannot allow me to continue?’ She said, paling slightly. ‘Will you throw me in the Prison if I don’t agree? Lock me up here? Kill me?’

Feyre looked to Cassian, both scurrying to build a bridge for Nesta and Rhys to meet in the middle rather than risk full out battle.

‘Your magic is powerful. If you will not rule it, it will rule you. Once a week, I’ll arrange for you to be winnowed here. We will train then you can return to Spring. For the f-’

‘No.’ Nesta reached for Cassian’s hand, squeezing it slightly before continuing. ‘I will not train with you.’

‘Nesta,’ Feyre began, but her sister raised a palm to halt her.

‘You have given me a choice, Rhysand. I choose to train my magic with Eris Vanserra.’

That was why she’d squeezed his hand. Why she resolutely kept her gaze fixed on Rhysand rather than looking at him. Nesta felt guilty to make that decision. Rhys couldn’t go back on his choice; he had let Nesta choose and she had picked Eris – again. The sensible option would be to train with Rhys. His magic was strongest and he’d spent centuries honing it. Perhaps if he’d offered it differently – offered it through kindness rather than as a demand, Nesta might have been more willing to accept.

‘Eris is your ally, is he not?’ She asked, flicking her attention between Feyre and Rhys. ‘And to me, he is a friend. He can winnow. The distance is shorter. Beron will not think it odd for us to meet. Tamlin can bear his presence, but I am also welcome in the Autumn Court.’

‘Are you now?’ Rhys murmured, drumming his fingers on his knee. ‘A friend of Beron’s too?’

‘We’ve dined together. I am Tamlin’s emissary. It’s part of my duty.’

Nesta was utterly mesmerising. The way she could speak with such chilling casualness about Beron, when Cassian knew what he’d forced her and Eris to do in his home, was unnerving. Nesta was a master at compartmentalising. He half-wondered why Azriel had never tried to poach her as a spy; he doubted any would be able to crack Nesta.

Feyre leaned against Rhys and brought her legs up onto the couch in a desperate attempt to diffuse the tension slowly creeping into the room. She shrugged. ‘As long as Nesta trains, that’s what’s most important. You have already learnt with Amren too, so it’s not as if it’s from scratch.’

At the mention of Amren, Nesta stilled the thumb that drove in small circles against his skin, but that was the only outward sign of discomfort.

‘It makes sense for it to be Eris,’ Cassian said, even if the words tasted like ash upon his tongue. He'd rather Nesta never have any dealings with the rotten Vanserras again. ‘Like calls to like. They both wield fire. If Nes is comfortable with Eris and her magic is trained, who cares who it’s with.’

Are you completely insane? You want to trust Eris Vanserra with her level of magic?

Rhys, I’m trusting Nesta and her judgement. There’s a strange friendship between them. They both care for each other. I don’t think Eris would hurt Nesta or use her.

And you don’t mind that? That they’re friends? Feyre added.

Rhys asked, What about Mor? Do you think she’d be happy with this?

‘Do you mind not discussing me when I am sat right here? I may not be able to hear you but I’m not stupid. Eris used to train me. He's no stranger to my magic. He's been on the receiving end of it previously.’

‘Apologies,’ Rhys said smoothly. ‘Do you know what manner of item you brought to this house from the Prison?’

Her head dipped, almost as if it was in submission. ‘I had not known what it was when I used it. I have researched it today and I do not want it. I should like for it to return to the Prison.’

‘Can I add that Nesta didn’t bring it here? She was brought here unconscious,’ Cassian interjected, ‘if anybody is at fault, blame Az for winnowing her and the harp.’

‘I feel compelled to defend Azriel, since he’s always so kind to me and not here to do it himself,’ Nesta said, narrowing her eyes at him in a playful challenge.

‘Of course you would. It’s two against one whenever we’re together.’

‘You’re a big, strong male,’ she crooned, ‘Azriel can kiss your wounds better later.’

The tightness in Rhys’ shoulders ebbed then his fingers tracked up Feyre’s neck and wove through her hair. He had been dreading Nesta’s resistance on the harp. That she would want to use it. But now he had a brief snapshot of how she could be when she was comfortable. If given the chance, Rhys would love Nesta’s dry wit, Cassian knew. Both were seekers of knowledge. He’d take all the teasing in the world if it cracked Nesta open in front of his family so they too could see how wonderful she was.

‘It cannot go back to the Prison,’ Feyre said. ‘To return it to its room, only you would be able to do such a thing.’

‘I don’t want to go there again.’

‘No, and we wouldn’t make you,’ she said gently.

‘The inmates felt its song. And they were likely not the only ones. We can keep it in the Night Court, but it will be heavily warded by myself and Helion. None will be able to use it. It will be safe.’

‘But what if someone like… someone like me tried.’

A sharp spike of protectiveness blazed through Cassian as Rhys watched her. For once, Rhys didn’t eye her with suspicion… it was pity. Someone like Nesta. Someone who could see where a wall had once split Prythian from the mortal lands, one who could tell magical boundaries and wade through wards like they were nothing but cobwebs.

‘It will be well protected,’ Rhys vowed. With a wave of his hand, he summoned a tray of glasses and a large jug of lemonade that rattled with ice. ‘There’s another matter that we should perhaps discuss. The sword. You understand what manner of weapon it is?’

‘Yes,’ she stated. ‘And perhaps I should tell you before the big bat beside me beats me to it, I made two more.’

The shock on Rhys’ face was a picture. It wasn’t often his high lord was caught off-guard and he struggled to compose his features. Feyre only snickered at Rhys’ attempts at forming speech.

‘She’s been playing war with Emerie from Windhaven in Tamlin’s garden. Az asked who’d won.’

Rhys shrugged. ‘Don’t act like that wouldn’t be the first thing we’d do.’

‘We know how to use a sword though.’

‘Excuse me,’ Feyre interrupted, ‘I know how to use one too.’

‘Your sister doesn’t though,’ Cassian said jerking his thumb to Nesta.

She snorted in response. ‘Let’s have a battle. You and I. See who wins. After Lanthys, you’ll be like slicing into a ham.’

The laughter that broke from Rhys at Nesta’s words was the best thing that Cassian had ever heard. Even Feyre had tossed her head back, wrinkling up her nose in silent mirth. Nesta’s cheeks had pinked and she looked apologetic as she looked at him. Cassian didn’t care. She could insult him all day long if it made the others laugh.

‘Is it gang up on Cassian day today?’ He grumbled, but his tone was light and joyful. For good measure, he squeezed Nesta’s shoulder to let her know her words weren’t wounding. She seemed to uncoil after that remark, the tension in her body eased somewhat and even when he scooted closer to her, Nesta didn’t shift away. His thigh pressed against hers and she linked her smallest finger with his. Feyre and Rhys didn't miss it. Didn't miss the way Nesta hadn't shrunk from his touch - or that she'd been the one to initiate a lot of it while they talked.

For a little while longer they talked. Or at least, the three of them did while Nesta listened, still keeping her finger entwined with Cassian’s. She seemed content to listen. Every now and then, a look of longing passed over Nesta’s features – usually when Feyre talked. They were sisters by blood, but not by the heart. Forging a bond, a connection, was desired but neither female seemed to know how to reach the other.

‘I have an art class to attend,’ Feyre said finally, groaning as she stretched her arms in the air.

‘And I have a high lord to invite to the city. One who will want to arrive in a chariot with bells on.’

Cassian chuckled. ‘Helion can never do things by halves. Weren’t you due to meet with him soon?’

‘To use his libraries,’ Nesta confirmed with a nod.

‘Why don’t you return to Velaris when he’s here?’ Rhys suggested. ‘A warning: He’ll try and woo you.’

‘Is that supposed to deter me?’

Rhys loosed a laugh again, despite Cassian’s soft snarl. Feyre waved goodbye, her blue-grey eyes lingering on her sister before ascending the stairs back to the roof. Rhys asked for a moment alone with Nesta. Knowing there wasn’t a chance in hell Cassian would let that happen, Rhys compromised. To compromise, he took her only a few paces away to give the illusion of privacy.

‘I know what it’s like to feel different,’ he said quietly. ‘You went into the Cauldron and had to grow accustomed to a new body. But you are different to most fae, Nesta. You still feel different. I understand it. I do. I’m halfway between Illyrian and high fae, not accepted by either. My magic took a long time to accept. I understand that fear and reluctance. If there is anything we can do to help you… let Cassian know. Or Azriel. Whichever one you favour more,’ he said inclining his head in Cassian’s direction.

The harp would remain at the house until Helion arrived. Rhys had warded the house well enough that for a few days it should lay undetected. Cassian wasn’t happy that it still sat in his bedroom, but the alternative was Nesta touching it to move it again – which wasn’t happening.

‘Well done,’ he breathed, kissing the top of her head when Rhys had departed. ‘You did so well. I’m proud of you.’

Nesta closed her eyes with relief. It was an achievement that ought to have been celebrated. Not only had she managed to reign in any vicious retorts, so had Rhys. More than that, Nesta had been comfortable enough to open herself up a little to the others. That was invaluable.

‘I need to ask two things of you – the first I will likely immediately regret.’

‘Go on,’ he urged, ‘I’m intrigued.’

‘Will you teach me how to defend myself? I don’t want to be a warrior or fight in battles. Just so I’m not completely incompetent.’

‘Yes. Cauldron, yes.’

‘I am not wearing leather pants.’

‘You most certainly are,’ he said. ‘That’s payment enough for me for lessons. My only requirement.’

‘They’re so tight!’

‘Exactly,’ he murmured against the point of her ear. ‘And the second thing?’

Nesta blinked at him then a blush crawled up her neck. ‘I want you to take me to that bedroom and we won’t emerge until dinner time.’

***

Tangled up in Cassian’s arms, Nesta dredged herself out of drowsiness. The fearsome general of the Night Court’s armies was still asleep after hours spent drinking in every inch of the other. There were positions that Nesta did not even know were possible. Cassian was all too happy to teach her until both were sleepy and sated, curling into each other's arms.

His head rested on top of her own. It was only the heavy, rhythmic breathing that gave away his condition. They were both still as naked as the day they were born. Any shame she felt about displaying her body had long since disappeared. She’d always thought bodies ought to be hidden away; that they were private. Certainly, when she imagined the first time with her husband on their wedding day, Nesta used to blush imagining another seeing her naked – and would blush harder still at the thought of seeing a man unclothed. She hadn’t known what to expect. At all. The romance books in the library had opened her eyes to a whole new world where sex was not a wife’s duty, but an avenue of pleasure and enjoyment.

It still hadn’t prepared her fully though. Feyre had Isaac for her first time, Elain had lost her maidenhead to Graysen. There had been something between those couples, more than lust – a gentleness and understanding that it was the first time. Nesta hadn’t even known the name of the male who’d taken hers. Just knew she wanted to get it over with in a world were mortal primness was abandoned. Hybern had violated her enough. Her virginity didn’t matter. The male hadn’t been gentle, he hadn’t known he needed to be. Not with the way Nesta had clawed off his clothes the moment they stepped through the doorway. It was only when he saw the smear of blood and heard her gasp of pain that he’d realised she was inexperienced. Nesta couldn’t even remember how he looked, not even the colour of his hair. And he was the first in a long line of males that she took to her bed to try and drown out the roaring in her head. There was pleasure, but no love. If the males didn’t want to stay the night, Nesta never cared. As soon as they left in the morning, she was relieved to be alone.

This was different. This was an intimacy that scared her because Nesta knew a choice would come for them regarding the bond. And she wasn’t ready to commit to forever. She didn’t know how any could make that level of commitment. In the last few years, her life had such an upheaval, she didn’t know what would even happen in a year, let alone forever.

As if sensing her restless thoughts, Cassian shifted so he was almost underneath Nesta. His thigh pressed against hers, a hot, heavy weight that anchored her. Nesta nuzzled against the warm skin of his bare chest and let her hand trail through the silken strands of his ebony hair. He was beautiful in a rugged, wild way like he’d been borne of the earth and wind. She had always loved the rich colour of his skin and as she rested her fingers along his collar bone, she couldn’t help but wonder what his mother had looked like. The mother he’d been denied a chance to be with.

‘Does your mind ever rest?’ A tired voice whispered. Cassian peered down at her through squinting eyes as he slowly woke. ‘I can hear your thoughts churning like a waterfall.’

‘Not often,’ she admitted.

‘I’d say it’s dinner time. And you didn’t eat any lunch – and I’d wager no breakfast either. I can’t cook like Illyrian females can. Rovena is the master, but I can manage it to be edible from years spent in war camps. Come on, let’s eat.’

Cassian sat up, bringing Nesta up with him so her back was flush against his chest. ‘Did I ever tell you, you’re the most beautiful female I’ve ever seen?’ He kissed her shoulder. ‘And I’ve never met any as clever or quick-witted?’ A kiss on her other shoulder. ‘And that if you had eaten today, I’d be bending you over the bed again until you screamed my name. But since you haven't, it’s dinner time.’

Such words tightened a coil of pleasure low in Nesta’s gut. Heat pooled between her legs as she watched Cassian search for comfortable clothes to wear around the house while completely naked. She sunk against the pillow, admiring the view of his muscled thighs and the fine dusting of hair leading from his naval.

A shirt was thrown over her head, momentarily blinding her.

‘Wear that,’ he said. ‘Please.’

The lack of light in the room meant Cassian’s hazel eyes seemed darker than usual and his pupils had dilated. It was one of his shirts, the material soft and scenting like him – pine and fire embers. Nesta slipped it over her head, let the long sleeves fall over her arms. It skimmed the top of her knees and from the heated look Cassian gave her as she stood, she knew he regretted announcing it was time for dinner.

‘It’s a bit baggy.’ She waggled the loose dark green sleeve as it fell over her hand.

‘It’s perfect,’ he corrected, eyes fixed on her face.

‘Stop looking at me like that,’ she frowned.

Cassian closed the gap between them. His hands settled on her hips. ‘How am I looking at you?’

‘Like you…’

Nesta’s voice trailed off. Her tongue was too heavy to say those words.

‘Like I love you? Because I do. I do love you, Nesta. I love you.’

Chapter Text

Too dazed to focus, Nesta only watched as Cassian deftly chopped chicken and threw it in a sizzling pan. Whatever it was that he was cooking, it smelt delicious.

As darkness seeped into the sky, Nesta lit candles and set the table. Cassian continued chopping salad, completely unperturbed by what he’d said. I love you. He’d said it in Spring, but it had sounded like a joke. He’d said it sincerely this time, happy to bear his heart to her. Nesta had frozen, unsure what to say in response. She cared for him. Cassian took up most of her thoughts when she was away from him. But love? To say it seemed too momentous.

As a mortal, Nesta had accepted that she’d have an arranged marriage, one that would suit her family, and love would hopefully come afterwards. This was different. I love you. Cassian said it with no expectations of hearing it in return. He’d kissed her on the forehead and took her by the hand into the kitchen.

‘Good day?’

Nesta leaped a foot in the air as Azriel appeared in the doorway. ‘Stop creeping around!’

The shadow singer chuckled as he took up a seat beside Nesta at the table. ‘How was the library?’

He’d asked it quietly enough that Cassian couldn’t hear over the sizzle of the pan. A muscle fluttered in the shadowsinger's jaw, and his wings were tucked tightly to his back.

‘Productive,’ she mused, resting her chin on her hands. Dropping her voice even lower, she added, ‘Gwyn is lovely.’

Azriel nodded, smiling slightly. ‘She is.’

‘You rescued her.’

Anger flashed across Azriel’s face as he remembered that day then he swallowed, trying to compose himself.

‘I don’t know what she endured, but she smiles like sunshine. I felt content with her.’

A true smile spread across Azriel’s face, lighting up his hazel eyes. ‘I’m glad to hear that.’

Cassian had severely understated his cooking skills. A pile of warm flatbreads were placed on the table followed by a bowl of chopped salad then another of marinated chicken. Smells of lemon and garlic wafted down the table. She followed the Illyrians and added the meat and salad followed by a big dollop of yoghurt to cool the spices. It was so good that they ate in total silence, the three of them wolfing down the food.

‘I didn’t know you could cook like that,’ she said when every morsel was finally polished clean.

Cassian belched loudly. ‘Would that have changed anything?’

‘I hope not. The smell in here is bad enough already,’ Azriel muttered.

The heat crawled up Nesta’s neck. She might have been comfortable being naked around Cassian but these fae senses were still something she was getting used to – especially the way others tossed around the knowledge that she’d been having sex.

‘You’ll get used to it,’ Cassian shot back with a laugh.

‘Are you able to take me back to Spring soon? Zasha has likely destroyed all the furniture. It’s almost seven as well. I wouldn’t want to make you late, Azriel.’

‘Late for what?’

Azriel stared at Nesta. It was the type of stare that likely had most quaking in their boots, but the shadow singer could never scare Nesta. Not after she’d seen how tender he was with his mother, how shy he was around the pretty priestess in the library.

‘I’ll let Azriel tell you that,’ she said, rising from the table, and patting him on the shoulder.

‘I’m missing something,’ Cassian said, head whipping between the two of them.

‘A few dozen brain cells,’ said Azriel sharply, also rising to his feet. ‘I’ll meet you on the roof. Let you say your goodbyes in private. The smell in here is enough already. Don't add to it.’

Cassian stood expectantly in the doorway near the stairs as Nesta returned with her belongings. He gave a cursory glance to her sword, shaking his head slightly and muttering about playing war. He did well to hide his disappointment, but Nesta could feel it like a torn off scab down their bond that she hadn't wanted to stay another night. She enveloped herself in his arms.

‘Apart from the Prison, I enjoyed my visit. I know that this is hard for you, me returning to Spring, but this is not my city and I have responsibilities. They are things that I enjoy. I enjoy lists and accounts, as dull as they sound. I like being the emissary. Most of the time.’

It was not easy for him, Nesta knew that. Feyre had been all too happy to settle in the Night Court with Rhysand. Maybe that was why Elain was so reluctant to let Lucien into her life when neither of them truly had a place to call their own. Velaris was Cassian’s home – and Nesta struggled to see herself calling it home. What that meant for them, she did not know.

‘As soon as we get word from Helion, I’ll let you know.’

‘Thank you. I’m meeting Vassa in a few days. I’ll have to speak to Eris too.’

Nesta felt the way Cassian’s muscles tensed beneath her hands, saw the hardening of his jaw. It had not been easy for him to side with her, to agree that Eris should be the one to train her magic. He likely did not believe it. Did not want it to happen. But he had stood by her decision and that meant the world to Nesta.

‘I’m sorry. I know how you feel about Eris.’

‘How I feel? Nesta, I’m scared to death about you being anywhere near Eris when Beron decides he wants to be petty again. Please, if it has to be with Eris, do it in Spring. Do not go to Autumn Court – into Beron’s hands – if you can help it.’

She would take that compromise. It put Eris in more danger to be seen so regularly in Spring, but if Beron knew what her magic was capable of, there was no telling how he would blackmail her.

‘I miss you already,’ Cassian admitted, touching her cheek.

Nesta’s throat dried up as she gazed into those beautiful hazel eyes. He was so open, so tender. ‘I can’t say those words back to you yet. It’s not that I don’t care for you. Far from it. I’m just. I’m not ready yet.’

‘There’s no pressure, Nes. None at all.’ Cassian kissed her gently then pulled back slightly, so his breath tickled her lips. ‘Miláčik.’

‘What does that mean?’ She begged, clinging to his warm hands.

Cassian let out a hearty laugh. ‘I can’t believe you haven’t figured it out yet. You need more Illyrian lessons. Call Az it, see what he does.’

After a long, lingering kiss that neither seemed willing to end, they reluctantly headed up to the roof. Sadness was already welling up inside of Nesta’s chest. It had been an unexpected but lovely day.

‘Ready?’ Azriel held out a hand. Nesta took at once before she changed her mind and tried to stay.

The warmth of the Spring Court washed over Nesta as they winnowed in. It was too dark to see properly so Azriel insisted on walking her to the house, regardless of the sentries that were amongst the grounds. Nesta couldn’t help but let her mind wander.

‘You and Gwyn…’

‘Gwyn has suffered. She’s young and has not had much experience with life. I’m glad that she is comfortable around me and I’m happy to help with her research within the library.’

The answer left little room for discussion, but Nesta wasn’t finished. ‘You deserve someone who smiles like the sun. I’m glad you rescued her. Give Gwyn my regards, won’t you?’

Azriel let out a little laugh. ‘You only saw her this morning.’

‘I feel like I’ve always known her. It has never been easy for me to make friends, I’m not like Elain. Gwyn did not seem to mind who I was. I should like her as a friend.’

‘I’ll pass on the message. Look after yourself, Nesta.’

‘Thank you, miláčik.’

Azriel staggered backwards down the step, arms flailing to steady himself rather than land on his backside. ‘What? What did you calll me?’ He stammered.

‘Why? What does it mean?’ Nesta asked, utterly mortified by whatever Illyrian she had just unknowingly said to Azriel that caused him to trip.

‘Sweetheart.’

‘I’ll kill him. He told me to say it to you. Stupid bat.’

‘That’s “hlúpy netopier” for next time you see Cass.’

With a kiss on the cheek, Azriel had gone.

The sentries near the front doors greeted her quietly. The hour was not too late, but Nuala was likely already in bed and her mother was likely seizing a moment of quiet with the baby – or asleep too. Zasha stormed down the stairs, a low bark rumbling in his throat until he caught Nesta’s scent then his growling became an excited yip. The dog leapt into the air, head butting her in the lip, as he desperately sought her affection. His grey tail whipped against her legs as his body pressed into hers.

‘Yes, I missed you enormously,’ she said, fussing the dog’s head.

Nesta had never been a dog person. She thought them to be smelly and too demanding of attention. If she could have chosen an animal when she was younger, she’d have like a cat to sit on her lap when she read. It was Vytor’s fault that Zasha was in her life. That gentle dog had shown her another way.

Zasha sniffed at her shirt – Cassian’s shirt – recognising the smell. ‘He’s not here. Just me. Why am I talking to a dog?’

After a once over of the house, Tamlin was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t an odd occurrence, by any means. Nesta was used to him not being home or arriving back late into the night, but a feeling of unease settled in her stomach. Even when she risked opening the door to his bedroom, the servant had been in to make the bed, but there were no signs of the high lord.

‘Jos, where is the high lord?’ Nesta asked the sentry on the front door.

‘He’s not been home for a few days, Lady Nesta.’

Tamlin hadn’t shown his face once when Emerie and Balthazar visited. She thought he might have, especially as Balthazar was considering a move there. The last time Nesta had seen Tamlin was when Cassian had stayed and she had argued with him over having the two from Windhaven stay.

Nesta returned to her own bedroom. It felt cold and sterile, even with Zasha lolling on the bed. She found herself at the window, eyes scanning the dark grounds for a gigantic golden beast’s arrival for hours. Nesta knew something was not right. Tamlin had nowhere else to go – no allies or friends to speak of. It was tentative ground still with Lucien, but even he would not risk travelling through the mortal lands for a chat. She doubted Jurian and Vassa would welcome him in.

In a move that she thought she might regret, Nesta dressed in clothes suitable for tramping through the woods at night. Zasha lacked any sort of training, but she had seen Eris do similar with his own dogs so Nesta gathered up items of Tamlin’s clothing and held them out for the dog to sniff. Jos was with her too; a quiet sentry who kept his head down and did his duty with unassuming ease.

‘Do you think something has happened to him?’

‘I hope not. But I can’t deny the ill-feeling in my stomach,’ Nesta murmured.

Her sword was strapped to her waist. Even if they did not come across Tamlin, there were enough horrors in the woods to warrant the sword. If they were lesser creatures than Lanyths, the mere sight of her sword might be enough.

‘He likes to be alone,’ Jos said kindly.

‘Not for this long. And it’s never good to spend so much time alone.’

Twigs snapped under their boots as they followed Zasha’s loping. Nesta wasn’t even sure the dog knew what he was doing. He was stupid enough to think it a game and was probably wondering why they continued following him. They were heading west towards the coast.

A slither of a moon hung in the sky peeking out from the clouds. At one point, when Nesta’s thoughts ran wild imagining creatures hunting for her, Jos held out a steady hand for her to take. She thanked him quietly, too afraid to speak more than a whisper. Perhaps it was foolish to rush out in the darkness searching for a male who’d likely berate her for finding him. It could be a trap too to ensnare her away. If that were true then Jos would be at risk.

The trees thinned and wood gave way to shrubs. Zasha waited for them atop a broken bridge where a wide stream rushed along. The great, grey dog stood like a guardian of the forest in the night until he started sneezing and leapt to the ground.

‘Is it true what they say about you, Lady Nesta?’

‘What do they say?’ She asked through pursed lips.

Jos stepped into the stream and readied himself to lift Nesta across. She still wasn’t accustomed to the way males manhandled her – but she supposed the sentry was saving her from having her boots soaked like his. Zasha splashed through the water, uncaring, but Jos reached for Nesta and lifted her over the water with two sturdy hands on her waist.

‘They say you killed the King of Hybern.’

After a long pause, she said, ‘I did. I wish that was not the only thing people knew of me.’

When Nesta took in the space before them, her heart plummeted into her stomach. This has been the village Jos had spoken of on their walk. Every thatched roof had been burnt. A few bricks remained of one house, a column of the chimney from another. It had not been emptied; it had been razed to the ground.

Nesta stepped through to where a house had been, its foundations still visible. A charred leg of a table remained along with items that withstood more of the fire. So much devastation had occurred in this place. Jos was silent as they combed through every house, taking in the massacre for themselves. In many areas, the ground was still scorched despite more than a year passing since the war, such was the damage inflicted by Hybern’s armies.

Sick and shaking, Nesta’s fingers enclosed around a child’s doll. It was filthy with mud and ash, but it had once been loved. She stared down at it, unable to think past the ringing in her ears. This had been a slaughter. A slaughter that her sister had opened the doors for.

When they found piles of bones, Nesta retched until she vomited. Many were black where they’d been burnt, but others seemed to glow bright white in the moonlight. It was as if somebody had tried to give them the honour of a burial by piling all the bones up together then never finished digging a grave. The bones deserved to be buried. The dead deserved dignity.

Zasha’s barks roused them both. Near the edge of the village, where the forest began to creep up again, the dog waited, ears alert. A boot poked out from the undergrowth.

‘Wait here,’ Jos urged, stepping forwards with his sword out.

Nesta laid a hand on Zasha’s back. ‘You were superb. Good boy.’

‘It’s him. He’s alive – but not good.’

Deep welts marred the side of Tamlin’s face. His green tunic was soaked with blood.

‘Naga,’ Jos informed her. ‘From the looks of it, they’ve bitten him too.’

‘Go to the manor. Fetch horses and sentries. A healer if you can.’

‘My lady, I’m not leaving you here alone.’

‘You’ll be faster than me. I’ll keep the dog. Go.’

Nesta could not give into her fear – even if the whole forest now seemed to be alive and whispering. Every rustle of the branches had her clenching her jaw. Each movement of an animal in the darkness felt like an enemy coming for them. Zasha remained at her side until she managed to get him to lay next to Tamlin to warm his cold body.

Nesta pressed her hand against the high lord’s forehead. His skin was so cold and clammy. How long had he been laying here for injured? Nobody had noticed – or if they had noticed his absence, they had not cared. Had Tamlin fallen so far in life that not a single person cared for him?

‘Don’t you dare give up,’ Nesta whispered in response to his shallow breathing. ‘This court needs a high lord. I know you can be that one they need.’

It was a quicker return journey to the manor on horseback. Sentries hauled Tamlin into the saddle but he barely stirred as his body weight pressed against Nesta’s as they rode. She relied on the keen eye sight of Zasha to weave the most efficient path through the forest.

When they reached the doorway, the healer was already waiting for them. It was the same grizzled, elderly healer who had delivered Eimear. She had her bag in one hand, the other was pressed to her hip.

‘Naga?’

‘We believe so.’

‘Carry him upstairs.’

Nesta followed the sentries as they carried their high lord to his rooms. Not a single groan passed through his lips as he was jostled up the stairs. Worry twisted tightly in Nesta’s gut. She caught Jos by the arm in the landing.

‘I need you to go to the private residence of Eris Vanserra. Tell him to fetch his brother at once and bring him here.’

‘Which brother?’

‘He will know. Make haste.’

While the healer worked in a brittle silence, Nesta perched on the edge of a chair. The servants did their best to repair the room each time Tamlin had obliterated it in a rage but there were still echoes of his past tantrums. The curtain rail had been re-hung several times, the wall paper had since been replaced with paint that he couldn’t rip through, and there was so few items of furniture because he’d destroyed them. It showed how far he had fallen that the only person at his bedside was Nesta. She felt a duty to be there rather than a desire. The thought of him alone in the woods bleeding out where all those others had died made her want to cry.

‘Naga bites won’t be healed by magic,’ the healer said, pulling Nesta from her thoughts. ‘If I may be so bold, he doesn’t look as if he put up any sort of fight.’

The healer turned his arm over where a deep bite tore open the skin. Around the edge of the wound, the skin had blackened as it festered. A faint whiff of sickness hit Nesta’s nostrils where it was infected.

‘I have seen the high lord fight since he was a boy. Naga should not be an issue for him.’

Nesta nodded solemnly. The unsaid words hung in the air. Not a single weapon had been taken with him into the woods – whether he intended to be attacked or whether he had seen the village and given up, Nesta did not know. Neither option filled her with any sort of feeling except despair. The naga attacked him because Tamlin let them.

As dawn was beginning to bleed into the sky, the healer shook her by the shoulder. Nesta’s eyes must have closed in the chair. ‘I’ve done what I can with magic. The wounds need regular cleaning and re-bandaging. I'll leave a vial of antiseptic to add to boiled water. He’s likely dehydrated and lacking nourishment. Try to get him to eat and drink when he wakes.’ The healer pursed her lips so the weathered lines of her face deepened. ‘As I said, I have known him since he was a boy and I know how he can be. If by tonight he’s not eaten or drank, send for me and I’ll return.’

She wished she could say that it would not be necessary, but Nesta did not know much sway she had over the high lord. He could be as stubborn as she could. Her only hope would be Lucien.

The stirrings of Aoife and the children had Zasha clawing at the bedroom door to be released. Exhaustion stung Nesta’s eyes but she remained with her knees tucked to her chest in the chair watching the rise and fall of Tamlin’s bare chest. Who was his Azriel? Who was the person who could pluck him out and give him the time to heal that he needed, even if he didn’t want it? It was difficult for Nesta to marry together what had happened between him and Feyre, and what had happened to the innocent people of his court because of her. It was all a tangled mess. Part of her wanted Feyre to see the burnt out village to understand what her actions had done. The other part of her never wanted Feyre to see the gravity of her decision because it would haunt her.

Two red-haired males appeared in the room. Eris stood a little taller than Lucien but the familial resemblance was there. At the sight of Tamlin, bloodied and bandaged in the bed, they both seemed to pale.

‘Naga,’ Nesta said, raising his arm gently to show the bites on his torso.

Lucien kept his brow furrowed and lips pursed together as he inspected the other wounds on his friend’s body. Eris was quiet for a different reason entirely; he needed Tamlin’s backing against his father, especially if it came to succession. The Spring Court was a vast area of land. If Beron knew Tamlin was weak, there was the possibility that Autumn Court soldiers could push on the borders. Nesta knew Beron’s ambition was only superseded by his cruelty. If the order came to march on Spring, there was little Eris could do in the way of defiance.

‘No sentries went with him?’

Nesta swallowed, careful what she said in front of Eris. ‘You know what he is like, Lucien. He’s been gone for days.’

‘When did you see him last?’

‘When you last visited.’

Lucien blanched. ‘That was days ago.’

‘That’s what I said,’ she said curtly.

She caught the tremble in Lucien’s hand as he tugged the blanket up to cover Tamlin better. Eris remained in the doorway, soaking in every detail. Nesta knew he was already weighing up his options, imagining which avenue would have the best outcome for him. Lucien’s face was hard. He knew Tamlin better than any, knew what it meant for him to be overwhelmed by naga.

‘Will you give us a moment of privacy?’

Eris raised his eyebrows but then nodded. ‘I’ll ask the servants to prepare a breakfast. Nesta you look as if you've spent the night crawling through the undergrowth though I can smell brute on your skin.’

Only when certain his brother’s steps were far enough away to not eavesdrop, Lucien held Nesta’s gaze. She watched the bob of his throat as he swallowed. ‘I thought he was doing better.’

‘Bad days still come. Unexpectedly, sometimes. I found him in a village to the west. A stream runs through it on the edge of the forest.’

‘Banhurst? With the green fronted butcher’s shop next to the shoe maker?’

Nesta twisted her grubby nails deeper into the skirts of her dress. It was stained with mud and Tamlin’s blood. ‘It’s destroyed. All burnt.’

Lucien took the blackened cloth doll from her outstretched hand. Nesta had not even realised she had brought it back with her until she found it in the pocket of her dress when they returned to the manor. A thumb brushed over the doll’s face as Lucien soaked in the gravity of what had happened to the village of Banhurst.

‘How can you be around Feyre when her actions caused this?’

‘It wasn’t all Feyre,’ Lucien said bitterly. ‘Rhysand helped.’

War had barely touched the Night Court. It's borders stayed guarded, the only ones who fell were soldiers, and when it was done they cracked open the high lord's finest alcohol and celebrated. Their days resumed with no ill effects.

‘Hybern killed all the children in that village. They didn’t spare any, did they?’

Lucien shook his head.

The western portion of the Spring Court had suffered the most damage, but Nesta had been surprised when few claims had come through for financial assistance. She knew why now; there was nobody to claim it. She was hot and tired, sick and aching from that she’d seen. Even now, as Nesta stared at Tamlin who was weak and injured, she felt a burning anger in her core.

‘They need to see what they did,’ Lucien said firmly. ‘Rhysand and your sister. They need to see what they did to this court.’

Chapter Text

Lucien had wanted to remain upstairs a while by Tamlin’s bed although the high lord was still unconscious. Not wanting to leave Eris unattended for long, Nesta hurried to join him on the porch out side.

A slight breeze drifted through the male’s long red hair as he surveyed the grounds as if seeing all the way to the Autumn Court. A stab of annoyance hit Nesta as she saw Zasha sat obediently on his right – an obedience he rarely displayed for her unless food was promised. Eris held a sway over all smokehounds it seemed.

‘Walk with me.’

Eris led the way, striding with purpose past the sentries undertaking light training with Fionn. The general waved to Nesta in greeting, but kept his eyes fixed on the eldest Vanserra as they passed.

‘So this is their plan,’ he murmured to himself.

On they walked, past a narrow trickle of a stream and the stagnant pond, with no sign of stopping. At the barn, however, Eris prised back the door with a gleam of success in his eyes. He took in the sight of the anvil, the row of hammers neatly hanging from a rack, the few ashes remaining in the forge.

‘Where are they?’

‘What?’

‘Not what. Who. The Illyrians that have left their stink all over this place.’

Nesta flared her nostrils. ‘If you must know my friends visited. One is a blacksmith. I am allowed to have friends Eris, even ones from the Night Court.’

The feral look in his eyes faded. Nesta realised he’d believed the Night Court were moving against him to take the Spring Court, that they were seizing the territory in Tamlin’s weakness, such was his paranoia. ‘I thought it was-’

She held up her hand to interrupt him. ‘I know who you thought it was. You have no right to sniff around like a bloodhound and interfere. If you do not trust the Night Court, that is your issue,’ she snarled. ‘I stand for this court and its people, but I can have friends. My friends can be Balthazar and Emerie – or they can be Azriel and Cassian. It is my life, Eris, my decision.’

There was no reply or retort on his lips. Quite the opposite. Eris’ mouth hung open and his gaze landed just past Nesta’s shoulder. They hadn’t known what to do with the rest of her weapons: Balthazar had insisted they should be in Nesta’s room but she’d argued weapons did not belong in a bedroom. So they remained in the blacksmith’s forge which had lay untouched for months before Balthazar’s arrival as they deemed it the safest option.

‘Are they what I think they are?’ Eris whispered.

‘And what do you think they are?’

Eris moved fast, lunging forwards towards the blades, but Nesta was closer. She drew her Made dagger from its sheath just as Eris pulled his own on her.

‘That’s a Made blade. Two of them. Your blacksmith… No.’ Eris sucked in a breath. ‘You. Your power. I can feel it, Nesta. I can’t believe I didn’t recognise it sooner. How it sings.’

‘It does not leave this room. Not to Lucien, not to the Night Court, and especially not to your father.’

They were locked into a stalemate. Nesta had the Made dagger pointed beneath his chin, pressing the tip against his throat. The blade of his own weapon was lined against her abdomen. Neither one was willing to push further or to retreat.

‘If I have to, I’ll kill you myself.’

A low laugh rippled from his chest. ‘Is that a warning?’

‘A promise.’

A smile spread slowly across Eris’ face. His amber eyes danced with mischief. ‘Look who grew claws and learnt how to play.’

The purr in his voice involuntarily heated Nesta’s blood. She backed up a few inches, remembering what happened the last time she’d pressed a knife against Eris Vanserra’s throat.

‘You will keep this secret. This – and Tamlin’s condition.’

‘Will I?’ He cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. ‘What can you offer me?’

‘Nothing.’ Her eyes narrowed towards him. ‘The gift of nothing.’

Eris withdrew his own dagger from her stomach and sheathed it back into its holster on his hip. She had not even registered he carried a weapon. So often, Nesta forgot that Eris commanded his father’s armies too. ‘What a gift,’ he scoffed. He inspected the sword behind her head, squinting slightly as if he could see the magic pulsing within.

‘You misunderstand me. Nothing. Did you know Hybern grew apples laced with faebane? Even slipped it into the water in Spring? My sister could taste nothing. Your brother could taste nothing. Even the high lord tasted nothing.’

She emphasised the last word. Nesta had not been subtle in her attempts at extracting that information from Lucien when they’d inspected the remains of the Wall, but she was not stupid enough to write it into a letter to Eris. This was the moment she’d needed to reveal the information. His eyes had widened in understanding then the corner of his mouth twitched into a tentative grin.

What was it about this male that Nesta felt compelled by? She knew he was a snake, knew not to trust him, and yet she couldn’t help herself but like him. Eris knew the pointy parts of her and didn’t care if they cut. He didn’t try to file them down to make her softer.

‘What?’ He’d caught her staring at him.

‘I’d like it if you trained my magic. I can’t think of anyone better.’

‘Anyone better to encourage you to unleash the chaos that is desperate to break out?’ He smirked. ‘It would be an honour. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll train you and Zasha.’

‘What do you get out of it?’

‘There’s a ball in Summer soon for Tarquin’s birthday. Attend with me.’

Nesta rolled her eyes at him. ‘To annoy my sister’s family?’

‘It would only annoy them a little if you attended with me,’ he said, the grin spreading wider across his face. ‘But if you wore that beautiful hair unbound and the Autumn Court colours… It would be a scandal.’

‘When I decide myself and Zasha are trained enough – and if all the lessons can occur in Spring - then we have a deal.’

At Eris’ nod, a buzz stampeded across Nesta’s skin. It was pain and pleasure all at once, demanding all of her attention. Eris tugged his arm free from his sleeve and examined the tattoo that inked itself there like spun gold; vines wreathed around his bicep with intricate little flowers embedded between leaves. From the tingle of her skin on her upper arm, Nesta knew she had a matching one from making the deal with Eris Vanserra.

‘Allies again?’

‘Friends?’ Nesta hedged.

Eris cocked his head to the side assessing her. An arm reached out and Nesta scurried into his embrace, letting herself squeeze against his solid frame. His other arm came around her and she felt his chin settle atop her head.

‘Why do you absolutely reek of that b-’

Nesta made a noise of warning, fully prepared to break out of his arms.

‘That Illyrian war hero,’ he amended.

‘We spent the afternoon having sex yesterday, Eris.’

It was Eris’ turn to make a noise of protest. ‘I don’t need the details.’

‘You won’t get them.’

‘Why haven’t you washed since? Or does he like his females to scent of him in a show of dominance fitting for a br-’

‘Eris. There was little time to wash between returning home and seeking out a half-dead high lord then sitting beside his bedside all night,’ she responded hotly.

Eris huffed on a laugh and it tickled against Nesta’s scalp. ‘I hope he knows how special you are, Nesta. I hope he treats you how you deserve.’

Lucien’s gentle coaxing throughout the day had tempted Tamlin to eat half a bowl of soup when he’d finally woke at lunch. Still, groggy, he remained in bed. To protect his dignity, they span a lie to the servants that he was not to be disturbed. Long after Eris had departed, Lucien remained in Tamlin’s room, even as he slept, until he descended the stairs and found Nesta with her head pressed against the desk, snoring softly. A warm hand had gently shook her shoulder so she jolted awake with a start. Lucien took in the sight of all the documents on the desk and whistled.

‘He’s working you hard.’

‘I’m a glutton for punishment. It’s all self-inflicted. The fund, opening schools, shelters, ensuring farmers are fairly paid,’ she said waving her hand across the desk.

Lucien swallowed. ‘I said I’d touch base with Jurian and Vassa. I’m surprised Jurian hasn’t already marched here. Would you mind if I returned here after?’

The male was good enough to leave the decision with her. She had never tried to acquaint herself with Elain’s mate – the thought of him being such a thing still filled her with a strange sensation of sorrow – but she had always found him to be the best of them. Nesta needed him. He was the only one Tamlin would likely listen to or want to be near him.

‘Please. I’ll ask the servants to make dinner for us. I should like to get to know you better.’ The breath she loosed was shaky. Exhaustion was nibbling away at her, but Lucien was her sister’s mate. Whether Elain would reject him or not left undecided, but she owed it to Lucien to meet him halfway on the bridge. If any understood her own feelings of discontent with the bond, it would be the scarred male in front of her.

Nesta stole an hour or two of sleep in the late afternoon sun in a hammock. Her book lay abandoned on the grass having not even opened it after she’d been cradled into the soft material.

It was Zasha’s wet nose prodding at her dangling hand that roused her then Lucien’s own hand was outstretched for her to take.

‘I’m beginning to think my company is boring,’ he said, helping her from the hammock.

‘Too many things to juggle. I’d like to block it all out sometimes.’

Their dinner was a quiet but unexpectedly enjoyable affair. Lucien had a quick wit and exceptional manners. Many of the servants who had returned to working for the high lord stopped in the dining room on the final moments of their day to reunite with him. It was clear that Lucien was well-liked and good at making friends. He had the grace of a high lord’s son but spoke freely and familiarly with servants. Nesta was envious that he could be so casual with ones he barely knew without feeling the same pressure she did. Lucien clapped the males on the back, exchanging jokes, and he was tender and thoughtful with the females, asking after their families.

‘You make it look so easy,’ she confessed when the final servant had left for the day after they’d insisted they could manage to serve themselves.

Lucien murmured in agreement. ‘I never expected to take my father’s mantle so I spent my youth making friends. Tam finds it difficult. I was happy to do that role for him.’

‘Sorry I stole your position.’

The male laughed richly. His laughs came freer than Eris’ did, but she couldn’t deny the similarity between their features. ‘You’re doing an exceptional job. I’ll allow it. I’m glad you are here – that you can remain neutral towards him after everything.’

‘I can’t forgive what happened to Elain or myself. What happened between him and Feyre. But he has not had an easy life either. There is an argument that he suffered the most under Amarantha than any. The rumour of Rhysand’s court and his actions Under the Mountain likely left Tamlin feeling as if he had no other choice to save Feyre.’ Nesta sipped her wine. ‘It’s this court I feel sorry for.’

Lucien paused from cutting into his piece of venison. Both eyes lifted to her. She wondered what he could see with the golden one. ‘Did you think on what I said this morning?’

Of course Nesta had. The child’s doll had hardly left her thoughts. She thought of Nuala and Lule each time the village popped into her mind, imagining them at the mercy of Hybern. That country had displayed no mercy. They had barrelled through the village, trampling anything in its path.

‘I’ve been carefully building my relationship with them again and I think this will destroy it. But,’ she paused and downed the rest of her glass, ‘it is necessary. They need to see for themselves what has been done to innocent lives.’

Lucien nodded in earnest. ‘I will be with you. I will tell them it was my insistence that they come. I will not let them put any blame on you – that is my vow, Nesta.’

Something lodged itself in Nesta’s throat. She found it difficult to look at the male opposite her, speaking with such ferocity in defence of her when she’d never given him a scrap of kindness. Why did she end up with a mate who took joy in riling her up and her wretched sister got the polite, honourable one?

Nesta stayed sinking wine while Lucien tried to persuade Tamlin to eat a little more upstairs. Zasha had his head in her lap as she poured the dregs into her glass. A drop of alcohol had never passed her lips as a mortal – she’d never had any desire for it. Only when she’d needed to drown out the tsunami of her powers and memories did Nesta seek the bottle. When peace became harder and harder to reach, wine became easier and easier to drink. Her sleep was dreamless when she’d sunk a bottle of wine. Tamlin was now an extra worry to add to her ever-growing pile so Nesta uncorked another bottle – this time, a dry white wine – and poured a glass to the brim.

‘We don’t need to show your sister Banhurst. It puts you in a difficult position. I apologise for suggesting it,’ Lucien sketched a bow when he returned then reached for the bottle to pour his own generous glass.

‘Did he eat?’

‘He said he will. Wounds have been cleaned too.’

‘Do you know what I find utterly hilarious?’ Nesta drawled raising her glass. ‘Because we don’t drop to our knees and kiss the feet of the Night Court, we’re not welcomed. We won’t submit so we won’t ever be accepted. They’re wary of us, Lucien.’

Lucien let out a low laugh. ‘You’ve spent too much time with Eris.’

‘You don’t deny it though,’ Nesta challenged.

Lucien ran a finger around the rim of his glass, his lips pressed together to supress a grin or a comment. Nesta merely sat back in her chair, drinking until her glass was empty again.

‘After the war, immediately after, what did you do? We returned to Velaris and I went to my room and sobbed until my voice had gone. I grieved and wept. I’d lost my father, my innocence. I didn’t know how I was supposed to carry on. I thought grief would drown me.’

Lucien’s hands dropped to his side and a familiar feeling of sadness crept onto his features too, tugging his lips downwards. Zasha settled himself beside the male, pressing his muzzle into Lucien’s palm.

‘I tried to come here to make amends. Tamlin punched me in the face and said I would never be welcomed here again. Jurian offered me a place with them because I had nowhere else to go. He remembered me from when Amarantha did this,’ he said, pointing to the scar running down his perfect face. ‘The Night Court does not feel like home. I’m under no illusions that they keep me close while I’m useful,’ he added bitterly.

Elain was the only tie he had to that place, the only reason they could keep him in their service. A male with Lucien’s talents would go far – and the Night Court ought to remember that. Nesta rested her elbows on the table and clasped her hands beneath her chin.

‘Do you know what the Court of Dreamers did? Broke out the good wine and drank until sunrise. I cried until I was sick and around me all I could hear was them laughing and playing drinking games,’ she explained. ‘Not a single one came to see if I was alright. The next morning, they all nursed their hangovers while I walked the streets of Velaris feeling as if my heart had been carved from my chest. They didn’t go out to their citizens or to Illyria or the Court of Nightmares. Not for weeks. Only Cassian bothered to visit the families of Illyrian soldiers who’d fallen. Their lives were unruffled. They need to see what they did, Lucien. For too long, they have been untouchable.’

The three bottles of wine she’d shared with Lucien had achieved their goal: Nesta had a solid, dreamless sleep. No Koschei, no broken necks, no Beron. The only downside was that she was groggy and sensitive to light or loud noises the next morning – as Nuala had discovered when she decided to drum on the dining room table with her cutlery. Lucien, too, winced at the table as sunlight streamed in through the windows.

‘You’re meeting Vassa tonight,’ he stated.

‘The wall and Koschei,’ she groaned, ‘I’ll need a nap if I'm expected to stay awake all night.’

‘You can nap with Nuala when she goes down,’ smiled Aoife as she entered the dining room.

Nesta held open her arms for Eimear to be delivered into. The baby blinked up at her with big blue eyes. A noise of contentedness escaped Nesta’s lips at the baby settled against her chest. It was a dream for the future, but one she’d always wanted: to give the love she’d never had to her own child.

‘I always thought you to be scary,’ Lucien mused, watching her cradle Eimear.

‘Nesta? Scary?’ Aoife’s laugh rippled across the table like a melody. ‘I don’t believe it.’

An involuntary blush flooded Nesta’s cheeks at Aoife’s words. Lucien had been on the receiving end of her snarling the moment she’d been spat out by the Cauldron and he’d tried to claim Elain. In all the months that followed, she had been prickly and distrustful of him. Lucien could tell Aoife what a horrid, spiteful creature she was. Feyre had his ear long ago in this very court – he knew exactly the sort of female she was.

‘She takes down Illyrian warriors with one look,’ he smirked.

‘He’s old. Weak knees,’ she scoffed.

Lucien tossed his head back in laughter. For not telling Aoife how volatile and venomous she could be, Nesta threw him a grateful smile.

‘This is a cosy little scene,’ a smooth voice said.

A sudden burst of energy hit the room as Zasha leapt up from his perch beside Nuala who dropped food to him. He raced towards Eris – but flanking him on either side were two mature smoke hounds. They stood resolute, not moving an inch, despite Zasha barrelling towards them excitedly. Only when Eris gave the command, did the dogs unleash themselves and leap around with Zasha. Eris winced slightly as the hounds collided with the cabinets around them, yipping and yapping.

‘What are you doing here?’ Nesta blurted out.

Eris said nothing, merely pointed to his arm where Nesta knew his tattoo lay. He was here to begin their deal – but when her head was pounding, she really did not feel like letting any of her magic out of its tightly controlled cage today.

‘Zasha can go first,’ she grumbled, jerking her chin to the dog who was pinned beneath another one.

Lucien glanced between them curiously, but kept his lips pressed together. Aoife announced that she would be spending the morning in a village nearby with her children to buy new clothes. Gallantly, Lucien offered to escort them, sensing Eris and Nesta needed privacy.

The porridge that Nesta had forced down her throat had congealed in her stomach, threatening to push its way back up as she perched on the edge of a stone wall watching Eris’ futile attempts at training Zasha to the same standard as his own dogs. The male never grew frustrated even when Zasha couldn’t follow simple orders, despite his own ones following and trying to model the correct behaviour.

In the growing heat, he peeled off his jacket then folded it neatly beside Nesta. There were red welts around his wrists, visible enough that they were recent. Nesta remained quiet, inspecting Eris for further marks. He moved gingerly when he had to twist his trunk. It was not like Beron to leave marks in visible places.

‘How badly did he hurt you?’

Eris’ eyes flashed with anger then annoyance that she’d noticed. He rolled his sleeves back down to cover the marks on his wrist.

‘They’ll be healed by tomorrow.’ He issued another silent command to the dogs by holding up one finger – on cue, his two barked but Zasha weaved between them playfully.

‘Why was he displeased this time?’

‘My mother dared confess her discomfort with the treatment of a serving girl.’

‘You took the beating for your mother?’ Nesta asked with horror stilling the blood in her veins.

Eris barked out a bitter laugh. ‘No, she received hers. For intervening, I received my own beating.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘I don’t need your pity. Not yours or anyone else’s,’ Eris spoke sharply, face hard. Then his head hung in shame. ‘Sorry,’ he breathed. ‘That was uncalled for.’

‘It’s not pity. It’s me wishing you had never had to endure that sort of life. You or your mother.’

‘My mother was barely out of her twenties when she had me. She and I have endured it for the longest.’ Eris sighed as he leaned against the wall beside Nesta. The sun caught in his red hair making it seem as if it really were blazing flames. ‘For the longest time, she did her best to protect me, guiding me away from my father when he was displeased, when his mood changed. She taught me to remain quiet, to endure it. She’d direct his anger towards her. She did it for all of us. Then the others started to become like him,’ Eris shook his head. ‘Started to enjoy being cruel to servants or lesser fae, even to mother. They speak to her like my father does. I had to don the same mask in public. Had to treat my brothers as my father did to ensure they knew I would snap their wrists if they dared touch my mother.’

‘Lucien’s not like them.’

‘No. He’s not,' agreed Eris. 'He will be a good mate to your sister. Lucien loves fiercely. Don’t think he hasn’t battled with my father over the years about how he treats our mother either. He wouldn’t allow Elain to be treated poorly.’

Eris folded his arms across his chest and looked at Nesta for a long time. 'You're hungover.'

'Badly.'

'That's not an excuse. It's time to train, Cauldron-born bitch.'

Nesta raised her eyebrows playfully, 'I thought it was Cauldron-born bitch with nice breasts?'

Chapter Text

It was a different sort of release to channel her magic under strict tuition. Eris had not gone easy on Nesta despite the hangover throbbing behind her temples.

There was more to her magic than just flame, he had acknowledged when he also admitted that training her fully might be beyond his capabilities.

She had asked him to stop for the day in the warm afternoon heat when she felt dizzy and sick from hours of training. Eris had persisted, asking for one more attempt at focusing her magic then releasing a trickle towards a log that had taken the brunt of her magic. It had resulted in Nesta losing control; her whole body had erupted in flames that she could not quench until Eris had thrust a burst of his magic at her. It sent her staggering into the putrid waters of the green pond.

‘You have one minute to winnow yourself to safety,’ she’d snarled, emerging from the stagnant water.

Fighting hard to hide his grin, Eris sauntered away with a wave over his shoulder to collect his dogs.

Nesta stalked past the sentries, keeping her head held high to maintain her last scrap of dignity. When she reached the group consisting of Fionn, his family, and Lucien, Nesta tried to scurry by but Lucien laughed loud enough to send a crow swooping out of a tree.

‘Do not,’ she hissed, skulking inside the house with stinking water dripping from her dress. The lilac material was stained with algae and her skin felt slick with grime. Curse Eris Vanserra. Curse Rhysand too for making her train her magic.

After scrubbing her skin until the traces of the pond had left, Nesta curled up in the bed. It was easy to sleep away the hours despite the bright sunshine outside.

When Lucien knocked on the door, darkness had engulfed the room. She hauled open the door, squinting at him. At the sight of her bare legs and arms on display, Lucien recoiled a step or two.

‘I’ll winnow you to Vassa. When you’re ready.’ Lucien looked anywhere except for Nesta stood in her nightgown.

A patter of rain met them in the grounds of the home Lucien shared with the two mortals. Ever the gallant male, Lucien held the door for Nesta as she followed him into the manor gifted by Elain’s ex-fiancée's family. She wondered how it was for him to live in a place that was undoubtedly reminding him of the mate who did not want to meet him.

‘Kingslayer,’ the mortal general said, appraising her from the ludicrous pink couch he was sprawled across.

Jurian did not move from his perch but his cunning brown eyes trailed Nesta’s skin like phantom fingers. For a mortal, he was handsome, but Nesta was aware of how painfully mortal he seemed, despite being trapped in a ring for centuries. How was it for him to be trapped in there, she wondered. Morrigan had called him arrogant and unstable before being held captive by Amarantha and tortured to death. The man was obsessive, his ambition and bloodlust his downfall. But he rose to greet Lucien and embraced him like a brother. She did not believe Lucien would align himself so closely with an unhinged male.

‘I remember this one well,’ he mused, gaze catching hers again.

Silver-flames wreathed her hands, begging her to strike Jurian. It was only her iron will that prevented it. Jurian had been the one to shoot Azriel before she and Elain were dragged into the Cauldron. It was tempting to remind him what had happened to her that day. To remind Jurian what she had taken from the Cauldron – even if she couldn’t wield the powers properly.

‘Shame you weren’t mated with his one,’ he said.

‘Enough of that,’ Lucien snapped as he stepped in front of Nesta – blocking her path to Jurian.

Jurian only smirked over Lucien’s shoulder. ‘What happened to the king’s head? Did you spike it in the garden or has it taken pride of place on the mantelpiece?’

‘Is he always this irritating or is it just for my benefit?’

‘Always,’ came a female’s voice.

Wearing a golden gown, Vassa strode into the room. Her smooth red hair bounced just past her shoulders as she turned to face Nesta. Lucien had warned Nesta that Vassa’s temper was worse than Jurian’s. The last time Nesta had seen the mortal queen, she’d gushed about how wonderful the Archeron patriarch was and Nesta had had to walk away before she’d spat out the truth. Jurian had already fanned Nesta’s temper, so if Vassa wanted to play then she was ready.

‘You’ve been insistent in your requests to meet,’ she said, seating herself in the high backed arm chair.

In the flickering yellow light of the candles around the room, Vassa’s freckled golden skin seemed to shine. She was without a crown though she sat as regally as a queen would in a throne rather than the aging manor house they’d been gifted.

‘You did receive them then. But you chose to ignore me instead.’

‘I am not bound to Prythian.’

Nesta clenched her jaw shut for a few moments before speaking. ‘They’re called manners. You could have had the decency to respond to decline a meeting rather than ignore my requests.’

‘I’m meeting you now, aren’t I?’

Behind her, Jurian snorted. He’d tugged the other armchair close to him so his bare feet could rest across the cushion while he sprawled out still on the couch. Lucien jumped up at once from his seat beside him to offer it to Nesta who had remained standing.

‘Jurian, why don’t you fetch us all a drink?’ He suggested.

‘No, I’m rather enjoying this.’

Lucien shifted his weight between his feet, trying to decide who Nesta was more likely to attack first out of Jurian and Vassa. These weren’t fae who could withstand a level of injury and heal quickly, Nesta had to remind herself. If she loosed her temper, she could kill them. Accepting the seat offered by Lucien felt like submission, but Nesta took it all the same. Her stare was hard as she turned back to Vassa’s cerulean eyes.

‘I would like to know what you know about Briallyn and Koschei.’

‘I’ve already told Lucien and the others.’

‘Briallyn seeks revenge on me, not them.’

Vassa tutted then sank back into the chair. ‘Briallyn wants her youth returned to be desirable. What use is forever if you’re a crone? Do not underestimate her. It was her who first sought contact with Koschei. There is nobody she cares for, nobody she is not willing to sacrifice for her own gain. If Elain is who you value most, keep her safe.’

At the mention of her sister, Lucien sucked in a breath. It had been months since she had spoken to Elain – but Nesta had found that she did not even miss her sister as much as she thought she would. Absence had allowed for reflection; Nesta gave and gave while Elain took and took. They had little in common. Elain was happy for Nesta to be her guard dog without ever standing up for Nesta in return.

‘And Koschei?’

‘He has many girls. They’re transformed into swans and kept at the lake too.’

‘Why were you different?’

‘Not just the red hair,’ she said with a smirk. ‘He liked my temper, he said. Full of fire.’

‘What did the other queens gain by selling you?’

Vassa’s face faltered for a moment, but she recovered quickly. ‘I didn’t trust the mad mortal general-‘ Jurian laughed, ‘-and urged them not to trust Hybern so they wanted me out of the way.’

‘You misunderstand me. You were not gifted but sold. By selling you to Koschei, it benefitted them, but I imagine he had to give in return.’

Jurian sat up and edged closer to Nesta on the couch, his arm slung around the back of the cushion, brushing her shoulders. The grin he gave her was another attempt at riling up her temper.

‘She’s got a point,’ he admitted, watching her carefully. ‘Nobody does anything without gaining something.’

‘Move away from me.’

Jurian did not. Another crooked smile full of malice twisted onto his face. ‘You should have seen the tantrum the Cauldron threw after you’d pillaged it. It was magnificent.’

‘You won’t want to see the tantrum I will throw if you do not move away from me.’

Nesta eased out her power as Eris had taught her so her eyes blazed like quicksilver. That worked. Jurian backed off. His hand flitted to his side as if about to reach for a knife, but he wore no belt in the comfort of his home. He had no weapon to raise against her – and certainly no magic. With a loud sigh, Lucien plonked himself down between them, deciding that Jurian was more likely to be Nesta’s current target.

‘Perhaps that’s why he’s assisting Briallyn,’ Vassa offered, trying to steer the conversation away from the cliff it was careening towards. ‘I can imagine he offered that and she’s too proud to realise it benefits him too.’

‘What did my father offer?’

Nesta studied Vassa carefully, desperate to catch her in a lie. ‘I don’t know. I only know that whatever your father offered must be collected by Koschei himself. He believed it would never happen.’

The sudden cold feeling that sluiced through her clenched all of her muscles. She could imagine her father’s arrogance that he could trick a sorcerer-lord. She could not stop the niggling worry that it was her who her father had offered; that was why Koschei haunted her dreams. Free Vassa and Koschei could have Nesta – if he could leave his lake to claim her. A girl for a girl. But it was not a mere sorcerer her father had made the deal with, it was a death god. And her father had not known that his daughters had been Made by the Cauldron. He had not known that Nesta had stolen from it. He had traded what he thought was only his cruel eldest daughter, but he was gifting Koschei a weapon. If Laynths had known who she was, Nesta did not need to wonder if Koschei did too.

‘That is why he seeks a release from the lake. He kept an onyx box made of stone,’ said Vassa. Her voice sounded far-away and dream-like. ‘It was that which he guarded more than anything. Other girls, they said it was his heart inside of it.’

Nesta rose abruptly. ‘I have to go.’

‘You wanted to discuss the Wall too, didn’t you? We have hours until sunrise.’

‘I have to go,’ Nesta snapped, flames crowning her once more.

Vassa shrunk into the back of the chair and Jurian leapt across Lucien to step into Nesta’s path of destruction.

‘Your father was a good man, Nesta. You might not want to accept that, but he was,’ she said quietly from behind the shield of Jurian’s body.

‘Do you want me to tell you the ways he failed me and my sisters chronologically or alphabetically?’ She spat. ‘He did not want to waste money finding a cure for his wife so let her die. We would have starved to death if Feyre did not hunt. He was concerned with wealth and wealth alone. You did not know him. Do not tell me what my father was like, because I know better than any.’

Her shoes were not made for trampling through the damp forest, but Nesta had to march away to try and ebb that fire soaking into her veins. Rain dripped through the canopy above her, but it did little to cool her temper. She knew Vassa would mention her father; had tried to prepare herself as best she could for the mention of him, but the wound was too raw and painful still. The world knew him as the man who’d brought an armada of ships to their rescue. She could not take the fawning.

‘Nesta,’ Lucien’s voice called as he hurried after her. ‘Please, let me winnow you back to Spring.’

‘Leave me, Lucien,’ she shouted, voice shaking with anger.

‘Allow me to escort you if you wish to walk.’

‘I can find my way,’ she gritted out. ‘I don’t need you. Or anyone. I have never needed anyone.’

Nesta could not decipher the look on Lucien’s face in the dark, not as she turned and continued trampling through the trees towards the wall. No footsteps followed her. Nesta was alone, how she always ought to be.

***

‘To the Hewn City.’

Cassian blinked. ‘Is it wise to keep it there?’

Rhys had his nose inches from the harp examining it again. It seemed that his high lord thought he could unravel the harp’s secrets by inspecting it thoroughly at all hours of the day – and night. Cassian had been woken the previous night by Rhysand standing by the desk in his room, having slipped silently in. He’d nearly pulled a knife on him before he’d realised who it was.

‘I don’t want it in Velaris. I can ward it properly there. Helion will come in a few days too. We will need Nesta’s blood.’ At Cassian’s growl of warning, Rhys’ brow creased. ‘Only a few drops Helion has assured me.’

Using magic, Rhys summoned a breakfast for them which they ate up on the roof of the House of Wind. Their legs dangled off the edge of the petrifying drop as they surveyed their city.

‘We need all the items, Cass. The mask and the crown. If they’re out there, it’s better we know their location than others.’

Cassian shrugged. ‘So find them.’

Violet eyes flickered to him. Perhaps Rhys was regretting having this conversation so high up. He cocked his legs back over to solid ground. ‘Nesta needs to find them. They’ll likely only answer to her or Elain.’

‘So get Elain to do it. Why does it always have to be Nesta?’

Rhys frowned at his tone, folding his arms across his black shirt. ‘Elain is more delicate.’

‘Because she was allowed to be. The same allowances Nesta was never given. While Elain was allowed to bloom, Nesta had to become as hard as steel.’

‘All the better to find the Dread Trove,’ Rhys countered.

It was too early to think such violent thoughts, but Cassian could not deny that it was tempting to throw Rhys off the roof – even if he could fly himself to safety.

‘Mother forgive us all when you two are finally mated. I don’t think anybody will be able to mention Nesta’s name without your hand going round their throat.’

Cassian chuckled. Since Nesta had left a few nights earlier, his thoughts had whirred around that word: mate. Nesta was in no hurry to accept the bond, and although he understood her reasons, he was still anxious that the day might never come.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘It’s nothing.’

‘You’re not as good as lying as Azriel is,’ Rhys said softly. ‘What is it?’

‘You treat Nesta as an object when she’s useful to you. I’ve been trying to so hard to build a relationship with her. If I tell her she needs to find the Dread Trove, it will ruin everything. She’s scared of her power, scared of the future.’ Cassian blew out a breath. The tightness in his chest was loosening at his confession. ‘What if she never wants to accept the bond?’

‘She will.’

‘Rhys. She doesn’t want to be in Velaris. She doesn’t want to call this place home.’

‘You wouldn’t leave…’ Rhys’ voice trailed off and his jaw tightened, apparently not so sure of the answer now. ‘You wouldn’t leave Velaris, would you?’

‘I’m being torn in two, having to choose between my family or my mate.’ Cassian tracked the winding Sidra River as it flowed from the mountains through the city below, unable to look at Rhys. ‘The worst part is, she won’t make me choose. She knows how much you all mean to me and wouldn’t make me choose. Why can’t I have both? Why can’t I be in the city I love with the female I love?’

‘You really love her?’

‘I’ve loved her since the moment I met her. I want her to be happy and safe. If it’s not in Velaris, not with me, I have to let her go. I’d have broken the bond if she wanted it, if Eris could love her like she deserves.’

At that, Rhys blinked. The thought of Nesta choosing Eris still nibbled away at him.

‘That’s not the bond,’ Rhys said quietly. ‘The bond would never want to be broken. You love her, you do love her. I felt that with Feyre. I’d have let her go, let her be with Tamlin, if it made her happy.’ His fingers flexed beneath the sleeve of his shirt. ‘I’ll speak with Feyre and see if we can convince Elain to look for the Trove rather than Nesta.’

‘No,’ Cassian grumbled. ‘If she finds out I made Elain search for those items, she’ll flay me alive. I’ll speak to her about it.’

***

It was late into the night when Nesta made it back to Tamlin’s manor. The sentries on duty were sharing an ale and playing cards by faelight so they received a barrage of angry words from Nesta about responsibility. She promised that they'd both be shovelling horse manure for the next month.

She expected a quiet house but footsteps echoed down the empty hallway. It wasn’t Zasha because the dog could do nothing quietly; he was likely curled up with Nuala. No, the source of the noise was a groggy high lord clattering through the kitchen cupboards.

‘What are you doing?’ Her voice came out more accusatory and brittle than she planned.

Tamlin stared at her, grunted and continued rummaging for food. He was still only in a pair of bed shorts but Nesta struggled to take her eyes off his sculpted back. A number of wounds had begun to heal but those infected with naga venom blotted with blood against the muslin bandages.

‘I’ll make it. What do you want?’

The high lord was the worst person for her to encounter when her mood was abysmal but seeing his wounds had shook something loose from her. In its place came acceptance that all she would ever be was an unstable female who made people uncomfortable.

Her cooking skills left something to be desired but it was edible at least. Nesta had the feeling that Tamlin wouldn’t have cared as long as it was hot.

‘Your wounds need to be cleaned,’ she stated.

Her hands were moving without conscious thought, boiling water then pouring it into a bowl with drops from the vial that the healer had left. She lined the fresh bandages up then set to work peeling away the old ones. Tamlin remained quiet. She didn’t know if he was in pain from the wounds or shock from her not rowing with him. Nesta didn’t care. She needed something to occupy her hands.

‘Who knows? About me?’ Shame burnt in Tamlin’s cheeks.

‘Lucien, Eris, a handful of sentries, the healer who looks as if she hates everyone.’

‘Did Lucien find me?’

Nesta dabbed at the deepest section of the bite on his tricep making him hiss.

‘I did.’

‘You?’

‘I came home and couldn’t settle until I’d seen you. Something did not feel right.’

Nesta would not ask why he had done it, whether he wanted to do it again. The scarlet colour in his cheeks was indicator enough that he was ashamed.

‘I drank myself into oblivion in the Night Court. Every drunken stagger home in the dark, part of me hoped that somebody would… I don’t know what I wanted. Only for it all to stop.’ Nesta wrapped a bandage around his wrist. ‘I once snapped the tendons in my knee falling down the stairs and wished it had been more serious. I’m not telling you this for sympathy. It’s just that… you’re not alone, even if it feels like that. We aren’t friends but we want the best for the people here. And Lucien, he stayed by your bedside for hours.’

Tamlin leaned forwards in the chair so she could clean a deeper wound on the back of his neck. He held his blonde hair out of the way so she had better access.

‘Come,’ he said when she was done and beckoned for her to follow down the darkened corridors.

Nesta ought to have protested that she was too tired – her eyes were burning with fatigue – but refusing him now seemed too wretched even for her. It was the first attempt Tamlin had made to engage with her.

She followed his sluggish steps into the back room. The rain cascaded against the glass enough to lull Nesta in serenity. With a wave of his hand, Tamlin launched a dozen tiny faelights towards the ceiling that seemed to twinkle.

‘Sit. Please.’ He gestured to the cosy armchair in the corner of the room so Nesta settled herself there. When her head pressed against the back of it, she released a content sigh. Tamlin took up a seat on the stool in front of the pianoforte.

‘I’m out of practise, but your sister said once you love music.’

Tamlin flexed out his fingers then pressed down on the keys. Nesta should have protested that he didn’t need to, that he might wake the children in the other wing of the house, or that she was too tired. But for once, she stayed quiet and let the beautiful music lap across her skin. The hairs on her arm stood on end, so enraptured with the notes. She had not heard music for so long – and music played just for her was a treat she did not deserve. The melody rose and fell with dramatic, sweeping undertones.

Years earlier, a watery-eyed music teacher had declared that while Nesta was hopeless at singing or playing, she did have a fine ear that could pinpoint the notes she heard. With her eyes sagging closed, only the music mattered. Tamlin played magnificently so Nesta let every note engulf her. It lulled her down, down, down into a pure ancient place where no time existed. She saw mossy earth and golden sun, clear rivers and deep shadows in a forest as old as the world then her dream shifted to a quiet land where all the sound was devoured by the night-black waters. It was a living tomb, the land in her vision, filled with heavy air and mould and loamy earth. The trees were bleached white and jutted from the earth like broken lances covered with thick moss. But it was the waters that called to Nesta. A steady pulse rippled across the surface and her thoughts tugged her there, deeper towards the black waters. Not Koschei, she knew, this was not his lake.

The music stopped.

Nesta forced her eyes open. Her finger was pressed to a map of Prythian on the wall having risen from the chair without realising and stalking across the room. Facing away from the pianoforte towards her, Tamlin’s skin had faded of colour.

‘You… scried. The music made you scry.’

Her finger remained pinpointing a location on the map. She squinted to read the name in dim light of the room.

‘What is the Bog of Oorid?’

Chapter Text

‘This is nice.’

Nesta remembered seeing stars in her vision then the world tilting as she tried to call for a stop to her training.

She’d awoken in Eris’ arms with a mouthful of grass where she’d fainted in the grounds. Eris had called for a servant to fetch them a sugary drink so they sipped orange juice on the swinging bench on the porch, letting the breeze cool them down. Eris even had sweat beading on his brow from the effort of working in tandem with Nesta’s magic. It was a constant battle for dominance once she eased it out akin to a tap gushing at the slightest touch.

‘If you have to get females to faint for them to have a drink with you, I wouldn’t call it a success, Eris.’

Each laugh she elicited from Eris was a small success; that he could still laugh after centuries plagued by his father was nothing short of miraculous. ‘Very cruel, kingslayer.’

They watched as Fionn loaded belongings into a carriage. Aoife and the children were returning home to their village the next day. Nesta would miss the company terribly, but felt ashamed to admit it. It felt like a weakness to need others and to rely on their company. But Nuala with her gentle disposition had elicited much joy from Nesta when they had read stories together or explored the gardens.

‘Keep drinking,’ Eris said, nudging the glass in her hand towards her lips. ‘What did you have for breakfast?’

‘I’ll eat later.’

‘That’s not what I asked,’ he said in a voice that held the stern tone of a future high lord. ‘You eat like a sparrow. If you are training, you need as much energy as you can. Why aren’t you eating?’

The directness was always jarring. Eris was never one to step delicately round an issue. He didn’t care if she blazed at him when he asked uncomfortable questions either. He softened his expression and awaited her response.

‘I feel so guilty. I’ve seen so many struggling here, in Illyria, and I’ve heard from Cresseida similar stories in Summer. I can’t enjoy wealth or jewels when I know so many are without.’

Eris pursed his lips. ‘You eating three meals a day will not change a family’s fortune, Nesta. You don’t have to punish yourself. It will not change their lives. The deeds you do are already having an impact, you wonderful witch. Tell me how the fund is going.’

Nesta told him as much as she was comfortable with, and only ever details that she would not mind being shared with Beron. It was nice to talk about it, to discuss the logistics and have Eris’ opinion. The gleam in his eyes as she spoke spurred her on to talk more and more about the future. It was nice to imagine a future, one that she hoped to see.

Through the gauzy sleeves of her pale blue gown, Eris’ eyes tracked the tattoo circling her arm. It was a thing of lovely beauty, delicate and shimmering.

‘My father will not be at the ball. Tarquin extended the invitation as a courtesy, but my father finds him too ambitious and above his station – despite the fact they are of equal status,’ Eris said with a roll of his eyes. ‘It suits me. And us.’

‘You mean your plan of annoying the Night Court?’

‘Your bat is banned from the Summer Court for eternity. If I wanted to annoy him, I’d make sure he saw it. Maybe I just want to spend an evening with a friend. It is so difficult to find a good dance partner these days.’

Nesta nudged him in the ribs, but a smile fought its way onto her lips nonetheless. When Nuala joined them on the bench, she clambered into Eris’ lap. The male held himself rigid, unsure of what to do against such a small, loquacious foe. Nuala launched into a ramble about their house and the journey and the carriage and the baby and papa and mama and Zasha. Nesta did not want to be the one to break the news to the little girl that Zasha would not be going home with them; that was a parent’s job.

‘We have company,’ Eris murmured.

The scene had already etched itself into the memories of the Night Court who had assembled in front of the manor house. Nesta had warned Tamlin that they would be coming, but he was still too unsteady to be up and out – nor would she put him through a meeting with them. She had already agreed with Lucien that they would excuse Tamlin.

Lucien dipped his head in greeting, but the others stared with wariness towards them. She knew it looked almost like a family; Nuala sat on Eris’ knee with her comfortably beside him as they talked quietly on the swing. Cassian turned his head to the floor. That dejection seared like a brand against Nesta’s skin. She sent Nuala into the house – away from any potential fireworks.

‘I hadn’t expected you so early,’ she said to Lucien, trying to keep her voice even. ‘I haven’t finished training yet.’

‘You both look rushed off your feet,’ Mor drawled, staring at Eris with utter disdain.

With fluid grace, Eris was at her side, a steady hand on her shoulder – one he only placed there with the sole purpose of fanning Cassian’s temper. ‘Poor Nesta fainted. I can’t resist helping a damsel in distress, can I, Morrigan?’

‘Watch it,’ Rhys warned. Beside him, Azriel narrowed his eyes at Eris as if imagining all the ways he’d make him scream with truth-teller.

Cassian’s eyes tugged towards her. ‘You fainted?’

‘Over-exerted myself in the heat,’ she murmured.

‘Sorry,’ Lucien said, sketching a bow. ‘It was the only time we could all make, Nesta. There was not time to send a messenger. Let’s make haste, shall we?’

There was no sign of Elain or Amren, thankfully. Nesta knew they’d have to meet again one day, but seeing Vassa had been bad enough. The mention of her father had unravelled so much of her progress, she dreaded to think how she’d be when she finally met Amren again.

The hand on her shoulder squeezed tightly. ‘Where are we going? Somewhere exciting?’

‘What is that on your arm?’ Feyre lunged for Nesta’s hand, tugging her forwards and away from Eris to examine the golden tattoo. ‘Nesta, who did you make a deal with?’

‘With me,’ Eris bared his teeth in something like a grin. ‘I have a matching one. It was you, Rhysand, who insisted Nesta ought to train her power. Why should I do it for free?’

The colour drained from Cassian’s face as he stepped in front of Nesta. His wings curled around them, providing shade from the sun and a little privacy. ‘What has he made you give him, Nes? Whatever it is, we’ll find a way to break it.’

‘It’s nothing I can’t pay,’ she said softly. But the moment she reached to touch his face, Cassian stepped away, his wings falling away limply.

The sentries were beginning to watch the stand-off on the lawn. Nesta did not doubt Eris would happily try to take on the Night Court if they wounded his pride. Lucien interrupted the mounting tension. ‘It was my request for us to meet, not Nesta’s. Eris may accompany us if Nesta permits it as she has jurisdiction in this court. Allow me to lead the way.’

Under the golden rays of sun blazing in the sky, they began their trek towards the forest. There was no deterring Eris – and Nesta found herself wanting a male on her side against the others. The dampness of the undergrowth was evaporating in the heat, bombarding Nesta’s senses with the smells of the earth. Lucien led the way with Feyre and Rhysand walking alongside him exchanging terse words. She had a feeling that Lucien had not been entirely honest with the reason they had been gathered in the Spring Court.

Mor had looped an arm through Cassian’s to steer them close by the front of the group, away from her and Eris. Nesta let the distance grow, heart already sore seeing the easy way the two of them came together. It was a silly tattoo that would fade in a few months. She hadn’t felt foolish to make the deal until her sister’s family had stared at her like she was an imbecile. They’d be even angrier with her once they saw the village and realised why they had been summoned.

From a silent summons, Zasha raced towards them. The dog walked between her and Eris at the back. He’d insisted that he wanted to tag along for likely no reason other than to be abrasive – a thing he excelled at. ‘Does it not grow tiresome to wear only black, shadowsinger?’

Azriel rolled his eyes but did not speak. He had waited for Nesta to catch up to him and taken the place on her other side as they walked. A growing anxiety built with every step. Lucien had promised to weather their anger, but they would still find a way to blame Nesta, she knew it. Already, Cassian was betrayed by her closeness with Eris. She wondered if that was why Azriel had waited for her, so that he could monitor Eris – or to stop Cassian from doing something he’d regret.

When they reached the stream on the edge of the burnt out village, Lucien picked through the jutting stones to find a way through where their feet were not soaked. In the light, the path was easier. Still, Rhysand lifted her sister and carried her across the water, murmuring something in her ear that made her laugh and swat him away on solid ground. Jealously grew claws and tore at Nesta’s heart as she watched Morrigan leap against Cassian’s hip with a squeal. In one swift moment, he hauled her into the air and carried her to the other side too with a powerful flap of his wings. How many more times must she watch the unrequited feelings between the two play out? The lingerie at Solstice. Dropping Nesta’s hand in the war camp because Morrigan turned up.

‘May I?’ Azriel asked, extending a hand to Nesta to help her across.

‘I’m not worth you getting your feet wet,’ she said, pushing by the hand and tip-toeing along the route, not caring when water flooded through the thin material.

‘That offer isn’t extended to me, is it, shadowsinger?’

‘Get fucked, Eris.’

Once they had finished in Banhurst, Nesta had already spoken with sentries and servants about arranging proper burials for the bones. There was no reason for the village to remain as a macabre monument. They were already working on compiling a list of names of who they knew once resided in this village - and all the others like it – so relatives could be tracked down if they were still alive.

The group took in the collapsed remains of homes, the ruined belongings that has escaped entirely burning, and the scorched earth that was still unable to grow.

‘What is this?’ Rhysand’s voice rippled across the barren landscape laced with a quiet threat.

With another silent command from Eris, Zasha positioned himself in front of Nesta. For once, the dog’s tail did not wag. He stood to attention, ears pricked, tail out guarding her. Eris’ arm brushed against her and the warmth of it, she was grateful for.

Lucien cleared his throat. ‘Hybern sacked this village. It was not the only one. These lives ended due to your actions, Feyre. You purposefully destabilised the Spring Court allowing Hybern’s forces to sweep in then press upon the Summer Court. Their blood is on your hands.’

‘How dare you,’ Mor screeched, inches from Lucien’s face.

Faster than she had ever seen him move, Eris was beside Lucien. ‘Step away from my little brother, Morrigan.’

That tiny sentence had Mor scurrying backwards, face pale, hands trembling as though being near Eris was too much to bear. Nesta thought Eris might have enjoyed that little show of dominance over his betrothed, but his face was hard as he stared at her. Lucien’s brows had raised in surprise at his brother’s display of loyalty. Shadows had come up around Azriel, hiding him from view, but it was Cassian who Nesta’s eye was drawn to. Automatically, his arm had shot out for Mor to shield herself behind. Why was she never given the same protection he gave to Mor?

‘The past cannot be erased,’ Lucien said calmly, holding Feyre’s attention. ‘I am only asking for you to understand how terribly this court – my old home – suffered, Feyre.’

Tears slipped silently down Feyre’s cheeks and Nesta stifled the urge to go to her sister. It had not been a single catastrophic mistake; Feyre had systematically undermined Tamlin, provoking him in situations she knew he would react cataclysmically to. Feyre’s anger was with the male, not the innocent lives.

‘Tamlin had her locked in a house,’ Mor shot back from the safety of Cassian’s frame.

Lucien spread out his broad hands. ‘We are not here to debate Tamlin’s treatment of Feyre. The fund created by Nesta is having an impact, but I wanted you to see this for yourselves to understand the extent of the damage. Your court did not suffer the same losses as this or Summer. Your lives were relatively unharmed.’

‘Do you know how many Illyrians we lost?’ Rhys snarled.

Nesta could not bite her tongue any longer. She was sick of making it bleed to keep others happy.

‘How many Illyrian orphans are lost to hunger and hypothermia every year? You cannot afford to build an orphanage and take care of them, but a sprawling riverside estate was a necessity. How many children grow up like Cassian but do not have the high lord as a best friend? Females have their wings clipped daily and in half a millennia you have done nothing, but my sister can conjure her own and flaunt them in their faces?’

Rhysand laughed bitterly. ‘I knew you would have a retort, but is not your court to meddle with, Nesta.’

‘It would be a damn sight better if it was,’ Eris quipped.

In a crisp voice that cut through the tension, Lucien spoke. ‘Enough. Nesta did not ask for this meeting, as I have told you. She is not to blame in any of this. I merely wanted you to understand the damage Hybern inflicted here. These were innocent fae who did not deserve such brutal deaths.’

Cassian would not look at her. He kept his hazel eyes fixed upon Lucien, distaste souring his expression. Even Azriel had shuffled away from her. They would think this was Nesta’s act of petty revenge just to be wicked despite Lucien’s words. An uncomfortable coldness settled on her skin while they continued arguing. She was acutely aware that the forest was devoid of sounds; all the bird song had faded, not even a snuffle of an animal could be heard.

‘No, I’m sure the Spring Court emissary has more to say since she’s in Tamlin’s pocket now.’

At Rhysand’s words, every set of eyes was upon Nesta. It was too much. The charred bones, the fragile remains of lives that had ended in fear and pain. They did not care about the fae in the Spring Court; as always, their own pride was at the forefront of their minds. Vassa telling her that her father was a good man. Tamlin seeing this village and giving up. Morrigan shielding herself from Eris with Cassian’s body. Feyre staring at her with bloodshot eyes beside the powerful mate that had not lifted a finger to help this court. The Cauldron, that damned Cauldron, which had taken everything from her. What was the point in arguing with people who had never – would never – like her?

‘I want to go home,’ she said quietly. Home had never been a place; not the vast estate of her childhood or the cold, crumbing cottage. Not Velaris, not the Spring Court. Home was a feeling that Nesta had only ever briefly known.

When she turned, Zasha made to follow. A cold, wet nose pressed into her palm as a branch snapped beneath her shoe.

Feyre’s voice called across the distance. ‘What was the point in this, Nesta? Should I tell you how wretched I feel? How guilty? Do you want me to feel as rotten about myself as you do?’

‘Leash your high lady before I do it for you.’

A wall of fire burst from Eris’ hands to meet the seeping darkness that Rhysand had pulsed towards the Vanserra brothers. Lucien moved then, his own fire protecting him from the Night Court magic. The insults being traded between Eris, Azriel, Mor and Rhys sounded tinny and far away to Nesta. Blood pounded in her ears. Lucien and Feyre were trying to instill calm. There was a roaring in her head, ancient and wicked, clawing at her skull. A shaking hand touched Zasha’s fur though the sensation was odd and not right. Something was winding through the trees towards her, wending like a dark snake, sniffing and hunting for her.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t open her eyes, couldn’t speak. Darkness slithered over her, the horrible weight of it filling her body, tearing her apart from the inside out.

***

Banhurst was a reflection of a village Cassian knew; he had done the same in Illyria when he’d discovered the fate of his mother. He had not burnt it to the ground, but he had slaughtered his way through the males. The chaos that was unfurling here was not right; lives had ended. The wandering souls deserved peace, not them bellowing at each other over pride.

Beneath his feet, the ground was trembling. Bones jutted out of the soil at the rattling as though being sifted to the surface. He’d thought it was Rhys’ power, moving in a way he’d never seen before. But his high lord still had a finger pointed at Eris, Azriel’s arms locked around his chest holding him back from permanently wiping the smirk off Eris’ slick face.

Above the cacophony, a dog’s high pitched whines reached Cassian’s ears. His eyes shot to Zasha.

Nesta. Nesta.

Terror and dread sluiced through him at the sight of his mate crumpled on the ground, back arched, bathed in silver fire, jerking like she was having a seizure. Zasha had his ears pressed to his head, whimpering at the sight of the cold, silvery light swarming his mistress.

Cassian must have roared her name over and over until the others fell silent.

The ground tore open beneath their feet. A tree cracked, its trunk split clean down the middle as half of it fell with a sickening crunch in the forest. Spreading from her position, the grass began dying, flowers wilting.

Night burst forwards, full of shadows and wind and stars.

As Nesta erupted again, a scream of terror burst from her lips, Rhys pounced.

Azriel anchored himself to Cassian, preventing him from going to his mate. Eris hurled himself towards the flames to drag the howling dog to safety.

Rhys smothered her flames with darkness like he’d thrown a blanket on it, but Nesta thrashed and wailed until her screams came hoarse and rasping.

‘Nesta! Nesta. Fight this.’

Despite the dominance in Rhys’ tone, her fire was not going down without a fight so Rhys shoved another wave of blackness upon her. Rhysand gritted his teeth, grappling against a magic he’d not encountered before.

Feyre’s face was stark white watching her mate trying to save her sister. Even Mor, who had gripped Feyre’s hand, had wide eyes. Where Nesta’s magic darted, Rhys’ tried to catch it like two swords clashing in a battle, fighting for the advantage.

‘Let me go. Az. Let me go.’

At his desperate tone, the arms around him sprang free. Cassian dropped to his knees beside her, not afraid of the magic swirling around him like a juggernaut.

With a steady calm, he said, ‘Nesta.’

The silver fire flickered, aware of who he was.

‘Nes.’

Again, it flickered with recognition, enough for Rhys’ wave of magic to wash over the flame and bank it. The fire receded.

Both of Rhys’ hands pressed Nesta against the ground to hold her firm, but he went still in a way that told Cassian his brother was no longer fully present, but searching the mind of the female who lay unmoving on the unhallowed ground.

Slowly, her body relaxed. Then her breathing evened out, her body going limp. Blissfully unconscious.

‘She scried last night. The connection wasn’t closed.’ Rhys’ tan skin had turned sallow. He blew out a breath and sunk back onto his heels. ‘It was a trip wire for all of her memories. The Cauldron. Hybern. All of it. I saw all of it.’

‘Don’t just leave her lying on the floor,’ Eris spat, striding forwards.

That streak of possessiveness hooked beneath Cassian’s skin. ‘She’s my mate,’ he growled, hurrying to Nesta’s limp body.

‘Fucking act like it then.’

Mor stared at Eris as if she had never seen the male before. Through her lashes, she watched as Eris shook off his jacket to drape across Nesta before Cassian scooped her up into his arms. His lips were puckered. His fingers stretched forwards, as if tempted enough to sweep the strands of golden hair from her face, but he thought better of it. It wasn’t all for show, Cassian realised. The fearful look shadowing Eris’ face was real. He did care for Nesta. More than just using her as a pawn to infuriate the Night Court, Eris Vanserra cared about Nesta.

‘Eris, you need to explain your training.’

‘I don’t need to explain anything to you.’ It was remarkable how quickly Eris could don that cruel mask of indifference. A finger jerked towards himself then the ground; Zasha padded to his feet and sat without delay. ‘You caused this. She will never be good enough for you. My brother told you multiple times that Nesta did not bring you to this village and still you could not help yourselves but to berate her.’

Even Mor had the decency to appear sheepish at that remark. She refused to look at Cassian with Nesta unconscious in his arms.

‘Why was she scrying, Eris?’ Feyre urged. ‘I thought after last time, she wouldn’t want to.’

Last time - when Hybern had slipped past their defences like smoke and had stolen Elain away in the night. Cassian knew Nesta still blamed herself for it.

Eris rolled his eyes. ‘We’ve been practising focusing her magic to release a trickle. Nesta struggled with the dam breaking entirely. Whilst it is spectacular to watch, she’s not in control. I wouldn’t dare encourage her to try anything dangerous. No scrying, Rhysie.’

‘Shit,’ Lucien breathed as he ran a hand through his long, red hair. ‘What if she scried by accident? It can happen with heightened emotions. She met with Vassa to discuss Koschei yesterday. Jurian got under her skin, goading her with talk of the Cauldron and the king. Vassa mentioned your father, Feyre, and it snapped something in Nesta. She refused to allow me to accompany her back or winnow.’

‘You did not let her walk alone through that naga infested forest at night, Lucien. You are a better male than that.’ Amber eyes bore into the russet and gold ones. Brother to brother - Eris was showing his cards. There were three in the world he cared about: his mother, his youngest brother, and Nesta.

‘I followed behind, winnowing a few paces to stay undetected. Her sorrow was like a throbbing pulse though. I only followed enough to see that she entered the house.’

‘I’m taking her to a healer,’ Cassian said, lifting Nesta closer to his chest so he could feel the beat of her heart against his. Why was he waiting around here for them to keep discussing her?

Without waiting to see if the others followed him, Cassian flew away from the blackened earth towards the manor she called home.

***

The dream had been real and not real. There had been no end to it, no escape. Until a male had said her name. That voice was a pinprick of light in the darkness, but it had been enough to lure her back from the abyss. All the terror had halted, the axis of her world shifting towards that voice speaking her name.

Then another male’s voice came, speaking full of power but with a kindness it had never given to her before. A star-flecked hand had reached towards the edge for Nesta to take then it led her to a land of drifting clouds and rolling hills under a bright moon where the world was quiet and calm.

When Nesta woke, she made out a figure beside her in the bed. He was sleeping with worry scrunching brows. Two tan hands engulfed one of her own like an oyster cradling a pearl. It was a sleep that Cassian had not intended to have; his boots had been haphazardly kicked off and he was fully clothed on top of the blankets.

With her free hand, Nesta leaned forwards to brush the delicate strands of ebony out of his face. His lashes fluttered. Hazel eyes shot to hers. They were full of worry and unrelenting goodness.

Cassian said gently, ‘Hey.’ One of his hands moved to cup her face. The rough pad of his thumb traced Nesta’s cheek bone. ‘You all right?’

It was too much effort to form words. There was a danger of the floodgates breaking if Nesta did attempt speech. The moment she wiggled closer to the enormous male in the bed with her, he scooped her against his chest. An audible sigh of relief slipped out of his lips. Nesta buried her face into the warm skin of his neck, let her nose nuzzle against him as he held her close.

‘I have never been more terrified than seeing y-’

‘Please,’ she interrupted, ‘I don’t want to talk of it. Not tonight.’

‘It’s not even dinner time yet.’

‘What was your excuse for napping then?’ She murmured against the pulse fluttering on her lips.

Cassian rolled onto his back, pulling Nesta flush against him so her hand – locked within his – pressed against his heart. ‘I got bored with nobody to verbally spar with. Plus your snoring-’

‘I do not snore!’

‘You do. It’s absolutely beautiful. Everything you do is beautiful. Even when you rage at me, I know I am the luckiest male in the world.’ Lips pressed against her forehead to confirm his words as truth. The tone of Cassian’s voice changed, dropping almost to a whisper. ‘I need to be better. I need to find my spine around my family. I’m so sorry, Nes, for the way I let them treat you. It will never happen again.’

‘It’s the way it is,’ she said, trying to rise, but Cassian held her firm against him.

‘No. It’s not – and it shouldn’t be. If Azriel brought home his mate and I didn’t like her, I’d be as civil as I could, I’d try and swallow my dislike because that’s my brother and his happiness means the world to me. Hell, even if I hadn’t liked Feyre, how could I deny that gleam in Rhys’ eyes when they were together?’

Had Cassian’s family ever stopped to wonder what their aversion to her was doing to him? No, because he gave and gave. Cassian would make himself bleed so another wouldn’t have to. He would bleed for them; He’d even taken the force of the magic against his wings to protect Azriel. A male who loved earnestly and openly; one whose love they had never had to doubt

‘There is a farewell party this evening. Aoife and children are returning to their home.’ The sadness crept into her voice, so Cassian drove his thumb in slow circles on her shoulder. ‘It won’t be a late affair as Nuala will be in bed soon. I suppose I need to make myself presentable.’

The general tracked her every movement as she let her dress slip off her body where it pooled onto the floor. At the sight of the white chemise that protected her modesty, Cassian sat up to attention. Nesta enjoyed the tightness of his muscles, enjoyed knowing that was the effect her bare legs had on him. Her fingers wove through the tight coronet atop her head, loosening the braid until her hair fell down her back in a burnt gold wave.

‘If you hadn’t collapsed twice today, I’d spread you out on this bed and have you screaming my name.’

Nesta quirked her eyebrow. ‘So sure of your skills,’ she tutted.

In a swift motion, Cassian was off the bed and behind her. One arm wrapped across her front so his hand settled around her neck, the other held her hip. The heat of his hands seared through the thin material and Nesta fought to suppress the noise of delight that rose in her throat just from the simple act of feeling his body against hers.

Cassian tilted her chin up so Nesta looked upwards into his eyes. Those eyes had cast a spell on her the first time she’d seen him. How he’d sized up her as a new challenger, the gleam of mischief dancing in them. But now, it was only passion and devotion in his eyes. Three soft kisses were pressed to her forehead.

‘If I had my way, we’d never leave this room,’ he said, voice low and teasing. ‘But your mother hen, Eris, has insisted I ensure you eat as you skipped breakfast and lunch so you’ll need to dress. Unless you want to eat in this – I have no complaints.’

While she dressed in a simple, loose-flowing gown, servants carried tables to the garden laden with dishes. Nuala had enchanted them all with her questions so the servants would be in attendance as guests to say goodbye to the family too. When she approached Cassian with the back of her dress flapping open, he playfully tried to tug the gown off until she reprimanded him.

He took his time to pass each tiny button through the intricate loops, savouring the softness of her skin.

‘Did you…’ Cassian’s words faltered for a moment. ‘Did you scry recently?’

A rush of heat filled Nesta’s face and she was glad to have her back to him even as his fingers worked up her spine.

‘An accident.’

His fingers stilled on the button. Nesta shut her eyes, loosing a sigh. ‘Tamlin played the pianoforte for me. I was so upset, so angry, and the music it just. It just. I felt at peace. I let it take me.’

‘Where did it take you?’

‘The Bog of Oorid.’

Chapter Text

‘Hey you.’

At the House of Wind, Mor was waiting for him, one of the thick woven blankets from the living room, draped around her shoulders while she’d waited for him on the roof. His legs were heavy when he landed from the long flight back from the Spring Court. It had been a day he’d rather forget.

‘How is she?’

‘Fine.’

Mor nodded, her lips pressed into a tight smile. ‘That’s good to hear. Are you alright? That couldn’t have been easy to see. It scared me and Feyre.’

‘I’m fine.’

Mor opened her mouth to say something then decided against it. At the sight of her crest-fallen face, Cassian’s guilt rose. ‘How long have you been out here waiting for me?’

‘I got Rhys to drop me here on the way home. Figured you’d come here eventually and could use a friendly face.’

They entered the house, Mor leading the way down the narrow staircase into the living room, her blonde hair swaying down her back. There had been a shift in their friendship since Nesta had entered both of their lives. Mor had taken a step back in some ways, going off to the continent on secret missions that Rhys had assigned to her, but when she returned, she wedged herself into his relationship with Nesta causing cracks. They had little in common so there was no hope of them being best friends, but he had hoped there could be more than outright hostility between the two females. There was a complicated history between he and Mor; a stupid, reckless decision to spite Azriel had caused chaos. And for centuries he had been the buffer between the two of him. He knew Mor was scared of losing that rather than losing him to Nesta.

She smiled at him, bright and warm, from her place on the couch before patting the space beside her for him to join. He didn’t. He had made a vow to Nesta that he would be better; a better friend, a better lover, a better partner. Cuddling up beside Mor was not wise. Mor’s face fell slightly, but she regained her composure quickly.

‘Is Eris always that way with Nesta?’

‘What way?’

Mor’s throat bobbed as she gulped. ‘Gentle. Caring. I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.’

Cassian settled into a chair, thoughts still with Nesta. He hadn’t wanted to return to Velaris, but she had wanted to say goodbye to the family properly. She did not need him trailing her like an unwanted shadow. Lucien was there within the grounds, chatting animatedly to a few off-duty sentries and their wives – every inch the clever courtier who won friendships effortlessly. Cassian knew he’d keep an eye on her.

Mor was awaiting his answer about Eris. She wouldn’t want to hear it.

‘Yes. He is. They’re close friends by choice.’

As Cassian expected, Mor recoiled from the answer as if Eris’ treatment of Nesta was a betrayal against her. Eris could be cruel and arrogant. Abandoning Mor in the woods did not feel like either of those things now he knew what Beron put him through, but Eris had span it that way to paint himself the villain – perhaps to protect other females from being betrothed to him. Eris had been young too, younger than all of them when it had all occurred.

‘We’re to go to the riverside estate,’ Mor said, plucking loose fabric from the blanket. ‘Rhys wants to discuss what happened in Spring today.’

‘Will they be donating towards the fund?’

Mor frowned. ‘No, not that village. Nesta.’

Using his daemati powers, Rhys had slipped inside Nesta’s mind when Cassian had managed to halt her powers from attacking. His thoughts churned as he and Mor made the journey to the house. Dinner was being served when they arrived. He’d ensured that Nesta had eaten something before he’d departed, but hadn’t touched a bite himself. As he ate, the food settled uneasily on his stomach. He hardly heard the words that were traded around him. With each blink, flashes of Nesta writhing on the ground ablaze with silver flames came to him.

They settled in one of the living rooms after dinner. Most had opted for a glass of wine, but Cerridwen had brought him a strong mug of camomile tea. Azriel chuckled when she whispered something to him and explained that she noticed he looked stressed. Stressed didn’t even come close to how he felt.

‘It’s not wise to trust Lucien. I’ve long thought he can’t be impartial when it comes to Vassa and Jurian. His allegiance is slipping.’ Mor mused. She’d bundled her knees to her chest, resting her chin atop them.

Feyre murmured in agreement. ‘The only reason we had his allegiance was due to Elain.’

‘We still have Elain,’ Rhys countered, slinging his arm around Feyre’s shoulders.

‘I hadn’t known she was a token to use as leverage,’ said Azriel from his post at the window.

He’d been reluctant to join them around the table for dinner then, once they’d gone to the living room, he stayed resolute in his position, shrouded in shadows, near the curtains.

Elain had stayed for dinner but retired to her room rather than be part of the discussion. Cassian wondered if they’d speak about her the same way if she was present.

‘No, but Elain belongs in this court. She’s my sister. Being her mate should be enough to keep Lucien’s loyalty. He still wants to try with her.’

Cassian hated this talk – for Lucien’s sake and Elain’s. He was a male that she wanted nothing to do with, but they would still dangle her out to him like a carrot with a donkey.

‘The eldest Vanserra, the irritating one, still needs us as allies,’ Amren said, prising her head free from the jigsaw puzzle laid out on the low table. None of them had been allowed to put their drinks down lest she flay them alive for ruining it.

‘I honestly think if we gave Eris an ultimatum, he would choose Nesta over us,’ Rhys said with a hint of bitterness in his tone. ‘He’s reluctant to meet recently. I can only think he is scheming.’

‘That’s what I worry about.’ Azriel’s eyes flickered to his own. ‘If we continue to alienate her, we drive her closer to Eris. I’m worried he will manipulate Nesta into killing Beron for him.’

‘He wouldn’t,’ Cassian protested. The care on Eris’ face had been genuine, as much as it pained him to admit such a thing. The image of the tattoo wrapped around her upper arm came into his mind and he had a sudden sickening thought that Eris could force her into such a deed with their bargain.

‘That magic of hers could kill every high lord – at the same time.’

‘What was her power? You saw it in her mind, didn’t you?’

Rhys wove his hand into Feyre’s and pressed it against his thigh to soften the blow about what he was about to announce. Why couldn’t he have told Cassian privately to prepare him? Why must everything be a public show?

‘Death. Pure death.’

Mor blew out a breath and Amren hissed. ‘We’ve locked creatures up in the Prison for less.’

‘She is my sister. I will not condemn her to the Prison. Nesta is cold and unfeeling, but she’s not evil.’

‘That’s not true. She might seem that way on the surface, but she’s not those things at all. She’s witty and clever and kind and considerate and forgiving once you deserve to be let in. How she even stomachs any of us is beyond me.’

Mor rolled her eyes in dismissal. ‘Cass, you’re her mate, you feel obligated to say these things.’

‘No,’ he protested again, voice rising. ‘If I was obligated I would have said something sooner instead of letting all of us tread on her.’

A flurry of shadows settled beside him. Azriel had winnowed the short distance across the living room rather than walking through the others gathered. His brother placed his hand on his shoulder in understanding.

‘If you hadn’t been foolish enough to let her leave Velaris, she’d never have been influenced by Vanserra and Tamlin.’

At Amren’s scathing words, a shadow slithered onto Azriel’s shadow whispering into his ear. He did not balk from Amren’s stare or the finger she had pointed at him.

‘Let her leave. Were we jailing her here?’

‘Amren, enough.’ Rhys knew that it was not only Lucien’s loyalty on the line. Azriel had been hanging by a thread in recent months. Shadowsingers were in short supply and high demand throughout the lands. Though Cassian doubted Azriel would ever serve another court, if he disappeared on the wind, none of them would ever find Azriel again unless he wanted to be found. ‘I fear Nesta’s power will continue to swell. Eris needs to know what he is training; it is not silver flames as we’ve previously believed. As much as I hate the male, him being struck down dead by Nesta won’t help anybody.’

‘And Nesta? Do we tell her?’ At her question, Rhys toyed with a lock of Feyre’s hair then kissed the bridge of her nose.

‘I’m inclined to hold a vote. She’s already making Made weapons. All the bones in that village surged out of the earth at the tug of her magic. She killed the plants in the vicinity. She’s not in control.’

Mor swallowed and spoke first, ‘No. Definitely not. What if she uses it on us?’

‘I don’t think she would do that,’ Feyre disagreed. ‘She shouldn’t be burdened with it though. I vote no.’

Amren folded her arms across her chest. ‘No. And if you have any sense, you’d bring her back to Velaris this instant. Better to keep that power where we can see it, Rhysand.’

Rhys’ violet eyes turned to Azriel; Cassian had a niggling fear, but he needn’t doubt his brother. ‘Absolutely yes. Of course she deserves to know.’

The weight of the others’ gazes landed on him next. It was already three to one, and Rhys would likely be a fourth no. His vote wouldn’t matter either way.

‘I’m not voting on my mate’s life. I’ll tell her regardless.’

‘You do that and you go against an order issued by this court,’ Amren snapped, her black hair swaying with the force that she leapt up from her spot on the carpet.

‘What will you do? Throw a puzzle piece at me? Call me a dog?’

Lack of power did not suit Amren; she traded insults and threats still with no way of backing it up anymore. She had sacrificed for them, yes, but she was still a miserable little creature at the core of her. Both his and Azriel’s siphons flared together. Az was on his side - and always would be.

‘Did you ever tell the others what drove the final nail in the coffin of your friendship with Nesta on the boat that night?’

‘I told her that she was neglecting her powers and it was a waste.’

‘No,’ Azriel spoke softly. The softness was unnerving. Cassian had heard that voice throughout the centuries when he went to work in the Hewn City and it still unsettled him. ‘That’s not quite it.’

‘A pathetic waste of life, wasn’t it?’ The words were ash upon Cassian’s tongue when he spoke them out loud. Feyre’s eyes widened. ‘That it would be better for Feyre and Elain if Nesta no longer existed.’

‘She was squandering her Cauldron-given powers. I hoped to spur her into action.’

‘I’d like to speak to Cassian alone.’

Rhys had slipped his hand free of Feyre’s to rise from the couch. The others watched cautiously, but began to stand themselves at their high lord's dismissal.

‘Don’t bother. I was leaving anyway.’

With that, Cassian barrelled from the room, head spinning, and flew into the black sky.

He was too predictable. As soon as he reached Windhaven, Rhys was already waiting for him, having winnowed there. His arms were folded across his chest like a disapproving father and Cassian fought the urge to slam his fist into his jaw.

‘You can live up to the hot-headed brute mantle sometimes,’ he said lightly.

‘When I hold a vote about throwing your mate in the Prison then you can decide who’s hot-headed.’ With a shove for good measure, he stepped past Rhys towards the narrow lane leading to his own home in Illyria.

Rhys turned on his heel to follow, brows scrunched. ‘My vote would have been yes, Cass. I’d have offered to train her myself.’

‘It shouldn’t have come to a vote. Nobody else in that room needed to know about her powers.’

‘I can’t keep something like that a secret.’

‘Then Nesta should have known first.’ Cassian stilled. Arguing with his high lord in a land where Rhys wasn’t always accepted was not wise. He dropped his voice. ‘You have never cared for Nesta, fine. Do you ever think about what this does to me? The Cauldron decided she was my equal. Nes and I, we have the same heart, Rhys. Every time, you hurt her, it hurts me too. I can’t put up with it anymore.’

***

The days fell into a familiar routine. Tamlin was improving so he and Nesta met every morning for breakfast. While they ate, they discussed court matters. A shift had occurred between them, one that was for the better. They were no longer at loggerheads with each other; their conversations quiet but respectful. Both had a desire to protect this court and see it flourish once more. They were not friends by any means, and Nesta would keep it that way - but they got along and could put aside their differences for the sake of the innocent lives in the Spring Court.

After breakfast, Eris would arrive for her magic lessons. Sometimes he arrived during it and would join them at the table. There was a strange sort of balance between the three; Eris had spoken with Tamlin in private regarding his brother’s exile from the Autumn Court and whatever he had said, had persuaded Tamlin to allow him into Spring without consequences. Nesta knew that Eris needed Tamlin's backing when he ascended as high lord of the Autumn Court. Spring was a vast territory. He needed Tamlin's backing as much as the Night Court's.

The progress she made with her magic was infuriatingly slow, but Eris was remarkably patient. Nesta was usually drenched with sweat and shaking like a leaf when Eris called for a stop. Like a dog, he presented her with a sweet treat at the end of the lesson to reward her, he said. Nesta gobbled down the sugary snacks to renew her energy.

Her magic constantly grappled against her will, desperate to be used. Eris would lead her through the grounds to an empty section of the forest where Nesta could unleash some of it. It helped to ease the ache; sometimes she felt jittery, as if there was too much of it inside of her, sometimes it thumped inside of her skull demanding to be let free. When she did let out the trickle, as Eris had instructed her, the flames scorched the ground, devouring anything in its path until only death and decay lay in its wake. Nesta had better control of it though sometimes the trickle sped up into a stream that threatened to become a river. It took her iron will to close it down before it took control.

Each day, they returned to the forest and the sections that Nesta had destroyed were renewed with life. When she questioned Eris on it, he had frowned.

'Tamlin. Spring. Flowers. Rebirth,' he said mysteriously.

Once her lessons with Eris were complete, Nesta had a couple of hours to dedicate to paperwork, correspondence, or general court matters. The respite from pollen was always welcomed too. Servants knew now to bring lunch to her or Nesta would not seek it out, but she ensured that every crumb was devoured. Eris usually lingered in the grounds for a while training Zasha with one of his own dogs, but he would always pop his head into the office to say goodbye.

The best part of the days became the afternoon lessons. Cassian would arrive and waggle the leathers at her to change in to. They were extraordinarily tight like she had painted her skin. The worst part was how comfortable they were; she’d never admit it to him. They were not at all restricting, far from it, her range of movement was brilliant. She'd stay in them all day if she wasn't so proud to admit they were comfy.

They trained together away from prying eyes with Nesta going as far as changing out of her gown and into the leathers in the blacksmith’s forge so sentries and servants wouldn’t see every curve of her body in them. She didn’t need them to see how hopeless she was at defending herself either.

In their first session, when he’d turned up unannounced the day after visiting Banhurst, Cassian had laughed when she brought out one of the Made swords and said there was not a chance she was touching a weapon yet. It was nice to see him laugh. There was a heaviness to his body, a tightness in his expression even when they were together. Nesta had gone as far as asking him if she had done something to upset him. His face had fallen further then he’d drawn her against his body, kissing her deeply.

After their first session where they’d stretched for a ridiculously long length of time, Cassian had sat her down to talk under a willow tree. His eyes were already bloodshot from rubbing them and he itched his skin relentlessly. He’d braced a hand on the trunk of the tree then told her that Rhysand had seen the power she had stolen from the Cauldron. It hadn’t changed anything for Nesta. Learning that her power was death should have made her recoil or panic, but it was the same power that had writhed in her since that day only now it had a label. She had kissed the palm of his hand to smooth away his anxieties.

After their combat lessons, he would stay an hour or two longer – sometimes long enough for dinner together – where their limbs ended up tangled together in bed. They could never deny the passion that overtook their senses in the moments they were alone. He took delight in peeling off her leathers and gazing at her bare breasts. Their lovemaking was fervent sometimes, other times slow and deep. Cassian took great joy in eliciting pleasure from her, always putting her climax ahead of his own. Always, he wanted to look into her eyes when he came. That act in itself was the most intimacy Nesta had ever had.

Other times, they would relax in the gardens together with Cassian’s wings spread out catching the sun’s rays and Nesta would read a book beside him. He’d fall asleep sometimes with his hand drawing pictures on her back while she curled up beside him in a quiet corner. They were content to be next to each other passing the time in their own ways. Tamlin had a few military books – dull histories of wars – which Cassian even took to reading occasionally as they sprawled out in a checkered blanket away from the flowers.

‘Why isn’t anybody winnowing you here?’ She asked bending down to touch her toes during one of their sessions. ‘Flying here and back twice a day is surely eating up a lot of your time.’

Cassian raised up on his toes, dwarfing her even more, and stretched his fingertips up to brush the clouds. His wings were extended so the light came through the thin membrane in a beautiful umber. ‘I like to fly.’

‘Has something happened?’

His wings clapped together with a boom. ‘No.’

‘Your wings betray you. So does the haunted look in your eyes.’

‘Wrap your hands. We’ll practise punching.’

‘Cass.’

At the call of his name, he stilled. Cassian pivoted towards her, eyes shining with desire. ‘You’ve never called me that before.’

Nesta lifted her chin. ‘That’s what your friends call you, do they not?’

‘Allow me,’ he murmured taking the spool of black material and winding it around her left hand carefully. ‘It felt different coming from your lips. Special. Are we just friends?’

Nesta could not meet his eyes as he tenderly looped the material across her knuckles to protect them. She could already feel the love radiating from him; he had so much to give. ‘As a general rule, I don’t spend my afternoons sleeping with friends. What’s happened?’

‘I promised you I would be better. When we got to Velaris, they voted on whether to tell you about your power. I’ve taken a leave of absence from my role.’

A vote? The thought of them gathered around deciding her fate like Gods sickened Nesta to the core. They had no right to do such a thing. When she tried to step back, Cassian clutched onto her hand, not letting her storm away.

‘A vote,’ she repeated, voice bordering on shrill.

‘Nes, listen, please.’

‘What did you vote?’

‘I didn’t. I refused. I said I was telling you regardless of the outcome.’

She knew he was honest, the pain in his voice was too raw to fake.

‘My sisters?’

‘Elain was already in her room. And Feyre voted no. To not burden you.’

‘Burden?’ She laughed bitterly. ‘I have the power regardless. Knowing what it is changes nothing. Do they do this often? Hold votes on what information I deserve to know about my life?’

Nesta wanted to lash out. If she could sprout wings, she would have flown to Velaris and let them know what she thought of each and every one of them. Cassian kept holding her hands, unwilling to let her go. He had stood up for her in front of his family. Had taken a leave of absence from his role for her. Her anger did not need to spill over and inflict more wounds on him. He was already hurting. She let her arms go limp, let that wave of fury fizzle out and pressed her forehead against the thump of his heart. That was all she needed to hear for her own pulse to settle.

‘You’re flying here and back from Illyria just to train me?’

‘To spend time with you,’ he amended.

‘How long are you stepping back for?’

‘Rhys said I can take as long as I need. Another week probably. I’m not good at holding grudges. I forgive too easily, Az always tells me.’

Nesta nodded, mulling over that information. ‘When you return tomorrow, bring supplies. Stay with me until you’re ready to return.’ Her words tumbled out quickly so she couldn’t take them back. ‘It makes no sense for you to fly all the way daily. If you have no other duty, you may stay here. I’d like it very much if you did.’

‘You would?’

‘You are my mate, Cassian.’

Chapter Text

Nesta had braced Tamlin for Cassian’s temporary stay in his home. They passed each other in one of the corridors when Nesta was out practising her magic with Eris in the forest. They had stared at each other for a couple of heartbeats then Tamlin had nodded stiffly and they continued on their way without incident. It was the best reaction any body could hope for.

Cassian hadn’t quite realised just how busy Nesta’s days were until he experienced it for himself. Long gone were his hopes of lazy mornings languishing together in bed. As soon as the sun was up, Nesta would snap out of bed, dress and hurry to breakfast. She always ate with Tamlin and the pair only ever spoke about court matters before going their separate ways for the day. Tamlin, Cassian could stomach. It was the tall, red-haired male who sauntered in every morning that made his blood boil.

Eris took delight in holding an arm out for Nesta and leading her off to the woods. From a silent summons, Zasha would canter after Eris. It appeared that everybody else was a mere shadow to the dog when the Autumn heir appeared.

After training with Eris, Nesta would be drained and weary, but she’d scurry to Tamlin’s office to get on top of paperwork. Surprisingly, she allowed Cassian to be there – as long as he didn’t bother her, she said. During these times, he watched the sentries from the window or sat in a chair reading. It didn’t suit him to be so still. There was too much energy within him wanting to be used.

Once, Nesta did banish him from the office. He and Zasha had been play fighting, the dog snarling and leaping at him as he wrestled him to the ground. They were too loud, too destructive, crashing into the furniture. Like naughty children, Nesta had bellowed at them to get out with her hands on her hips.

The bellowing didn’t matter. He had been floating ever since she’d invited him to stay. Hearing Nesta call him her mate without any scorn had nearly caused him to erupt with joy. There was hope that she would accept their bond sooner rather than later. Spending time together in any capacity was a blessing – whether it was their afternoon sessions where Nesta took great delight in punching and kicking or their dinners together in the evening sun, all of it was a blessing.

To keep him occupied, Nesta arranged for him to train alongside the sentries while she was busy. She had tried to focus on reading a report from the harbour to the east, but he had been pacing out of boredom and it had tipped her over the edge.

Fionn, the general Nesta had appointed, had done a good job of improving the soldiers – but there was still a lot of work to be done, particularly with the younger recruits. There was a vein of cockiness that ran through the young males in every court it seemed. Cassian was all too happy to help. He found that although the males were cocky, there was no degradation of each other. No insults about bastards or mothers. There was more laughter than he’d ever heard in Windhaven – and it wasn’t a bad thing. Where the Illyrian males sneered at a misstep, the ones in Spring teased and laughed in a jovial way. There was already a camaraderie amongst them. Brotherhood was important amongst soldiers; they’d be more likely to lay down their lives for each other.

‘Is your family settled back home now?’

Fionn nodded, eyes fixed on the two males nearest the fence spending more time chatting than sparring. ‘Nuala misses Zasha. Each time I go home, she begs for her own dog. I don’t know how long I can keep refusing. It pulls on my heartstrings.’

Part of Cassian did wonder if that was why Nesta had also wanted him to stay. Without Nuala’s laughter ringing down the corridors as she chased Zasha, the large house was too quiet. He did not care for the reason, he was just glad to spend time with Nesta where she was comfortable.

He did wonder how she was comfortable in the Spring Court when he wanted to peel his own skin off from the constant bombardment of pollen. Even washing three times a day to scrub the pollen away was not helping much. By evening, the pair of them would be sneezing frightfully as they guzzled chilled cucumber water to ease the itch in their throats.

‘I still think you are cheating somehow,’ Nesta mused as she propped her chin up on her knuckles at the dining room table.

Cassian had made the mistake of bringing the strategy game that had brought her joy in Illyria to the Spring Court. She demanded they play it most evenings – when he had other plans for them. He had to admit that she would make a formidable general. Or a spy. Nesta’s face gave away nothing. Not even a narrowing of her eyes as she took in the position of his pieces on the board. Sometimes he thought she’d turned to stone by the way her body stilled. The preternatural stillness of the fae was an element that she had mastered quickly.

‘Azriel is the cheater. He will distract you so you look at him then his shadow moves a piece. I’ve called him out on it so many times and he flatly denies it.’

‘You are trying to distract me now,’ she murmured.

Her slender fingers would hover over a piece then she would change her mind. He couldn’t work out if she was developing her own strategy of pretending to be indecisive or if she genuinely couldn’t choose which piece to move.

A shuffle of feet signalled Tamlin’s approach. He grunted at their game then pulled up a chair near Nesta. At once, a servant set a place for him and brought in dinner. Cassian avoided staring at Tamlin for too long. There was a lot of bad blood between them, but this was more than that. Pink and purple puckered scars along his arms kept snagging Cassian’s attention. He’d also spied a deeper one on the back of his neck. They were recent – and painful. Nesta had not mentioned him being injured, but there was a paleness to the high lord’s skin too.

‘Do you know this game?’

At Nesta’s question, Tamlin nodded briefly. If he had intentions of a quiet, undisturbed dinner, Nesta was not letting that happen. ‘What should I do, high lord?’

Tamlin leaned over her shoulder to examine the board. ‘Move your rook to the penultimate square.’

‘Why?’

‘You have the option to take any one of his three pieces there. Then you can take a second because he won’t be able to move both in his next move.’

Nesta did as commanded then took Cassian’s queen off the board with a delighted little noise. Tamlin turned back to his plate and began shovelling in food as if keen to get away from both of them. He stilled as Nesta patted his arm and thanked him for the advice. Then his eating slowed. Savouring each bite, his eyes roamed over the board again. Nesta did not miss the subtle change either.

‘I have a letter to write to Cresseida. Why don’t you finish the game for me?’

Before either male could protest, Nesta had vacated her seat for Tamlin. She gathered paper and ink from the office swiftly and settled herself next to Cassian at the table. A warm hand stroked his thigh beneath the table in a silent plea for him to continue playing the game. For Nesta, Cassian would wage war. But sometimes, peace was needed. If the inner circle knew he sat playing children’s games with the high lord of Spring, there would be outcry. However, Cassian could see the broken pieces of the high lord, the wounds that went far deeper than the skin, the hollowness to his eyes. For Nesta, Cassian would seek peace.

Tamlin only stayed for the remainder of the game. Once he had departed out of the manor, Nesta gazed at Cassian with such adoration in her eyes. Her fingers wove into his as she brought his hand to her lips and kissed it.

‘Thank you. He needed that a lot. I know it isn’t easy for you to be near him.’

‘How can you be around him?’

Nesta wrinkled up her nose. ‘I see myself in him. The same reluctance, the deep rooted anger, the struggle to be in large groups.’

‘You’re not like him,’ Cassian stated, kissing her hand this time.

Nesta shrugged. ‘We share similarities. It’s not a crime.’ A hand reached across to weave through his hair. It was her favourite feature; so often she’d touch his hair at night as they were drifting off for sleep or in the mornings to wake him. A spark of mischief glowed in her silver eyes. ‘Early night?’

The tips of his fingers danced across the bare skin of Nesta’s neck before dipping lower to the first button on her gown. Candles flickered in the bedroom from the breeze blowing from the gap in open window. Undressing Nesta was fast becoming one of his favourite activities, but Cassian liked to take it slow – teasing both of them in the process. Nesta refused any sort of leisurely-paced undressing tonight. She slammed her back against him, the gentle swell of her ass pressing obscenely against the hard length of him.

‘Someone’s keen,’ he murmured against the point of her ear.

He worked faster on the buttons until her dress slipped down her frame to the floor. When Nesta turned, eyes wide with excitement, she bit down on her bottom lip. That little act almost undid him. A hand rested upon his chest, over the powerful beat of his heart. Then Nesta’s hand trailed downwards. When she reached Cassian’s stomach, she sank to her knees.

Anticipation coiled within him, knowing exactly what this was leading to. One of his hands stroked against her hair, encouraging Nesta to look up at him as she unlaced his breeches.

Her fingers wrapped around the warm, hard skin pulling him free. Nesta stroked the long, thick shaft, marvelling over the softness of his skin, making him shudder. She started with feather-light touches, teasingly light, ghosting across his skin. He bucked in her hand, causing Nesta to still.

‘Someone’s keen,’ she echoed.

Her touch grew firmer as she slid up and down his length with both hands. Cassian closed his eyes, let the molten feeling in his core take over.

Nesta’s tongue licked up his shaft in one, long motion. He gasped when he felt the heat of her mouth around him. She licked up and down, soaking him before taking him fully in her mouth. He filled her up almost immediately. Cassian managed to open his eyes to tilt Nesta’s chin up. Seeing Nesta naked and on her knees before him, gazing up into his eyes with his cock in her mouth was a special kind of torture.

It snapped his restrain. At her stifled moans, he thrust his hips. Her fingers gripped his thighs, taking the momentum. His own hands wound through her unbound hair holding her head steady. Nesta moaned once more, a soft encouragement, to thrust faster. She met him with each stroke. A goddess. One he was unworthy of.

When Cassian eased the pressure and let Nesta dictate the speed again, she flicked her tongue across the head of his cock and around the ridge so he jerked against the wall. His hand settled on the back of her neck offering gentle encouragement. He could tell that Nesta enjoyed it just as much as he did. Enjoyed thoroughly unravelling him and learning all the ways to make his breath hitch or his hips jerk.

Cassian grunted loudly as she took him all the way to the back of her throat again. Her head bobbed until he was almost spilling in her mouth. Nesta was frantic, on a mission to take everything she could from him.

Her eyes were fixed on his when he came in the warmth of her mouth. Like a triumphant queen, she swallowed every drop down.

He extended a hand to help his mate rise. Her breathing was rapid as she pressed her body to his.

‘This isn’t fair. I’m the only one undressed.’

Cassian needed no other cue to rip off his clothes and toss them onto the floor. He’d never be over the way Nesta’s eyes would trace every muscle of his body, starved for his touch. He carried her to the bed and stroked one finger down the centre of her body, making her shiver with anticipation. Wetness already slicked between her thighs as evidence she’d enjoyed sucking his cock.

There was too much choice. Cassian did not know which part of Nesta’s body to lavish attention on first. In recent days, he’d rotated which part of her body to kiss first – but he always gravitated to her heaving breasts. Large enough to fill his hand, he squeezed one gently then brought her nipple to his lips. He savoured the arousal of her rapid breathing as he kissed the soft skin of her breasts. When her fingers drifted below to touch herself, he pinned both of her wrists above her head, lust surging in his body.

‘No touching,’ he growled.

Nesta arched her body upwards, wiggling beneath him trying to gain friction against his thighs, desperate for his touch. Cassian sat astride her. No longer did he restrain himself from what he wanted. He pressed his cock between the hollow of her chest and gathered Nesta’s soft breasts full of bounce to him. Her grey eyes widened with feral delight when she realised the direction their lust was taking them. Her spine arched perfectly beneath him so he could thrust easier beneath her breasts.

‘Please,’ she moaned, writhing beneath him, wrists still pinned by his hand.

‘Say it,’ he ground out.

‘Please touch me.’

‘I am touching you,’ he teased, drawing out his thrusts between her breasts to slow, deliberate motions.

‘I need you inside me.’

Cassian guided the top of his length into her wet opening. Need made him light-headed as he pushed in deeper. Nesta’s low moan in his ear at the sensation of her slick passage yielding to him had him thrusting in deeper. The spike of Nesta’s pleasure as his thumb drove in steady circles banished his lust; he was consumed with ensuring his mate received every drop of pleasure she deserved.

She was so wet. So wet for him. The tingling beneath his own skin threatened to drown him as he thrust faster, chasing Nesta to her release. He saw it building; the arch of her back, the brightness to her eyes, a flush flooding her cheeks before she tipped her head back into the pillow. She bucked against him, taking the tip of him as deep as it could go.

The rush blacked out his vision as Cassian cried out, pressing his body against Nesta’s sweat-soaked skin. The feeling so intense he could barely breathe.

‘Am I crushing you?’ He whispered, face pressed against her breast as they panted for breath.

‘A little,’ she admitted. ‘I quite like it.’

Cassian moved up the bed so he lay beside her. Goosebumps rippled over her pale skin from the slight chill from the open window so he tucked the blanket around her. One of his hands moved idly on her breast, squeezing and massaging without a hurry.

‘You are obsessed with them,’ Nesta tutted.

‘They’re worthy of an obsession.’

He was obsessed and it wasn’t a crime. They were perfect. He pressed his palm down, watching it bounce beneath. He could play with them all day. All night. He’d forgo food and water to touch them.

‘One day, they won’t be yours to play with.’

His head whipped up at that comment.

‘If I have a baby, they have a more important purpose than being your play things.’

A scorching heat ran down the column of Cassian’s spine, but his throat dried up. ‘Do you want to have a child?’ He almost added “with me” but that might be pushing the boundary of their relationship too soon.

‘Yes.’ There was a note of challenge in her voice, daring him to question her decision.

‘You will be a wonderful mother.’

Heat pooled in her cheeks, bringing a rosy hue to them. ‘Well, I certainly can’t be worse than my own mother. It’s a far off dream anyway. I’m not ready for that part of my life yet so keep taking your contraceptive tea.’

A shock like lightning struck him. His hand withdrew from Nesta’s body. ‘I’m not taking one. And from your reaction I suppose you aren’t either.’

Nesta hurried from the bed with her hands pressed on the top of her head. She paced backwards and forwards, stark naked, in a state of shock.

‘Why aren’t you?’ She demanded.

‘I can ask you the same question.’

‘Because I haven’t slept with a man since I left Velaris except you!’

Cassian leaned across the bed to reach her dressing gown draped over the back of the chair near her vanity and tossed it to her to protect her dignity. She stuffed her arms through the sleeves, muttering under her breath to herself.

‘Nes, I haven’t taken it since I met you.’ Cassian evened out his breathing and met her on the floor. Her hands shook with fear. ‘I haven’t even thought of another woman, let alone touch one, since you burst into my life.’

‘What if I’m pregnant?’

She let him draw her against his chest. Her breathing was a rattle in her chest. A baby would be a joy – but not at this moment for either of them. Their lives were too unsettled. He wanted to show her parts of the world and spend more time together before bringing a child into their lives. Plus, she still had not accepted the mating bond.

‘A fae child is so rare. It’s so unlikely. Healers have a way of knowing. Is there one that could come here?’ Nesta nodded, but her bottom lip wobbled. ‘Then we’ll send for them in the morning to be certain. If no then we can both start taking the tea to be protected.’

‘And if yes?’

‘If yes, we will figure it out. There are ways to stop a pregnancy – but if you decide otherwise, I’ll be with you every step.’

‘How can you be so calm?’

‘Because I love you and we’ll ride this through together.’

***

Nesta did not sleep a wink. Even with Cassian curled around her, the warmth of his body trying to coax her into sleep, it would not come. One day, Nesta wanted to set down roots – to have a home of her own with a husband. The husband she imagined was looking more and more like Cassian. The children she dreamed of had little black wings. But it was too soon. She liked her role in the Spring Court – and there was still so much to do. Nesta would not bring a child into the world when the threat of Koschei and Briallyn hovered over her.

When she thought of a home, it was not in Spring. Neither was it in Velaris. Her heart yearned for somewhere like Illyria. Of rugged scenery and the call of birds in the morning. A quiet place she could dream and spend her time in peace as she wished.

When her tossing and turning became too much of a disturbance, she left the bed. Zasha quickly took up her spot and Cassian seemed none the wiser as his arms wrapped around the grey fur. Nesta kissed Cassian’s temple before departing the room. Inviting him to stay had been a good decision. They’d had little bubbles of disputes as they navigated spending so much time together, but on the whole she was enjoying all of it. Originally, it felt strange to let someone in to every moment of her life; to wake with him, to eat, to sleep, but Nesta had found that sometimes they were content to spend their time in their own way in each other’s proximity. She did not feel as if they needed to spend every moment doing the same activity, and he felt the same. She kissed him again, unable to leave the room until she had kissed him a second time.

In the dining room, she said, ‘I’m surprised to see you awake.’

Deep in the gardens, Tamlin had spent the evening with some of the long-standing sentries – ones who he once called friends. Nesta had heard their laughter when it spilled over – only because she could not sleep herself. As a pink dawn streaked into the sky, the front door had opened so Nesta presumed Tamlin had headed to bed.

The high lord let out a long yawn. The scars on his body were fading. Soon the naga bites would not be visible at all. He had turned a corner, it seemed, and was back on the path towards good things.

‘Not for long. I’ve written to Tarquin. I won’t be attending. There’s a gift for him on behalf of the court. Take it with you.’

Nesta blinked several times. Tarquin’s birthday had come around quicker than she expected. ‘That’s tonight?’

‘Don’t sound too overjoyed. I’m going to bed. Good night.’

‘You mean good morning.’

When Tamlin’s footsteps faded away, Nesta drummed her fingers on the table. What to do with Cassian? The males had been civil with each other, but leaving him alone with Tamlin while she went gallivanting with Eris to a ball was a recipe for disaster.

At the arrival of the first servant, Nesta slowly ate a breakfast of eggs on toast. The food sat heavily on her stomach. She fought the tremble out of her voice when she asked a servant to call for the healer, but insisted it wasn’t urgent. Cassian’s calm exterior had soothed her worries, as did his unflinching acceptance of whatever storm was coming towards them, but she did wonder if beneath the surface he was as stressed as she was at the thought of bringing a baby bat into the world.

‘Your gown, my lady.’ Eris’s voice carried into the room before he did after a servant let him in. That was a rarity; he tended to just wander in like a stray cat. ‘Is that bat keeping you up? You look exhausted.’

‘How rude.’ Nesta stabbed her fork into a yolk, making it bleed across the white. ‘And I have to wear this?’

‘Don’t make a deal if you can’t see it through, Nesta.’ Eris tapped his tattoo through his sleeve. ‘Especially not with a Vanserra.’

Nesta had heard from Eris the sort of outfit that Rhysand had paraded a drugged Feyre in under the mountain and hoped he did not gain inspiration from it. She unzipped the cover to examine the dress. Parts of the material were sheer and the neckline dipped lower than her breasts, but it was beautiful, Nesta could admit as much. The light skirt would drape around her feet and the material was embroidered and beaded by hand. It must have cost a small fortune. It was the colour that sent Nesta’s pulse racing: blood red. It left no doubts over who she would be attending the party with – as Eris very well knew. But he was watching, almost with a nervous anticipation.

‘It is beautiful.’

‘But?’

Nesta shrugged. ‘It’s a beautiful gown.’

‘So, you’ll wear it?’

‘Do I have a choice?’

Eris frowned slightly, lips pursing. ‘If you are uncomfortable wearing it, I won’t force you to wear it, Nesta. I’m not a monster.’

Her finger stroked the thin straps that would leave her arms – and the tattoo – exposed. ‘I’ll wear it. As promised. It’s too pretty to waste.’

‘Hair unbound,’ Eris reminded her, with a jerk of his head towards her braid. ‘We’ll cancel today’s lesson. I’ll spend enough time with you this evening.’

Nesta let out a snore before draining the dregs of her lukewarm tea. ‘Will you winnow me?’

‘It will be a pleasure to escort you. Will you be staying in Summer?’

‘Not tonight. I’m meeting with Cresseida during the party so you won’t be able to clamp onto my arm all night either. Play nice with someone else.’

Eris lifted his chin and looked over Nesta’s shoulder. His eyes narrowed as Cassian entered the room, hair messy from sleep and barefoot. Eris missed nothing.

‘Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to eavesdrop? Oh, I forgot.’

‘That was uncalled for,’ Nesta snapped, brandishing her butter knife at him. ‘I’ll drown you in the sea if a remark like that ever passes your lips again.’

A pair of hands were held up in submission. ‘Apologies, Cassian.’

Cassian had every right to launch himself over the table and beat Eris into a bloodied pulp, but he showed remarkable restraint. The chair legs scraped against the floor as he withdrew a chair and threw himself into it. A muscle worked in his jaw, awaiting Eris’ next taunt, but Nesta rested her hand on top of his. She could feel the fire coursing in his veins.

‘I think you ought to go, Eris.’

‘See you at seven.’

A horrid, stale silence settled upon them at the table. Despite the servants cleaning the house, Nesta barely noticed them. There was a ringing in her ears. She had forgotten how ruthless Eris could be.

‘I am so sorry.’

‘You didn’t say it.’ Cassian’s voice was laced with anger, a scorching anger that could never be quenched. ‘You are attending Tarquin’s ball with him.’

‘Yes,’ she said quietly.

The fact did not seem to register fully with Cassian as he sat staring blankly out of the window. Her hand reached for him, but he kept his body still. When a servant asked what he’d like for breakfast, he pointedly ignored her.

‘You do not have to be rude to her. Your hurt is not with her.’ Nesta left the room to apologise to the servant. She would never understand the level of hurt when it came to his mother – nor the festering hate towards Eris. For her, Cassian endured Eris teaching her. He’d even restrained himself from barrelling into Eris’ home and dragging her back to Velaris. But grudges ran deep amongst the fae, she was beginning to learn, even after half a millennia.

When she returned to the dining room, she found it empty save for a servant who was returning her plate to the kitchen. Nesta quietly thanked her then departed in search of Cassian. Only Zasha was in their bedroom, the dog still slumbering on the bed. All of the possessions he’d brought were still stored neatly in the bottom drawer of her dresser.

Fionn directed her to the rose garden where he’d seen Cassian heading. She expected the rage to seep from him on the approach. Nesta thought it might exude so strongly she could taste the tang of wrath. But Cassian sat on a bench plucking petals from the head of a rose, face contemplative. Nesta joined him, kissing the black whorl of one of his tattoos running down his bicep.

‘Why did you agree to his deal?’

‘It’s just a dance, Cassian,’ she said softly, resting her head against his arm. ‘That is all.’

‘It’s what it represents.’

‘And what does it represent?’

‘That you belong to him,’ he cried, leaping up and dashing the rose to the ground.

‘I belong to nobody but myself and if you think otherwise you are mistaken.’

Chapter Text

Nesta had left Cassian stewing in misery in the garden. The possessiveness of males in Prythian still didn’t sit comfortably with her. It wasn’t that different to the mortal lands, she supposed, where a husband gained all of his wife’s wealth upon marriage and dictated what she could do with her life. Nesta hadn’t looked forward to that part of her future either. Naively, Nesta had hoped as a child the man her parents arranged for her to marry would be a good, kind man, one who’d let her pursue her dreams.

There were no words that Nesta could say to ease Cassian’s pain over his mother. It was a grief that could never be forgotten.

Not attending the ball was not an option either. Part of it was her stubbornness to reaffirm that she was an individual, not a male’s possession. But she had made a deal with Eris. To remove the tattoo, she had to keep up her end of the bargain. Pride would be her downfall.

Sadness settled upon Nesta like a cobweb as she continued her day as usual, more so when Cassian stayed with the sentries rather than train her in the afternoon. He was making his stand about his opinion of Eris and she was making hers.

She prepared for the Summer Court, gathering a few documents for Cresseida about their aid fund, and washed herself with buckets before enjoying a book in the nook of her window. The court would be insufferably hot though she hoped that it would be slightly cooler in the evening otherwise her washing would be for nothing. Nesta had sweated endlessly the last time she visited the Summer Court and had returned with burnt shoulders, a burnt nose, and the tips of her ears peeling from the scorching sun.

Nesta languished on the bed for a while, letting the sunshine soak through the window onto her bare skin. There was a niggling worry about leaving Cassian alone in Spring while she gallivanted with Eris. Even more troublesome was the worry that had settled thinking of Eris’ comment about Cassian’s mother. She would speak to the Autumn Court male about it, demand an apology to Cassian – a proper one. It was not right for Eris to ever say such a thing, no matter how much they despised each other.

Her burnished gold hair fell in waves down her back as she dressed for the party. The way Cassian’s eyes would widen on the brief occasions he saw it that way would never fail to make her heart flutter. The dress Eris had provided fitted like a glove. The gauzy skirt fell like a waterfall to her feet. Scarlet was not a colour Nesta would ever choose to wear: It was too ostentatious, attracting too much attention. A thin belt clinched her waist; it was the only thing keeping the draping panels across her breasts together.

From out of the window, she spotted the red hair of Eris Vanserra lurking near an oak tree. Zasha sat at his feet, extending a paw under a command. He received a treat for his hard work. Only a few metres away was a pair of large black wings. Embedded into the ground beside Cassian’s feet was a sword he’d used for training. Nesta hurried downstairs before Eris was beheaded.

‘Let’s go,’ she said, clicking her fingers at Eris, trying to avoid detection from anyone else.

The dress had other ideas. Nesta could feel the stares upon her skin. The fabric covering her back was sheer, exposing the blades of her shoulders.

Moving swiftly, Cassian stood in front of her. His wings curled around them, shielding her from view. ‘You don’t have to go with him, Nes.’

‘I want to celebrate Tarquin’s birthday. I made a deal, Cassian, that’s all it is.’ At his frown, she stroked his cheek. ‘I will be back not long after midnight, I imagine. I like my bed – and the male in it – to be away for long.’

The Illyrian pursed his lips but accepted defeat. There was promise in her words. She knew he would be returning to Velaris soon and the Spring Court would feel emptier without him – she planned to savour the moments she still had him. Nesta clasped both of his hands before he could depart. She brought the callused hands to her lips and kissed them gently.

‘You look beautiful,’ he said, smiling softly. ‘Really, really beautiful.’

‘Careful, you might make me blush.’ Nesta swallowed then lowered her voice. ‘The panic last night… No reason to panic. No malý netopier.’

Cassian understood her cryptic words – and the rusty Illyrian. Despite his bravado the previous night that they’d face whatever storm came their way, his shoulders sagged with relief at the news they were not about to bring a little bat into the world.

Eris took great joy in extending his arm to her, prising her away from Cassian with a gloating look. He could sneer all he wanted, Nesta thought, it would be Cassian she’d be sleeping with that night – not him.

Breath felt like it had been sucked out of her lungs as Eris winnowed them to Adriata. They landed on the grey stone near the enormous harbour. The difference in heat was unmistakable; blue skies remained without a single cloud and the sun still scorched. Through the soles of her shoes, Nesta felt the heat radiating from the stone floor.

‘We’re slightly early. It’s embarrassing to be the first to arrive. We appear too eager.’

Eris led her past the white stone buildings that glimmered with pearl and coral towards the path leading to the golden sand. A turquoise sea rolled across the shore carrying a slight breeze that kissed Nesta’s skin. The air was suffocating without the breeze. If she lived in this court, Nesta doubted she’d find the motivation to do anything except lay on the sand with a good book or frolic in the sea. Ever the gentleman, Eris shook off his jacket and laid it out on the sand for her to sit on. A rosy pallor had taken root on his cheeks, evidence he too was struggling with the sudden onslaught of heat.

Ships that seemed to reach as tall as the sky, rickety ones that appeared unsteady, and ones used for luxury purposes filled the harbour. Too many for Nesta to count. Fishermen were returning for the day; smells of fish wafted from their nets. An unexpected memory of Tomas Mandray hit her. He’d tried to convince to watch him fish in the river on the outskirts of the village and Nesta had snorted, telling him she’d rather put the hook through her own finger than watch an event so dull. She knew now it was another ploy to try and coax her away from the village where they could be alone and was glad she had not been foolish enough to follow him.

Nesta scooped up a handful of warm sand, let it run through her fingers. ‘What you said earlier to Cassian was completely out of line. Don’t you dare roll your eyes when I am speaking to you, Eris Vanserra.’

‘I quite like this dominance,’ he grinned.

Nesta pointed a finger at him. ‘I mean it. Don’t ever say anything like that again. Not to him. To anyone. Cassian has a good heart. Far better than either of ours. Besides, my mother is dead, would you like to make a joke about her? Perhaps one about my father?’

‘No,’ Eris replied, sitting stiffly on the sand.

‘I meant what I said. I will drown you. Dolos can be high lord for all I care. You owe Cassian an apology. A proper one. If you want to be my friend, you accept him and be nice to him. If you can’t be nice, don’t say anything.’

Eris was quiet for a while so Nesta took the opportunity to admire the steady roll of waves up the shore. It was a struggle not to run towards the ocean and leap into it.

Suddenly, Eris stood then declared it was an acceptable time to join the party. They made their way to Adriata’s palace situated in the heart of the half-moon bay along with a steady stream of other guests. The wide sea-glass doors were open with servants waiting to receive guests. The gift from the Spring Court – decorative twin daggers – as well as one Eris brought on behalf of the Autumn Court were accepted with thanks as they were led through shell-flecked walkways and walls. Large arches were cut from the stone looking out towards the topaz ocean.

‘Shit!’ Nesta hissed, tugging Eris out of the doorway to the ballroom and into an alcove.

‘I adore it when you curse.’

‘This is not funny, Eris.’

‘What are you so worked up about?’

‘Can you not see that group dressed all in black beneath the chandelier?’

Infuriatingly, Eris merely shrugged. ‘Did you expect they wouldn’t be here? Isn’t Amren fucking one of the princes?’

Nesta could not decide whether she’d rather face the entire Night Court or to be Cassian facing a night at home with Tamlin. Seeing them had taken her by surprise; particularly as the last time she had seen them, she had dropped to the floor on fire.

Eris tucked her arm around the crook of his elbow then guided her stiffly into the ballroom. Nesta kept her head up, tuned in to the small orchestra in the corner playing bright, bouncing music rather than focus on the room.

‘They’re not all here,’ Eris murmured. Before Nesta could let out her sigh of relief, he continued, ‘The shadow singer isn’t here.’

Great. The only one likely not to go for her jugular. The only one she could call a friend.

Nesta stayed facing the windows. Even when Eris laughed that she was not being subtle in her attempts to avoid them, she stayed facing the ocean.

‘Anybody would think you are hiding,’ a sultry female voice murmured in Nesta’s ear.

Cresseida stepped into view, silver hair draping past her shoulders. Her brown eyes locked onto Nesta’s then her brows raised waiting for an answer.

‘Can we talk in private?’

‘As you wish,’ the princess replied with a deep incline of her head.

Cresseida took Nesta to a private room, one more suited to hosting a smaller number of guests. Her gauzy blue gown flowed around her long legs like the ocean’s wave. There was something alluring about the princess, like a siren from the stories capable of luring men to their deaths with their song. The din of the party still seeped in through the open windows, but Nesta found herself breathing easier without a crowd. On their way, Cresseida swiped glasses of champagne and a plate of crab claws for them to share. Nesta followed the female’s suit cracking open the claw to peel away the white meat. The champagne went down easily too.

‘We have more recipients for the fund,’ she said, using a long pronged fork to extract the meat. ‘Lots near the coast whose homes require repairs still. We can be thankful this is a hot court with no winter or our casualties would be far greater in number.’

Nesta murmured in agreement. ‘I still marvel that you can do anything at midday. I nearly melted into a puddle last time I was here.’

‘You do get used to it.’ Cresseida eyed her over the rim of her champagne flute as she took another sip. ‘Who are you hiding from, kingslayer? The Night Court delegate?’

Nesta downed her glass of champagne. It was going to be a long night.

Eris found them hours later when the party was in full swing, both females lay casually on the couches gossiping about mutual acquaintances. Cresseida had a dry wit and a fierce love for her court that Nesta admired. Cresseida had also swiped them both a bottle of champagne each while they talked too, making their chat flow easier.

‘There you are. What are we celebrating?’

Cresseida raised her bottle. ‘My cousin’s generosity. And his birthday, of course. He just had to invite every well-to-do person in Prythian for some reason. What are you celebrating, Nesta?’

Nesta clinked the base of her bottle to Cresseida’s. ‘Not being pregnant!’

She’d almost kissed the grizzled healer when she’d told Nesta she was not with child after her and Cassian’s oversight of contraception. It would not happen again.

‘You owe me a dance, Archeron.’

‘Don’t be such a bore, Eris,’ Cresseida smirked. ‘We’re having fun here.’

Nesta rose then tapped her golden tattoo. ‘I owe it.’

‘Oh, Eris. You’re not having to force females into deals just to dance with you, are you? Are times that tough for the Autumn Court heir?’

‘It is always a pleasure to see you, Cresseida.’

Eris’ chargrin burnt in his cheeks so Nesta couldn’t help but grin over her shoulder at the pretty Adriata princess for the way she had thoroughly undone Eris in a few comments.

Together, they danced to sprightly songs filled with fiddles and lutes. Melodic voices sang over the top. Eris was an easy partner to dance with, always letting Nesta shine when the opportunity arose or guiding her through new steps. She forgot how tall he was until their bodies were flush against each other. Some dances required them to join with another partnership, sometimes as many as eight of them dancing in unison with the females weaving amongst the men, exchanging partners in a circle. Only once did Nesta meet a partner she knew; Varian, Cresseida’s younger brother took her by the hand to spin her after a brief greeting before she arrived back to the start with Eris.

In between dances, she guzzled more citrus flavoured water and alcohol, alternating the two to stay hydrated - though when she stopped spinning in her dances, the room took a while to steady. It truly felt like a night of faerie magic from stories. Nesta imagined herself as a mortal enchanted by the ethereal music, dancing until her feet bled.

‘Nesta.’

A soft voice drifted through the charm of the music engulfing Nesta. Elain stood before her in the middle of the dance floor. Eris kept hold of her hands, steadying her, jailing her, she wasn’t sure which.

‘My sister,’ she breathed, gazing at Elain.

Her feelings towards Elain had shifted in her anger, from fierce loyalty to venom. She hadn’t missed her since leaving Velaris. Seeing her now, in a blush pink gown, her brown hair pulled into a sleek bun atop her head, Nesta couldn’t fight the wobble from her lip. She had missed her. Had missed their memories. Hated the void that was growing between them because Elain chose her new life over Nesta.

‘It is nice to see you,’ said Elain.

Their last meeting in the Dawn Court had been horrendous. Elain stiffened, perhaps remembering that – and remembering the male who escorted Nesta now had also been present to give the Night Court a verbal lashing. Too much time had passed, it was growing awkward but Nesta couldn’t form any words.

Elain’s shoulders dropped then she pivoted to leave.

‘I miss you,’ Nesta blurted out.

That comment seemed to catch Elain by surprise, her brown eyes had widened in disbelief that Nesta was capable of such feelings. Eris steered them both off the dance floor to avoid being clattered by overzealous dancers. Nesta had begun to clam up, her throat was constricting, blocking further words from escaping. But Nesta did not know what to say to her sister either. Years and years had been spent together, cuddling in the bed for warmth during the cruellest winters in the cottage, whispering about people in the village. Nesta remembered learning to plait by practising on Elain’s glossy hair and sitting her on the edge of the bathtub to explain cycles despite it making them both uncomfortable to discuss such a matter. Her sister. Her sister who she would have moved mountains for. Her sister who she would have set the world on fire for. Her sister.

Nesta reached out for Elain and squeezed her hand. Elain seemed to realise that was as much as Nesta could manage so squeezed her hand in return.

‘It would be nice to see you properly.’ A not so casual look landed on the scarlet dress and tattoo then her nose wrinkled in distaste. ‘You have been busy. I always knew that your ambition would take you to new places.’

It was not meant as an insult but it still stung as if Nesta ought to have always stayed at Elain’s side to protect her. It was her own guilt gnawing away at her – the idea that she was the one who had given up on their relationship through drinking and self-destruction. Elain hugged her once, briefly, before melding back through the crowd. A stiff drink was forced into her hand by Eris. ‘You look as if you need that.’

It tasted of aniseed and scorched the back of her throat, but Eris was right because following in Elain’s wake was the diminutive figure of Amren.

‘Tell me I am hallucinating, please.’

Despite her size, Amren had the ability to make the crowd part to allow her passage. Her sleek black bob bounced as she strutted with purpose towards them. Those silver eyes, similar to Nesta’s now, still invoked fear in the fae. It was lost on Nesta how Varian had become so enamoured with her. She glanced to her left but Eris, the coward, had vanished from Amren’s approach.

‘I hear you are finally training your magic again, girl.’

Nesta straightened her spine, willed it to turn to steel again. ‘I have a supportive teacher now. And I am grown woman, not a girl. Do not call me that again.’

‘Female,’ Amren corrected, shaking back her pewter sleeves, exposing bracelets of diamond – likely a gift from her Summer Court prince.

‘Is there a reason for this disturbance?’

Amren stared at her so Nesta stared right back. She had almost a foot in height on the other female – not to mention an arsenal of magic at her disposal. It was all for nothing. Amren could wound with words far more effectively than any blade. The right phrase, scathingly delivered, could knock Nesta right back to square one – and Amren knew it, seemed to relish in it as she bared her teeth in a grin.

‘You have not changed.’ Silver eyes flicked to the empty glass in Nesta’s hand.

‘Neither have you,’ Nesta acknowledged, voice brittle. ‘Still the same bitter, sad, little creature you were a year ago. Where is Azriel?’

‘One always remains in Velaris. You know this.’

‘Pity it wasn’t you,’ Nesta retorted with a tight smile.

Amren’s painted red lips were edging into a grimace. The fae around them grew sparse, giving them a wide berth. They hadn’t caused such a scene yet that the music had stopped, but some were watching them, murmuring, holding their breath. Nesta could feel the silver fire burning in her eyes at their standoff.

‘Since the other one has gone awol-’

‘Cassian has not gone awol,’ Nesta interrupted through gritted teeth. ‘My mate is exactly where he is supposed to be.’

Amren dropped her voice to barely a whisper. ‘Do you know what writhes in your marrow, Nesta Archeron?’

‘Yes,’ Nesta said, standing as sturdy as a column of stone. ‘And you know you will not win this fight, Amren.’

She let that fire glow a little brighter, let the room grow colder, as Eris had taught her. He’d called them parlour tricks – but ones that could invoke fear. A single flame trickled to the tip of her finger to demonstrate the control she had developed over it.

‘Amren, this is a time for celebration. I’m sure Varian will be itching to sweep you off your feet on the dance floor.’ Rhysand took a stance either side of the two females. The darkness of his suit seemed to swallow up the bright hues of cobalt and topaz in the ballroom. Amren did not miss the undercurrent of command in her high lord’s voice. She had wanted to argue the point, to finish the battle somewhere else with Nesta, but her duty helped her to regain her senses. Without a further look, she retreated back to the others. Nesta saw the worried faces of Mor and Feyre peering back at her as she shook the silver flames away.

‘Could we walk?’

Nesta wondered if the Night Court were taking it in turns to torment her – if Mor would tag in next to give Nesta a verbal barrage of insults. Her legs had begun to turn to jelly and a coating of sweat slicked down her spine but she nodded. A cursory glance landed on Eris. He had busied himself talking to Tarquin and another female that Nesta didn’t know at the first sign of trouble with Amren, the damn coward.

‘Fine,’ she gritted out.

Rhysand was not well-liked in this court. He wore a mask of aloofness bordering on disdain as the crowd parted for him. His wings were hidden, but the obsidian crown nestled atop his inky-blue hair left no doubts over who he was – or his reputation to other fae. A pointed look to the handful of fae talking on the balcony had them swallowing and heading back into the ballroom. It was almost a relief to see others uncomfortable by his presence when usually it was met with blushes and fawning.

The winds of the sea were refreshing. They coated Nesta’s skin, stealing the flush of alcohol from it.

‘Is he with you?’

Nesta debated answering before dipping her chin slightly.

‘How is he?’

‘Fine.’

‘When is he coming home?’

She did not dignify Rhysand with making eye contact. Nesta’s eyes remained on the black horizon trying to sort the sky from the sea. She could count the stars in the sky. That was one area the Night Court excelled at, she supposed; their night sky was a masterpiece.

‘Cassian isn’t my captive. He is free to leave at any time. Is it such an abhorrent thought that he enjoys my company?’

Rhysand rested his forearms on the balcony and leaned forwards to look upon the ships in the harbour. ‘It’s more the fact that he resides with an enemy that makes me twitch.’

‘Are you referring to Tamlin or to me?’

The eyebrows raised, but the male stayed quiet. Music enveloped them, filling the void. She would not forget those initial few weeks when she had been Made. Her and Elain had been unceremoniously dumped in the House of Wind and he’d made a handful of cursory appearances that grew less frequent as time passed. On the rare moment Nesta had spoken more than a barbed insult to Cassian, she had admitted that everything was so loud, that heartbeats echoed through the walls driving sleep away, making her nauseous. He said he would try and get Rhysand to visit to help them with their newfound magic, to adjust to their new life, as Illyrian magic worked differently. Rhysand hadn’t found the time. He was too stressed worrying over Feyre. She and Elain were left to gather dust in a house that was more of a prison.

‘Is that all you wanted?’

‘Did Cassian talk to you?’

Nesta let a few beats of her heart tick by before responding rather than rush to reply. ‘We talk about many things. Are you referring to the little vote you held? Is it an activity the Night Court engages in frequently? Did you vote over whether Feyre should be High Lady?’

‘I voted yes about informing you about your power, Nesta.’

‘I don’t give a shit what you voted,’ she said, voice rising to a vicious crescendo. ‘I hate that you put my mate in that situation. That you force him to choose between me and you time and time again. He has a bigger heart than anybody I have ever met but it is meant to be whole, not torn in two. Don’t think I won’t defend my mate, even against his family, when I can see they’re hurting him.’

Was it the alcohol making her bolder or had Nesta given into her feelings entirely? It was more and more difficult to deny that Cassian had taken up residence in her heart, that she felt soft and warm whenever they were together, and she couldn’t help but gaze at him in adoration.

Nesta waited for the inevitable callous remark about how she did not deserve Cassian. That she was a viper with a forked tongue. That the Cauldron had paired them wrong.

She turned to the high lord of the Night Court, ready to demand a retort from him, but Rhysand stood blinking at her as if she had materialised in front of him from nowhere. ‘You love him.’

His voice left doubts whether it was a statement or a question.

‘He is easy to love,’ she admitted, cheeks burning with the admission.

And he was easy to love once she had given him the chance. If she had not been so ruptured by the Cauldron, Cassian flying to visit daily under the flimsy guise of strengthening his broken wings might have made her softer to him. The moment they had shared on the battlefield, she had been terrified. The only thing stopping her from freezing was his refusal to leave her. They could argue like twin flames, their differences could rub the wrong way, but there was a growing commitment – one not imposed by the Cauldron.

Prising his arms from the white stone balcony, Rhys stepped back a pace or two. ‘Helion will be in Velaris in a few days. He’s been unable to prise himself from a new lover apparently. We need a drop of your blood to ward the item you retrieved.’

‘I’m sure you’d like to spill more than a drop of my blood, Rhysand.’

A muscle ticked low in his jaw but the male did not rise to the bait and confess it. ‘I take it you still would like to be present? Please, come for dinner. Both sisters would like the chance to reconnect with you.’

Nesta stayed a while longer listening to the song of the sea rolling against the jutting rocks from the balcony after the high lord had returned to the ballroom. It called to her, the rock and the sea and the darkness beyond. Parts of her no longer felt like her – sometimes Nesta felt as ancient as the sea.

Her eyes closed, the hazy breeze wrapping around her bare skin. A voice called to her, deep but alluring, a slow rumble that cracked open the jagged parts of her heart allowing warmth and light within. An ease that she had not known for a long time seeped through Nesta like slipping into a comfortable bed after a long day or cozying up to a hearty fire on a winter’s day.

The Bog of Oorid as she’d seen it in her scrying came to mind: the living tomb filled with heavy air and loamy earth, of bleached white trees like broken moss-covered lances.

She needed to go there. A hand on her shoulder was guiding her there, just as it had in the Prison. She had to go to the Bog of Oorid.

The rest of the night passed mostly without incident. When the balls of her feet ached from dancing, she flopped onto another couch with Cresseida. While they guzzled more champagne and hot, sugared dough bites, Feyre came to talk. Cresseida spoke before Nesta had a chance, firing question after question to the High Lady of the Night Court over their finances, if any in their court required aid from the post-war fund as she had heard Illyria was a barren place where females were treated abysmally. Nesta kept quiet, wondering if her sister could be a diplomat – or an outright liar. She briefly spoke of clippings and the few, scant measures that were being implemented but made no mention of the fund.

‘But do they know the fund exists? Or is the Night Court’s wealth such that it needs no charity?’

When Feyre’s light eyes turned to Nesta for support, Nesta turned back to her drink and tipped the rest down her throat. She was not high lady, Feyre was. Nesta let her fluster. The frostiness from Cresseida was unexpected though so once Feyre had returned to her chair beside Morrigan, Nesta pressed the princess for information.

‘Tarquin never should have rescinded the blood rubies. I know she’s your sister, but it sends a message that this court backs down easily.’

‘Is it a Summer Court tradition only?

Cresseida scrunched up her eyes as she laughed. ‘Who do you want to send one to?’

‘I have a long, long list,’ Nesta confessed. ‘My m-Cassian has been banned from this court for a long time. He still won’t tell me what he has done. Not enough to get a blood ruby, but enough for an eternal banishment.’

‘Oh, it is a story and a half. I wouldn’t want to spoil it.’

Cresseida was fast becoming one of Nesta’s favourite people. She had a silver-tongue and quicker wit to match, but was also knowledgeable about the logistics of ruling, offering sage advice to Nesta on correct protocols. She explained that since Tarquin’s ascension had been unexpected, they had rallied around him to ensure everything was done by the letter. It was a good court – an honest court – that sought to do its best by its people, including its lesser fae.

With a furrowed brow, Eris strode towards them. ‘Nesta, I have to go. I can winnow you now or you’ll have to find your own way.’

‘You can’t take her, we’re having such fun.’

‘I am not in the mood to play, Cresseida. Nesta?’ Eris extended his hand, face pale and severe.

She said her goodbye in a hurry, only to Cresseida then to the High Lord himself, thanking him for his generosity on the day of his birth, before Eris was tugging her down the corridors towards the front doors. Waiting with a servant was another Autumn Court male, hair the colour of scorched auburn and curling around his temples. On the chest of his light leathers, he bore Eris’ insignia of two baying hounds. It took Nesta a moment to sift through her memories in her drunken state, but she recognised the male as the quiet, well-mannered one who’d taught her to ride a house in the initial weeks spent at Eris’ residence.

‘Baran!’

‘A pleasure to see you again,’ he said. The dimple that flashed onto his left cheek, disappeared as quickly as it came. ‘I do wish it was under better circumstances.’

Both men moved to catch her when Nesta staggered on the bottom of her dress. Since she’d stood up, the alcohol had taken root.

‘Has something happened to the high lord?’

Baran shot her a curious glance, but Eris looked murderous.

‘Skipping a party isn’t a precursor to illness, Nesta. You will wish you had skipped it when your hangover arrives tomorrow.’ Eris’ voice was as hard as a whip cracking through the air. Unhappy with the pace Nesta was setting with her lobsided stumbling, the Autumn Court heir hoisted her into his arms.

‘Should I alert your father?’

‘No,’ Eris said. ‘We’ll take Nesta home then I will speak to my father personally.’

‘This reminds me of being a child,’ Nesta said with a hazy smile. ‘Pretending to sleep so the cook’s husband would carry me to my bed.’

‘I’m glad you are having a nice time.’

Nesta’s head bobbed against Eris’ chest making her feel sea-sick. She turned her head an inch or two to catch Baran’s eye. ‘Is he always this grumpy?’

‘Several dozen of my soldiers have disappeared into thin air, Nesta, so you will forgive me if I am not brimming with joy.’

‘Like magic!’

She could feel that Eris was growing angrier, but all the champagne sloshing in her stomach was finding the situation funny, the idea that a whole group had simply vanished. Maybe they had grown tired of Beron’s tyranny. Maybe they wanted a holiday. She suggested as much to Eris who ignored her. At the offer of sending Zasha on the hunt, Baran confessed that he had already taken Eris’ own hounds out to scour the area and come up empty.

***

For hours, Cassian had debated blundering towards Adriata to declare to Nesta that he was sorry he was an idiot and risk a blood ruby being sent to him. The jewels would look beautiful around Nesta’s neck though which was a temptation.

It turned out that Zasha’s energy did have its limits so after a long time spent playing with the dog, the beast had lain down on the porch with only his deep, rattling snores keeping Cassian company.

The sentries on guard took pity once the sun had set so he joined their quiet conversation. One egged the other on to press Cassian for information about all the creatures he’d fought so he’d whittled away the time that way. They were enthralled with his tales of the seven-headed Lubia who surfaced from caves of the deep ocean to prey on girls along the western coast and Blue Annis with its cobalt skin and iron claws.

In the midst of reaching the climax of his story of how he captured Lanthys, Eris, another male and Nesta had appeared on the periphery of the grounds. At the sight of Nesta sprawled out in Eris’ arms with one shoe on, he’d flown towards them.

‘What have you done to her?’

‘Self-inflicted. Take her. I have pressing business.’

Without a shred of care, Nesta was dumped into his arms then Eris gripped the other male’s arm and they were gone.

‘I missed you,’ she grinned, bleary-eyed in his arms. ‘Every time I look up, the sky is falling.’

‘Close your eyes. Let’s get you to bed.’

‘Yes,’ she cheered. ‘Let’s never leave the bed. I want to kiss all of you.’

He couldn’t help but chuckle, but he shut down any of those ideas. Nesta was too drunk to think coherently. ‘You are having a big drink of water and sleeping. Kiss me tomorrow. Who was that with Eris?’

‘My friend, Baran. He taught me to ride my horse. He’s so quiet and so kind. He’s in love with a servant and she loves him but when I was there neither of them was brave enough to say it. I wanted to make them kiss. Love shouldn't have to hide.’

She certainly was in a talkative mood that night. All the softness from her romance novels was leaking out of her. Cassian cradled her head as they weaved through the doorways and corridors. Her eyes had closed, but he couldn’t stop the nagging curiosity about the male who’d escorted Eris. He wasn’t a Vanserra; he lacked the sneer they were born with.

‘But who is he?’

‘Who?’

‘Baran.’

‘He taught me to ride a horse. He's so-’

‘You told me that exact sentence already, Nes. Why did he attend the party? Is he a soldier or a servant?’ He pressed.

‘Eris’ soldiers have-’ Nesta tried several times to click her fingers then blew a raspberry once she’d admitted failure. ‘They vanished. Eris is telling his papa.’

His papa? ‘Cauldron, Nes, how much have you drank tonight?’

‘Enough to tell your high lord that I’m in love with you.’

Cassian settled her on the edge of the bed. He gripped her by the arms to keep her upright. She might have tried to give him a sultry smile, but her face was flushed and it was more of a sleepy grimace than everything.

‘You told Rhys that but not me,’ he teased.

‘I'm in love with you.’

‘Will you tell me it when you’re sober?’

‘If you bring me a cup of tea to my bed in the morning, I’ll tell you anything you want to hear,’ she whispered, eyes drooping.

Like a deadweight, Nesta leant against his chest while he tried to keep her semi-upright and fiddle with the clasps of her dress to ready her for sleep. Nesta allowed him to roughly plait her hair. It was atrocious, but it would stop the tangles from amassing during the night – though he doubted she’d moved much once her head hit the pillow. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was the state she regularly got herself into in Velaris, but with nobody to look out for her, to ensure she made it home and was safe. Cassian shook the thought away. Nesta had been celebrating, enjoying herself tonight rather than seeking self-destruction. Her head popped through the hole of nightgown as he pulled it over her head. Pink lips puckered, awaiting a kiss. This female would be the death of him.

After he pecked her lips, she declared, ‘I miss Emerie.'

A sparking feeling richocheted up his spine. Nesta had her hand against his wing rubbing along the inside the same way she’d stroke Zasha. Cassian lurched away, legs threatening to buckle, from the sudden barrage of sensation.

Nesta blinked in shock. He’d thrown himself towards the wall, out of her reach and his breath had hitched. ‘They are very sensitive, Nesta.’

He swallowed, voice still trembling from the pulse of pleasure that had almost brought him to his knees. Nobody had ever touched his wings before. He had never allowed a lover to have that intimacy; he always kept his wings in his periphery because Illyrians were taught to protect their wings at all costs. Even asleep, he’d known if someone had gotten too close to his wings and would shift it out of reach.

‘Did you… Did you touch Emerie’s wings before?’

‘Oh I want to so badly. They’re so pretty,’ she lamented. ‘When the sun comes through yours, it makes me want to be like Feyre and learn how to paint.’

'You can touch them another day. I'll teach you.'

No sooner than the moment he lifted her into the bed was Nesta patting the space next to her, desperate for him to join her. Was the alcohol making her so affectionate or were the iron walls of her fortress finally collapsing to let him in. She sidled over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, the scent of the sea clinging to her skin.

‘I missed you,’ she murmured in the dark. ‘I wished I could have danced with you. I wished you were there. I already miss you and you haven’t even gone back to Velaris yet.’

He couldn’t find the words to convey how much that admission meant to him. Or how much it twisted his heart because he would return to his home. A home without Nesta. Delicately, Cassian kissed her temple.

‘I saw Elain. I told her that I missed her. And I saw Feyre and Rhysand and Amren.’

A steady hand stroked against her hair. Cassian was almost too afraid to say anything or move incase it startled Nesta back into a silence where she locked away all of her confessions. Her voice was growing heavy with sleep, but she continued. ‘I want to go an adventure with you.’

‘Mm,’ he murmured against her skin. ‘A horse drawn carriage through the snow in Winter Court? A swim in the lakes of the Dawn Court?’

‘Better,’ she slurred, breathing heavier with every inhale. ‘The Middle. I think he wants me to go there.’

‘Who?’ Her eyes had closed, her breathing even. Cassian shook her lightly, her words unsettling him. ‘Nesta, who wants you to go there?’

‘Koschei.’

Chapter Text

‘Good morning sweetheart.’

‘No.’

Nesta tugged the duvet back over her head and burrowed deep inside the warmth of the blankets. Outside was too bright. Too loud. Her head thumped and her throat was as dry as a desert. A sound of wings rustling alerted her to Cassian departing. Seconds later, a thump shook the ground as Zasha leapt off the bed to follow.

Last night was hazy. Up until Eris pressed a drink into her palm after seeing Elain, everything was mostly whole. After that moment, however, her memories grew a bit disjointed. Nesta tried to piece them together. She remembered speaking to Amren and Rhysand. There was no blood on her hands so that surely meant there hadn’t been a fight. She had a vague sense of Eris being stressy and snappy on the way home but at that point Nesta was too filled with champagne to let it wound.

A tray was settled down on the bedside table and Cassian peeled back the blanket. A small chuckle slipped from his lips as she squinted up at him.

‘What?’

‘You are adorable. Water. Lemon water. Apple juice. And green tea. I wasn’t sure what you’d want – or need.’

Using Cassian as a stabiliser, she shifted upright and leant back against the pillows. Her eyes screwed shut to give the room a chance to stop spinning.

‘It’s far too beautiful outside to spend the day in bed,’ Cassian said, perched on the edge of the mattress, one arm leaning around the back of her. ‘Do you need anything else?’

‘Just the tea, please.’

Nesta blew on the surface then sipped at the glorious warmth. It had been a long time since Nesta had been hungover like this. Even in the days when she drank into oblivion in Velaris, Nesta had developed such a tolerance that she barely ever felt the effects. And if she did, after sleeping until the afternoons, she started drinking not long after she woke. This was a stark reminder not to swig champagne with Cresseida any time soon, no matter how fun it had been.

A loose plait dangled down her shoulder; not her usual work. Did she let Cassian touch her hair? More than just to brush it, did she actually let him braid it? ‘Did you do this?’

Cassian caught the braid by the paintbrush end and tickled it against her cheek. ‘I didn’t want it to knot.’

‘How do you know how to plait it?’

A rosy hue broke across Cassian’s cheeks and his tone sped up. ‘I just watched you do it every day. Split it into three sections, one over the middle, over the next, over the next, over the next. It’s harder than it looks. I was scared to pull it too tight and hurt you.’

Nesta brushed the black hair spilling across his face away. ‘That’s very sweet. Feared general of the Night Court and master hair stylist.’

When Eris did not arrive for her morning lesson, Nesta breathed a sigh of relief. She and her magic were in no mood to be prodded and pushed. With Cassian, she pieced together the night, recalling her argument with Amren in regards to her powers. He had remained perched on the edge of the bed but slowly reclaimed a portion of it and was squeezed against her hip. The warmth of his body was always inviting so Nesta allowed herself to meld against him.

‘There was something you were going to tell me when I brought tea to your bed,’ he hummed, lips warm against her skin.

Nesta played coy, pretending she had no idea what she had blurted out to Rhysand on the balcony of Adriata’s palace. Those walls she guarded so meticulously had been torn down as easily as paper once the alcohol flowed through her.

The corner of Cassian’s mouth cocked upwards. ‘That you’re in love with me? Does that ring any bells?’

‘Oh, that. I suppose so,’ she teased. Cassian squeezed the back of her neck until she squealed. ‘I’ve loved you for a long time.’ When her hand rested against the soft skin of Cassian’s cheeks, his eyes fluttered shut, savouring the touch. ‘Thank you for not giving up on me. There were likely many times when you wanted to be rid of me, wondered why the Cauldron had given you a female so angry and vicious. Thank you for continuing to try with me, Cassian.’

‘And me. We will be different,’ he promised. ‘We’re on each other’s team. You and me.’

After much coaxing and bargaining, Nesta was in the hammock outside. Her airy hope of reading was long abandoned. The shy peering over the top of her book had been forgotten too for flat out gawking at Cassian while he trained under a blazing sun. His shirt had been tossed towards her after a vigorous warm up. It was obscene to look like that. Sweat slicked his golden skin so he stood like a god amongst the wildflowers of the private garden. Her eyes tracked the carved pectorals and the black ink of his tattoo that snaked across his chest down his arms. Nesta had touched those rippling muscles as often as she could, but it would never be enough. Her eyes darkened as she took in the vee of muscles sloping beneath the waist of his pants. It was a golden arrow pointing to exactly what she wanted to conquer that night.

‘Nes, you’ll be dribbling in a minute.’

Nesta scowled in response to his teasing, but Cassian enjoyed every moment that she gawped at him. He was not a shy and retiring male, no, Cassian seemed to swell from the adoration, flexing harder, throwing his fists at the sack filled with sand tied from a branch without relenting.

‘The male, yesterday, Baran. Why did he go to Eris first about the soldiers not Beron?’

Nesta blew out a breath while Cassian paused to glug down water. ‘Baran is very loyal to him. All of his staff are. He trusts them – and vice versa. Eris trusted Baran enough to teach me to ride alone. We’d ride the grounds together in the morning then I’d take a dance lesson. It was only when I left Eris’ home that Dolos found me and took me to Beron. Not a single one of his staff let that information leak.’

Cassian gulped down half a flask of water before nodding. ‘I wonder if Eris will mention it at his next meeting with us.’

‘Oh. That reminds me. Rhysand has asked if we’d like to have dinner with them when Helion visits.’

Cassian waited for Nesta to continue, to give her the opportunity to put across her opinion. If she was being honest, she did not want to attend. Maybe if it was just her sisters, maybe if it was not in Velaris where she felt trapped, she might have been more inclined to go. The thought of it drenched her in dread. But Cassian had tried for her. He had come to the Spring Court, endured Eris’ taunts, endured pollen bombardment, trained sentries and even played board games with Tamlin. She owed it to him to try and build the bridge at her end too.

‘I thought that we could go a day earlier and stay in Illyria. You could see them without me present and I can spend a day with Balthazar and Emerie. Maybe even visit Lule and Lorin. Rovena too, if Azriel can talk with his mother.’ Nesta swallowed, already feeling sick with worry at the thought of being trapped in Velaris with Morrigan and Amren circling her like sharks. ‘Then we can have dinner in Velaris the next day. But really, I would prefer to stay in Illyria.’

That was as much as Nesta could offer. She wasn’t in a place where she could stay in Velaris and meet with the inner circle comfortably. Even staying at the House of Wind brought back memories of when she and Elain had been made, the loneliness and the fear of what she’d become. For all its decadent furniture and lavish rooms, the House of Wind had been a prison that they could never escape from. Being trapped there again – with the only exits being ten thousand steps or a mortal drop from the roof – already made Nesta’s heart stutter. So much of Velaris was tainted with bad thoughts that Nesta was not strong enough to chase away.

Cassian leant over the hammock to kiss her on the forehead. His wings stretched out behind him to cast a shadow over her. The sun seeped through the membrane casting a beautiful burnt orange glow on them. A cocoon of safety that engulfed her. ‘Sounds like a great idea. Can I make one suggestion? I’d like to take a walk in Velaris. There are a lot of shops and restaurants, but there is one book shop I think you’d really love to visit.’

‘I can manage that,’ she conceded, ‘If you’re paying.’

‘I’m a gentleman - of course.’ They kissed again and it struck Nesta how natural it felt to be affectionate with him. Nesta was not analysing every move. It was how it should be; her hands locking around his neck to keep him there, the grin stretching across his lips mid-smile at the touch.

When Cassian returned to the punching bag, a predator seized him. Every punch was precise, his stance formidable, the loving smile had faded into a look of complete focus. Nesta stopped gawking so obviously, but did remain simply admiring the discipline he had to train daily with such focus – and she was thankful he let her have a day off to lounge in the hammock.

‘Who would win in a fight between you and Rhysand?’

‘Why? Do you want to see it when we go to Velaris?’ At Nesta’s snort, he threw her a rogue’s grin. ‘Me. With magic, him. He’d usually make me earn it but he spends too much time in bed with your sister. He’s neglecting his training.’

Nesta fought to suppress her retching. It was bad enough seeing her sister pawing at her mate constantly in public, not to mention the constant innuendos and insinuations about their bedroom habits. Nesta pushed those thoughts away.

‘And Azriel?’

‘Over the years, I’ve probably taken the lead. I’m bigger and stronger, but Az is fast as hell. He hates losing too. I’ve never met a worse loser; he won’t admit defeat and he thinks nothing of cheating.’

Nesta shrugged. ‘But an enemy won’t always fight with honour. Better not to expect your opponent to always follow the rules.’

‘Has anyone told you that you are a clever witch?’

‘Not today,’ Nesta winked. ‘What about your wings? If Illyrians must do anything to protect them, trying to touch or injure them seems an easy way to throw them off guard during battle.’

There was a moment of contemplation then Cassian nodded in agreement. ‘What a good general you’d be. Are you trying to work out how to beat me in a fight?’

Nesta scoffed. ‘Cassian, I would only need to flash my breasts and you would be completely undone.’

‘Nesta Archeron, there is absolutely no way you would ever flash in public.’

Rising to his taunt, Nesta edged the strap of her dress over her shoulder, revealing more skin. Then halted. A victorious smile seized her lips as she watched how Cassian was overcome with a preternatural stillness. ‘You are absolutely correct.’

‘Tease.’

‘Show off.’

The time ran away in between drooling over Cassian and snoozing in the hammock. Nesta had admitted defeat; she knew herself well enough to know that she would not undertake any paperwork that day. When Zasha had whined beneath her to be allowed into the hammock, Cassian had lifted the dog in with her and brought a blanket out of the house to tuck them both in.

Nesta wasn’t quite sure how long she and the dog dozed together for but when her throat was parched, she finally opened her eyes. She had dreamt again of the Bog of Oorid; always the same path as if she was being led to something. Cassian had avoided mentioning it when they discussed her fragments of memories, she noticed.

She found him chatting easily with Fionn and Tamlin, the blonde males sat either side of him on the steps leading to the porch. She almost did not want to disturb them, the scene was so unexpectedly calm. They were watching the sentries running through drills, likely commenting on their form and strengths. That Tamlin had allowed Cassian to be involved was monumental too. More shocking was how tiny Fionn appeared next to the other two. Tamlin was as enormous as Cassian – though the bulk of his wings helped him to appear larger.

Still, Nesta stole Cassian away. She led him by the hand towards the kitchen where a servant lavished puddings on them that she had been experimenting with.

‘So,’ Nesta hummed, drumming her fingers on the table, ‘the Bog of Oorid.’

‘I hoped you’d forgotten that.’

‘I noticed. I will go regardless and there is nothing you can say that will put me off.’

‘Have you considered that it’s a trap?’

Nesta pushed her spoon into the hard crust of sugar of her crème brulee. ‘Yes. Have you also considered another item of the trove could be there?’

‘Why would Koschei want youto find it?’

‘I don’t know for certain he is giving me these directions. It could be another.’

‘Like Briallyn?’ Cassian offered. ‘It is a trap, Nesta, one you’re skipping straight into.’

Nesta raised her chin, a heap of food poised on her spoon. ‘I will be going tomorrow, Cassian. The invitation is extended to you. If you are scared-’

‘Don’t you try and twist my arm into this, Archeron. You can’t even use a sword.’

‘Who killed Lanyths? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe it was me. Cassian, I have to go. And if it is a trove item, is it not better to find it now before another does and it will save Helion a second trip to Velaris.’

Cassian rolled his eyes. ‘You are so incredibly helpful, Nesta. We wouldn’t want Helion exerting himself, would we?’

***

Tamlin had directed them to aged maps. Whilst it was forbidden to fully map the Middle, Cassian had some dealings with it as he’d flown over it or tracked down creatures that belonged in the Prison. He marked roughly where he knew rivers ran or the odd lake was. He listened to Nesta as she described what she had seen when she had scried, hastily scrawling down every detail to try and map it onto his own memories of the place to try and pinpoint the Bog of Oorid’s location.

There was no chance in hell he was letting Nesta go there alone. He didn’t like it at all – but he knew how stubborn she was. Nesta seemed to recognise that he was not entirely happy with the choice, and that she had twisted him round her finger, so frequently kissed him during the afternoon or whispered in his ear what she planned to do with him that night to make up for it.

When Nesta was glugging down another glass of juice, hangover chased away, a familiar red-haired male sauntered into the dining room. A large bouquet of flowers was gripped in his hands. It was all red roses and bright sunflowers picked straight from the Autumn Court. Eris mockingly bowed before presenting the bunch of flowers.

‘I was short with you last night and I’m sorry for it. I was worried about my males. I hope you can forgive me.’

When Nesta threw an arm around him, Cassian turned back to the maps, trying not to let a growl break through him. While she scurried off to find a vase for her flowers, Eris helped himself to a chair opposite Cassian. He waited for the jeering or sneering that they had spent all night writhing together on the dance floor – but none came. The pockets of grey beneath Eris’ amber eyes suggested he had not slept at all the previous night. Worry was etched still on his features.

‘Did you find your missing soldiers?’

If Eris was surprised that Nesta had told him, he made no show of it. The male shook his head resignedly. ‘No. We found their camp in the foothills of a small mountain range. Fire embers were still warm, shoes were neatly lined up outside of a tent, and all their supplies remain.’ Eris grimaced. ‘They have vanished. I have no other explanation.’

Nesta entered, setting the vase in the centre of the table then took up the seat at the head. ‘What did your father say?’

‘Who will he declare war on?’ Cassian added.

‘They’ll be executed for deserting once they’re found.’ Eris bit the inside of his cheek, blinking rapidly. ‘He’s not blaming anyone for it – which makes me suspicious. I know those males. They’re good males with families. Something isn’t right about it. But what can I do? My father isn’t worried. I know they’re not in Autumn Court.’

‘We’ll have our sentries keep an eye on the border. I can get a message to Cresseida too to do the same,’ Nesta offered, placing a hand on top of Eris’.

‘I appreciate it, thank you. I’ve written to Kallias too. They have to be in one of those courts, somehow. They can’t have just turned to dust.’

His eyes tracked Nesta’s slender hand encased in his own then up to Cassian’s hazel eyes. He sucked in a long, slow breath. ‘There is another apology I owe. I love my mother more than any other. I’ll set the world on fire when she departs this world. I am deeply sorry for what I said to you about your own mother. It was completely wrong. I am sorry, Cassian.’

Time seemed to stretch into eternity while Cassian sat there blinking in response to Eris’ genuine apology. Pride blazed in Nesta’s eyes as she squeezed Eris’ hand. He had no doubts that it had been Nesta who had pushed the Autumn Court heir into the apology, but he was still grateful. She leaned across to Cassian and kissed his cheek. It made him feel worse for all the times Mor or Rhys had made a judgement about Nesta and he’d not made any effort to defend her, let alone demand they apologise. Yet she, his wonderful clever mate, had gotten Eris Vanserra to apologise to a bastard-born lesser fae.

‘Are you mapping the Middle?’

Swift as a fox, Eris had swiped a map off the table and inspected it. Nesta deferred to Cassian, waiting for his response.

‘Just discussing it.’

‘You’re terrible liars. Both of you. You’re going to the Middle,’ he stated, eyes narrowing. ‘When?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘Why?’

Cassian shrugged. ‘Nesta’s curious about it.’

Eris’ eyebrows raised with amusement. ‘Really? Illyria needs lessons on how to treat females if that is considered a romantic proposition. You do know it is technically illegal to be wander around the Middle? Or will you just flap around to give Nesta a tour?’

Neither of them had an answer. Cassian had the growing sense that they were being told off by a stern parent as Eris folded his arms across his front. Despite no words passing their lips, Eris’ mouth formed a small o-shape. ‘Oh. You’re searching for something, aren’t you? And how do you plan to go there? Fly across Autumn? Nesta, I am disappointed. You’re smarter than this.’

Nesta’s mouth dropped open in outrage at his comment then her brows raised. ‘Are you joining us then?’

A slow, vulpine grin spread across Eris’ pale face. ‘Well, you’ll need someone who can winnow. Won’t you?’

The following morning, Nesta had allowed him to assist her with the various buckles and straps of the sheaths covering her leathers. She wasn’t happy to wear them – but it beat a gown for ease of movement. She touched her own Made weapons, taking a sword and a dagger, along with a dagger that Eris had gifted her.

Eris was fussing Zasha on the porch when they approached. Another dog was with him, a bitch with bright, clever eyes. Nesta made a little noise of delight and explained the hound, Adja, was Zasha’s mother. Without hesitation, Eris had seized them both around the arm and winnowed them to the Middle.

A gray, watery light hit them. A heavy air, full of slow-running water and mold and loamy earth clung like cobwebs. There was no wind, no slight breeze, just stale decay.

Cassian whistled. ‘Look at this hellhole.’

The Bog of Oorid stretched before them. A sense of wrongness clanged through Cassian as he took in the oppressive air and stillness. Opaque black water met the grass, drowning the blades. And the dead, grey trees stood like gravestones, barren and cracked.

‘The dead were given to the water here. It is an evil place,’ Eris said, voice barely audible. Adja stayed close to her master, not even willing to sniff the ground.

Nesta grimaced. ‘Burn me to ashes and cast me to the wind instead of this.’

‘Noted,’ replied Cassian. ‘Do you feel anything, Nes?’

A disappointed sigh slipped from her lips when she shook her head.

‘Keep your senses open,’ Eris urged.

At Nesta’s request, they had told Eris the truth of why they were exploring the Middle. There was little surprise from the male, only a slight hum of acknowledgement. Cassian had little doubt that Eris did not know about the Dread Trove; the male had a vast depthless knowledge that he’d curated over the centuries by eavesdropping and prodding into other’s business. There were rumours that Beron had entire halls filled with treasure and rare items; it would not surprise Cassian if Cauldron Made items were stored there either.

When Nesta queried what dwelled in the Bog, her face scrunched with disgust as he and Eris explained about lightsingers, witches, and kelpies who were likely to dwell in the foul hell that was the Middle.

‘It’s no good standing here. Do what bats do best,’ Eris said, waving his hands towards Cassian’s wings then the sky. ‘I’ll search with Adja.’

At the sound of her name, the dog’s ears pricked up. A slight smile tipped onto Nesta’s lips then Eris nodded. With his approval, Nesta crouched down to fuss the dog. It was these little unexpected behaviours that made Cassian’s heart soar. He’d never seen Nesta around animals until recently and he’d presumed she wouldn’t like them.

‘Shout if you’re in trouble,’ Nesta murmured, touching Eris on the cheek before stepping back towards Cassian.

They rose into the air, Nesta in his arms, but the air seemed to press down upon them, a heavy weight on his wings. Cassian began a wide circle to the west, examining the islands of grass dotted throughout the obsidian expanse. A paleness had overcome Nesta. When they were back to safety, he would tease her that she planned to go alone – but it was not the time now, not when he was terrified that this place would invoke something dangerous in her. Yet her powers remained quiet. There was no crackling or dancing of silver flames through her veins – and he hoped it would remain that way while they were in the Middle.

A chill mist had descended, one that was icy enough to run its cold fingers down his wings, his face. Nesta burrowed closer to him, her brow bunched as she peered towards the ground.

They flew slowly, to give Nesta a chance to feel out the landscape, but the concern still tightened her features.

‘Something’s not right,’ she murmured.

Clinging to his neck, she scanned through the thick mist. Red light flared from below, barely visible through the fog.

Fire. Eris.

Trees thrust upwards, sharp as swords, as Cassian swerved around them, wings within an inch of being shredded on the spikes. Nesta’s heart thundered against his from the jerky flight, but she still twisted in his arms.

‘Eris is in danger! Go to him.’

‘I’m not risking you for Eris Vanserra.’

‘Put me down!’ She bellowed in his ear. ‘Put me down right now and get back to him.

Nesta thrashed and bucked in his arms as if trying to grow wings herself.

He spotted an area he deemed safe enough: a solid stretch of grassy land, the remnants of a tree rising from its midst. He sat Nesta in a tree, as she begged, perching her on the sturdiest branch.

‘Stay here,’ he commanded, voice one he used on soldiers to invoke obedience. ‘Don’t you dare climb down – for anything, for anyone, except me.’

***

Too long. Cassian had been gone too long seeking Eris. Not a single sound reached Nesta – not even the sounds of Adja’s barking reached her in the tree. Nesta’s body was beginning to cramp in her awkward angle perched on the branch. But there was still no sound, no light, or signs of Cassian flying back to her.

Cassian had fallen in battle before. Nesta had seen him gravely injured. Had seen him refuse to accept an injury. Every time it had locked her heart into a vice to see him that way. After so many brushes with death, it was only a matter of time until it stuck.

Her fingers began cramping, the grip of her legs loosened too. With an almighty crash, Nesta fell through the tree and hit the ground. The only silver lining was that the marshy ground was relatively soft. It saved her from broken bones though Nesta still groaned as she rubbed her hip. The bog stretched all around, miles of black water, dead trees, and brown, rotten grass. Nesta focused on her breathing. Not on the water seeping across the grass to her boots, not the branch that was too high up for her to climb – or the lack of arm strength that would fail her anyway.

In the still water, her face was stark white. It was still a struggle to see those pointed ears and the other ways her face had changed in the Cauldron. Her eyes, the eyes she inherited from her mother, were wide with fear.

A niggling fear chewed away at her insides, demanding she run and never look back. Run. Run Run. But Cassian was still here. And Eris. And something had caused Eris to send up flames rather than winnow away.

Something rustled in the thorns of the island and her head snapped up. A ringing screamed in her ears. A voice was yelling at her to run. Nesta scanned the horizon again, hoping with fervour to see a pair of large black wings soaring towards her. But it was not Cassian she could see. Nobody was coming.

Nesta glanced down at her reflection again.

And found a pair of night-dark eyes looking back through it.

Chapter Text

Nesta glanced down at her reflection again.

And found a pair of night-dark eyes looking back through it.

Nesta stumbled away so fast she landed on her backside, the mossy ground cushioning the impact. A face broke through the black water where her reflection had been. Obsidian hair drifted in the water around the creature as a pair of enormous onyx eyes devoured her image. The face that examined hers was whiter than bone with a narrow nose and cheekbones so sharp they could slice the skin.

In stiff, jolting movements, it jerked onto the moss to crawl towards her. Its long, dagger-sharp nails cracked and popped as they dug into the grass, grappling for purchase.

Nesta scrambled to her feet and leapt for the tree. Not enough height in her jump.

It dragged its bony torso from the putrid water onto the spongy grass. Again, Nesta jumped into the air, desperately trying to enclose her fingers around one of the lower branches. Her breath sawed out of her, terror roaring in her mind.

Kneeling on all fours, it smiled at her with twin rows of rotted teeth, jagged as shards of glass. It spoke in a language that Nesta did not recognise. Its voice rasped, deep and hoarse, full of terrible hunger and cruel amusement as it watched her try and fail to haul herself back into the tree.

It was a kelpie. A creature that feasted upon flesh. A deadly hunter. The kelpie’s head twitched, fingers convulsed in the grass. Its smile grew again, so wide that Nesta spotted the long, black tongue writhing in its mouth as if it could already taste her flesh.

She tried a final time to lurch upwards. Finally! Her sweaty hands grasped a branch and her legs flailed as Nesta fought with everything she could to lift herself to safety.

The kelpie lunged forwards. Nesta couldn’t do anything at all as those long fingers wrapped around her legs in a vice-like grip. The claws ripped through her skin, tugging her down from the branch. Nesta fought. Her fingers grabbed at the grass as the kelpie towed her closer to the water’s edge.

***

A ring of fire blazed around two males on their knees. Eris’ face was white and his dog stood with her hackles up.

As Cassian landed, Eris said nothing, only inclined his head towards the uniforms worn by the males. Their light leather armour bore Eris Vanserra’s insignia of two baying hounds on the breast. One had chestnut curls crowning him, the other had hair cropped close to the skull but it held the Autumn Court auburn in it.

‘Your soldiers?’

A muscle worked in Eris’ jaw. Beyond the flames, more soldiers lay dead, scorched by fire. There was blood streaking the Autumn heir’s face and Adja’s muzzle was stained with it.

‘Something is wrong with them,’ Eris said, voice tight.

The two males stared with nothing but hatred in their eyes. No recognition or awareness that their commander stood before them. Only Eris’ flames circling them prevented another attack.

‘We need to bind them.’

There was no disagreement on Eris’ part. His amber eyes trailed down to the dead soldiers. Not all had been charred to death, others bore the wounds of a sword. Cassian glanced to the weapon embedded into the spongy floor. Eris’ sword was soaked scarlet.

‘They attacked me,’ he said, voice broken. ‘I had to.’

They bound the males with red light spearing from Cassian’s siphons to wrap around their wrists, ankles, and mouths – then it chained them together.

‘Where’s Nesta?’

‘I left her in a tree.’

A sudden throb of magic trembled through the ground, shaking it beneath their feet. The Autumn Court soldiers bowed their heads in respect.

Cassian could not think. He did not even register hauling Eris and the dog under his arms and blasting towards Nesta’s scent. Their bond felt horribly muted as though encased in ice. He could not feel Nesta on the other end, no matter how much her tugged and jerked the bond, Nesta was not responding.

They dropped to the earth, the dog pressing her bloodied muzzle to the grass, sniffing. Cassian did not need Adja to find the trail. He knew in his heart where his mate lie. She tracked Nesta’s scent right up to the edge of the water then the dog whined and backed up towards Eris, tail between her legs.

The water remained still as black glass. Not a ripple. Cassian couldn’t breathe right, couldn’t think right.

***

There was no light in the Bog of Oorid. She had been here before. Nesta had been dragged down through icy darkness the day she had been forced into the Cauldron. There was nobody to save her. No Cassian lying broken on the ground. No Feyre gagged and sobbing.

The last breath she’d taken had been expelled already, the bubbles barely rising to the surface.

Blinded by darkness, Nesta fumbled for her dagger. It had been Made by her for a purpose. For this. To survive.

Her head was pounding from the depths of the water, from the lack of air in her lungs. But her fingers enclosed around the hilt and she swiped at the grip piercing her skin. She prayed to any God the fae had that she would not slice off her own leg. Bone reverberated against the blade. The grip on her leg splayed and she shoved the tip of the dagger in farther as the white arm ripped away.

Spindly hands slammed into her chest. One wrapped around her throat as her back hit something soft and silty. The bottom of the bog. This was where she would die. Her body would lie there for eternity, alone.

Her lungs burnt. Her hand stayed gripping the Made dagger but there was no strength in her to raise the weapon again. The kelpie had its hands on her face, clawing at her cheeks as she tried to jerk away from its touch. The rows of teeth ripped at her mouth. Nesta had escaped the monsters of the human realm only to find the same ones above the wall.

Her power. That was the curse Nesta had stolen from the Cauldron. As her world grew colder, her heart a slow, aching thud giving its final beats, Nesta dove deep into the chasm inside of her. Down, down, down into that never-ending of abyss. She was afraid of her power. So afraid of what she could become. But she was more afraid of dying here alone.

A power, ancient and terrible, pulsed through the water. The sword on her back and the knife in her hand hummed in recognition at the silver glow emanating from her.

There was something ahead, golden and shimmering. Her fingers strained for it as the kelpie dragged her across the bog. The golden thing drew nearer as her power summoned it. She felt the ripples pulsing through the water, the warning beacon of her power begging the earth for aid.

It connected with her fingers. Like calls to like. A mask. A golden mask that Nesta slammed onto her face.

Her lungs stopped hurting. Her body stopped aching. She did not require air. She did not feel pain. In a stunned fear, the kelpie released her from its grasp.

Nesta could feel the dead around her. She could feel their long-rotted bodies, the bones, the preserved, the half-eaten wraiths buried in their armour. She felt their souls, their hearts, and their dreams sparking in response to the tremors of her magic. Thousands upon thousands of bodies awaited her beckoning. But Nesta would not call upon them all. Not yet.

Her blood was a cold song, the Mask a slithering echo to it, whispering of all she might do. Home, it seemed to sigh. Home.

Nesta did not refuse it. Only embraced its song, letting the magic – colder than her own – flow into her veins, into the abyss inside of her. A skeletal hand wrapped around the kelpie’s ankle, then another, covered in a rusted gauntlet, wrapped around its other. The creature thrashed, trying to free itself from the hands holding it, but more and more extended to wrap their arms around it. Jaws opened behind the creature, revealing yellow pointed teeth that sunk deeply into the kelpie’s neck.

The power flowed through her from the Mask. She allowed it to do as it wished, allowed it to raise the honoured dead.

***

How many times had he and Eris bellowed her name? They were waist deep in the water and Cassian knew that Eris’ terrified face was a mirror of his own. The stink of urine on the grass meant Nesta had been attacked by something awful and it had dragged her down into its lair. His siphons rumbled like a far off storm. The red light blazing from them did little to penetrate the black water. Adja remained on the shore, trembling and whining for either Eris or Nesta.

If they continued making more noise, others would come looking. Other creatures. But Cassian had to find Nesta. He’d crumple up and die without her. Every moment without her was agony. Every second that he could not feel her at the other end of the bond felt as if he'd lost a limb.

He waded deeper so icy water sluiced against his chest. His hands tore through weeds drifting through the water as he grappled for any sort of clue. The pulses of the water came more frequently. His siphons flared in response to it.

Eris clutched the back of his collar, too close to his wings. ‘Look.’

The surface of the deeper water rippled and a bright, golden light shone beneath. It was only Eris’ strong grip keeping him from swimming towards it.

‘We need to get out of the water,’ the male urged.

A spear broke the surface. Spear after spear appeared. Then helmets gushing with water; some were rusted or dented, others were freshly forged. Beneath those helmets were skulls picked clean of flesh.

‘Mother save us all,’ Eris whispered, voice trembling with undiluted terror.

A line of them rose, marching forwards. Decaying flesh exposed ribs and stark white spinal columns. From their armour, these were warriors, kings, princes, and lords whose lives hand ended long ago. They rose from the surface, standing in the shallows where he and Eris had been moments earlier before the Autumn heir had dragged him back towards the tree on the spit of land.

Every word emptied from Cassian’s head as Nesta emerged from the water. As the golden light seeped from her, the army of the dead knelt before their queen. A golden mask sat upon her face, primitive but embossed with whorls and patterns so ancient they’d lost all meaning.

Clenched in her hand was a kelpie’s head. It dangled by its sheet of black hair, just as the King of Hybern’s head had hung there.

‘Holy Gods,’ Eris breathed.

The dead stood motionless, a legion poised to strike if she willed it. Queen of queens, that was what Nesta was. The dead were hers to rule like a death god from history.

‘Nesta,’ Cassian whispered to his mate.

She released the head. The black water at her feet swallowed it whole. Eris’ hand enclosed around his wrist, dragging him towards the floor in a bow. Time stretched as Nesta stared them down, silver fire blazing in her eyes.

Then that golden shimmer of the Mask shifted. She peeled away the Mask and the dead collapsed back into the depths.

Nesta sank as if the strings that had lifted her from the Bog had been cut. Cassian lunged for her, icy water biting at his face as he dived beneath to haul her back to the surface.

When they reached the shore, Cassian surveyed her pale face that was ripped and scratched around her mouth and jaw. His eyes lingered on the tears in her leathers, the deep, bloodied welts left by claws. The kelpie had taken her. Had dragged her to the depths of its lair where her magic had invoked itself because he had left her alone.

Nesta blinked several times, her body went limp in his arms. She clutched the Mask to her chest like a child with a doll, shaking, shaking, shaking.

‘Here,’ Eris murmured, fire dancing on his palms as he hovered near Nesta, letting the heat of the flames warm her body. Adja pressed herself against Nesta; the dog’s warmth helping to calm her trembling.

He wanted to take her to Velaris. To get her and the Mask to Rhys, but to do that would break every inch of trust he’d been building. She hated Velaris. The last thing he wanted was to be parted from her. But Nesta was hurt and frozen, in desperate need of a healer. There were wayward Autumn Court soldiers still bound in the Middle to be dealt with. More dead soldiers who needed a burial. Only one of them could winnow, and it wasn’t Cassian. The decision was taking too long, Eris was apparently waiting for his cue.

‘Take her to Spring. Send for a healer.’ He swallowed. hating the words leaving his lips, hated having to be away from Nesta. ‘Then get Rhys or Azriel. Send a message from the Hewn City. I’ll meet you by your soldiers.’

***

Golden light broke through the rich russet and amber leaves crowning the trees around them. Eris had draped his coat around her and winnowed them, but Nesta hadn’t really registered any of it. The trees reminded her of treasure – and as a golden leaf twirled towards the sprawling lake next to the red stone palace, she remembered this place. Remembered that it had been a sanctuary once.

‘Master Eris, we were not expecting you back so early.’ An elderly female hobbled down the steps towards them wrapping a shawl tighter across her shoulders. Her legs were bowed and her gait was odd. When the female reached them, Nesta held in her gasp; her eyes were yellow, nose pointed and teeth sharp – a lesser fae type that Nesta had not seen before.

‘Send for my mother, Cora. Discreetly and urgently.’ The command rippled from Eris’ voice as he carried Nesta into the house. ‘Don’t leave her alone. You stay with her. I trust you most.’

The female bowed her head at his words, a slight blush spreading over her cheeks.

Nesta remembered the hallways that Eris carried her down, the large staircase that he cantered up with a smokehound greeting them at the top. Cora huffed and puffed her way up, speaking in another language to another servant who took one look at Nesta and scurried away on a duty.

As if no time had passed since the last time he had carried her to the bedroom, Eris gently lay Nesta onto a wide, four-poster bed in the centre of a room that had been panelled with oak around the lower portion. Her eyes flickered to the golden vines snaking across the emerald paint. She was distantly aware of the hand that brushed against her swollen cheek. The blanket that was tucked around her trembling body.

‘I’ll be back as quickly as I can. Keep her safe.’

‘Eris, are you hurt?’

She heard Eris huff a laugh in response to the servant’s question. ‘Thank you for caring for me all these long years, Cora.’

‘I was the first one in this world to hold you. Do you think there will be a day where I ever stop caring for you?’

When Eris had departed, a wet nose snuffled at Nesta’s neck on the bed. She managed to raise a hand to swat it away but her skin touched the silky smooth fur of one of the hounds.

‘Leal, get down,’ Cora scolded, shooing the dog from the bed. ‘Apologies, my lady. Master Eris spoils that one. She has destroyed two pairs of shoes this week already.’

Despite the intimidating appearance, Cora spoke kindly in a way a grandmother from a fairytale might speak as she asked Nesta if she could take off her shoes. Without waiting for a reply – Nesta didn’t know if she could even speak, her throat was so bruised – gnarled hands unlaced her shoes and gently tugged them off her feet.

‘Cora? Are you up here?’ A soft voice that Nesta recognised carried down the corridor into the bedroom. ‘Is Eris hurt?’

‘My lady,’ Cora responded, bending into a low curtsey at the door.

‘Where is my son?’ The Lady of the Autumn Court swept into the room bringing the smell of roasting chestnuts and crackling fires. Her steps stilled at the sight of Nesta curled up on the bed. She heard the slight intake of breath as Eris’ mother knelt on the floor beside her. ‘Nesta Archeron. Cora, send for a healer at once. Have a bath drawn and a hot drink brought here. Whiskey too. Eris will have it in the library.’

A warm hand enclosed around Nesta’s. This female had suffered terribly at the hands of her husband – and Nesta had seen the shell of her at dinner. But in the safety of her son’s home, a different female emerged. Her voice, sweet as sun-warmed apples, soothed Nesta’s aching heart. Those russet eyes, so like Lucien’s, took in the sight of the wounds on her face and softened with sadness. ‘You’re safe here.’

Nesta was only vaguely aware of the sounds of water gushing against a porcelain bathtub as it was filled, of Cora entering and departing with tea and whiskey then an array of foods. The Lady of the Autumn Court remained kneeling on the floor stroking a thumb against Nesta’s forehead trying to persuade her to eat.

The lady leaned over her, reaching for a pillow which she stripped the cover off of. ‘Let me take that,’ she murmured, holding open the pillowcase for Nesta to drop the mask into. As it sunk to the bottom, she spied the slight shudder to the lady’s shoulders, but a weight had been lifted from Nesta when her fingers had released it.

It was tucked beneath the bed, out of sight. The lady of the court did not hesitate as she handled the Made weapons, did not ogle or recoil from the power radiating from them, merely removed them from Nesta’s body and placed them under the bed too.

After a shot of whiskey was poured into her throat, she was steered to the bathroom. Nesta put up no resistance at the sight of the water. Mountains of white bubbles settled on the surface and she told herself over and over again it was only clouds, not an endless depth to drown in. Nesta did not protest when Eris’ mother undressed her and led her into the water. Not when she cleaned the grit and silt from beneath her nails. Not when she took a jug and cradled Nesta’s head to clean her hair.

A soft-bristled brush worked its way through her golden hair while Nesta stared blankly at the wall. ‘I always wanted a daughter, but the Mother gave me seven sons instead,’ the lady said, combing delicately through a knot. ‘My sisters and I, we loved to play with each other’s hair, experimenting with styles and new braids. Would you like to me plait yours?’

Nesta said nothing, only savoured the gentle touch of a mother as the lady of the Autumn Court stroked her hair. How much of motherhood had this female been denied by Beron? Did servants raise her children rather than the lady herself? Had she had the opportunity to tuck her sons into bed and kiss them goodnight? Nesta’s own mother rarely did. It was always servants who put them to bed.

‘My lady,’ came Cora’s voice from the doorway. ‘We’ve been unable to find any clothes suitable for a female here.’

A soft laugh left her lips. ‘I can’t decide if that’s good news or bad news, Cora. Find her something of Eris’. We can’t have her in a towel all day.’

‘As you wish, my lady.’

When the servant’s steps faded, the lady’s hands went back to Nesta’s hair. She had parted it in two then had braided one half to Nesta’s head before beginning on the other side. ‘Cora brought my sisters and I into this world – as well as Eris.’

‘Not your other sons?’

‘My husband did not feel it proper for a lesser fae to deliver the sons of a high lord.’ Venom seeped from her tone, but that was the only indication of her displeasure. ‘Cora comes from a family who are gifted with turning the babe in the womb, of understanding a female’s body when she carries a child. I was very young when I birthed Eris. Cora was with me in every moment.’

When the healer came – a dark-haired male with disarming amber eyes – he frowned at the wounds on Nesta’s face. Cora had found an old tunic belonging to Eris in a rich forest green that was long enough to act as a dress that reached her knees. It had been paired with knee-high grey socks in lieu of stockings. It was not a particularly dignified outfit, but Nesta found that she did not care. A void was opening up inside of her mind with the same broken emptiness she experienced in Velaris. It had been her foolish decision to go to the Middle, her stubbornness that led Cassian and Eris there. She had thought that Cassian was being over-bearing in his reluctance in taking her, but she knew better now. Nesta knew that the Middle was a wasteland full of creatures more ancient and vile than any monster she’d encountered before.

‘It looks like an animal has mauled you,’ the healer mused, turning her face from side to side.

‘A kelpie,’ she murmured.

The warm hands that cradled her own squeezed tightly. It was a fear for Nesta – but fear for her own son who had been there too. Eris had not seen the kelpie, not been victim to its hunting. But Eris had smelt of blood when he’d carried her. There had been blood streaking his skin and clothes. He had sent up the flames as a flare for assistance.

The healer cleaned the wounds on her face and legs with a thick, stinking ointment that stung, but departed with the promise that the marks would be gone in a day or two. Nesta had avoided the mirrors in the bathroom. She did not want to be reminded of those jagged teeth bearing down on her in the water.

‘My son cares for you dearly. You have a mate.’ The lady of the Autumn Court seemed to be struggling to marry those two facts together. Her lovely face shifted from confusion to softness, realising this was not a time to discuss her son’s feelings. ‘Rest, Nesta. I will stay with you.’

***

Rhys had arrived quickest to the Hewn City and had winnowed with Eris back to the Middle. Cassian knew the explosion would come once Eris had returned home about the sheer foolishness to have gone to Middle, especially with Eris Vanserra as an ally. But Eris had been an ally. Even he agreed that the soldiers should not be returned to Beron, that Beron’s lack of concern had even managed to unsettle his son and spread a seed of doubt. He’d remained with Cassian in the Bog rather than winnowing to safety, had stayed to find Nesta.

In a hurry, Cassian recounted how Nesta had been taken by a kelpie while he had gone to assist Eris following the sight of his flames erupting. That rather than expose Nesta to the Hewn City, she was somewhere safe - and Cassian was itching to get back to her to take care of her.

They had winnowed back to the Hewn City, to a place where even Keir and his elite squadron of Darkbringers did not dare tread. It was a place where enemies never departed. The beasts that writhed in the pit below rarely fed, but could stretch out their feeds for decades. It was the trickling blood of the two Autumn Court soldiers that woke them. Their snarls and hisses, their snapping tails and scraping claws should have incentivised the males chained to chairs to talk. But their lips remained sealed, their eyes vacant.

Truth-teller hung bloodied in Azriel’s hands. Eris had barely blinked during the interrogation, had asked only that the males not receive Azriel’s full torture. Not a single word had spilt from their lips. Rhys had halted the torture, if only to put Eris out of his misery, when it became clear they would not reveal anything.

Word had been sent to the Autumn Court for the other soldiers’ bodies to be collected from the Middle to be given over to their families. Cassian had begun to wonder if Eris was a decent male beneath it all. Wondered what lie he'd spin to Beron for his reason to be in the Middle in the first place.

All Cassian wanted was to return to Nesta. It was her name echoing through his head. He could feel their bond, feel her at the other end again - and it was that fact that kept him sane. He wanted to scoop his mate into his arms and never let her go. He’d fly her to the edge of the world where she’d be safe.

‘It must be an enchantment,’ Amren said, circling the males. ‘Their only drive is to harm.’

Rhys had slipped into their minds. He had found the scene that Eris had described – their camp in the foothills of a mountain range – but then their memories blurred and fogged. He could not even trace the current memory in the Hewn City as if all sentience had left them.

‘They were like rabid dogs,’ said Eris, staring unblinking at the soldiers, his males. ‘Even when I scorched them with flame, they still tried to make ground despite the pain.’

It had to be the crown. Unwittingly, they had made a move on two items of the trove while the third was likely in Briallyn’s possession already. Was that why Nesta had been repeatedly pointed to the Bog of Oorid? To claim the mask before the soldiers retrieved it for her.

‘There are males missing,’ Eris conceded. ‘That was not the full battalion.’

‘Cut off the snake and it grows two heads,’ Azriel muttered, wiping his blade on a piece of cloth. His brother’s face was stone-cold. It never revealed any guilt or shame for the things he did in the name of his court.

‘Eris, we cannot allow them to live.’

Rhys stepped closer to Feyre, angling his body to block Eris’ path in case he reacted badly to the High Lady of the Night Court’s words.

‘They are my men. I will do it.’

They allowed Eris relative privacy while he entered the room. The heavy metal door closed behind him, but Amren kept watch through the narrow slat. If Eris tried to free them, they’d have to get through that door. It was too heavily warded to winnow out. Cassian felt his respect for the male rising. Eris would give them honour in death.

‘Can we trust him?’ Feyre murmured.

‘His pain is genuine. I think even Eris would not sacrifice his own males for an alliance.’

Cassian nodded in agreement with Rhys. ‘Beron played a part in their disappearance. None of the soldiers could winnow and Beron wasn't concerned in the slightest.’

No noise came from the room beyond. Cassian had heard that the Autumn Court cremated their dead and scattered their ashes to the wind as a gift to the Mother. Would that be how he ended the prisoners’ lives?

‘At what point will you inform us why you, Nesta, and Eris Vanserra took a little jaunt to the Middle?’ Rhys’ violet eyes locked onto his. There was betrayal that he had not consulted with Rhys, that he’d chosen Eris, anger that he’d tangled them into the mess of the missing soldiers, and disappointment that his mate had to witness the torture after her own time Under the Mountain.

‘Nesta wanted to go.’

Even Azriel raised his brows in surprise.

‘And you just took her there?’

It sounded so ridiculously dumb to say it out loud. Yes, Nesta originally planned to go alone but had persuaded him to go - then Eris had tagged along because he could winnow. ‘We had our reasons.’

‘I expect Nesta was right at home there,’ Amren muttered from her perch on the door way.

‘Shut the fuck up, Amren.’

A heavy sort of silence descended at Cassian’s words. He did not regret them for a moment. Amren said nothing, merely shrugged and remained peering through the hatch.

‘We found the Mask.’

Before Rhys or Feyre could bombard him with an interrogation, Amren stepped back from the door and Eris exited. To his credit, the male kept his head up despite the smoulder of flesh upon his clothes, the cinders escaping from the room.

‘I’m sorry for your soldiers,’ Cassian said, surprising himself.

‘If you have no further questions, I am returning home.’

Rhysand nodded. It had been a long, horrible day. One Cassian would rather forget – and he knew Eris shared that sentiment. Perhaps Eris knew Beron’s cruelty better than any, yet even he seemed shaken by the day’s events.

‘Az, winnow with Cass to Tamlin’s and bring Nesta here. I need to talk to her about today.’

Azriel nodded, shadows skittering away as he stepped towards Cassian.

‘You won’t find her in Spring.’

All of them blinked at Eris.

‘She is not in Spring,’ Eris ground out. ‘A kelpie nearly drowned her today. Did you see the state of her face? The terror in her eyes? And beyond that, she wore the Mask of the dead, wielded it and raised an army of bones. Did you really think I would dump her in Spring and leave her there to put herself back together?’

Cassian’s voice rumbled like a roll of thunder, shaking the ground. ‘You’ve taken her to Autumn? To your sadistic father’s court?’

Eris did not back down, kept his spine straight. ‘My servants are loyal to me. No harm will have come to her.’

‘Pray to the Mother that that is true,’ Cassian warned.

‘The Mask is in Beron’s court?’ Rhys swore. His anger was a dark rippling wave that coated the room in shadow.

Eris laughed. Laughed. ‘Your mate’s sister was nearly killed today and your worry is not for her, but for an object.’

‘A highly dangerous object,’ Rhys corrected, eyes simmering with rage. It was only Feyre’s hand tugging at his own that quelled the high lord’s anger to an acceptable level.

‘How many games did you play under that mountain, Rhysand?’ Eris crooned, tilting his head to the side. ‘You played them for fifty years – and yet you can’t manage to hide your dislike for Nesta for even a few minutes. Can’t even pretend to care about her - not for her mate’s benefit or your own.’

The Autumn Court heir straightened up. ‘I will return to Nesta – and I will take her wherever she wishes to go. I will not force her hand. Unlike you, I do value a female’s choice. Ask Morrigan.’

Chapter Text

‘Eris, what’s happened?’

Nesta had been dozing in the library, curled up like a cat with her head in the Lady of the Autumn Court’s lap while she read and stroked Nesta’s head. It had been a children’s book, one the lady had selected from the shelf with a fond smile. She had not heard Eris arrive home, but as his mother spoke and tried to rise, it had roused Nesta.

Eris had seen better days. There was a dullness to his skin as his magic flagged from the long day. Shadows had taken up residence beneath his eyes. Blood had dried on his skin. A spraying of it was along his left cheek.

Leal the dog scampered over to her master. From the size, Nesta would hedge she was from the same litter as Zasha – and certainly had the same temperament. Still, the dog managed to raise a half-smile from Eris as she reached up to his chest with her large paws. He held her muzzle with one hand then swiftly kissed her wet nose.

‘How is Nesta?’

At his words, Nesta raised her head to show she was awake.

‘Did a healer-’

‘Yes. Juraj came. Her wounds have been cleaned.’ The soft voice spoke to her, ‘I have to go Nesta. It has been lovely to spend the day with you.’

It was an interesting choice of words. Nesta had lay unmoving, unresponsive, while Eris’ mother had cared for her as if she were a sick child. She pitied the female if that had been a lovely day for her.

‘Your father will worry if I’m gone any longer,’ she murmured as she stroked her eldest son’s hair flat to his head. ‘What did we do today?’

‘Discussed the fund. I’ve made a donation on behalf of the Autumn Court in return for aid for those close to Summer’s border.’

‘And lunch?’

Eris sucked in a breath. ‘Salmon with rice and broccoli. Steamed. No dessert. We took a walk around the grounds too after lunch.’

They were aligning their stories should Beron question them, Nesta realised. How many times had they had to lie to protect each other? Did Beron torture his wife? Could she withstand it?

‘You will tell me what has happened,’ his mother said, eyes lingering on the sticky, dried blood. ‘I’ll return tomorrow. Eris…’ Whatever his mother wanted to say to him, she abandoned it in favour of resting her forehead against his. ‘My son.’

‘Thank you,’ Nesta called to the departing female, ‘for everything today.’

The Lady of the Autumn Court nodded, a smile brightened her face then she departed the house to winnow back to her husband.

‘Nesta, will you be alright if I go to wash?’

Leal wedged herself on the couch with Nesta, firmly cementing the idea that she was Zasha’s sister; the dog had as much awareness of personal space as her own. But Nesta was thankful for the company while Eris returned to his room to change.

When Eris arrived back in the library, his hair was still damp, but he was dressed in a tailored waistcoat, shirt, and dark green trousers. A couple of buttons were open near the collar, exposing a peek of the broad chest beneath. He cut segments from an apple as he took the seat beside Nesta. For every piece he cut for himself, he cut another for Nesta to chew on.

‘How are you holding up?’

‘Fine.’

Eris raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re not though. And that’s okay too.’

‘How many times can I keep putting these broken pieces back together?’

The male nodded in understanding. ‘This has been a day we’d both rather forget.’

He explained what had happened to a portion of his missing soldiers. How they had been taken to the Hewn City, to an abhorrent place that even the vilest of Keir’s court did not tread. Nesta had to hear all of it. Her mood could be no worse either way. She had known that Azriel was the master of spies, that he partook in the questioning of the Night Court’s enemies – but Nesta could not deny that it was unsettling to hear exactly what he did for Rhysand. Worse still, was that the males had not reacted. It was as if the parts that made them alive had been carved out of them leaving only empty shells behind.

In that subtle way of his, Eris had her eating too. Just a broth, but as he spoke, her hands busied themselves in breaking apart a bread roll and dipping it in.

‘Your mother is so kind.’

Eris murmured his agreement. She could not have been more than a couple of decades older than him – and for fae that was nothing. ‘I just couldn’t leave you in Spring, Nesta. I couldn’t do it.’

‘Cassian had a difficult choice to make.’

‘I don’t blame him for it. He did what he thought was best. I had a mate once,’ he said quietly. ‘The Cauldron chooses wrong. It is not right to be forced together.’

A low hum throbbed in Nesta’s ear. She had never heard word of Eris having a mate – not from the inner circle or the male himself. She supposed he would keep it a secret, especially after Lucien’s love was killed by Beron. From the ache on his face, Nesta did not believe it had a happy ending. His mate would be under this roof, protected and loved if that were so.

‘Would you choose Cassian if it wasn’t for the bond?’

Months ago, she would have said no. Their bond had tied them together from the start. If it hadn’t been for the bond, would he have protected her against Hybern? Would he have continued to fly to the House of Wind to aggravate her because he knew her anger was better than the empty silence that had seized Elain? Things had changed. Things had progressed. Nesta had fallen in love with Cassian. She had fallen for his playful spirit, his enormous heart and the way the world felt warmer with him.

‘I love Cassian.’

The dark cloud that had descended upon Eris scattered to nothing. He nodded then asked a servant to clear away her dinner tray. ‘They’re in the Hewn City. I said I would only take you if you wanted to go.’

‘I want to see Cassian,’she stated firmly.

‘If you want him, you have to accept all of them. They’re parasites, feeding from each other, unable to cut the cord and be independent souls.’

Nesta could not help it but she laughed. After a day from hell, she laughed at Eris’ comment. ‘Don’t hold any punches, Eris.’

At the sound of her laughter, the corner of Eris’ mouth quirked upwards. ‘I’m so glad you can still laugh. You had me scared today.’

Nesta retrieved her belongings from upstairs. One of the servants had cleaned the stench of bog from her leathers but the rips in them were unlikely to be mended. Not that she wanted to wear them for a long, long time. Nesta had had enough adventures. Her weapons made a delighted hum as her fingers enclosed around the handles in recognition of her touch. The Mask purred too like a cat might when it was touched, but Nesta kept it within the pillowcase; she doubted Eris would mind her pilfering a pillowcase from his estate.

He waited for her at the bottom of the stairs, a smirk brewing on his face. ‘You’ll go to the Hewn City in my clothes. What a scandal that will be.’

Nesta glanced down at her outfit; the tunic bared an inch above her knees and the socks reached up her shins. Her arms were bare so he retrieved a navy jacket from a peg for her to cover her tattoo too. In lieu of her soaked boots, she would forgo shoes. Eris flicked the end of one of her braids. ‘I bet my mother couldn’t wait to get her hands on your hair.’

‘It was nice.’

‘I let her plait mine once when I was very drunk. She blackmailed me that she’d tell father I’d been drinking his expensive wine if I didn’t let her.’

‘Would she have told your father?’

Eris snorted. ‘Cauldron, no.’

‘Will you thank her again for me? It was… It was needed.’ Her throat had gone dry. That Eris had had the foresight to bring her to his home rather than Spring was invaluable. Nesta likely would still be curled in a ball on the porch if he had dropped her off at Tamlin’s Manor. ‘I don’t even know her name.’

‘Contrary to how my father introduces her, her name is not “my wife”,’ Eris grumbled in a bitter tone. ‘Adeline. But her sisters called her Lina. Cora calls her that too in private. Little Lina.’

‘What happened to your mate?’

Eris held out his hand for Nesta to take. ‘I gave her everything she wanted.’

***

The sight of Eris Vanserra striding through the Court of Nightmares hand in hand with Nesta did nothing to quell the feelings of dread that had taken up residence in Cassian’s heart. Seeing her again, mauled and bruised nearly had him breaking into tears. He could count on one hand the amount of times he’d cried in his life.

The crowd parted for them. Eris held his proud face high as he sauntered towards the thrones, but his knuckles were white where Nesta clutched desperately to his hand. What in the name of the Cauldron was she wearing?

The eyes on Nesta were assessing the outfit too, noticing the Autumn colours, the Autumn style, the Autumn Court heir guiding her through the crowd. So much of ruling revolved around political gestures and imagery. Eris presenting Nesta in his court’s colours while she was injured likely displayed a fracture in the Night Court. Rumours had swirled for a long time that a showdown had occurred between her and Rhysand in Illyria, that the high lady’s sister had disappeared promptly afterwards. There had been whispers Rhys had killed her until she’d been announced as emissary to the Spring Court. Before Rhys had a chance to speak into his mind and try to stop him, Cassian rushed across the polished floor to his mate.

Nesta discarded Eris’ hand and threw her arms around him. Cassian was already on his knees, holding her tightly. For privacy, his wings cocooned her. She was here. This was real. Nesta buried her face into the crook of his neck, the warmth of her skin the most reassuring touch he’d ever felt.

When they finally broke away, Nesta was checking him for injuries, to see if he was harmed - despite Nesta being the one with the brutalised mouth, neck marked by claw, calves and sins lacerated. Part of him shattered irreparably at the sight of her so beaten up.

Cassian offered his arm to Nesta. She set her jaw and avoided looking anywhere but the thrones to not have to see the crowd that stared at her. How much pain was already churning beneath that mask of indifference? Eris accompanied them, carrying a bag of Nesta’s belongings, including her swords. He’d had the foresight to cover the blades from view at least.

Amongst the moonstone pillars of the beautiful palace, they aimed for a private room. It took only heartbeats after the door was closed for Feyre to pull her arms around her elder sister. Nesta’s eyes screwed shut and Cassian could tell she was fighting hard not to fall apart, to keep herself rigid so she wouldn’t crumble here in front of these people. Azriel was there once Feyre had released her. His hazel eyes dipped to the wounds on her face.

‘Lanthys then a kelpie? I think you like danger more than Cass.’ As Nesta clung to Azriel’s scarred fingers, a shadow briefly wrapped around both of their hands in recognition of their bond. Not mates, but Azriel had recognised something in Nesta that lived within him – and neither had ever balked from the other.

‘She’s already trying to out-do me and I’ve had five hundred years to carve my name into the history books,’ he winked, guiding his mate into an arm chair near the window.

‘Forgive me,’ Eris said, interrupting the gawping at Nesta, ‘I must return to Autumn.’

Bold as brass, the Autumn Court heir sketched a bow then strode over to Nesta. Softly, he kissed her cheek and murmured to her, ‘Keep my clothes. They look good on you.’

The threat that wanted to spill from his lips at the sight of Eris in such close contact with Nesta faded when a soft laugh left Nesta’s throat. ‘Remind me why I put up with you. Goodbye, Eris. And thank you – again.’

For being able to bring a glimmer of lightness back to her eyes, Cassian would put up with their friendship, even if he hated the male.

Amren slid into a chair, feet barely scraping the floor. ‘Where is the Mask, girl?’ At the withering stare that Nesta charged her with, Amren amended, ‘Where is the Mask, Nesta?’

From a crisp, white pillowcase Nesta pulled out the Mask. At certain angles, it had a golden sheen, but the ancient runes were too old even for Amren to recognise. Cassian wanted to tug it from Nesta’s grip. His siphons hummed in acknowledgement of this terrible power, but Nesta handled it with bare fingertips undisturbed by its tremendous weight.

‘Only a desperate fool would don that Mask,’ Amren said, keeping well away from the table where Nesta had settled the Mask. ‘You’re lucky you could pry it from your face. Most of those who have worn it could never remove it. In order to sever it, they had to be beheaded. That is the cost of true power: you can raise an army of the dead to conquer the world, but you can never be free of the Mask.’

‘I wished it to let go and it did,’ Nesta said flatly, surveying Amren with cool disdain. ‘I told the souls to rest for eternity.’

‘You spoke to them?’ Rhys asked, violet eyes flickering between Nesta and the object.

Nesta’s brow furrowed. ‘It forged a connection between me and them. I could feel how they’d died, how their souls were wearied but unable to rest. Once they helped me, I wanted them just to be… just to be able to go into whatever comes next. To seek peace.’

Cassian perched on the arm of the chair and Nesta allowed one of his arms to wrap around her. How could any of them fear that she would be a danger? With an army of unbeatable soldiers at her disposal, Nesta had given them a path to the eternal realm where their souls could finally rest.

‘Az, press on the remaining mortal queens. Have your shadows trail any of Beron’s most loyal males too. We need proof he’s aligned with Briallyn – and that she has the crown.’

‘This Mask calls to Nesta. It is safe to assume it will call to Elain and Briallyn,’ Amren mused.

‘What if Nesta wards it to contain it initially then Helion and Rhys can place further wards around it?’ Feyre suggested, bundling her knees against her chest.

‘I don’t know how to do those spells,’ Nesta said. ‘I failed at the most basic of them while training with Amren, remember?’

Feyre’s head tilted to one side. ‘Is that what you think, Nesta? That you failed?’

Nesta’s back went straight in the chair, a rod of iron pressed against his arm. His own chest tightened at the words, the wall that rose in Nesta’s silver eyes, brick by brick.

‘The wall came down, didn’t I?’ She said tightly. ‘Tell me how do to the spells and I will try.’

Rhys nodded in sympathetic understanding at Nesta’s admission. She had tried so hard to protect the wall, so damn hard – but Hybern had the Cauldron and centuries of knowledge behind him. It was not a failure.

Feyre pushed her golden-brown hair away from her face. ‘We need Madja to tend to your wounds, Nesta.’

‘A healer has already cleaned them in Autumn.’

‘We should expect the bill tomorrow from Eris Vanserra, Rhysand,’ snorted Amren, eyes still tracking the Mask.

Nesta stiffened again. ‘Do not speak his name. Eris might be your tentative ally, but he is my friend. I will not stand for it.’ The storm clouds swirling in her eyes fluttered away as she shook her head. ‘His mother spent the day caring for me at risk to herself and Eris. You have absolutely no idea what Eris risks by allying himself with you.’

Amren deferred to Rhys – the pair of them deciding silently whether to pursue that thread or to let it lie. They opted for the latter.

‘Nesta, I understand that today has been difficult. Would you show me what happened with the kelpie?’

Nesta frowned, as if unwilling to relive the memory, but as Cassian massaged her shoulder, she nodded. Rhys cast it into all of their minds: Nesta falling from the tree, staring at her reflection, the revulsion for her pointed ears, the kelpie emerging from the water. Her fear was palpable as she hopelessly sought safety in the tree before it dragged her into the depths of its lair. The kelpie rasped something to her in between pressing its mouth to her own. Cassian’s head felt like it was splitting in two as Nesta starved of oxygen – and then the Mask flew to her hands. Rhys pulled them out of her head.

Amren’s face had paled then she was shaking her head so the black bob of hair swayed. ‘That dialect has not been spoken in fifteen thousand years.’

‘It was speaking?’

‘An ancient fae language,’ Rhys explained. ‘My education was thorough but I could only pick up the odd word.’

Azriel asked, ‘What’d the kelpie say?’

Amren shot an alarmed glance at Nesta then another to Cassian that he ought to hold onto Nesta even tighter. ‘He said “are you my sacrifice, sweet flesh? How pale and young you are. Tell me, are they resuming the sacrifice to the waters once more? No gods can save you. I shall take you, little beauty, and you shall be my bride before you are my supper.”’

Nesta’s slender hand drifted to the marks on her face then recoiled. Horror slid through Cassian. Nesta had endured hell.

‘That’s enough for today,’ he said, working to keep his voice even. ‘My mate needs to rest.’

***

Rather than fly to Illyria or burden Azriel with winnowing them back to the Spring Court, Nesta agreed to stay the night in the moonstone palace atop the Hewn City. The opulent bedroom overhung the side of a mountain that still had snow even in the beginnings of summer. Even the sunken bathing pool did not hold Nesta’s attention for long, not as she curled up on the soft bed.

‘I can stand Eris as your friend,’ Cassian said, removing his shoes, ‘but I draw the line at you sleeping in his clothes.’

Cassian raised a dark eyebrow towards the tunic. Nesta looked like a child playing dress-up in the clothes, but she was too tired to argue. A servant had retrieved a night gown for her – simple and white, likely one of the servant’s own gowns – so Cassian undressed her. There was nothing lustful in it, but he took care to move her braids out of the way and lifted the tunic gently over her head.

Even at the sight of her bare breasts, five hundred years of sheer will-power kept his eyes trained on her face. Nesta couldn’t have that. She wanted to forget this day. Her fingers laced through his hair dragging his mouth towards hers. He allowed her to kiss him, but when she pressed harder, tried to rub her naked body against his torso, Cassian pulled away.

In lieu of sex, he brought the night gown over her head then tugged her arms through. ‘I know you think you want this, but you just don’t want to feel. Sex will give you a temporary release. I've been there, after battles when I couldn't stomach the sight of gore and death and just wanted to forget it. It’s not sensible tonight, Nes. And honestly, I can’t look at you right now without wanting to cry.’

Cassian’s hands cradled her face so she couldn’t look away in shame. ‘I love you so much. This is not about me rejecting you. This is me knowing it won’t be good for you to sleep with me now. You will regret it. I will regret it.’

The shame still burnt in her cheeks, but they slid into the bed together, Cassian tucking her against him like that space had been made for her.

‘The Mask needs to be destroyed, Cassian. I never want to see it again.’

It had scared her more than anything else. That utter lack of feeling. How good it had felt to be so removed. Nesta swallowed. She hadn’t confessed it to any of them. If she had been alone, she would contemplate that void it had given her. She wondered whether anyone had ever donned the Mask not to raise the dead, but to simply stop being inside their own minds to never feel guilt or shame or hatred.

‘I don’t think it is possible without the Cauldron,’ he admitted, tracing circles with his thumb on her shoulder. ‘We will ward it. It won’t hurt you.’

‘It did not hurt me,’ she explained. ‘I enjoyed wearing it. I forgot everything. Every shred of self-doubt and self-loathing. That is why I cannot use it again. Cut off my hands before I reach for it again.’

Chapter Text

Rather than return to Spring and face yet more questions about the state of her face from concerned servants – or even the high lord – Nesta had been taken to Cassian’s home in Illyria. He would retrieve clothes and Zasha from Tamlin’s Manor for the few days she would be visiting, as well as his own things, proudly proclaiming that he and Tamlin were no longer ready to brandish weapons on sight so he could go and get them.

Although Cassian hadn’t talked about it, Nesta assumed that meant staying with her in Spring was over and he’d cooled down enough to return to the Night Court. She tried not to dwell on it. Tried not to fret over how lonely she’d feel without him there when she returned back to that empty house.

The cabin had been stocked with food and both bedrooms had been prepared to give Nesta the option of not sharing the bed with him, but the house was too quiet with nobody else home. Nesta had snooped, perhaps hoping to catch a glimpse of his past; if she saw any trace of an ex-lover she’d swell with jealously and be angry that he had a life before she existed. But Nesta found nothing. No secret love letters, no trinkets from an ancestor, nothing to suggest Cassian even had a history. It was sad to think he knew nothing of his blood family. But Nesta supposed she had no heirlooms of her own to inherit; they had been taken when her family’s home had been seized. If her own face wasn’t the reflection of her mother’s, she doubt she’d remember it.

Helion would arrive tomorrow. They would ward both the Mask and the Harp then he also would join them for dinner in Velaris. Nesta hoped the attention would be on the High Lord of the Day Court rather than her for the meal. She was trying not to think about it. Trying not to think about anything that had happened in the last day.

Cassian had been insistent that he’d spend the day with her in Illyria – and only when she had snapped at him to go and see his family did he finally relent. He promised to be back before it got dark, as if she were his mother setting a curfew for him.

Heavy knuckles hammered on the front door. Nesta ignored it and continued washing her dishes from breakfast. They knocked again, playing an out of time rhythm on the panels.

Reluctantly, she pulled back the door, fully expecting it to be Cassian there to annoy her.

‘Shit. What happened to your face?’

Emerie stood frozen in the doorway and Balthazar had his fists raised to the door, ready to bang another tune.

‘A kelpie,’ she grumbled.

The two Illyrians blinked in shock.

‘This is when you’re supposed to say “you should see the other guy”,’ Balthazar said, throwing his voice to a deeper pitch.

‘I’m so sorry. I can’t get rid of him. He keeps turning up at my shop like a bad smell.’

The noise of outrage from Balthazar was the first thing that had brought a real laugh to Nesta. She doubled over, clutching her stomach at Emerie’s comment.

‘May we come in?’ Emerie shook the package in her hands, eyes twinkling. ‘Cassian popped by to say you were here – and we brought food.’

Of course, the mother hen would not be content in leaving her truly alone. Nesta invited the two – who jostled to squeeze through the doorway first – into Cassian’s home. Balthazar inspected it thoroughly, going as far opening the kitchen cabinets and running his finger along the top for dust.

‘I thought it would be bigger. Maybe the high lord isn’t paying him enough.’

‘Or Nesta’s spending all of his money,’ Emerie said with a wicked grin in her direction.

Nesta rolled her eyes. ‘I have my own money. But he did promise to take me shopping. Hopefully when my face doesn’t look like a cat has tried to eat me.’

‘It will heal,’ assured Emerie, reaching for her hand. ‘You’re alright?’

‘If I say no, will you promise not to ask any more questions?’ At Emerie’s nod, Nesta swallowed. ‘No. I’m not alright. And that’s the end of that.’

It was too beautiful to spend indoors, Emerie had declared when they were half-way into a drink in the kitchen. Her eyes had flitted endlessly out of the window to the rough hills behind the house. Nesta had to wonder if Emerie ever felt like a prisoner in her own home without anybody to escort her or keep her protected. Balthazar made a noise which Nesta assumed was agreement – but his mouth was filled with pastry and cream.

He swallowed and said, ‘Summer lasts for two days in Illyria so we need to seize it while we can.’

After much coaxing and the employment of persuasion tactics that would be more appropriate for a hostage negotiator, Emerie had convinced Nesta to leave the house. The contributing factor had been Balthazar declaring that he’d protect them both – and she and Emerie had cackled like witches. It was good to laugh. It was good to feel the sunshine on her skin too like the life she deserved was thawing out, ready to be seized.

They’d hiked a couple of miles over the hills towards a craggy cliff that overlooked a narrow lake. Even with a bright blue sky and blazing sun, a cool breeze still rippled through Illyria from the mountains.

‘I know where we are,’ she said suddenly, craning her neck behind her.

‘My plan of kidnapping thwarted,’ said Balthazar dryly.

Nesta had asked for them to show her somewhere quiet, away from the busy warcamp. She could usually contend with the slurs and insults of being a witch, but with her face still looking like a mace had been taken to it, she was not in the mood for the usual Illyrian males heckling her.

‘That’s the war monument over there.’

‘She’s observant, isn’t she?’ He said, nudging Emerie in the rib.

Nesta stuck her middle finger up at the male. His jaw dropped open and Emerie shrieked with laughter. A sudden pang of guilt rocked Nesta as she clutched a hand over her mouth.

‘I’m so sorry. I’ve never done that before. To anybody.’

Balthazar beat the ground with his fist. ‘The kingslayer swore at me.’ He grabbed Emerie’s arm and shook it in jubilation. ‘At me, Em, she swore at me.’

Emerie prised her arm back and gave him a shove. ‘I cannot believe nobody killed you in the Blood Rite. You would be first on my list.’

‘It’s an honour, ladies, that I’m viewed in such high regard by you both.’

The ground between them grew steadier, sturdier; they could prod and tease each other, never crossing the imaginary line. Nobody grew offended, nobody’s feathers were ruffled. It was nice to tease and taunt amongst friends without feeling like she was a vicious, horrid wretch. Neither of them had declared Nesta an unlovable monster who deserved to be in the Hewn City. The vulgar gesture had been forgotten about as Balthazar and Emerie bickered over who the better cook was out of the two of them.

‘We can head to the village, grab a few things from mine and have lunch back here?’ Balthazar suggested.

‘We literally just ate a whole box of cream cakes between us,’ Emerie said, eyebrows raised. ‘How can you still be hungry?’

Balthazar sucked in a breath. ‘There are friends in the village,’ he threw a pointed look to Nesta, ‘who will kill me if I don’t take our lovely witch to visit. I was trying to be subtle.’

Nesta felt her throat dry up. She couldn’t put her finger on why: whether it was that Balthazar had tried to surprise her with a trip to the village or because they would see her so battered and bruised. Or for another reason entirely: for the first time in her life, Nesta had friends. Friends who didn’t expect anything from her. There had been girls when she was younger – ones happy to leap-frog over each other for high social standings, ones who never thought twice about double-crossing to achieve their goals, but they hadn’t been friends. Even with Eris, Nesta was still wary of how he could spin their friendship to suit a goal. But it had never been that way with Emerie and Balthazar. She had never felt like she was burdening them. They never seemed as though they would tire of her company or were putting up with her because Cassian was paying them to.

‘Come on,’ Emerie said holding out a hand for her. ‘Lule will explode when she sees you. You’re all she talks about.’

***

It wasn’t banishment. That was what Cassian told himself for the twelfth time that day as he gazed out of the window at the Sidra. Nesta wanted him to spend time with his family. She wasn’t punishing him for not sleeping with her in the Hewn City. Whatever Rhys had said during their meeting had gone in one ear and out the other as he took out every memory from the last couple of weeks in Spring with her and examined them, smiling absently.

‘I wonder what Nesta is doing now.’

‘Fuck me,’ Azriel groaned, staring up at the ceiling.

Rhys let out a light chuckle. ‘You’ve said that three times now.’

‘I haven’t. Have I?’

Azriel rubbed his face with his scarred hands. ‘It’s bad enough that he can’t go one minute without thinking about Feyre. I can’t lose you to an Archeron too.’

‘I think you already have,’ Rhys winked.

Cassian let the words float by. This was a place he never thought he would reach with Nesta. At first, he was certain they would die on that battlefield together – then the strained distance had grown. Finally, after months of tender care, the bridge between their souls had stabilised. Nesta had needed to heal before she gave him a chance. There was still a lot of healing to do, Cassian knew that, but she was in a place where she was willing to let him help her, let him be her support to lean on.

Zasha rested his great, grey head in Cassian’s lap. His large hands stroked the dog’s silken ears. ‘He misses Nesta too.’

‘You’ve been apart for a few hours,’ Azriel protested, eyebrows shooting upwards.

‘Zasha hasn’t seen his mama since yesterday morning.’

‘M-Mama?’ The noise that grunted out Azriel was pure exasperation. ‘He’s a dog! Fuck me.’ A finger pointed at Rhys. ‘Even you weren’t this bad and they haven't even accepted the bond properly yet.’

Rhys said nothing, just cocked an ankle over his knees, amusement glittering in his violet eyes. ‘The Lord of Bloodshed reduced to a lovesick dog by Nesta Archeron. Do you remember when you first met? She was staring at you like she might try and gut you with her butter knife.’

‘She still looks at me like that. It’s what keeps us so passionate,’ he said, taking the dog’s jowls and flapping them in and out.

Azriel offered to winnow him to Illyria before he left for the mortal lands again. Cassian had to wonder when Azriel actually slept, certainly the shadows beneath his eyes suggested it was a rare occurrence.

When they reached the darkened cabin, Cassian tried not to let his fear grip him. It was growing dark outside, but golden light still leaked into the sky.

‘Maybe she’s already asleep,’ Az suggested, jerking his chin towards the darkened corridor.

A quick sweep of the house came up empty. His siphons pulsed a fiery red in response to the fear seizing his muscles. Already the regrets were racing through his mind. He shouldn’t have left her alone. He shouldn’t have spent so long in Velaris after dinner, cracking jokes at Rhys’ expense.

‘Maybe she’s at that shop.’

They dumped Zasha back at the cabin then traipsed across Windhaven. Emerie’s clothing shop was dark too with no signs of any life within the walls. Cassian raked a hand through his ebony hair, pulse quickening.

‘Cass,’ Az snapped, voice tugging him out of the spiral he was sending himself into. ‘You’d know if something happened, in here.’ Azriel placed a hand over his own heart. ‘Calm down. She is fine.’

But so much had happened to her. It had only been one day since a kelpie had nearly drowned and devoured her. His mind whirled, trying to grip something concrete to stop the spinning.

‘What about the blacksmith? He’s in the next village isn’t he?’

With haste, they flew over Windhaven, over the gorse and heather towards Balthazar’s village. A market trader who was loading the final few sacks of spices onto her cart gestured vaguely over the hill where the war monument stood. It felt like a lifetime ago that he’d flown Nesta there in the snow when she had finally agreed to speak to him.

At the edge of a lake, a small fire ringed with stones burnt. The sun was behind them, but Cassian could make out Nesta’s silhouette easily, sat against the tree – a fair distance from the water’s edge. She was the only one there without a set of wings. Azriel said he’d come to say hello before he departed, so the pair of them flew down the cliffs to join the group.

Balthazar squatted by the fire holding a stick with a sausage pierced on the end of it. Tucked against him, delighted by the fire was Lule, whose small hand grasped Balthazar’s. This male was proof that they weren’t all rotten in Illyria. He waved a hand in greeting.

Beside him, Azriel turned to stone. Cassian tracked his gaze to the female who stood in the shallows of the lake so the cool water reached past her ankles. Dark hair was plaited down her back. Azriel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed then he took a few steps forward.

Cassian let them have their moment – Azriel and his mother. From his reaction, Cassian knew this was the furthest Rovena had ever been from her home since free from the male that sired Az. Probably the only time in her laugh that she had ever stood in a lake or watched a sunset.

When Cassian approached his mate, she placed a finger over her lips then indicated to the slumbering child against her chest.

‘I’m sure Lorin uses me a pillow every time he sees me,’ she whispered, standing slowly to not rouse the boy from his sleep. Nesta lifted her head, awaiting a kiss from him. A hot rush of a satisfaction barrelled through him that this was their normal now, he’d return and she’d await a kiss from him. Her face had improved massively from the morning and there was a slight golden dusting from a day in the sunshine.

‘Rovena came,’ he murmured, nudging her towards the lake.

Rovena had her arm around Azriel’s back, her head resting against his shoulder as they both stood in the lake gazing out towards the sunset. The sight of it nearly buckled Cassian’s own knees. In a similar move, Nesta rested her head against his own arm, smiling up at him. Her smiles were so rare, but each one so lovely. He couldn’t resist kissing her forehead again.

‘Emerie has been hammering out a deal with Marsela all day about selling her and Rovena’s clothes in her store.’ She jerked her head towards the two females sat cross-legged on the ground. Emerie snapped a stick in her hands as they chatted then added it onto the fire. ‘Rovena just came with her, unannounced. We tried not to draw attention to it.’

‘That’s huge,’ Cassian said, a grin breaking over his face. ‘So, it has been a good day?’

‘A very good day,’ Nesta agreed, stroking a hand over Lorin’s dark head.

***

After a night of being thoroughly tended to by Cassian, Nesta’s legs still felt like jelly in the morning as she wobbled down the stairs. There had been a gentleness to his behaviour that she'd never seen him possess as his hands had massaged every part of her tenderly in the living room.

The cabin was isolated enough that neither had bothered to close any of the curtains when their gentle kissing in the armchair had turned more desperate. Neither of them had restrained their voices either. They hadn't even made it up the stairs before she was tugging at his shirt, lifting it over his head then Cassian had carried Nesta to the bed like she was a princess from a story and he was the hero.

In the kitchen, Cassian whistled to himself as a pan sizzled. Half of his hair had been tied back with a strip of leather and he’d wrapped a grey blanket around his waist to protect his modesty. There was no such thing as modesty when it came to that male. Nesta could not believe the things his body - those fingers - had managed to spill from her lips; just thinking of all the things he’d made her beg for whilst he bent over the bed had the heat soaring to the surface of the skin. Any sense of propriety had been abandoned in favour of a raw, animalistic possession of the other.

As if summoned, his head whipped towards the doorway. He narrowed his hazel eyes. ‘What are you thinking about, Nes? And more importantly – why are you fully clothed?’

Nesta brushed away that deep murmur in his voice before she lost herself in memories of the previous night. He had to be casting a spell on her because all sense of decency that she’d always maintained was lost entirely when she slept with Cassian. He'd had her screaming his name like a summons, begging for him to take her harder, faster - and he hadn't left her begging unfulfilled.

‘We have a day in Velaris, do we not?’ She said, forcing last night's wild behaviour away from her mind.

Cassian side-stepped a hopeful-looking Zasha and set two plates onto the rounded table. It was a heavy breakfast of eggs, sausages, bacon, and toast, but he had arranged hers in the shape of a face that Nesta couldn’t help but snort at.

‘We do. But the Hewn City first, if you can put up with it.’ Cassian nudged the plate towards her.

Gone was the beautifully warm day from yesterday and grey clouds had taken up residence instead. Nesta hoped it was not an omen of the day to come. She tried to compartmentalise everything: Helion, the Mask, the Harp, Velaris, the dinner. Each one was tucked into a separate box that she would examine alone rather than thinking of all those events together.

A large hand stilled her trembling one that clutched to a fork. ‘Nes, you alright?’

She said she would meet him half-way. Promised to try for all the times he had tried for her. Nesta swallowed. ‘I wondered if we could strike up a deal.’

On instinct, his eyes flittered to her covered arm in the exact position her tattoo from the bargain with Eris was.

‘Could Emerie come for dinner tonight too? She has nobody here. And I would…’

‘You’d feel better if she came?’ Cassian offered.

Nesta swallowed a bite of egg with a perfectly runny drizzle of yolk on top. ‘I need someone there tonight who will be on my side.’

‘I’m on your side,’ he protested, a note of hurt betraying his otherwise even tone.

‘Sometimes.’

A heavy air clung to the room as Cassian set his knife and fork down. It pushed down on Nesta’s shoulders. She shut her eyes and mumbled an apology for the word that had slipped out as barbed as she used to be. They were trying to move past it, trying to be better to each other.

‘There aren’t sides. It’s not you versus them. It won’t be like that. I promise. It won’t.’ Perhaps not so sure himself, Cassian shrugged one shoulder and resumed eating. ‘Of course Emerie can come.’

‘You don’t want to hear what I offer in exchange?’ Nesta coaxed, desperate to take the disappointment from her mate’s face. ‘I offered you a deal. In return for Emerie being my shield tonight, I would have agreed to whatever you wanted wherever you wanted it.’

Cassian’s head whipped up so fast from his plate, Nesta swore she heard his neck crack. He blinked. ‘Wherever as in… wherever. Like outside. If I wanted?’

‘Wherever,’ Nesta agreed. She held up a finger, ‘but since you have already agreed to Emerie’s visit I’m retracting the whatever part. We’ll save that for another time when I need to bargain with you again.’

‘Nesta Archeron, that is not fair.’

‘Shouldn’t have agreed so fast. It’s not my fault you’re so quick off the mark.’

Cassian slammed both hands down on the table making the dog jerk out of his sleep. ‘Rhys’ desk.’

‘Pardon?’

‘I’m fucking you on Rhys’ desk.’

Nesta screwed up her face in disgust. ‘You have the whole world at your disposal. There are hot springs in Illyria, for goodness sake, and your first thought is your high lord’s office?’

Scrubbing his face with his hands, Cassian hissed. ‘I need to think about this carefully.’

‘Well, when your downstairs brain has finished thinking, we ought to make our way to meet the others.’

Nesta watched from a window in the palace of moonstone as Helion arrived on a flying horse. She hadn’t wanted to be part of the welcoming committee – and surprisingly, Rhysand hadn’t pushed her to be involved. The Pegasus was utterly gorgeous; a black stallion with wings like scorched by the sun – and by the way Feyre was gazing at the beast, Nesta had no doubt there would be a painting of this beast soon enough.

The high lord dismounted, dark skin gleaming over the strong muscles of his thighs and legs, the golden sandals laced up around his calves. He was handsome. Beyond handsome. Helion carried no weapons – the only metal on him was the golden armband around one muscled bicep, fashioned after a snake, and the spiked golden crown atop his shoulder-length black hair.

The male greeted Rhysand first then Feyre, planting a kiss on her cheek. He leaned in towards Cassian, and for a heartbeat she thought he might be about to kiss the male too, but he merely made a comment that had Cassian sticking his middle finger up and Helion cracking up into booming laughter. That was who she’d learnt the gesture from then.

Nesta remained in the room with the Mask. Feyre has assured her that they would fill Helion in on the two items so Nesta did not need to recount the story again. She ensured she sat as far away from the Mask as she could, determined to prove to herself that its power held no sway over her.

Rhysand entered first, followed by the beautiful high lord of the Day Court. Helion offered a bow of his head, the epitome of courtly grace. ‘Lady Nesta.’

Nesta bobbed a curtsy in return. The high lord took her hands in his own, drawing them towards his muscled chest. ‘A pleasure to see you again.’

She surveyed him with her silver eyes for long enough that he shifted on his feet then frowned before pulling away from her assessing gaze. Cassian snorted from the doorway, rupturing the tension.

‘Where is the beautiful Morrigan? And the equally beautiful Azriel.’

‘Mor’s in Velaris. Az will be back later. We’ll be sure to position you between them at dinner,’ Rhys said with a wink.

The black velvet covering was taken off the Mask so that Helion could examine it. But as the ancient, beaten gold gleamed, Helion hissed. A cold, strange power filled the room, whispering like a chill breeze.

‘Cover that thing, Rhysand. I can’t stand it.’

For a long time, Helion taught Nesta how to ward the Mask and the Harp using her own blood. Fearing an audience might push her over the edge, Cassian had ushered everyone out - except Rhys. Nesta supposed it was his court, and to the male’s credit, he did not interrupt or interfere during Helion’s lessons. When it came to unlocking the wards, Nesta refused that ability. If either of the trove items called to her and she didn’t refuse, there had to be a blocker.

‘Show me, Helion. If we need the knowledge, I’ll show Nesta.’ Rhysand extended his fingers and Helion’s own laced within. Both pairs of eyes went vacant as they passed the knowledge silently.

Once both items had been warded by all three of them, Nesta’s chest loosened with relief. Helion, who she had discovered was extremely tactile, had her hand in his own again in the archway carved in the stone.

‘I must apologise Nesta, a long time ago you wrote in request of my libraries and I neglected to reply. I hope you can forgive me.’ His rich voice was like silk running over her bare body. ‘You must visit Day soon and you have full permission to explore every inch of my court.’

Her face heated without warning. She risked a glance towards the others where Cassian stood with his feet planted, staring at Helion as though he was imagining the best way to kill the male.

Nesta slipped her hand free. ‘Thank you. I shall take you up on the offer of exploring the libraries only.’

Velaris was not that bad, she could admit. The size of it had overwhelmed Nesta when they had first come here; she had never seen a city before and this one was utterly enormous. But she had been afraid then, trapped up in the House of Wind, and the sprawling city was full of fae she didn’t know how to feel around. The only parts Nesta saw after the war were the taverns – and most of those she only recognised under the cover of darkness.

Cassian had taken her into shop after shop to show off all the wonderful things his city had to offer like a proud child displaying items he had collected. When they sat at a little table outdoors by the Sidra River eating lunch, watching the world pass them by, she examined the various shop fronts. One was a grubby little thing, completely at odds with the gleaming glass and polished frames either side of it. She jolted when she realised it was a dank hole that she’d spent many evenings drinking straight spirits in. She wished she’d have found the sanctuary of a tea house rather than the unsavoury sorts in taverns; ones who were all too keen to take advantage of her.

They continued on through the remaining two market squares. Cassian strode through, hand locked in hers, proud to be seen with her. One square, the Palace of Hoof and Lead, was crammed with vendors selling meat, produce, prepared food, livestock, confections and spices. They stuffed brown paper bags with boiled sweets and sugar covered confectionaries for Lule and Lorin to gorge on.

‘Who is the third bag for?’

‘Um. Tamlin,’ Nesta lied, blood scorching in her cheeks.

‘It’s for you, isn’t it?’

‘We should buy a bone for Zasha,’ she said, zipping past him towards a butcher to change the topic. His deep, rich laugh followed her though, and with it came a feeling of warmth. Nesta had begun to realise now that Cassian’s laughter wasn’t always to mock her or rile her blood. That it came freely and often – and she quite enjoyed the sound of it.

It was when they reached the book shop that Nesta’s pupils dilated. She reminded Cassian of his bargain that he would be paying. He laughed again, saying he was wise to save his money all this time in a bank.

After an afternoon spent back in Illyria throwing a leather ball to the dog and lounging on the couch with one of her new books, the evening dawned. With it, came the good news that Amren had gone to visit Varian so would not be at the dinner.

They ambushed Emerie just as she was about to close her shop for the day with the news that she would be dining with the high lord and lady that evening. She’d taken one look between Nesta and Cassian then dragged the former into the shop by her sleeve.

‘Why have I got to go?’ She demanded, hands on her hips.

‘I’m not going alone.’

‘You have Cassian. I don’t know any of these people. They rule my home - sometimes.’ Emerie threw her tanned hands into the air, ‘I threw up on one of them, Nesta.’

‘Don’t you dare leave me. I’ll throw up if you’re not there.’

They hissed and squabbled out of ear shot until Cassian called through the door asking if they were ready.

‘Please,’ Nesta begged. ‘A kelpie nearly killed me a couple of days ago. What if I’d have died? You’d never have this opportunity.’

Emerie scrunched up her face incredulously. ‘You have spent too much time with Balthazar. Fine. Fine. You owe me for this. Big time.’

***

Cassian flew them all the way from Windhaven to Velaris without stopping for a rest with a female tucked under each arm. He made a comment about his impressive stamina which earned a disgruntled noise from both females. It was two against one; Nesta and Emerie had fused together, combining their strength to cackle at anything he said or did as if he were nothing more than a toad. Witches.

If Rhys or Feyre were shocked by Emerie’s appearance in their home, neither of them passed comment. Cassian would take the brunt of that for forgetting to give a prior warning. There was space at the long dining table in the river house though – but if there wasn’t then Cassian knew Nesta would have been delighted because it would have given them an escape.

Most of them were already seated; Rhys sat at the head, brow scrunched as he read a report that Lucien had handed to him. The red-haired male had dressed elegantly for the occasion and sat to the high lord’s right, watching his expression carefully. On the other side of Rhys, Mor rocked back in her chair with Helion already whispering in her ear and twirling a lock of her blonde hair around his finger. Azriel, stone faced beside them, practically sagged with relief when they entered and gestured to the spare one next to him. They found another chair for Emerie to accommodate her wings, so she and Nesta sat opposite them.

When the remaining Archerons entered, Elain’s eyes widened. There was a seat at the head of the table, opposite Rhysand, or a spare one between Nesta and Lucien. They all pretended they did not notice Elain’s hesitation, even as it bloomed to an awkward stalemate where she stood rooted to the floor.

‘I will sit by my big sister and the male with the best manners,’ said Feyre brightly, pushing Elain towards the other end of the room and taking the unwanted chair.

Elain smiled pleasantly as she took up the seat at the head of the table beside Cassian and Emerie - and Lucien displayed his polished manners by acting as if he had not felt the snub of his mate resolutely not wanting to sit by him. Feyre and Rhys spoke silently to each other until the pained quiet became noticeable. Even Helion had stopped pawing at Mor and sat with his hands folded in his lap.

‘And you didn’t want to come to this,’ Cassian said, gesturing towards Nesta and Emerie.

The laughter at the females’ expense broke the tension, and Nesta gave him a look that meant trouble, but the room had given a collective sigh of relief.

As they began on a starter of tomato and chilli soup, he was glad to see conversations trickle off around the table. Nesta was even questioning Feyre on her paintings and when she would see a Pegasus painting hanging on the wall. Elain, blushing furiously still from her social faux pas, made forced conversation with Emerie.

When the main course was brought out with a wave of Rhys’ magic, Nesta mouthed across the table to him, ‘One course down. Two to go.’

As the wine flowed around the table, the conversations grew easier. When the stoic shadowsinger started hiccupping, it had everybody around the table laughing. Cassian couldn’t help the swell of joy when he watched Nesta tip her head back in laughter. Her untamed laughter was the rarest jewel.

In a lull at their end of the table, they caught part of the conversation at the other end.

‘Eris is a snake,’ Lucien said, a glimmer of warning in his voice, ‘but even snakes can have their uses.’

Mor let out a snort as she filled her glass of wine to the brim. ‘The only good thing Eris Vanserra has ever done was not condemn me to a life shackled to him.’

Nesta’s fork clattered against her empty plate loudly.

‘Excuse me a moment.’

Her face had turned beetroot red – which was not missed by anybody in the room as she practically sprinted out of the doorway.

‘Is she alright?’ Feyre murmured, peering beyond the door frame though Nesta’s steps thundered up the stairs.

Cassian risked a glance to Emerie opposite him. ‘You or me?’

Emerie looked at the diners gathered and decided she’d rather face Nesta than be alone with her high lord and lady. ‘I’ll go.’

When Emerie’s steps faded up the stairs, Mor let out a laugh. ‘I still can’t believe she vomited on me at the Blood Rite party.’

‘I think she cannot either,’ Rhys said with a wink. ‘She’s not been able to look at you all night.’

Azriel narrowed his eyes at Nesta and Emerie when they returned to the dining room. Both of their faces were flushed as if caught in the middle of a scandal. They both walked awkwardly too, like trying to remember how to do it naturally. Pudding had been brought out while they were gone and they both seated themselves and stared down at the hot apple pie.

‘Are you two okay?’ Feyre asked, examining the stiff way they slid into their chairs, how neither female could look at each other.

‘We’re fine,’ Nesta squeaked, voice an octave higher than usual. Emerie nodded in agreement, guzzling a glass of wine.

Once the conversation started up again, Cassian couldn’t help but watch the two females opposite him. Azriel even nudged his knee and gave a questioning look. Nesta kept staring at her own plate, eyes as wide as saucers, unable to master her emotions. Every now and then her brow would scrunch up or the corner of her mouth would twitch and Emerie would snort with laughter – or one would kick the other under the table to stop it. Emerie was unable to look at anybody. Azriel had leaned over to ask a question about the dresses she planned to sell from Rovena, but Emerie had looked at the ceiling then to the cabinet behind his head rather than in Azriel’s eyes until she burst into giddy laughter that Nesta joined in with.

‘Are they alright?’ Az murmured in his ear as the group dispersed to one of the living rooms.

‘I have no idea.’

***

Nesta took a moment to try and compose herself in the dining room once the others shuffled off to a living room. She took a shaky breath and stared at the black Sidra that glittered under the streetlights as a way to ground herself. A soft scuffle behind her signalled movement, but it was too dainty for Cassian.

‘What part of “don’t react” did you not understand?’ Nesta blew out a breath and turned, expecting to see Emerie waiting for her. Morrigan, resplendent in red, stood paces away. Her long, blonde tresses fell in a wave down her back and she stepped forwards with enviable confidence.

‘Nesta.’

The smile faded as Nesta squared her jaw. ‘Morrigan.’

‘I thought we could talk,’ Mor suggested, waving her wrist so the door closed. Nesta could not help but feel as if it were a trap and readied her arsenal of vicious words - but she had dragged Emerie here, had promised herself she would try for Cassian’s sake so that he and his family did not drift further apart. She swallowed the insults and the venom then took a seat on a cushioned chair, hands placed on top of each other like a queen receiving a guest.

‘Things have changed with you and Cassian.’

Nesta wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement. Tersely, she nodded her head.

‘We haven’t always seen eye to eye. You might be Cassian’s mate, but he is like a brother to me. I will protect him, Nesta, and I’ll always be on his side.’

Mor stood in a stance to remind Nesta why the soldiers whispered of the Morrigan during the war; that this female had slayed enemies for centuries. Nesta might have let it slide if she was in a charitable mood – but Nesta was not. She did not need a warning – and Cassian certainly didn’t need protection – but if that was the game that Morrigan wanted to play then Nesta sure as hell was going to win.

‘That’s fine. I have no intentions of hurting him, but I’d like to issue the same warning to you, Morrigan. You might be Eris’ mate, but he is like a brother to me.’

Going ghostly white, Mor recoiled until her back hit the wall. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Nesta hummed in satisfaction then drummed her fingers on the arms of the chair awaiting Mor’s next move after her flat-out denial had failed.

‘He told you that?’ Mor whispered, hands trembling.

‘Only that he had a mate and he gave her everything she wanted. You gifted me the final piece of the puzzle: what you wanted was not him. And if he touched you, he claimed you. It’s why you can’t be near him, isn’t it? You’re afraid someone will scent the bond.’

When Mor said nothing, Nesta took that as a confession in itself. Too much wine had made Mor’s lips loose. Had gifted Nesta too much information.

‘He’s a horrible, wicked creature, Nesta.’

Nesta tutted. ‘Quite the contrary. He’s charming, intelligent, fantastic work-ethic. I lived with him, remember. I don’t know who fed you those lies to begin with, Morrigan, but they are false. The heart that beats in Eris' chest is worthy of love.’

When a tear leaked from Mor’s brown eyes, Nesta should have felt a stab of pity. Should have felt guilt that this female was so rattled by the revelation she’d been keeping to her chest for five hundred years. But Nesta did not.

‘He holds it above me at every opportunity. I didn't know until he found me in the woods. I felt it snap then. I'd heard he was cruel and twisted like Beron. He taunts me that he will tell my family.’

Nesta cocked an eye brow. ‘And why is that a bad thing?’

‘It’s Eris fucking Vanserra. I am nothing like him,’ she snarled.

‘No, I mean why is it so bad if your family know? If they love you, it shouldn’t matter to them who the Cauldron mated you with. Your family ought to love you unconditionally regardless. Oh, wait a moment, wasn’t it you who told my mate that I should be thrown in the Court of Nightmares?’

‘Nesta, please. Please. This is my secret to tell. Please do not tell them. Not even Cassian.’

‘I thought he was like your brother?’ Nesta said with a derisive laugh. She had to admit she was enjoying making Mor stew in her panic. But she was not a sadist. At least not today.

‘Fortunately for you, I happen to be very fond of Eris. Eris has kept your secret for five centuries, so I suppose I shall extend the courtesy. But keep his name out of your mouth. If you can’t say anything nice then don’t say anything at all. Are we quite clear? That goes for Eris – and for me.’

Chapter Text

The night continued without a hiccup – except those from Azriel which came again and were met with a cheer from Cassian. The shadowsinger had looked as if he wanted the ground to swallow him whole when all attention turned on him as he hiccupped in the corner.

Mor stayed away from Nesta although she did feel her gaze landing on her frequently whenever Nesta spoke with Cassian or Emerie, fearful that Nesta might blurt out her big secret to the whole room. She would keep it. Mostly. It was not her business to tell. And she respected Eris enough to follow his lead with it. However, when she had scarpered from the room, Nesta had let slip to Emerie in stunned horror about the revelation she had realised. Emerie had gasped and clutched a hand over her mouth then had asked who Eris was a heartbeat later. Emerie would keep it quiet - it was the slight giggling that might raise suspicions though. The female couldn’t help a slight giggle every now and then so Nesta frequently nudged her in the ribs to keep her quiet.

Nesta did not seek out any conversation with the others, preferring to wedge herself next to Emerie and talk quietly with her while the conversation swirled around them. They had stuffed themselves in a red armchair that was wide enough for Emerie’s wings – but definitely not wide enough for both of them. It was cosy though nestled there together. Emerie had a warm arm slung around her and Nesta let her hand rest on Emerie’s knee in a casual display of affection. The Illyrian was more then an acquaintance, definitely a friend – maybe even the closest one Nesta had ever had. Nesta was comfortable around her – comfortable enough to leave her hand idly languishing on Emerie’s knee without feeling embarrassed. It was rare for her to behave that way in public even with Cassian. The male himself had caught her attention across the room and pretended to look scandalised at their closeness so Emerie just squeezed her a little bit tighter in response.

‘Did Rovena enjoy the sunset?’

Azriel’s mouth quirked up into a shadow of a smile as he joined their conversation. ‘Very much. It was nice to see her there.’

Emerie nodded her head in agreement. ‘The clothes she makes are so beautiful. It will be my honour to have them as stock.’

The male dipped his head into a bow. ‘Thank you. That will make her happy to hear. She can never sit still or keep her hands idle anyway.’

‘You work yourself to the bone too,’ Nesta chided. ‘It’s an inherited trait.’

It was difficult to reconcile the two sides of Azriel: the brutal spymaster who tortured enemies, never wavering from that mask of coldness versus the thoughtful male who preferred a peaceful life. Even now, he stood against the wall rather than sitting and joining the main group, shadows curling around him as if they wanted to play. Nesta wondered if he had ever tried to coax his mother to Velaris, whether she was happy in Illyria or whether a female who had endured that level of pain could ever be truly happy. Certainly, Rovena’s story was not an isolated one in Illyria.

Emerie continued talking quietly with Azriel about their shared home. Nesta was glad her friend was comfortable enough to maintain a conversation with Azriel, but she supposed out of all of Feyre’s family, Azriel was the most amenable – even if he presented differently. They spoke about common acquaintances, of how she knew Marsella and Balthazar.

With every drink, Cassian grew louder and louder. His booming laughter made Elain jump a handful of times as he and Lucien discussed a sport in the corner over glasses of whiskey with Rhysand chiming in occasionally. Elain and Nesta had not spoken together. With her own drinks of alcohol, Nesta was finding it more difficult to hold her tongue so she switched to tea. She had wanted to ask Elain when she would act decent and have a conversation with Lucien but that might have caused a riot. The male’s eyes frequently darted to her younger sister with pained longing within. Whenever Elain’s light laughter sprinkled through the room, Lucien would turn his head to the sound, staring at her as if he yearned to talk with her.

It was sad to see the pain carved deep into his features. How he would gaze at Elain as if she were the most precious thing in the world and reluctantly drag his attention back to Cassian. Elain resolutely refused to acknowledge the male’s existence. Nesta was not even sure if she heard the male’s name from her sister’s lips before. There had been a couple of interactions when they had been turned, but Elain had not been right then. After the war, they had spoken, but Nesta had remained where her father had died and Elain never spoke of it. The sisters’ relationship had soured since then – but from the desperation clinging like a cobweb to Lucien, Nesta did not believe Elain had made any sort of decision regarding their bond.

Nesta understood better than anyone else about the mating bonds and wished Elain would make a decision. Both had been Made, both had ended up with a mate. Elain was given the allowances that Nesta hadn’t had; the permission to dutifully ignore her mate without any discipline, the ample time to sift through her feelings, the lack of pressure to be together. Nesta should have liked that initially. She’d have loved to have told Cassian to fly into the sunset and never come back. They were different situations though. Lucien was polite enough to respect Elain’s callous obliviousness whereas Cassian acted like Zasha and demanded to be known.

Her eyes flickered to that mate of hers leaning forwards in the chair, grinning at whatever tale Lucien was telling him. The Cauldron had put them together for a reason. Initially, it had felt as if they were two ends of a spectrum. He was loud, sociable, earnest whereas Nesta wasn’t any of those things. They were beginning to compliment each other, beginning to understand how to suit each other better. Nesta was glad they had continued to try as well as being glad that she had that time away from him both with Rovena and in the Autumn Court.

As if feeling the weight of her gaze, Cassian’s head snapped towards her. He was handsome. Rough and wild and handsome as hell. He mouthed asking if she was alright so Nesta nodded. Velaris wasn’t a place she was willing to call home anytime soon, but she could manage it in small doses for him. He blew her a kiss across the room then turned back to Lucien, eyes bright with love.

Only Azriel had engaged them during the evening. Nesta did not mind; she was content enough with Emerie as company. Their pair of them whispering about the last book they had read and sharing tales about their pasts. The night passed quickly then before they realised it, it had chimed one.

Cassian readied himself to take them back to Illyria though he’d drank enough for a brewery with Mor and Feyre. There was an offer from Azriel to winnow them too. After a brief consultation with Emerie – and going against every instinct she had – they agreed to spend a night in Velaris. It was already late, Cassian swayed a little on his feet and Azriel looked haggard. As a compromise, they’d stay at the House of Wind. Azriel extended his winnowing offer there too and as they slipped their hands into his, Cassian hovered in the doorway of the house.

‘You sure?’

Nesta nodded. ‘Just be quiet when you come back. You’re noisy enough on a normal night.’

Cassian would stay longer. He’d missed his family while he’d stayed in Spring even if he wouldn’t say it and there was such a lightness to his expression, Nesta couldn’t bring herself to end it for him. They did not always need to be joined at the hip. They were in safe hands with Azriel anyway.

‘He’s become so sappy,’ Azriel said to the females with a grimace in Cassian’s direction. ‘A mewling kitten near enough.’

Cassian stuck up his finger in response as they winnowed into darkness.

At the dizzying drop, Azriel’s wings flared outwards, catching a gust of air beneath them. Both Nesta and Emerie clung to the male’s body as his wings slowed their fall towards the roof off the house. Once on solid ground, Emerie declared she was never experiencing that again. Nesta’s own heart was racing too from the sudden rush of adrenaline. Azriel bid them both goodnight before disappearing from view into the darkness.

‘The Blood Rite celebration was the first time I slept anywhere else. And I don’t remember much of that night,’ Emerie said, swallowing audibly as Nesta showed her to a bedroom. ‘Staying with you in Spring is the only other time I’ve slept away from home.’

The room had been Elain’s when they had lived here. The plush bed in the middle was bedecked with cushions and had four posters draped with gauzy white curtains. The paintings on the wall were of Ramiel; one of it in summer with heather streaking the start of the summit and another of it in winter covered in snow. The room was completely at odds with Elain, but when they had come, neither had any possessions, nothing to make their new rooms truly theirs.

Emerie stood awkwardly half-way between the bed and the door, mouth bracketing into a frown.

‘Is the room not to your liking?’

It was over the top, Nesta had to admit. The richness of the purple walls was overpowering, the furniture all had ribbons of gold painted around it too. Emerie wound her braid around her hand.

‘I’m used to being alone. When my father died, I was glad for it. But I don’t know this place. It’s difficult to settle somewhere new.’

Nesta’s heart dropped. ‘Why didn’t you say? We could have gone back to Illyria. Emerie, why did you agree?’

‘I didn’t want to disappoint you.’

‘I’m the disappointment. Not you.’

‘Don’t say that about yourself. You could never disappoint me, Nesta.’

They were trapped in the House of Wind now, the decision already made. The House produced night gowns for them and it hadn’t illuminated any of the other bedrooms, not even Cassian’s own one so the females decided to share the bed together. It would be nice to do so without Emerie deep in drunkenness or Balthazar snoring at the bottom of the bed. It reminded Nesta of those cold nights in the cabin when the three Archerons would burrow together as close as they could for warmth. Elain always won the coveted middle spot which had the most heat.

For a short while they whispered together buried beneath the covers in the dark. Nesta told Emerie everything about her life in this house: the horrible weeks when they had first been Made with Feyre in the Spring Court and her family not knowing what to do with Nesta and Elain like they were spare, unwanted parts. Of the strange relationship she had embarked on with Cassian where neither could help but bicker constantly – but how they couldn’t stay away from each either. She even told Emerie the rough words Morrigan had exchanged with her over Cassian and why she was now terrified that Nesta might tell the world she was Eris’ mate. They whispered until sleep took them, but Nesta was glad to be beside her friend.

In the early morning, they were woken by Zasha’s wet nose. The dog had leapt on the bed, bounced across their bodies then tried to find his own way into the blankets. Both Nesta and Emerie had groaned in response to the early wake up.

A note had been stuffed under the dog’s collar.

Took a late night trip with Mor to bring Zasha here. Blame the alcohol. Missed you last night – had to cuddle Zasha. Gone to Ironcrest to show them who’s boss. Be back later. Sorry. Love you, Cass.

Nesta would be lying if she didn’t admit that the letter had left her with butterflies in her stomach. To know that he thought of her enough to leave a note made her throat dry up with appreciation, not to mention that he’d thought of Zasha alone in the house and brought him to Velaris. Seeing those final words “love you” written there as clear as day made her blush. Emerie had even asked if he’d written her a dirty letter when she’d seen the red scorching Nesta’s cheeks. It was different to hear it compared it when it was written: in words it felt more real, that he couldn’t take it back. He loved her. It seemed so simple.

To whittle away the time, the house had provided them with a breakfast of pancakes, fruit, and sticky syrup then a gloriously sunny morning. Nesta and Emerie had sat on the roof, gazing out at the Sidra winding through city. Nesta pointed out the odd place she recognised and could see from the distance, but mostly they stayed quiet, letting the sun warm them with Zasha sprawled out in the shade. Emerie’s face was contemplative; she wondered if the female beside her had ever seen this city, whether she’d ever heard of it.

‘Let’s go somewhere else,’ Nesta suggested, unable to take the sadness creeping onto Emerie’s face at the sight of the flourishing city below. It was a city the high lord had been willing to die for. The same courtesy was not extended to Emerie’s home.

They descended the set of stairs within the house, deep into the stone. Nesta wasn’t really sure why she was taking Emerie there, only that she felt it was important Emerie saw it.

‘What is this place?’

‘A library.’

Emerie levelled her a flat, bored stare. ‘I gathered that. But what is it?’

Nesta explained that the library carved into the side of the mountain was a sanctuary to females who had suffered inexplicable horrors. That they could access support in the safety the building provided. They were never pushed to recover or forced back into society.

They had spoken in quiet tones as they weaved through the silent aisles. There was a cosiness to the library; the quiet was welcomed rather than awkward, the atmosphere peaceful. But Emerie’s face had fallen again. Her eyebrows were pulled down as she watched a hooded acolyte pass.

Nesta halted, taking her hand. ‘What’s wrong? Are you alright?’

‘It’s just… Forget it.’ Emerie shook her head and made to walk away.

‘Em, tell me. Please.’

Her mouth twisted, warring internally with herself. ‘It’s just that there is no place like this in Illyria. And our females have no access to this place. We cannot fly here. We cannot even enter this city usually. There are so many females who would benefit from a place like this. Even I…’ She wrapped her braid around her hand again, twisting it tightly. ‘I could have done with a place like this when I was younger.’

It was not a topic they had ever touched upon – what the males in her life had done to her, why she was alone. Nesta had not wanted to push her to tell it, knowing how tightly she had bottled up her own issues. The scars on her wings were enough of a deterrent to not delve into the topic. Sadness welled up inside of Nesta, but anger too. Anger that this place even needed to exist. That the most powerful high lord in history had not gotten off of his backside to make a difference to the most vulnerable.

‘I wish more was done in Illyria to help females,’ Nesta admitted. ‘I’ve been fae a couple of years and I’ve already seen enough to know that this place would be filled.’

Emerie nodded, drawing up a chair at a table against a wall. ‘Females can train now. Cassian comes sometimes to oversee it. But only after the females have done their chores – and they’re never ending. They always find more work for them. A female is still a male’s property, whether that’s her father or husband.’

It was similar back in the mortal land, she supposed. It did not make it right though. ‘It’s not fair.’

‘No. It’s not. It was why Bellius used to harass me and demand I hand over the shop.’ Emerie snorted, a slight flare of temper flashing in her eyes at the mention of her horrid cousin. ‘There will always be males like him who will try and take it from me. I have a lot of cousins. Some have never even seen the store and they assume it ought to belong to them simply because we share blood and they’re male.’

‘Would they leave you if you had a husband?’

Emerie shrugged. ‘Maybe. They only listen to other males.’

‘What about Balthazar?’

‘What about Balthazar?’ She echoed with a puzzled expression. ‘Oh, Cauldron. Please don’t suggest what I think you’re about to suggest.’

Nesta shrugged, keeping her voice quiet as an acolyte hurried by. ‘There are worse males. He’s nice. I know you two bicker non-stop, but you’re good friends. If it got your cousins off your back… a marriage of convenience. Maybe you’d learn to love each other.’

The air of amusement making Emerie’s lips twitch gave Nesta the impression that she was missing something vitally important, but she could not for the life of her figure out what it was.

‘Maybe if I’m desperate,’ Emerie replied with a wink. ‘We are good friends. There’s a reason why we are only good friends. Two reasons.’ Nesta sat with her hands folded in her lap, awaiting the two reasons, but Emerie only laughed lightly, her laughter rippling gently like a soft hand brushing against the skin. ‘You’ll figure it out one day, I’m sure.’

‘Nesta!’

A bright voice called. It was met with several acolytes shushing. A red haired priestess waved cheerily, ignoring the disgruntled looks, and hurried over to their table. She slammed her freckled hands onto the table. ‘Don’t go anywhere. I found a book you might like. I’ve been asking Az for ages when you’re coming back here. Hello. I’m Gwyn.’

‘Emerie.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ the priestess said, smiling at Emerie then promising to be back soon.

As she darted away with a spring in her step, Nesta explained she had only met Gwyn once yet she’d acknowledged her as if they were old friends. When Gwyneth returned, she carried an enormous book with both arms and huffed out a breath as she put it down. ‘This is ancient. But I think you’ll like it.’

‘Why?’

Gwyn blinked her teal eyes. ‘I decided you would.’

Nesta read the cover: A Concise History of Prythian. The pages were so thin they were almost translucent and the book itself was as thick as Cassian’s arm. It would be better used as a weapon than light reading.

‘Gwyn, I’ll ask again: why?’

The priestess pulled up a chair to join them at the table, completely unperturbed. She shook back her light blue sleeves then held up a slender finger before carefully peeling back pages in search of the ribbon that kept the page she wanted. She turned the pages delicately but precisely, brow furrowed slightly.

‘A-ha!’ Gwyn rotated the book and pointed to a section. The miniscule writing had both Nesta and Emerie squinting.

“The Wild Hunt

According to our oldest legends, our land was once ruled by near-gods: the Daglan. For millennia, the Daglan ruled, enslaving both humans and fae. They drank the magic of the land like fine wine. To ensure obedience, the Daglan would assemble their most fierce and merciless warriors then grant them free rein to slaughter as they pleased. Their mighty hounds ran prey into the ground before it was tortured and killed by the Daglan themselves. Their hounds were monstrous scaled beasts capable of slicing a male’s throat with a flick of the claws.”

Nesta’s own brow furrowed when she had finished reading the paragraph. ‘I cannot believe I’m asking this for a third time. Why are you recommending this to me?’

Gwyn smiled sheepishly. ‘You mentioned it when talking about that death-god in the Prison. I hadn’t heard of the Wild Hunt so I was curious. And here it is. It’s the only book I could find on it. I’ve been hiding this book until you came back to the library so nobody else could withdraw it and keep it in their room for weeks.’

Nesta sat in a stunned silence letting the peace engulf them. Lanyths had mentioned the Wild Hunt, but she had not thought of it at all, not with the chaos of the Dread Trove and her made weapons. It had been a tiny crumb that had been forgotten about – but not by Gwyneth Berdara. The acolyte sat straight-backed with pride as Nesta gave her an amused smile. She understood why Azriel continued coming to the library entirely – she couldn’t help but smile in response to Gwyn’s cheerful demeanour.

‘I’ve never head of the Daglan. All of our legends say that the Cauldron was tipped by the Mother to make Prythian,’ Emerie whispered, ‘Not that anything else existed before.’

Gwyn nodded and began thumbing through the book again. ‘That’s right. But who made the continent or Hybern? Did the Mother make us and mortals? The Daglan existed a long, long time ago. At least fifteen millennia ago. Who made them? Life’s big questions.’

‘Did you say fifteen millennia?’ Emerie’s eyes were wide as Gwyn shoved the book back towards them.

“One legend holds that a fae hero, Fionn, rose up against the Daglan with a sword blessed by the Cauldron itself by the high priestess Oleanna when she dipped it within the waters. Gwydion, the sword, helped to overthrow the Daglan and with it came a millennium of peace. In that serenity, the land began to be carved into the territories which would become our current seasonal and solar courts. However, the time of peace came to an end. Fionn had unified the land and declared himself High King but his own queen betrayed him. She and his general killed Fionn, stole precious weapons then in the chaos high lords rose and have remained.”

‘What? That’s it?’ Nesta hissed in a whisper. ‘Fionn was killed and now we have high lords, the end.’

Gwyn shrugged. ‘I didn’t write it. But that’s the last mention of Gwydion in history. Wherever the queen and the general went, that’s where Gwydion can be found.’

‘Does that mean you’re Cauldron blessed too, Nesta? You were dipped into the waters.’

Nesta’s jaw dropped open in response to Emerie’s ridiculous comment. Anyone else and she might have been furious, but there was a light teasing tone to Emerie’s voice and her eyes sparked with mischief.

‘Dipped? What like a biscuit in your tea?’ Nesta had not told Emerie about that day fully, only that it happened, nothing more.

‘You were dipped in the Cauldron?’ Gwyn whispered.

‘I wasn’t dipped.’

‘She was dunked.’

Nesta sucked in a breath, willing her temper to not flare here. Emerie looked positively delighted with her comment, even more so when Gwyn grinned back at her. She massaged her temples. ‘Did you find anything about the Wall?’

The priestess shook her head so that her hood fell down. ‘Only the same books the high lord’s second checked out. Ones I believe you have already read.’

‘How do you know that?’

Gwyn, again, smiled brightly. ‘I know things.’

Nesta snorted. ‘Azriel tells all his secrets to you.’

‘Gwyneth Berdara,’ a sharp voice sounded from the balcony opposite. The colour drained from Gwyn’s face, so much so that she looked ill, but she did not turn to face the figure. The priestess standing on the balcony had her arms folded. She had a surprisingly young face – and a stunningly beautiful one. Beautiful enough to make Mor look drab. Her hair, as white as fresh snow, contrasted against the light brown tone of her skin. Eyes the colour of a twilight sky blinked once, twice, waiting for Gwyn to grow a spine and face her.

Gwyn scrunched her nose up slightly as she turned towards the female on the level above them.

‘You have a task to complete, Gwyneth. Enough chit chat.’ The voice left no room for argument.

‘I have to go,’ she whispered, bidding them a goodbye as she scurried up a level.

As she went, Emerie let out a soft laugh. ‘I like her.’

‘Me too,’ agreed Nesta, watching the copper haired priestess until she was out of sight.

After a few minutes of silence where Nesta drifted into a trance, Emerie nudged her softly with her elbow. ‘What are you thinking about? You’ve gone all distant.’

‘I have an invitation to Helion Spell-Cleaver’s thousand libraries. I am wondering if you wanted a holiday somewhere sunny.’

Chapter Text

Angst and softness in equal measure

Ironcrest was a cesspit of vile boys and worse males. Cassian felt for the females in that camp; it was one of the worst ones in Illyria. Only the one his mother had birthed him in had been worse. It made Windhaven look like a holiday destination in comparison. In Windhaven, he might have endured the odd taunt to keep the peace, but he couldn’t allow any sort of sneering in Ironcrest. If Cassian gave them an inch, they’d take a mile.

He’d drilled them hard, picking up on every slight weakness or failing of the camp lords to give way to a list of orders from Rhys. Cassian took the brunt of their arguments against it and all the grumblings. Any lasting honour he had from the war had faded and he was Ironcrest’s least favourite bastard again. Rhys was insistent that orders had to come from an Illyrian for them to listen – though Cassian doubted these males listened to anyone but themselves.

When he asked to speak to the females from the camp, every excuse in the book came out. Not a single one had trained in weeks. All of them were laden with work with the males going as far as having the females polish all of their weapons and armour. It was a mark of pride for males to clean the weapons they had earned – or it ought to have been. Hell, Cassian had worked relentlessly to earn the bow and he’d slept alongside his quiver when he finally was granted the use of it.

By late afternoon, Cassian’s mood was foul. He’d argued with every single camp lord assembled and most of the pure-bred pricks who walked with their noses stuck up in their air because their parents had married before they’d fucked. A young male, who’d gotten too big for his boots, had called him a bastard when he’d had his back to him, so Cassian had beaten him to a pulp to prove a point. He could constantly hear Azriel’s voice in his head: Illyria will never change. Some days, it was easy to believe it too. They felt too separate from the Night Court; even in the Hewn City, Illyrians were cringed at for their savage behaviour. Despite it all, Cassian still had a seed of hope that Illyria could change, that they would stop brawling amongst themselves and stamping on each other to get to the top, and instead this could be a land to be proud of. That he and Azriel wouldn’t cringe when they presented themselves as representatives of the Night Court and they were marked as Illyrians as if it were a badge of shame.

As his hand enclosed around the handle to his front door, a dog barked within. Cassian was met by Zasha bounding towards him and the dog stretched up to his stomach with his front paws, tail wagging furiously.

‘Nes?’

‘Out the back,’ she called.

The house backed onto rugged land that stretched into the horizon, but in the narrow patch of spongy moss and grass, Nesta had laid out a blanket. She lounged on her side, propping herself up with an elbow as she read. Zasha leapt over her then tore up the hill and back down in his excitement.

‘What are you doing here?’ He asked, leaning to kiss her forehead. It was a surprise, but a welcome one. He had planned to wash and change before flying back to Velaris to see her.

‘Reading,’ she replied drily, gesturing to a selection of history books laid out on the blanket with various tabs added to them. ‘Mor winnowed us. Emerie has a shop to run after all.’

Finally, Nesta glanced up at him. The brief smile faded fast. She sat upright then and rolled back her sleeves.

‘What’s wrong? I can’t decide if it’s exhaustion or despair or both.’

‘Definitely both,’ he admitted, groaning as he lowered himself onto the tartan blanket beside her. He rested his head onto her shoulder and she placed a kiss onto his crown.

‘Ironcrest is so bad?’

Cassian let out a short laugh. Zasha wedged himself between his legs, trying to lick his chin, oblivious to his bad mood. ‘Put it this way: Ironcrest makes Windhaven look like paradise.’

‘Well, the most powerful high lord in existence rules over this court, does he not? As Feyre is so fond of telling me.’

Involuntarily, Cassian bristled at that. ‘Change is slow in Illyria.’

Nesta snorted softly as she piled her books into a stack. ‘He’s had five hundred years, how much longer does he need?’ When Cassian tried to speak, Nesta waved her hand to stop him. ‘He taught my sister to read, became her mate and made her high lady in less than a year. If he wanted to do something with Illyria, he would.’

‘Don’t involve yourself in what you don’t understand,’ he snapped.

Nesta’s mouth fell open then she quickly composed herself. She gathered up the books and stormed towards the house, Zasha following along.

‘Nes,’ he called, groaning again as he got back up. ‘I didn’t mean that. I’ve had a bad day. I don’t mean to take it out on you.’

‘The fact is, Cassian, that Illyrians are treated as disposable. Their only use comes in battle. Little boys are wrenched from their mothers and forced to beat each other bloody. How can you look at Lorin without guilt, knowing that he’ll be thrown into a ring one day and battered senseless? Or that he might not even live through the Blood Rite?’

‘This is Illyria. This is how we live,’ he grunted out, blood boiling in his veins because what she said was right and he hated that it was. He hated knowing that boys like him with nobody to stand up for them were always the first targets. That a child like Lorin would endure the same hell as he had.

‘How can you see girls like Lule and not feel ashamed that as soon as she bleeds, she will be clipped and sold to whatever male like cattle? How wonderful that the females can train to be warriors after they’ve finished their chores. Finally, another way for them to die! We’ve been over this before: not every female wants to be a warrior. Maybe not every male either.’ Nesta swept the wayward strands of hair from her face as she settled the books on the kitchen table, silver fire swirling in her eyes. ‘I showed Emerie the prosperous city of Velaris today – and it upset her. Then we went to the library, and that upset her too. You talk about the horrific treatment of the females here and not one of them can seek refuge in that library. Not a single female in that place is Illyrian.’

‘That’s because-’

‘Because what? They’re needed to clean and cook for the warriors here? Or because they have no means of escape when the males in their life own them and destroy their wings?’

A low whistled sounded. Azriel had noiselessly slipped into the house and stood in the doorway to the kitchen. ‘Trouble in paradise?’

‘Fuck off, Az.’

Again, Nesta’s mouth fell open in shock. ‘Don’t you dare speak to Azriel like that just because you are in a bad mood.’

‘Thanks Nesta,’ Azriel said, trying to push the smile away from his lips.

Cassian sucked in a breath. His temper had already been pushed to the edge in Ironcrest, and sometimes Nesta knew exactly what to say to tip him over it. The truth hurt. The truth he never wanted to admit about Illyria: that it was all the things that Azriel and others said about it. He spread out his hands and shrugged. ‘This is my home, Nesta. I understand its people. If we opened up that library to Illyrian females then there wouldn’t be a single one left here.’

Nesta blinked in disbelief then laughed shrilly, the sound piercing his eardrums. ‘Do you hear yourself? Is that not a sign that things are truly abhorrent in Illyria? The fact that every single female has suffered at the hands of a male doesn’t terrify you? Doesn’t make you sick to your stomach? If you had a daughter one day, you would allow that to happen to her?’

‘No, I’d kill any male that touched her.’

‘Then why not have that rhetoric for other females? Just because they aren’t your daughter or wife, they still matter.’

He fumbled for words. Az would never come to the defence of Illyria. He and his mother had suffered at the hands of his cruel father for years. Nesta still muttered to herself as she went to another room, her golden head shaking in annoyance. Azriel raised his eyebrows.

‘She’s got a point,’ Az said with a knowing look. His brother would rather they eradicated Illyria entirely rather than try to reform it though.

‘What are you even doing here?’

‘Taking Nesta back to Spring.’

‘She’s going back?’

If his mood had been bad before, this was something entirely. It had been rumbling like a far off storm, but now the rain lashed down and the sky had darkened. Thunder quaked with every step. Cassian’s heart felt as if it had been torn out.

Azriel blocked his path and a scarred hand settled onto his chest. ‘Don’t lose your mind. Nesta is independent. Her home is in Spring. Don’t undo everything you’ve worked for, Cass, in a moment of madness.’

‘Move.’

‘Cassian,’ he warned. It was so rare for Azriel to call him that, it loosened a part of his anger and sent that stream of lava wending in a different direction.

Once satisfied that Cassian wasn’t about to boil over, Azriel stepped aside. He had needed that momentary pause to reflect and cool.

Nesta’s few belongings had already been packed and tidied by the chair in the living room. She perched stiffly on the edge of the chair with a hand stroking down Zasha’s coat. There was no doubt she had heard the exchange with Azriel in the kitchen. A storm swirled in her own eyes.

‘I am going, Cassian. You can’t persuade me to stay, so don’t try.’

It wasn’t fury that bubbled within him; it was desperation and sadness and longing. It was the longest stretch of time that they’d seen each other for. Perhaps he was naïve to think that something had changed for her the way it had for him. That maybe she would want to stay with him. That maybe he wasn’t a bastard-born Illyrian brute.

‘I already miss you,’ he said quietly, wishing Azriel wasn’t in the next room. ‘I had a terrible day and all I wanted was to come home to you. You feel like home.’

‘I have responsibilities in Spring.’ There was a wobble to her lip and her hand had stopped stroking the dog.

Cassian nodded. ‘I know and I’m so proud of you. So proud. But I can still miss you when you’re gone or wish you would stay. I can still long for a life together. Is it so wrong that I’m upset when you leave? Is it so wrong if I want you to call this court home?’

‘Why is it that I have to uproot myself and move to the Night Court? Why can’t you move to the Spring Court?’

‘Work for Tamlin? No fucking chance. I’ll leave the Night Court when I’m nothing but ash and dust.’

Nesta folded her hands in her lap. Cassian could feel the ice seeping down their bond as she placed on the armour she hadn’t worn around him for a long time. ‘I have no inclination to ever work for Rhysand.’

‘Then don’t work for him,’ he blurted. ‘Just stay here.’

‘Stay and be the dutiful, little wife who cooks and cleans? Maybe when I’ve finished all the chores you have for me, I can learn how to die on the battlefield with the rest of the Illyrians. Would that please you?’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ he cried, voice wrought with pain.

‘Nesta.’ Azriel’s voice cut as crisp and cold as a knife as he entered the living room. ‘We should go. I have a meeting with Jurian.’

Hazel eyes met his across the room in a silent warning that Cassian was unravelling. He had always been that way; always worn his heart on his sleeve for all the world to see. It was a blessing and a curse. Against Nesta, who could veil her emotions expertly, it felt like a weakness to feel so much. But with Nesta, he had always felt too much. Even as a mortal, he’d been unable to shake her from his mind. She’d streaked into his life like a comet, and a life without her seemed dull in comparison.

‘Goodbye Cassian.’

Cassian would have taken screaming or wrath over this barricade of ice. She said goodbye so clinically, as if dismissing a stranger.

‘Nes, please.’

‘Goodbye.’

***

‘Are you-’

‘I’m fine.’

Azriel swallowed, shadows swarming his chest as if afraid Nesta might try and claw his heart out next. ‘I really do have a meeting with Jurian. You’ll be alright to walk from here?’

‘Yes. Thank you. Goodbye.’

Zasha had not picked up on any of the tension at least. He raced across the luscious lawns towards the large manor house on the horizon. As Nesta carried her bag, she could feel Azriel’s eyes trained on her. Her breaths came shallow and shaking. Their future was a conversation they needed to have, but that had felt like an implosion, as if the foundations of a tall building had crumpled from the bottom. Nesta said things just because she knew they’d invoke a reaction. She was furious with herself for doing it. Furious with him for the things he’d said. Furious with whatever deity had hammered that wedge between them. Cassian was the heart of the Night Court – and Nesta was its outcast. A future, even if she wanted it, could only exist if she could overcome her dislike for the place.

When a sentry or servant greeted her, Nesta managed a brittle reply in return but never stood still for them to engage her further. Every step towards the manor house felt like she was trying to carry sand in her hands and it was slipping more each time.

Lounging on the swinging bench on the porch was a red-haired male. He stood to attention and quickly made his way down the steps.

‘Here you are,’ he said brightly.

Nesta couldn’t stop herself. She butted her head into his chest like a goat and burst into tears. At once, Eris’ arms came around her.

When she finally prised herself from him, she knew her face was red and blotchy.

‘Which one this time?’ Eris demanded, face hard and unforgiving.

Nesta sniffed then scrubbed her face with her hands. ‘Me. Him. Even if we are compatible, there are so many obstacles in the way. How does the Cauldron choose?’

‘I wish I knew. Mates are rare,’ he shrugged. ‘It pairs you with one it decides is your equal. Equal in what domain – nobody knows.’

‘A balance would be better,’ she suggested, settling on the bench eyes still threatening to burst with tears again. ‘He’s good and I’m wicked. Balance. I think I just have to ruin things. That’s all I’m good for.’

‘Stop saying these things about yourself,’ Eris said firmly, sitting beside her then calling for a servant to bring them refreshments. ‘You’ve never once been wicked.’

Her head shook in denial. She had been. For years, she had been so callous and cruel that it had stopped being an act of defiance against her father and instead who she truly was. ‘I just kept arguing with him about Illyria because I knew he’d defend Rhysand. I knew he would still not bear to hear a bad word said about him.’

‘You’re sure the high lord isn’t his mate?’

Nesta snorted, ‘I’ve wondered that myself.’ At his smile, she nudged him in the ribs. Eris hissed between his teeth. The blood in her veins seemed to halt at his reaction. ‘He hurt you again, didn’t he?’

Eris shrugged it off nonchalantly. ‘Is the sky blue, Nesta? When people show you the worst parts of themselves, believe them. Will my father ever change? No. Will Cassian ever pull his head out of Rhysand’s backside? No.’

‘What lovely imagery.’

‘I wish more than anything that you did not have a mate. It’s entirely selfish on my part. But every time him or one of his family members upsets you, it makes a part of me curse the Cauldron. You won’t ever be mine and sometimes I hate it because I would treat you like you deserve. None of it is fair.’

In a picture of casualness, Eris brushed a hand through his hair and leant against the back of the bench as if he hadn’t spilt his heart that way.

‘You can only ever be a friend to me, Eris,' she reminded him. 'Besides, this argument wasn’t all him. I pushed on purpose.’

‘Being mates does not mean you must blindly agree with each other. You’re equal, not the same. You have different values. You are supposed to challenge a partner and grow with them.’

‘This side of you is wonderful,’ she said, brushing her knuckles beneath his cheek. ‘A shame you keep it hidden.’

Eris shrugged again then stretched out his legs. ‘If I was like this all the time, I wouldn’t be able to leave the house. There would be a queue of females at the door begging for my hand in marriage.’

‘You have a mate.’

Nesta had said the words cautiously. They had been barely more than a whisper, too fragile to say any louder. She expected denial or fury from the male that she had announced it. On the contrary, Eris laughed and clapped his hands together.

‘I wondered when you’d figured it out. I’ve been dropping clues for years.’

‘I know that’s why she hates to be near you.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘She never severed the bond so it can still be scented sometimes. She hates the thought that we are equal.’

‘Why did you leave her in the woods, Eris?’

‘I had already been building a reputation for cruelty to keep my brothers at bay. She could have fucked an entire Illyrian army and I really wouldn’t care, but it made fools of my family. My father was furious. Keir did it to her as penance to try and earn my father’s favour again. If my father’s soldiers had found her, they would have been given free reign to do what they wanted with her.’ Eris swallowed, malice flashed in his eyes at the thought. ‘We had only met once but hadn’t even spoken as our fathers betrothed us. I didn’t want a wife, much less one who stared at me like she hated me with every fibre of her being. But before all that happened, I thought maybe things would be different if I could show her who I truly was. I never had the chance.’

‘But why leave her? Your father’s soldiers could have taken her.’

‘So impatient. I’m telling a story, Nesta. Wait for the ending,’ he admonished playfully, tapping the end of her nose with a slender finger. Nesta couldn’t help but wonder if Eris had ever told this truth before. Did he have any friends he could be honest with? ‘Something led me into the woods that day. An invisible string summoning me through the densest parts and towards the border. When I looked into Mor’s eyes, I felt it snap into place. If I had taken her in as my mate, that would have been a far worse scenario for both of us. She would always be used as leverage by my father. She’d have been trodden on, held captive, beaten and bloodied so my father could mould me into what he wanted.’

‘As your wife she’d escape that fate?’

Eris shook his head. ‘No, but I could feign indifference towards her. Act as if I had no desire to protect her and my father would grow bored. I would not be able to deny those instincts as my mate. So I had to leave her. I sent word to Azriel and had to leave her.’

‘She hates you.’

‘She does.’

Nesta sighed. ‘This is a shit day.’

Eris grinned with feral delight. ‘It’s always such a thrill when you swear.’

‘So easily pleased.’

‘Does Cassian know?’ Eris asked quietly.

Nesta did not doubt that if Cassian had any inkling, he’d likely beat Eris for something that was out of his control. Mor was an untouchable subject in his eyes. Nesta shook her head. ‘Morrigan decided to give me a warning about treating Cassian correctly, so I decided to give her one of my own. I included you in it. She will do her best not to bad mouth you from now on.’

‘What a clever little thing you are.’

Nesta tipped her head forwards in a mock bow to accept his praise. Their friendship was strange and she wasn’t even sure she could ever convey how she felt about Eris – how much she owed him, admired him. They discussed what Nesta had learnt in the library about Fionn and the Daglan; Eris had little additional knowledge which was disappointing. She also explained that she was heading to the Day Court in a few days once she’d caught up on work in Spring.

‘What can you tell me to give me an edge over the high lord?’

Eris’ face had twisted into grimace. ‘I’m not a fan. I’ve had few dealings with him besides.’

‘I thought you liked to schmooze with all of the nobility to gain friends.’

‘Not him.’

She nudged him again, forgetting about the bruises on his ribs so he winced once more and she apologised. ‘Did you refuse his advances?’

‘Nesta,’ he bit out, ‘Helion and I are not on friendly terms and that’s all there is to it. Back to the matter at hand, you and Cassian. Is he worth the upset?’

‘Yes.’ Nesta did not even need to think about that question. Yes, he was worth it. Yes, their future was still unclear but she knew she wanted one with him. Yes, she already missed him too. There were better ways to have raised the subject of Illyria than to provoke him when he was already feeling low. Nesta had seen it on his face when he’d returned to the cabin with a forlorn expression after a day of being treated like dirt in Ironcrest. And she felt guilty for creating an argument when he was already raw. In the red midst of anger, she had barely registered what Cassian had said to her: you feel like home. Home was a feeling, a person. Home was him.

‘I don’t suppose you are winnowing to the Night Court anytime soon?’

Eris rolled his eyes. ‘Want to kiss and make up?’

‘Would it be too cowardly to write a letter?’

While Nesta scrawled away, Eris remained with Zasha undertaking an impromptu training session. She’d screwed up four pieces of paper and worked herself up. What she said was the truth; Rhysand had long enough to change Illyria but he didn’t want to upset the status quo because the army was useful to him. What hadn’t been good was Nesta’s delivery. She had thrown it in Cassian’s face to rile him, so vitriolic in her dislike for her sister’s mate. It was not Cassian’s fault that things had not changed. Cassian led their armies, led them to their deaths and bore the guilt of it. He would have died with them that day if she had not screamed his name – and she knew he carried that guilt too, that he ought to have died without her intervention. Nesta scrunched up another piece of paper in frustration.

When Eris departed, they embraced again. Nesta breathed in the strong scent of fires and chestnuts from him, thankful that he had come into her life as a friend when she had so desperately needed one. He promised to deliver the letter with no taunting or superiority.

It was already growing dark once Eris had left so Nesta forced herself to eat dinner although her stomach was in knots still from the argument. Tamlin took up his favoured place at the table after murmuring a greeting.

‘I wasn’t sure if you’d be returning. The general was tight-lipped.’

Likely because he hoped Nesta would have a change of heart and opt to remain in the Night Court, she thought. ‘I was attacked by a kelpie in the Bog of Oorid. Needed a few days to rest.’ Servants had prepared a meal of lamb shanks, creamy mash and asparagus so Nesta drove her fork into the meat and sliced it. ‘Apologies the message was not relayed. Did I miss anything here?’

Tamlin ate only with a fork, though he was armed with a dagger in a baldric and another in one at his waist. There was something different about him, about the way he carried himself. There wasn’t so much darkness shrouding his expression, as if the clouds had finally begun to lift.

‘Three mortals came through the forest. Almost to the outskirts of the manor.’

Nesta raised a brow, willing him to go on.

‘Fionn was on duty. I glamoured them. The silver bells they wear will entice more than fae to them.’

Children of the Blessed. Nesta had called them fanatics for their obsession with fae and now she was stuck as a fae herself. If they knew a Cauldron existed that could turn them, most would dive in head first. The silver bells did nothing, just as iron did nothing to repel faeries.

‘Did they see Fionn?’

Tamlin shook his head as he chewed straight from the bone. ‘I shifted him to a wolf to patrol the border. Without the wall, I can’t risk mortals crossing, but equally I can’t risk my sentries. Not all who cross will be friends of the fae.’

No, not humans like Graysen and his rotten father. It still baffled Nesta that her sister had pined for the man when Lucien was an option. Maybe the Cauldron had changed a part of Nesta for good, but mortals seemed so fragile now. Even Graysen appeared feeble and dull by comparison. She’d hardly put any force into the slap she had given him at his father’s estate, but his head had snapped back so violently, she worried for a moment that his neck had broken. Graysen had deserved the smack though.

‘Wait a moment, did you say a wolf?’

Tamlin laughed slightly. ‘My power is shifting. I can extend it to others. Better for a mortal to see a wolf than a faerie.’

‘We’re told to fear you. We have so many stories of your cruelty and penchant for wicked games that hurt humans. And those lunatics lap it up and want to devote themselves as slaves. If the naga eats them, good riddance.’

The high lord’s green eyes met Nesta’s. She did not know him well enough to decipher what had made his brow furrow.

‘If any more come through, I can continue to glamour them but it cannot be a long term solution.’

Nesta hummed her agreement while forcing another dollop of mashed potatoes down her throat. ‘There may be others who can see through your glamour.’

‘Even Rhys can’t see though my glamours. Only when he extends his magic to its limits.’

‘I saw through it,’ Nesta countered. ‘My father and sister believed that tale you span that Feyre read to a sick aunt. I was the only one who knew that you broke down the door, not the wind. That she’d brought home a wolf pelt and the next day you took her away.’

Tamlin clenched his jaw. Talons extended from his fingers as he gripped the table; it bore the scars of the previous times he had done such a thing. ‘Andras. His name was Andras. The fae she killed that day. I lost all of my loyal males – my friends – due to the curse. So many of them died at the hands of mortals. They knew the risks, they willingly went.’

‘It doesn’t dislodge the guilt does it?’

‘No. The curse was due to me.’

Nesta might have been forced to carry the guilt of neglecting her sisters - a guilt the eldest daughter seemed cursed to carry – but Tamlin bore the weight of Amarantha’s fifty year reign of terror. She pitied him. From the tidbits she had learnt, Tamlin had a horrible childhood in a family as cruel as the Vanserras and he’d endured nothing but misery ever since. If Feyre could absolve Rhysand of his treatment then why could Nesta not forgive Tamlin?

‘The curse was due to Amarantha and her alone. Nobody blames you. Your body, your heart, it belongs only to you. You did not owe her any part of you.’

Tamlin tilted his chin up, a tight smile appeared briefly. ‘The wrong sister came over the wall that day.’

Nesta grimaced. ‘I’d have stabbed you in your sleep the first night.’

‘Feyre stole a knife with the ambition to stab me, I’m sure.’

‘My sister has always lacked conviction,’ Nesta said, raising her glass in a toast which made Tamlin spit out a laugh. ‘Do you regret the way things played out?’

She wondered whether her sister had become less of an open wound and more of a scar now to Tamlin; whether he pined for her still or if the memories no longer caused any issues. The talons remained but he had not reacted negatively. Quietly, he said, ‘Of course I do. I saw her die. I heard her neck snap and knew it was because of me. I was terrified of anything more happening to her, after she’d endured hell because of me and Rhys.’

Nesta’s throat tightened. Feyre had been vocal in telling her childhood agonies to the Night Court and it had tarnished any hope Nesta had of being welcomed by them. When it came to Rhysand, her sister was silent. She didn’t bandy the story around of how he’d paraded her naked and drugged in front of the other high lords.

‘He forced her into that deal to be taken by him every month.’

‘Forced her how?’

Tamlin gritted his teeth. ‘Feyre had broken her arm. He grabbed hold of the bone and twisted it until she agreed. When we first returned, she was petrified that he’d take her. I was terrified. I couldn’t bear the thought of him taking her if she went into the grounds.’

‘Why didn’t you help her there?’

‘I couldn’t. I was under constant guard. Lucien and his mother were able to get to her once.' The high lord ran a hand through his blonde hair. 'Rhys came here once, went into her mind when she was still a mortal and threatened to crack her like an egg. He had myself and Lucien on our knees begging him – and still he had your mortal neighbour killed.’

Nesta remembered the morning they had discovered Clare Beddor and her family were gone. Elain had commented that there was a stink in the air like smoke as she’d opened a window not long after dawn. On a walk into the village, they had seen the crowd gathered to inspect the remnants of the charred home and saw as a blackened body was carried out from the wreckage. Elain had stood and sobbed. Nesta hadn’t known how to feel – even then she felt numb and cold. The next day Feyre returned home and Nesta had quickly put the two together.

‘Feyre could not read or write then I received a letter that she was not coming home. That she wanted to stay with the male who had done unspeakable things to her. The male who'd been happy to warm Amarantha's sheets and indulge in her torture. If Feyre had spoken to me, if she had just shown me that she wasn’t glamoured or that Rhys wasn’t speaking for her,’ he said, voice wrought with emotion. ‘My people suffered. You and your sister suffered. I locked her in here through terror, not because I wanted to hurt her. Rhysand delighted in tormenting her when we were under the mountain.’

‘It sounds to me that she and Rhysand are perfect for each other,’ Nesta said bitterly, placing her cutlery on the empty plate gently. ‘She’s never once apologised for what happened to Elain and I. Her mate still delights in tormenting. They trample any in their path and believe we should be grateful for their divine intervention.’

Nesta rose from her seat, stomach full and mood churning from sad to furious – but not with Tamlin. She understood his perspective a little better. Understood the desperation that had driven him to seek out Hybern to bring her back. ‘Thank you for dinner.’

‘You too. Thank you for remaining in Spring, Nesta. Thank you for everything you have done for my people.’

That line sliced through her like a hot wire with dread trailing in its wake. Spring was still unstable, with much of it down to Feyre’s meddling, and Nesta liked her role as emissary. It would be difficult to give it up. She was valued here. Appreciated. Sentries and servants alike spoke to her without any shame of her history. None of them bleated about her failings of little Feyre. None called her wicked or barbed or a piece of work. But it still didn’t feel like home.

Chapter Text

The crescent moon gleamed brightly in the black sky like a piece of it had been torn away to reveal the glowing slither beneath. Nesta counted all of the stars she could see with Zasha sat between her legs in the cushioned window nook. She missed the night skies of the Night Court. The Illyrian skies were a thing of wonder in the darkness.

She found herself thinking about Cassian; whether he had remained in Illyria or had returned to Velaris. Whether Eris had kept his promise to deliver the letter – or if it lay undisturbed at the Hewn City until Cassian’s next visit. Her heart ached with sorrow for the way things had spiralled in the cabin. She had carried Emerie’s sadness about Velaris and weaponised it against Cassian because she knew she could draw blood.

For a while longer, Nesta remained in the window, hoping to see a pair of black wings sweeping across the sky. That maybe Nesta could have a romance from the stories where Cassian would lift her off her feet and kiss her then they’d apologise. Would he fly to Spring in the morning to resume her defence lessons or would he want time away from her? All Nesta could do was push people away. She’d been cruel to her father and negligent to Feyre. The only one Nesta would have moved mountains for did not want anything to do with her anymore; Elain had chosen her safety net rather than risk her comfort by being on Nesta’s side.

‘Come, my little queen. There is much to do.’

Her mother’s voice, brusque and eloquent, broke into the room. Nesta was suddenly sat at the vanity in her old bedroom; her mother had taught her how to braid a coronet and she’d been practising. Mother said it was better to have her hair tied back to show off her face rather than to leave it dangling like a street urchin.

‘A pity your face is harder than Elain’s,’ her mother had said once, turning her face from side to side with a pincer-like grip on her chin. ‘She will marry for love, the pretty little thing she is, but you will be a man’s trophy. Men will go to war for a woman like you, Nesta. A beautiful woman - but with a mind as sharp as a blade. You will be a prize for any man.’

Nesta remembered the day, but the face in the mirror was her own as it was now – not young and innocent – with pointed ears and elongated limbs. A figure stood behind her, peering over her shoulder at Nesta's reflection. A ring was on nearly every finger as well as bracelets and a delicate chain around her neck; the pendant dipping below the neckline.

‘Stand. Let me look at you,’ her mother said, clapping her hands together, the bracelets jingled as she did.

Nesta did as she was bid, as she always did where her mother was concerned. Like a vulture, her mother circled her. Her head snapped up and down Nesta’s body, surveying every inch to ensure it was up to standards.

‘Take off your dress, Nesta.’

She remembered this too, remembered the agony of these moments where she was inspected like an artefact in a museum. Even as an adult, Nesta’s heart thundered facing her mother. There had been meals that Nesta was not allowed to eat, others where her mother would raise her eyebrows at the portion on her plate or pass a comment that they would need the dressmaker out soon to fit her in a larger gown.

‘I will not ask you again.’

It was real and not real. Memory and dream. Again, her mother swarmed around her, saying nothing, only appraising her to measure whether Nesta could reach her strict standards. Cold fingers pinched her upper arms then prodded the length of her collar bone. ‘Hmm,’ she murmured, eyes lingering on Nesta’s chest. ‘You have a woman’s body now.’

Nesta waited awkwardly in the middle of the room, wishing the roof would collapse upon her while her mother strode to her own bedroom. She could hear the faint murmurings of her sisters in another room as they played. Even when she’d been as young as Feyre, Nesta had never been allowed to play. Their mother had taken her as her protegée as soon as she could walk and her childhood had become non-existant. The only times Nesta was ever allowed to play were the rare times her mother accompanied their father somewhere and servants would allow Nesta to be a child for a few hours.

It was a horrible, strange relationship they shared. Her mother put all of her efforts into Nesta’s future – the family’s future – she called it. Over and over, her mother would tell her that if their father were to die on his travels, it would be up to Nesta to save the family. It would be her advantageous marriage that would support the family. It was a constant threat that never allowed Nesta to rest on her laurels. Her mother would go to great lengths to tell her how much her father had paid for her gowns and jewels to show her off at balls, at the cost of the tutors who had come to educate Nesta on mathematics and languages.

She had not asked for any of it; her mother would frame it as a gift then remind Nesta of the cost to ensure she excelled. And yet Nesta still craved every minute with her, was desperate to win her favour because it was better to have her mother’s attention - even when she was angry with her - than to be ignored by her.

‘Take that off.’

The voice cracked like a whip as her mother returned. The odd line creased near her eyes and across her forehead like a finger traced in the sand. Her blonde hair was streaked with white. Nesta couldn’t help but wonder if this was how she would appear in the future – whenever that would be. She did not know if it would take centuries to age or millennia.

‘Nesta Archeron, do not be ignorant.’

Her mother had never hit her. No, her mother knew more effective ways to punish Nesta. She’d withhold her love, tell her how disappointed she was with her, would tell Nesta to fetch Elain or Feyre and their mother would be affectionate with them while Nesta had to remain at the table with her studies as punishment, wishing it was her who their mother kissed and cuddled.

She removed her chemise and stood only in her underwear. Her mother’s cool hands peeled her arms away from her chest. Nesta remembered how her body had suddenly changed overnight and her dresses had grown tighter across her chest. When she had bled for the first time, she’d wailed and called for a servant to help her fearing she had been injured. Her mother had sat her down and said she had become a woman. No longer was she allowed to share a room with Elain and Feyre. A woman deserves her own room, she had said. Nesta had only been twelve. Whispering stories in bed with Elain while Feyre snored quietly in the next bed had been her favourite moments of the day - and that had been taken from her.

A garment was wrapped around her chest; it was black satin and lined with unyielding whalebone. Nesta held it in place while her mother yanked the ribbons until the corset dug into her skin.

‘Mother, it hurts me.’

She heard the sharp inhale then her mother’s temper seemed to swell in the room like an unseen, unwelcome spirit. ‘Fine. Take it off. I shall see if Elain wants it. Elain never scorns my gifts.’

‘No, please. Please. Let me keep it. I will enjoy wearing it.’

‘Good,’ her mother murmured as she drew the laces tighter so there was a dull ache in her ribs. ‘You are blossoming into a woman, Nesta. We must celebrate it, not hide it away. It is nothing to be ashamed of.’

The adultification hadn’t affected Nesta then, but now, as she stood staring at her reflection while her mother once more encircled her, Nesta wanted to vomit. She had been a child. A child forced to dress as a woman to bat her eyelashes to men and engage them in alluring conversations. By fourteen, Nesta knew which men to delicately touch the hand of or which ones to brush her arm against as she moved past them. She knew which men liked it when she smiled, which ones preferred her to stay silent and listen. Nobody had fought for her. Her father kept quiet. Never voiced his discomfort at his eldest daughter being presented to his acquaintances – some even older than he was – and offered up as an investment.

‘Do not cry. You will ruin your face and not be allowed to the ball. What will we do if your father were to die tomorrow – and you had spent the night weeping instead of dancing? Would you like to see your sisters on the street, Nesta, because you were too selfish to put their needs ahead of your own?’

‘No, mother.’

Even now, as an adult trapped between this purgatory between dreaming and memories, Nesta cowered from her mother. She still could not stand up for herself. The automatic reply of “no, mother” was another act of submission. She stood as tall as her mother, her fae ears reminding her that this was not happening now. But with all the power churning inside of her, all that she had faced and survived, Nesta still was unable to tell her mother to go to hell like she deserved. All she could feel was shame.

Like a doll, her mother continued dressing her in a gown too tight for a child; one that clung to her figure enhanced by the corset and slipped over her hips. She had tutted at the coronet, calling it clumsy, as she pulled Nesta’s hair into a tight bun. The hairgrips dug against her scalp as her mother reeled off the price of the dress, the jewels on the clips, her shoes. If Nesta said anything, if she complained that she had not asked for it, her mother would grow upset and tell her that she only wanted the best for her and she was a cruel child who didn’t appreciate her parents’ sacrifices.

Nesta hated herself for the flutter in her heart as her mother settled beside her on the stool and a hand stroked her cheek. Hated how she still craved her approval. Her mother turned her so they looked at their reflection in the mirror together. A small smile tugged at her mother’s lips. Nesta knew now it was not one of love, not truly. She had seen Feyre wear the same expression when she had gazed upon one of her paintings, proud of what she had created. Nesta Archeron: her mother’s warped little creature.

‘There will not be a man in our world who will not fall to his knees for you, my little queen,’ her mother whispered, tenderly touching a finger across the apple of her cheek. ‘Even a fae king would be enchanted by you. You will make me proud tonight.’

It was a demand with no room for failure. There could be flashes of her grandmamma in her mother sometimes; the same rigidity, the utter displeasure when Nesta had failed either woman. At least her mother had never beat her. No, her mother broke her with words instead.

When they departed the bedroom, Nesta expected to see the long corridor leading to the stairs of her old family manor, but they were suddenly walking through a grove of white birch trees warped into an archway, the doorway to her bedroom was gone. It ought to have been beautiful; a faint dusting of sun broke through the trees to illuminate the pathway leading through them. All around Nesta white flowers grew. She could name lily-of-the-valley and snowdrops. Others, she wondered if Elain knew the names of.

‘We mustn’t forget this,’ her mother said, pressing a bouquet into her hands.

Nesta glanced down at the flowers she carried; baby’s breath and roses of pure white. Her mother’s cool hands reached towards her to carefully cover her face with a gossamer veil. She had only seen veils used in the mortal lands for one purpose: a wedding.

No matter how hard Nesta tried to change directions, to jerk herself awake or to invoke any sort of magic to bring her back to the present, there was no escaping this awful nightmare. But every part of it felt real. Her mother’s skin against hers, the warmth of the sun piercing the canopy, the smell of the flowers.

‘He has waited a long time for you,’ her mother murmured softly as a figure on the horizon materialised beside a black lake where seven swans swam across the surface.

Nesta tried to dig her heels into the ground, tried to halt her mother’s marching. Her dress was unfit for the mortal lands; it scooped low on the back and the thin sleeves were almost sheer. The material shrouded her legs like a mist.

‘I do not want this.’

A muscle worked in mother’s jaw. ‘Think of your family, Nesta, of everything we have done for you. Your father would not have found his firebird or armies. Would you want your sisters to have died? Is that what you want, you cruel, wicked girl?’

‘I want to go home,’ she begged. ‘I want to wake up. Please.’

Her mother had to force her forwards a step as if Nesta’s magic had suddenly awakened from slumber and was beginning to jerk itself into action, anchoring her to the path. The male started towards them. Nesta did not need to see his face to know him. She recognised the tall figure and his strange gait as he walked as if he was made from the earth and the wind. His ears were pointed, eyes wholly black as though they could devour galaxies. His hair, so bleached of colour, was white. Tailored in regal black, the male was broad and youthful. Hungrily, he gazed upon his fiancée.

Every instinct screamed at Nesta to run. To rip her mother’s arm from its socket and to never stop running.

‘Nesta,’ he said in acknowledgement.

Her legs threatened to buckle. When he took a step towards her, her mother had gone as though she had never even been there. There was nothing but ancient cruelty filling the void of his eyes. Lanthys had wanted her as a queen to use her power – but Koschei stared at Nesta and saw a feast.

‘Come, queen of queens. Let us be married.’

With effort, Nesta forced herself back a step. Then another. And another.

Her power was surging within her chest, pressing against the sides to try and find a way out. She gritted her teeth and made herself take another step backwards.

‘Remarkable,’ Koschei crooned.

Nesta had not stared down the King of Hybern or Lanyths to die here.

Her magic was a battering ram that ran a vicious assault against the cage Koschei was trying to condemn her to. It rallied itself and thrust outwards, thrashing against this realm between dreams and memories. If she were to see her reflection in that black lake, Nesta knew her eyes would be blazing with silver fire.

Koschei surged forwards to grasp the wispy sleeves of her gown. Malice simmered in his eyes as a rough hand tore away her sleeve from the seams to expose her bare arm.

‘Who marked you? What male marked you?’

His eyes were fixed upon the tattoo banded around her upper arm.

‘Speak his name,’ the death-god demanded.

Nesta thrust any memories, any thoughts of who had given her the tattoo to the darkest depths of her mind. She focused only on the male in front of her. She sang his name over and over. Koschei, Koschei, Koschei. She fixed her gaze only on him, willed herself only to see this male – and no others that mattered to her.

A blisteringly cold hand clamped around her elbow to drag her closer. Even Koschei gritted his teeth in pain at their physical contact. Pain demanded Nesta’s attention where his fingers were branding her skin, but the tattoo inches higher burned like molten gold on her skin, glowing brighter the longer he held her.

The death-god released her arm with a hiss. His own hand was blistered red.

Again, Koschei lunged for her, dragging Nesta to her knees on the rough ground. His fingers bent her wrist towards him while another hand pulled a ring from his pocket.

Nesta tried endlessly to yank her hand back to safety, but the male held her there, ignoring the pain searing up his own skin as he fought to force the ring onto her finger. She balled her hand into a fist, begging any deity who’d listen to save her.

A cry escaped her throat as Koschei snapped the bones in her fingers to straighten them. Tears streamed down her cheek despite her attempts at trying to master herself. The ring, heavy platinum, was wedged onto her trembling, broken fingers.

The moment it touched her skin, it was wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. She knew it. Koschei knew it. The tattoo in her arm blazed like an inferno. The metal writhed against her skin as if it were a living thing in great discomfort. Deep, deep down in that abyss within her, Nesta’s magic had concentrated into a dense mass. She gazed up at the death-god still gripping her damaged fingers, his own face contorted with rage watching the ring twist.

I have no regrets in my life, but this. That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you.

That memory came to Nesta - a quiet song that reminded her that there was a world of goodness that she wanted to be part of. She wanted to be happy. She wanted to be loved. She wanted to love.

The platinum ring warped and cracked until it shattered like glass then the barricade of her power fell. Another voice, sharp and cunning, pressed to the forefront of her mind. When you erupt, girl, make sure it is felt across worlds.

Then, Nesta erupted.

Chapter Text

‘Is this a fucking joke? You’ve had me sitting here waiting for over half an hour.’

Rhys tucked his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall, not deigning Eris with the respect of joining him at the table in one of the Hewn City’s council rooms. Eris had jumped up however, the moment the door had opened. The male’s face was stark white, his hair dishevelled as if he’d been running his hand through it.

‘You look stressed, Eris,’ Feyre crooned from beside her mate.

Eris sucked in a breath then set his jaw to stop himself from saying something in front of the four of them that he might regret. A shadow curled around Azriel’s neck. His brother would love nothing better than pulling Eris apart piece by piece.

‘You were only here yesterday, Eris. What could possibly be so demanding of our attention? Has Nesta asked you to deliver another letter for her? Are you the heir to the Autumn Court and Nesta Archeron’s personal messenger?’

‘I don’t know why she still wants to try with any of you people. You don’t deserve her.’ Amber eyes turned on Cassian. ‘What did the letter say?’

Cassian shrugged one shoulder. ‘Nothing that concerns you, Eris.’

In truth, he had not even opened the letter. Eris had arrived at dusk to the Hewn City so Cassian had taken his time to retrieve the message to let Eris stew. Cassian couldn’t open it. He feared the contents. Feared Nesta had written that she had well and truly washed her hands clean of him and would be severing the bond. If it made him a coward because he could not face the truth then so be it. He’d rather be a coward than broken-hearted.

‘She was utterly devastated yesterday. I asked her if you were worth it and she did not hesitate to answer yes. She should have asked whether any of you are worth it – because believe me I would tell her the truth.’ The male’s eyes blazed, similar to Nesta’s when fury roiled within her. Eris had a strong bank of magic, even without the title of high lord. ‘Something happened here today, didn’t it?’

Azriel’s wounds were healing and all the foul creatures in the Prison were back in their cages. Before dawn, something had shaken the mountains of the Night Court violently enough to break down the wards around the Prison. Thankfully, Azriel had been out for a night-time flight. It was a small blessing that he could not sleep. His hazel eyes were ringed with a permanent shadow. Whatever had shaken the mountain had not created an aftershock at least and once the sun had risen, every inmate was back within their cell. Azriel had held the gate alone for a time – and he was paying for it now. Rhys had spent an age warding the Prison even further, using his more of his own blood to ensure the doors stayed locked, so he too had suffered a drain on his magic. It was why they were content to let Eris stew in the Hewn City. It allowed Azriel rest – not that he had – and Rhys’ magic could refill.

‘We felt a tremor in the Autumn Court. It has uprooted trees and split open a dam. My father spent the early hours of the morning repairing infrastructure lest our people drown.’ Eris swallowed. ‘What happened here?’

Cassian, Azriel and Feyre stayed silent – allowing Rhys to take the reins.

‘We felt something,’ he conceded. ‘I cannot say what. Perhaps the Cauldron.’

‘Did Lucien’s mate feel it?’

Feyre’s lips tightened into a flat line. ‘No.’

‘Then it was not the Cauldron. I’ve heard it favours Elain Archeron.’ Eris withdrew a crumpled piece of torn off parchment and clutched it in his hand. ‘I had no obligation to come here. If I had it my way, you would be none the wiser. I hope you have a damned good reason for making me wait. And I hope, after this is done, Nesta will want nothing more to do with any of you. I came here for her. For her alone.’

Cassian tracked the bob of Eris’ throat, the utter distaste seeping from him as he looked at the Night Court delegate within the Hewn City.

‘It’s Tamlin’s hand.’

Eris tossed the balled up parchment towards Cassian. Deftly, he caught it with one hand.

“Spring Court. Now.”

An eerie quiet had descended upon the lush, green lawns surrounding Tamlin’s Manor as they winnowed in. Not a single bird song could be heard.

‘That tremor came from Nesta?’ Feyre whispered.

Rhys clenched his jaw. ‘If it did, and we felt it in the Night Court, every court in Prythian will have. Or beyond.’

‘Fuck,’ Azriel gasped.

Almost every tree had been uprooted and launched to its side. Only the most ancient ones remained standing though some were tilted as if their roots had been forcefully jerked from the soil. It stood the hairs on the back of Cassian’s neck on end. A trickling of fear crawled up his spine. He thought of the day in the village when Nesta had convulsed on the ground and caused all the land around her to wither and die.

A ring of sentries encircled the manor, but gave it a wide berth. All were armed to the hilt. A sweaty palm brushed against Cassian’s hand. Feyre stared up at the manor. Every single window had been blown out. Cracks in the brickwork were visible even from their distance. Cassian forced back his horror at the sight of the horses struck down dead in the paddock. The chestnut mare that Eris had gifted Nesta lay crumpled on its side.

‘This was because she was upset?’ Feyre whispered in horror.

‘No,’ Rhys murmured, eyes soaking in the extent of the damage. ‘This is something primal, something ancient. A power Nesta should not be able to wield.’ He swore. ‘We should have brought Lucien with us. He’s the only one Tamlin might be amenable to.’

Eris straightened. ‘He summoned me. He will speak to me.’

Not to us, Cassian thought bitterly. Despite the days spent in Spring with Nesta and Tamlin, playing board games or watching the sentries, Tamlin had opted to summon Eris over him.

Fionn, the general, strode towards them. His blonde hair glinted in the sunlight. In one hand, he carried a sword and a shield was strapped to the other. On his back, he carried a bow and a quiver of arrows fletched with white feathers.

‘Fionn, what the fuck has happened?’ Eris demanded.

The general shook his head. ‘I don’t know. The high lord has ordered us to stay on guard in case anything is summoned by… what happened.’

‘And what did happen here?’ Rhys asked, stepping forwards.

Cassian could not speak, could not think. Feyre’s hand stayed in his and Azriel had another inches from his sleeve incase Cassian acted on his thoughts of tearing forwards into the house to seek Nesta.

Fionn narrowed his eyes at Rhysand. ‘You were not invited to this court.’

Rhys raised his brows, disbelief painting his features.

‘Please, Nesta is my sister. Is she okay?’

‘I don’t know what happened. The ground shook like an earthquake. This was the epicentre,’ he replied, glancing over his shoulder towards the house. ‘I arrived quickest. Thankfully no sentries were on duty. There are no marks or injuries to be found on the horses but they’ve been struck down dead. Same as the birds. Even a few rabbits that were above the ground.’

What Cassian had taken for shadows were the small carcasses of birds struck down as they tried to flee. Nesta’s power of death had been unleashed.

‘Nesta is… I can’t say she’s fine. She’s not right.’

‘Does she know about the animals?’ Cassian asked.

Fionn shook his head. ‘No. I can't tell her. I know Nesta. This is not something she has done willingly. I can’t put that burden on her. She’s a good person. My daughter loves her. She helped deliver my youngest into this world.’ The general’s voice was thick.

‘Zasha? Did Zasha…’ Eris’ voice trailed off as his eyes combed over the horses again.

Fionn shook his head. ‘The high lord shielded the dog.’

‘Can I go in?’

Fionn’s blue eyes swept over their group. Cassian felt so cold. Despite the sun shining in the blue sky, his skin was chilled. The general shook his head.

‘I will try and bring them from the house,’ he promised. ‘Nesta won’t be parted from the high lord. She’s clinging to him like a child. Remain here.’

As the general departed towards the ring of guards, Azriel murmured to Rhys, ‘Can’t you glamour all of this so she doesn’t need to see it?’

Rhys nodded tersely. Whenever they were out of this, Cassian would thank Azriel for having the foresight to hide it from Nesta. He certainly couldn’t think straight at the moment. That blast had echoed all the way to the Night Court and had enough force to tear open the wards around the Prison. She had to have been truly furious or utterly terrified. They were the only times her magic seized control of her.

‘She saw through glamours as a mortal. I don’t think it will work.’

Rhys’ brow furrowed. ‘Whose glamour?’

‘Tamlin’s. She knew I hadn’t gone to an aunt’s. She remembered him bringing me here. It’s why she tried to cross the wall with a mercenary while my father and Elain toasted their new-found wealth.’

Rhys scrubbed his face with his hands. ‘Nesta saw through a high lord’s glamour as a mortal? We are in such deep shit. I will try the glamour at least. She doesn’t need to see more death.’

Cass, you alright?

Cassian was thankful that Rhys had not said the question out loud. His throat already felt thick and his legs unsteady. Every second that ticked by and she still hadn’t appeared left him more worried.

Why didn’t I feel anything down the bond?

This was not Nesta, Cass. I know we aren’t always on friendly terms, but she’s not capable of doing this deliberately. She wouldn’t hurt this court.

An agonising wait followed. Eris had had enough of their company so sat beside a fallen oak, letting the scant bit of shade protect him from the sun despite the glamoured dead birds all around him. Feyre had come to Cassian and pulled her arms around him. He engulfed her with his own arms, glad to feel somebody soft and warm – but he could not look at his high lady’s face. Not when it resembled Nesta too much.

The sealed letter remained in his pocket. His mood could not have been worse. If he had come to Spring to talk with her after their argument, this might not have happened. With shaky hands, he unfolded the letter away from the others. He could feel Azriel’s concern burning like a brand on his skin. He did not deserve Azriel’s worry.

“Dear Cassian,

This is my sixth attempt at a letter and I have promised myself that this will be the final attempt and I will stop clipping my words or moulding them into prettier things than the jagged ones they are.

I am sorry. I pushed you because I knew it would hurt. I believe what I said but it was said to cause injury. I wish we could talk about Illyria in a civil way that doesn’t draw blood from you because I know it is a place that has your heart. It has mine too. I love being in Illyria. I love its brave, wonderful people. I just wish more was done for them. For the females like Emerie and Rovena. For the children like Lule and Lorin. For those who deserve someone to fight for them. And I know you feel the same – you will always fight for those who need it - but we are both too proud to ever back down from an argument.

It splits my heart in two to argue with you because I love you so much. We are equals but we are not the same. And that is not a bad thing. We have different roots but we can grow together. I want to grow with you. I want to find a way through every storm and be with you. You have my heart. You have always had it.

You are my mate, Cassian, and I love you.

Yours, Nesta.

P.S. Please accompany me to the Day Court. There are many places to fulfil the offer I gave you in Illyria – Helion’s throne room?”

Cassian wanted to weep. Nesta had bared her heart in this letter. She loved Illyria and him too. Loved them both enough to want better for the land. He could imagine her writing the post script then immediately wanting to scribble it out. Could imagine the blush spilling across her cheeks as she poured her feelings into words.

A noise drew his attention then a grey blur streaked across the lawn. It skidded to a halt then toppled into Eris’ lap.

Tamlin emerged from the house with Fionn following. The high lord carried a bundle in his arms.

‘Stay back. Let him come to us,’ Rhys murmured. ‘We need to play by his rules.’

Azriel stepped closer to Cassian, monitoring him like a hawk, and Cassian noticed Rhys had done the same to Feyre. The two able to detach their feelings guarding them from breaching court protocol.

Flanked by sentries, Tamlin stopped in front of them. He wore no shoes and only a pair of shorts. His broad body was flecked with bloodied marks where shards of glass from the window had sliced his skin. Cassian spotted the golden-brown head of his mate nestled in a blanket and cradled against Tamlin’s chest.

Before Cassian could even blink, Azriel’s foot had shot out to block his path and a cold hand enclosed around his arm, preventing him from anything stupid.

‘Is she hurt?’

Tamlin’s green eyes met his. Surely Cassian would feel it down their bond if she was? Why hadn’t he felt last night? Why had he felt nothing?

‘I don’t know.’

The high lord lowered Nesta’s legs to the floor but she jerked them back up, refusing to put any weight on them.

‘Nesta,’ he bit out.

Her fingers dug into Tamlin’s skin at every attempt to try and set her onto the ground until they gained purchased and clamped around his neck. Her eyes were glassy and not a word passed through her lips. Her skin had been struck by glass too.

‘She won’t let me go,’ he explained.

Cassian couldn’t step forwards, not with Azriel holding him firm. Feyre, too, was leashed by Rhysand. Even when Cassian called her name, Nesta made no acknowledgement that she had heard it.

Once more, Tamlin lowered Nesta to the grass. Her legs kicked up like a toddler not wanting to walk. He could sense Tamlin’s discomfort of this scene unfolding in front of them. There was too much history for it not to be awkward.

‘I’m still here,’ he said quietly, peeling Nesta’s hands from around his neck as her legs stabilised on the ground.

Fionn cast a look of pity Cassian’s way as Nesta gripped onto Tamlin’s waist, her face pressing against the bare skin of his stomach trying to hide herself.

Rhys loosened his grip on Feyre and she surged forwards, running a hand against Nesta’s hair trying to evoke a reaction. None came. Even when Cassian had been turned loose and he stroked a hand against her bare arm, she remained clinging onto Tamlin as if he was the only steady thing in the world.

‘What happened?’ A muscle ticked in Rhys’ jaw and Cassian didn’t know how much of it was due to Nesta’s condition or Feyre’s proximity to Tamlin.

Tamlin shrugged. ‘We’d dined together. Chatted. The dog woke me. When I entered her room, she was on her knees being dragged across the floor by an invisible force. I took one step and a burst of power blew out of her. I only just managed to cover the dog and send up a shield, but it still wasn’t enough,’ he said gesturing to the marks on him.

‘Look at her fingers,’ Azriel murmured.

The sight of it made Cassian retch. The fingers on her left hand were broken out of shape and bent at odd angles. It had to be agony but she seemed even oblivious to that. A black burn was seared around her ring finger – and more burns were up her arm.

‘Handprints,’ Feyre gasped, covering her mouth.

Tamlin nodded tersely. ‘She’s spoken a few times. Always the same. I want to go home. I want to wake up.’

‘A healer needs to see her. Urgently,’ Rhys said softly.

The shuffle of feet alerted them to Eris’ presence. Zasha brushed against his leg when he stopped. His red hair stood vivid against his moonlight coloured skin. There was a spike of hope in Cassian’s heart that Eris might be able to invoke some reaction in Nesta, but she barely blinked when he stood in front of her.

‘Hey, Cauldron-born bitch with nice breasts, it’s your favourite male,’ Eris murmured, voice gentle. ‘You ruined my father’s morning. Thanks for that, you wonderful creature.’

His gentle tone didn’t match the worry creasing his brow. A finger flicked the tip of her nose. It ought to have been a casual gesture, but to Cassian it screamed volumes about the depths of Nesta and Eris’ relationship. That he could tease her without fear or she allowed him to tease her without reproach.

A spark flickered into her eyes. She blinked a couple of times until her eyes fixed on Eris. Then Nesta sucked in a gasp before a hysterical cry punched its way out of her. Tamlin was abandoned for Eris. She clutched his shirt and pressed her head to his chest.

‘I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. He knows.’ Nesta could barely speak through gasping breaths. ‘He couldn’t take me. I’m so sorry, Eris. He will come for you. I’ve marked you for death. I’m sorry.’

‘Tamlin, is there a room we could use in your home? I should like to go into Nesta’s mind – if she allows it – and would prefer if we were not out in the open.’

For a long moment, Tamlin and Rhys stared at each other. Cassian wondered if there was a conversation passing silently between them. Tamlin shrugged then turned towards the house. They took that as their cue to follow.

Nesta was with them – in a loose sense. The catatonic figure had been replaced by one of hysteria who still clutched Eris as if he was about to be torn away from her. Eris did not gloat over their contact, merely scooped Nesta into his arms and tucked her face into his neck and followed Tamlin into the office while she sobbed.

Fionn brought in a tray of tea and whatever could be found in the cupboards. All of the servants had been turned away at the door and sent back home that morning. He promised to have a healer sent for as well as workers to repair the windows and any gardeners who might be able to replant any trees.

Near the wall, Tamlin paced. He’d slipped on a pair of shoes that crunched across the shards of glass. Nesta sat in a chair, quietly rocking to soothe herself. Eris kept one hand in hers and the other arm was wrapped around Zasha who sat in his lap to avoid glass sinking through his paws. Cassian hated himself for feeling jealous of Eris’ contact with his mate. That she had awoken for him, had gone to him. That even Zasha preferred him.

‘Nesta, would I be able to go into your mind to see what happened?’ Rhys’ violet eyes flickered from Nesta to Feyre then to Cassian, awaiting permission from one of them. ‘It will not hurt you, Nesta. I won't hurt you.’

A stiff jerk of the head.

Cassian saw the world as Nesta had. Felt her sadness and her wishing to see him flying across the sky then the scene shifted to the Archeron matriarch looming over Nesta in her bedroom. Nesta’s fear of her mother was a palpable thing that made his heart shudder. He had thought Nesta had been her favourite child, but this was manipulation and cruelty. He did not doubt that Nesta’s fervent protection of Elain had stemmed from fear of their mother treating Elain as she had treated Nesta. It was a dream. A strange dream where Nesta was caught between memories and lucidity. Then they were tugged to a wood where Nesta’s mother walked her down an aisle. Koschei met them. Cassian felt as if the walls were closing in on him. An insurmountable pressure fell upon them all as if their magic was paralysed. The male saw the tattoo on her arm – saw that Eris had marked her and claimed her. They felt Nesta's distress as she tried to push away thoughts of the male who had claimed her. It was the only thing that had saved Nesta. Cassian’s own hand lanced with pain as Koschei broke Nesta’s fingers to force the ring upon it. As the blast of her power broke through her dream and into Prythian, Rhys pulled them out of her memories.

‘Nesta, has Koschei ever come to you in a dream before?’

‘Many times,’ she whispered.

They plunged back into her memories. Again, her mother was there, leading her through the family home. He has come to take what is his. What was promised. All you are is what I made you to be. A queen to conquer nations. A queen to bring men to their knees. A queen who will turn the world to ash and dust. Her mother’s voice echoed around them. A crowd had awaited them, including Nesta’s father whose neck had been broken in the dream. She was presented to Koschei like a gift. And when they danced, the hall decayed and the crowd rotted into death. He forced his tongue into her mouth. Then Tamlin was there, dragging Nesta from a blazing bed and throwing water to douse the flames.

‘How long ago was that?’ Rhys asked him.

‘Months and months. Around the time she summoned the high lords to meet.’

Rhys went still then his eyes turned vacant, as he turned over more memories in silence. If Eris was afraid that Koschei would seek him out, he showed no signs of it. The male remained leaning his head against Zasha, lips pursed. At the sound of Fionn’s voice, Tamlin departed the room. Feyre’s shoulders sagged in relief.

‘The healer is here,’ Tamlin announced, poking his head back through the door.

It took Eris to lead Nesta away. When Cassian made to follow, Rhys asked him to stay. He’d planted his feet in the room, not willing to sit back down.

‘Did you know your mother did those things to her?’

Feyre blinked several times at her mate’s question. ‘No. She was always with Nesta. I used to be so jealous. Why didn’t she say that’s what mother did to her?’

‘Would you have believed her? Your father never intervened?’

Tears welled in Feyre’s eyes. ‘He didn’t know it was happening. Nesta has to be remembering it wrong.’

Rhys shook his head. ‘I think he did Feyre. I’m sorry.’

‘She hated him so much. She can’t be remembering it right.’

Shrouded in shadow, Azriel leaned forwards to pour them all tea. It was barely warm, but Cassian was glad to have something in his hands. He hardly felt like he was in the room with them. Nesta’s fear still coursed through him like a poison slowing his heart. She had been absolutely petrified facing Koschei alone in a realm he had trapped her in. And Cassian had been stubborn and refused to open her letter or go to her.

‘I hate to say it, but is it a safe assumption that Feyre’s father traded Vassa for Nesta?’ Azriel didn’t hide behind his shadows now.

‘He wouldn’t have done that,’ Feyre protested. ‘My father-’

‘Loved you and Elain,’ Cassian snapped. ‘I went to your cottage with Nesta. I’ve seen her grief, her anger towards your father. I was there when he died. I heard what he said to her. He said he was sorry. For all of it. How did a mortal merchant force a death god to give up his treasured firebird mortal queen?’ A roaring in Cassian’s ears took hold. ‘He promised the daughter who was always the most valuable. But he did not know Nesta was fae. He did not know she had stolen from the Cauldron. If Lanthys felt her come from the Cauldron, so did Koschei. He was probably rubbing his fucking hands with glee when your father offered her head on a platter.’

‘My father would not do that!’ Feyre looked desperately to Rhys, but even he appeared uncomfortable.

‘Feyre darling, I’m sorry, but it seems likely he did.’

The high lady of the Night Court said nothing then, merely folded her arms to stop Rhys from reaching for hand and sat in silence as tears rolled down her cheeks.

‘-be broken again to re-set the bones,’ the grizzled healer said as Cassian entered the dining room. He couldn’t be in that room any longer. Couldn’t look at Feyre’s denial of Nesta's suffering. ‘If she wants the use of them, it’s what must be done. The burns will heal like a mortal wound. They may scar as a result.’ She turned Nesta’s arms over. ‘These cuts aren’t healing as quickly as one would expect. For either of you,’ a glance to Tamlin.

‘She’s not in the right state of mind to decide whether she wants her fingers broken,’ Eris snarled.

The healer did not bat an eyelid. ‘Well, maybe now is the best time to do it if she won’t remember it.’

Cassian bristled at the healer’s tone, at the way she was talking about Nesta rather than to her. He settled into the seat next to her and brushed a finger along the back of her hand. Her smallest finger stuck out, reaching for him so he locked his own with hers.

‘Netopier,’ she said in a quiet acknowledgement. Beneath the layers of horror she had endured last night, Nesta was still there. Still fighting to stay above the waves.

‘You have my heart,’ he whispered, kissing his mate delicately on the cheek.

The healer waited with her hands on her hips. The sleeves of her brown dress were rolled up to the elbows. ‘I can give an ointment for the scratches to fend off infection. Another for the burns to dry them out. But the fingers need to be re-set today.’

‘Fine,’ Nesta replied, voice lacking its usual bite.

‘Once everybody has departed,’ added Cassian. Nesta would not want the others to see her in pain. She would want to tend to her wounds in private without an audience.

From the window, Cassian saw workers in the grounds collecting the dead birds and dumping them into burlap sacks. The horses had already been loaded onto a wagon and taken away. A few servants had been called back to assist with the clean up and they were already sweeping the manor clear of glass. The remnants of Nesta’s meeting with Koschei would quickly be brushed away and the manor restored, but Cassian knew it would leave a deeper wound with Nesta.

‘Can I have a moment with you three?’ Rhys stood in the doorway, gesturing to Cassian and the other two males. His gaze dropped to where Nesta’s finger linked with Cassian’s. ‘Sorry. It will only be a moment.’

Tamlin had been pacing like a stressed animal and Rhys likely knew they had scant time to remain in his home before an explosion occurred. To ease his guilt over leaving her, Nesta unhooked her finger but remained staring blankly at the dark wooden table.

‘A moment only,’ came Eris’ sharp reply.

Light streamed into the corridor but it seemed to shrink away from Rhys. He took up a position beside Cassian, reminding him that if Tamlin were to act then it was Cassian’s duty to protect his high lord, no matter how much his soul yearned to be back beside Nesta.

‘If I can be so bold, Nesta needs sleeping draughts for the time being. I would wager you too, Eris. Koschei cannot leave his lake but he is finding a way through to Nesta in her dreams.’

Eris mulled it over, but said nothing.

‘Koschei cannot take Nesta while Eris lives – or while their deal remains. He will seek you out, Eris.’

‘Do not tell Nesta the latter,’ Eris said firmly. ‘She will call off the deal to protect me.’

Cassian knew Nesta would too. That she was likely already planning to pack her bags and flee to not expose the people of Spring to the risk that accompanied her now.

‘We need to meet with Vassa and Lucien to understand what deal Feyre’s father struck.’ Rhys’ violet eyes turned to Tamlin. The high lord still paced a distance away from them. ‘Do you want to be part of the meeting?’ The words cut out of Rhys like jagged shards.

‘No. I want no part of this. Nesta can remain here if she wishes. I appreciate what she has done for my people – but if she becomes too much of a risk, I cannot expose my people to more harm.’

The retort that Tamlin had brought the first wave of harm upon them himself dissolved on Rhys’ tongue as he fought to remain civil. Rhys’ father had been in this house and killed Tamlin’s mother. That the two of them hadn’t already started brawling was a feat not to be scoffed at.

‘Thank you,’ Rhys ground out. ‘The Night Court will pay for the damage done to your home.’

‘I don’t want your charity.’

A flare of power brushed against Cassian as Rhys’ own temper began to slip. Eris eyed the space between the two high lords and took a step back so he was pressed into the wall.

‘But you will have it all the same. I will dump it in the grounds if I have to. Give it to your people if you do not want it.’

‘Don’t be too proud, Tamlin. Rhys has too much money, he doesn’t know what to spend it on anymore,’ said Eris, voice bordering into teasing territory.

‘Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I’m sure your father will be keen to learn how his eldest has quick access to the Night Court. Or why he speaks to its high lord with familiarity. Will Rhys be as accommodating as I was when the high lord of the Autumn Court exiles another son?’

Eris pushed off from the wall, recognising the greatest threat in his life would always by Beron Vanserra. ‘I think we’re done here. Give Nesta my best wishes.’

Without another word, Eris departed through the front doors. As it swung closed, they caught sight of him winnowing into nothing. Tamlin gave them both a flat, bored stare. ‘You have five more minutes then I want you gone.’

Once the high lord had departed for the grounds, Rhys turned to him. Softly, he said, ‘I’ve never seen you so quiet.’

‘I should have been here.’

A shake of the head. ‘Tamlin only survived because he has the magic of a high lord. The blast likely would have killed you, Cass. I saw more in her mind and it was… Fuck. It was a lot to deal with. Her mother. The grandmother. The Cauldron. A boy from their village. Nesta has not had an easy life.’ A broad hand settled on his shoulder. ‘And I have not made it any easier for her. Or for you. I presume you will stay even if Tamlin won’t allow it. Ensure he has sentries on duty. I’ll contact later – and I’ll have Madja brew a strong sleeping draught for Nesta to ensure a dreamless sleep. If I can, I’ll have Lucien come by in case you need to be winnowed to safety.’

Chapter Text

It was strange to watch the others depart and for Cassian to stay behind. Tamlin cast a glance his way but only grunted as he continued circling the house with a labourer to decide which rooms needed the first repairs. Cassian took that as noise of agreement.

‘Excuse me,’ a gruff female voice said, as the healer swept past him. ‘I’ve left the ointments on the table.’

‘Nesta’s fingers?’

‘Set,’ she clipped then breezed from the house in a hurry.

At the table, Nesta sat clutching her hand to her chest, breathing deeply. The tension in her jaw was enough to snap the bone. Her fingers were no longer bent into odd angles and they had been strapped together whilst they healed. He should have known Nesta would instruct the healer to do it quickly and in private.

Cassian sat beside her so their knees knocked together. He pressed a hand between her shoulder blades then rested his forehead to her temple. Nesta took a long inhale.

‘If you want to leave me, I understand. You deserve a life without this.’

‘Nes,’ he whispered, voice raw, ‘We were made for each other. This is another storm that we will ride out together. Promise me, we’ll get through it together.’

‘I can’t risk you. I'm dangerous.’

Cassian kissed her cheek. ‘Good job I’m indestructible.’

Nesta wanted to see the damage for herself even though he tried to lobby against it. But she was firm that she had to see the extent of her power, to understand what she was capable of. White-knuckled, she gripped his hand and her other was still pressed to her chest as they walked silently through the house. The glass had been swept up at least and the sunlight streaming through the wide open windows was inviting. One worker was measuring the window frames and another was already installing a new frame to another. Nesta seemed to hold her breath as they passed by the males as if she was afraid her power might leak out again. The fact that she was still in her night gown hadn’t quite registered with her either.

Facing the paddock, Nesta froze. He heard her gulp.

‘Where are the horses?’

What was better – to lie to her to protect her and face the consequences later or to suck out all the poison now and let her see all of the effects so she could begin to heal. Cassian drove his thumb in a circle on the back of her hand.

‘They’re dead.’

The breath that she loosed was flimsy. ‘The sentries?’

‘There were none on duty.’

‘Are you lying to me?’

‘No. No sentries. No fae at all.’

‘It’s not fair,’ she said, voice cracking on the last word. ‘I never asked for this. I never wanted it.’

If Cassian could take the burden from her, he would. He’d shoulder every hurt, every damn rotten thing life had thrown at her.

‘I wish we’d never gone to your home. I wish we never involved you and Elain. I wish you’d been taken somewhere far away and could live in peace. I’m so sorry that all of this has happened to you, sweetheart.’

‘We wouldn’t have met,’ she said flatly.

Cassian knew that. Knew he’d have continued with his life as if a piece of it was missing, but if he had never known her then he would never have known what was missing. But if it meant Nesta was out of harm’s way then he’d take that. He could not reverse time. A life without Nesta was unfathomable now. Cassian had something in his life worth dying for – something worth living for – since she’d stepped into it. He took her hand and kissed it softly.

They had two of the trove items carefully warded in the Hewn City. Briallyn was still in possession of the Crown but she had not moved since they had discovered the Autumn Court soldiers under her thrall. They needed to know exactly what manner of deal had been struck with the Death God. Cassian wondered if they could turn Briallyn against her ally; Briallyn was merely Koschei’s puppet acting for him while he was confined to the lake. There had to be a way through this where Nesta could be kept safe and Cassian was determined to find it. She had seen enough horrors. Nesta did not need to be exposed to more.

As the hours drifted away from them, Nesta curled against him in the hammock while Zasha slept beneath it in the shade. There was a lot still left unsaid about what had happened, but for now, Nesta was content to lay quietly with the sun bathing them in its warmth.

‘I thought about what you said in Illyria. Every salary Rhys has ever given me has gone into an account that I’ve never really checked. I grew up with no money and you get used to not spending it - fixing what’s broken, accepting donations, telling yourself you don’t need to spend it.’

‘If you’ve never checked it, are you sure there’s any money in there? You might have been working pro bono for centuries.’ There she was; a little piece of Nesta breaking through the ice.

‘Only Rhys and Az have access to it. I had Azriel down as my next of kin if I died in service of the Night Court. It’s you now.’

Nesta murmured in surprise. ‘So, if I were to kill you then I’d be rich?’

‘As long as you do it with one of your Made weapons. Anyway,’ he said, steering them back on topic, ‘Before you started fantasising about my murder, I was saying that there’s a lot of untouched money. If I want to see change in Illyria then I need to spearhead it. I haven’t agreed anything with Rhys yet and I’m sure the camp lords will throw a fit, but I want to build somewhere for the boys like me who don’t have anybody, anything. The girls too. I think they have it even worse.’

Nesta shifted in the hammock so they rocked to one side. Her blue-grey eyes softened as she gazed upon his face. ‘You’re a good person, Cassian. You will change their lives. You will do what Rhysand’s his mother did for you.’

His throat felt thick as he nodded in thanks. ‘About time I did something. But you’re good at organisation, so if you have any ideas or want to help me, I’d be grateful.’

A light breeze rustled by them, blowing wisps of hair across Nesta's face. Because he could, Cassian savoured sweeping them from her skin, of feeling the softness beneath his warm hand.

‘I’d be so proud to help you. I think this needs to come from an Illyrian though. You know your people best. I'd rather remain behind the scenes.’

Cassian nodded. ‘What about Emerie? Do you think she’d want to be part of it?’

‘Yes. I think she would.’ Nesta settled back down, resting her injured hand over his heart. ‘The Lord of Bloodshed, soft of heart.’

‘My big secret,’ he winked.

It was easy to forget what had happened the previous night. It was easy to pretend that they were just two lovers languishing in a hammock beneath the sun which was only punctuated by bouts of sneezing. Each time Cassian saw the straps holding her fingers in place while the bones mended, a bolt of unease struck him though. For one so young, she had endured so much.

Feyre arrived with Lucien while the pair of them were still cuddled up in the hammock. He thought Nesta might throw herself out of it rather than be caught in such a tactile position, but she merely raised her head then tucked herself back beside him, frowning slightly.

‘How are you?’ Feyre asked, stepping closer. Her eyes kept flicking towards the manor house then each figure working the grounds as though searching for someone and hoping not to see them.

‘Spectacular.’

Lucien grimaced slightly at Nesta’s frosty reception, but Feyre only steeled her spine – just as Nesta so regularly did – and inhaled.

‘Would you both mind if I talked with my sister alone?’

When Nesta lifted her hand from his body, Cassian took that as permission to leave. There was no dignified way for both of them to slide from the hammock so as they fumbled and staggered to their feet, Lucien snorted with laughter.

‘You become more like Eris every day,’ Nesta said with raised eyebrows.

‘I’m unsure if that’s an insult or a compliment.’

‘That remains to be seen, Lucien.’

***

Feyre led her past uprooted trees towards a quiet portion of the grounds near the rose garden. Thankfully the large trees supporting Nesta’s hammock had not been obliterated by her power blasting out of her. She’d have been devastated if there was nowhere to languish in the sun like a cat. Feyre leant against the trunk so she was almost sat on it in a casual pose - but the stiffness of her body betrayed her.

‘You keep glancing over your shoulder. Are you expecting a confrontation with Tamlin?’

‘I know exactly what he’s like,’ Feyre said, coming to a stop.

‘I’m sure he shares that sentiment.’

Nesta folded her arms across her chest, realising in horror that she was still in her night gown – and had been all day but nobody had mentioned it. The morning felt like it had occurred weeks ago or that Nesta hadn’t been fully present for it.

‘I talked to Elain.’

‘I’m sure you did.’

Unperturbed, Feyre continued. ‘We didn’t know what was happening. We thought Mother favoured you most. We didn’t know she treated you like that.’

‘Would you have believed me if I told you?’

Feyre swallowed then tucked a lock of her wayward gold-brown hair behind her ear. ‘Now, I understand why you are the way you are.’

A sudden spike of anger and hurt hit Nesta in the gut. ‘And what am I, Feyre?’

‘I didn’t mean-’

‘Is it better that Mother and Father made me into a horrible creature rather than just being born wicked?’

‘You’re not horrible, Nesta. You’re guarded and defensive, but I think when you love, you love more fiercely than anyone I know. And I think you were terrified that Mother might get her hands on Elain and do exactly what she did to you which is why you’ve always protected her. And I think you never wanted to tell us so you wouldn't shatter our opinion of her because you have always been her dutiful daughter. And I think that when you look at me you see our mother and you hate it.’

All words left Nesta. She hated being seen like this. Her breaths came laboured through her nose as she fought to ground herself into the present.

A butterfly drifted by them, landing briefly on the trunk near Feyre, before fluttering away. Feyre was still staring at Nesta in anticipation of her defense as if Nesta was about to pelt her with a barrage of insults.

‘You won’t remember, but when you were born I was obsessed with you. I wanted to hold you all the time. If I completed all of my studies, I could sit in the chair and the servants would put you in my arms. And I would just sit and stare at how tiny you were. I loved it when you would cling onto my finger. You were so small.’ Nesta swallowed, shaking the memory away. ‘I’ve never hated you, Feyre. I hated that Father did nothing for you and yet you stayed as his leg was broken. I hated that you listened to Mother’s stupid promise. I hated that you hunted when your parents should not have forced you into that situation. You are not your mother’s child, Feyre. You are my sister. Elain is not like us. You and I are the same. I hated that you never grew fangs and learnt how to snarl like I did.’

Now, Feyre seemed to be the one at a loss for words. Her mouth opened and closed a few times. ‘I am sorry that you have suffered so much, Nesta. That you are still suffering. Is there anything we can do to help you?’

Heat prickled at Nesta’s eyes so she dug a finger into one of the cuts to her arm to stop herself from crying. She shook her head.

‘Lucien has arranged a meeting with Vassa for tonight. If Rhys can go into her mind, there might be information she has forgotten that he can see.’

‘I don’t want to be there,’ Nesta said, trying to take the bite out of her voice. She had no intentions of hearing Vassa fawn over their father or being anywhere near Jurian who needed a hard slap. She was sick of being the most volatile person in the room.

‘It involves you. We can delay it if that would be better.’

‘Feyre, I cannot give anymore. There are Children of the Blessed passing through the broken Wall, more and more families are applying for the fund, I have secured two items of the Dread Trove. Briallyn and Koschei do not matter to me.’ She said it without really believing it. ‘Feyre, I do not care anymore. They have taken enough from me. I am sick of spending every day worried. I will not give them anymore.’

***

‘I don’t want to eat,’ Nesta said flatly, trying to walk straight past the dining room when they returned to the house. Feyre and Lucien had departed swiftly with Feyre pressing the sleeping draught into Cassian’s hand, her eyes heavy with sadness. Cassian hadn’t heard any shouting from the sisters – and Nesta hadn’t returned in a stinking mood – so he was none the wiser about what had transpired.

Cassian caught Nesta by the shoulder and tugged her back a few steps. He had a number of arguments up his sleeve which he was sure she’d have a snarky rebuttal to.

‘But you need to. You’ve not eaten all day.’ Her mouth opened in argument, but Cassian held up his hand. ‘The servants have prepared this and it’s a waste of their time - and of produce to not eat. And thirdly, I am starving. I’ll turn to dust if I don’t eat soon.’

A year ago, he never would have dreamed of saying such a thing. Of acting as though he knew her needs better than she did. Nesta would likely have chewed his head off then spat it back out for insinuating he knew her at all. Maybe that heavy-handedness had been necessary earlier, immediately after the war, to catch her before she fell into the abyss of trauma.

‘See if you can manage a few bites. I don’t care if it’s sweet or savoury – as long as it is something.’