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Chapter Text

Nesta hadn’t slept that night. She knew in the morning they were coming to take and lug her across the Night Court, like a fitting punishment for a child guilty of her transgressions. She wasn’t afraid, nor was she angry anymore. The red-hot fury had grooved itself up her throat, in lieu of vicious words that wanted release, like some demon, perhaps even the darkest remnants of the Cauldron clawing its way out of her. No more than a few days in such a poisonous state of mind had taken a toll on her.

The eldest Archeron had felt her posture waver under the burdensome weight of emotions before; her recent grief had nearly evaporated the entirety of her essence, yet she had felt a small reminder in her anger. At first, it had been a comfort, the sharp edges in her thoughts and the building fire in her gut; it had awoken her for a moment. But as she blinked from her long-stretching daze, she could feel the sense of injustice, the indescribable pit in her stomach that this was wrong and something strange began to happen.

She had felt, for a moment, shadows calling to her, clinging to the venom in her mind. It had been the Cauldron, she knew, could feel it stirring in her veins, the power, the possibilities, all a haunting hymn of just what she was capable of.

Nesta shook her head, determined to silence those thoughts, just as she had two days prior. Taking to the task of packing, she finally experienced some small relief in the notion that the decision had been made and there was nothing to do but see it through. She could fight, but she no longer saw the point. There was no familiarity in this world of Fae and she couldn’t deny that being surrounded by her only living kin had provided no comfort, save for the familial reminder that she was the anchor to every moment, the dark cloud dead-set on dragging the vapid, congenial crew down. No doubt a tormentor to the High Lord, a sour memory to his lady, a tool that had lost its purpose and a disappointment to the only other two she had thought of dearly. It had become clear in that moment, that though she rightfully objected to her banishment, it seemed the best chance for her to begin anew. She didn’t want to ever become acquainted with the ferocious and ancient darkness that seemed to simmer not far from her surface.

She wasn’t taking much with her, though it was the majority of what she owned. It didn’t matter, for she knew her anxiety had nothing to do with the transfer of her possessions, more of her person. It’d be better to have it all done with, a simple winnowing trip, something the High Lord and Lady could manage in no more than an hour. Unfortunately for Nesta, though she had been deemed an irritant, punishable by banishment, she didn’t seem to register high enough on their radar to be seen to personally. That meant he would come.

She didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to be doomed to care for another moment. And she most definitely did not want to fly with him for the greater half of a day. She pushed away her self-pity and resolved to begin going over the details of her departure. They were meant to leave just after sunrise and Nesta suspected it was so their General might return later in the day just in time for a bountiful feast and considerate appraisals of his patience to dispose of the obvious outlier.

She sipped on her tea, looking out the window, noticing the way the obsidian sky softened in navy and lilac. It was already morning and in no more than a few minutes, fiery pastels would signal the arrival of the sun and the end of her residence in Velaris. ‘Good riddance,’ she thought. From the second she had taken up in the Night Court, the picturesque region had been endlessly romanticized to her as the Court of Dreams and though she couldn’t deny the truth of its name, to her it was never home. Despite the stunning view, it had never been beautiful to her; perhaps it was too much a Court of Dreams, for reality seemed to have fled long ago.

It was supposed to be a paradise, one that had been earned and fought for, but to her it felt like willfully escaping truth. In her world, in the human world, most went hungry, suffering never ceased to claim the day and life was lost constantly. It was never glossed over, the visceral necessary ache of existence and though she could not profess to miss it, she understood its purpose, preferred it to the consistent pretending and self-applauding actions of the world she had been living in since being made anew in immortality. There had been no purpose in her lethargic existence, still trapped in her inconvenient grief; she knew that she was not meant for this place, nor these people, it would seem; so, she sat as darkness diminished from the horizon, waiting for the sound of wings.

***

Cassian and Azriel flew in silence to her residence. Azriel’s usually verbose brother teemed with a tension that had taken the effect of clamping his mouth completely shut. In truth, he did not want to assist Cas in this difficult task. The General was always meant to be the one to see her off, it had been known without a word needing to be spoken. The Illyrian Mountains were his ultimate home and he was the one attached to the eldest Archeron … though, Azriel couldn’t help but wonder if that was quite the right word? There had been something between Cassian and Nesta, surely. Something unspoken and almost fierce, but entirely unrealized.

After the war, Azriel had seen it stretching, the ever-growing chasm between the two. He never remarked on it, never thought to antagonize a conversation regarding his brother’s attachments; something he’d stopped questioning a long time ago. And yet, the Shadowsinger couldn’t help but sit upon the question, how the Illyrian General could be pulled in so thoroughly, so immediately by a being (an anomaly) such as Nesta Archeron, only to turn from her like a moth fleeing a snuffed-out flame?

Deflated, the once-human daughter had become. It often stunned Azriel, just how entirely devoted she was to a life that no longer existed, an existence that had practically been wiped clean. What would Illyria look like to her? Could she return to who she had once been, deprived of the comforts she had developed a reliance upon? Though he could not mourn a loss of luxuries, he was unable to silence his curiosity for just how she was meant to continue in this relocation, this banishment, he suspected it to be.

Upon touchdown two sets of hazel Illyrian eyes roamed over Nesta’s belongings packed and placed neatly outside the door in two large bags and one square trunk just slightly larger than the width of its owner.

A minute later the very enigma exited the residence without a single look behind, no fondness on her face for the structure she departed. Cassian’s wings twitched just barely and Azriel could feel the jagged edge hollowing his breath at the weakened sight of her. Nesta was thin and pale, her eyes darker than either had ever seen, like some feathery ghost, ready to drift away. Still, there was immense power there, burrowing so deep beneath the surface, Azriel wondered if she even knew it was there, when her gaze was now so cold and tired.

Cassian’s arms were opened expectantly, though his eyes held no warmth. Nesta’s brow arched as she ever-so-slightly narrowed her icy orbs. She spoke with no greeting, only an edged voice. “My baggage weighs more than I,” she said without the slightest hint of irony as she began to pass Cassian. “It only makes sense that the heavier burden be given to the brutish mass of muscles, don’t you agree?” It was clear who she was speaking to, though she didn’t look back at the General, instead focusing her attention on Azriel. “Do you mind, Shadowsinger?”

Azriel looked at his friend and noticed the way his large shoulders sagged, as if he could not bring himself to argue with her, when she was choosing to leave without the slightest objection. He shook his head and opened his arms for her.

“Thank you.” She spoke softly once they took to the air, her arms wrapped around herself, as if guarding her midsection. She looked over and he nearly believed her capable of burning a hole through his brother’s wing from where he flew up head.

Azriel almost felt a trespasser to her emotion, seeing it bleed through her eyes. He knew that look, understood it on a level deeper than blood, stronger than agony. It was the way you looked at someone when you were plagued by one question; why?

Where it leaked through the relatively new immortal, Azriel had been drained long ago; he’d learned to cope with it by the simplest justification: what good would an answer do? Truth never mended a scar, he thought as a tightness gripped his hands.

Nesta’s eyes widened and she looked over at the quiet male who had been lost in thought. “Sorry,” he mumbled, feeling the need to avert his eyes when her own looked back at him, so naked and completely unaware. “My hands cramped.” She nodded and looked to the sky above them, as if the ground was merely a memory now. With the awakening sun behind them, Azriel could see the soft sky begin shedding its darkness into a shy paisley, striking against the golden shadow he could see across his brother’s back and feel warming his own; the melancholy color reflected in her eyes as she stared into the oblivion above. It took him a moment to question if her sharp blue eyes were truly capable of being so easily persuaded to envy, even imitate the hue of the celestial sphere cast upon them? And yet, there was no doubt it was the same color. He grumbled awkwardly, causing her to look back at him.

“Did you say something?” She asked, entirely unprepared for the possibility.

“I was saying you’re welcome.” He offered, not wanting a heavy silence to strike up so early into the flight. She looked back at him, slightly puzzled. “For when you thanked me.”

She nodded and a hush infiltrated the small distance between them as he held her steadily through the air. He sent another glance back to her face and an odd thought passed through him; perhaps the Cauldron’s influence within had forced the sky to match her eyes?

They had hardly made it halfway through their journey in a natural silence when he felt her body go limp in his. Her chest still heaved and though her exhales were small, he could hear the quiver in her breath. It reminded Azriel of the way a crying child would push themselves into an exhausted delirium with body-shuddering sobs; although her closed eyes were dry, each sigh seemed weighed down with a similar fatigue. It made him wonder just how long it had been since she had slept?

It was easier to scrutinize the feral female’s features when safe from her own watchful cerulean gaze. Her brows knitted together in silence as if she disagreed with her subconscious while it spun short dreams of her slumbering thoughts. Azriel was surprised to find that she was no longer threatening when unarmed of her sharp gaze. The lines of her face were feminine and proud, resolute as the regality of her disposition; somehow it seemed wrong, unnatural to think she had been born into the ordinary, tucked away in the unspectacular for so much of her life, soaked in mortality before she was forced to inherit infinity. The Cauldron had cowered before her; he had felt it, tensed under the pressure of her change as it scrambled the world around them. Nesta Archeron had taught fear to the very genesis of creation and it bothered Azriel to see just how quickly everyone had forgotten that.

He didn’t fear her; he wasn’t sure he was still capable of dread, yet he was wary. There was something in her, something bold and unyielding, as warm and steady as the blood coursing through her veins, like magic she had been born with that only now sought fit to manifest; it filled him with questions. Whereas Elain’s abilities, her bequeathment of the Cauldron now seemed thoroughly explained, a large question mark still hovered over the eldest Archeron’s head.

Her sleeping face softened and his eyes narrowed in response. Sending her away was the wrong choice; he knew it and though he wouldn’t argue against his Lord and Lady without reason, he was sure that Nesta’s power was far from depleted. This was merely a brief reprieve before further development. She needed training. He shook his head and looked at Cassian, nearly struggling from the awkward pile in his hands. Azriel knew they were due for a break soon but wasn’t sure how to land with the small female slumbering in his arms. He didn’t want to jostle her and disturb the temporary rest she had stumbled upon, something told him she needed it. Though it often fell upon him to point out the necessity of boundaries in both fight and flight, he resolved himself to stay quiet and not prompt the stubborn Cassian, at least not until his passenger awoke of her own accord.

***

Nesta wasn’t entirely sure what awoke her. She was much too preoccupied by the realization that she had fallen asleep at all, especially in mid-flight, her stomach warned against opening her eyes. Strong, warm hands steadily held her close to a firm chest and her thoughts stuttered at the comfort she experienced in the foreign touch. She quickly determined the cause to be relief for it wasn’t the brute that held her, but his much gentler brother. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and was taken aback to find the Shadowsinger’s amber own watching her. He didn’t seem surprised to see her waking and it caused her to wonder if she had stirred, which made her worry that the nightmare had come again. Yet the Illyrian said nothing to prove her suspicion and gave her a quick nod as he cleared his throat.

“Perfect timing, Miss Archeron. We were just discussing the need for a rest-stop.” He gestured his head in the direction of his counterpart that comprised the ‘we’.

When Nesta glanced ahead, she continued to be met with the sight of the Illyrian General’s broad and stubborn back. She mutely nodded, ripping her eyes away.

The rest lasted no longer than an hour in almost complete silence. Nesta sipped on a chamomile tea, unable to stomach anything of substance with the prospect of flight looming ahead, while her companions scarfed hungrily inside the small café they had come across. Once Cassian left to relieve himself, Azriel gave her a tense, pensive glance. “Perhaps you should eat something before we resume our journey.”

Nesta looked his way, appreciating the lack of authority in his tone. It was no demand, but a simple request laced with concern. A small grin just barely tugged at the corners of her lips. “I actually have an aversion to flying with food in my stomach, lest I…” She cleared her throat and wiped at her spotless mouth. “Lose it prematurely.” His mouth quirked slightly and Nesta accurately chose to interpret the twitch as a smirk. “Courtesy of flying with your High Lord.”

“It’s not supposed to be like that.” He offered.

“No, I daresay it’s not. Something I just learned today.” Azriel had no impediment interpreting her comment for the compliment it was intended to be. “All the same, I see no issue erring on the side of caution.”

“Then you’ll no doubt be famished once we reach our destination.” There was a harmless edge in his voice that let her know that although he was understanding and agreeable, he wasn’t stupid.

She gave him a tight-lipped smile as her eyes narrowed slightly. “Any recommendations?”

“Food.” He replied bluntly and Nesta angled her expression with annoyance. “I’m not the right person to ask. Food is food. I’m not what you would call particular.”

“And yet your plate has not been licked clean.” She referenced the spotless dish of their absent companion.

“Just because I eat anything, doesn’t mean I’ll eat everything. I’m no glutton.”

‘Perhaps not for food,’ she thought. “Are you sure about that?”

Before Azriel could question the transparent understanding looking back at him, Cassian burst through the door. “I could fly through the night now.” He sighed contentedly with relief.

Nesta took one final sip of her tea and stood. “I’m sorry my internment isn’t farther away then.” She quickly exited the café as a tension roiled through her empty stomach. She was beyond wary for the remaining flight ahead of them, even though she was impatient to get in the air and wash her hands of the Night Court’s tangled Inner Circle and her absent kin. The chill began to creep into her bones as she looked ahead to snow-capped mountains off in the horizon. What would it be like, her new home?

Chapter Text

The air grew colder, and the distinct scent of pine was all she could distinguish as they finally began to pass over the ever-lengthening mountain range. For nearly an hour, Nesta waited for touchdown as they continued to soar above. It appeared their destination was a notably sized village halfway up a particularly massive rockface; the ground seemed an even enough plateau that stretched for miles as it overlooked a daunting drop and a seemingly unnavigable incline that led to a porcelain peak.

Something about standing on her own two feet after the long flight as her limbs had become increasingly sensitive to the frigid temperature left her feeling entirely discombobulated, though she doubted she could ever feel normal under the current circumstances.

“Your new home,” Cassian proclaimed without the slightest bit of warmth.

She openly analyzed the cold and bleak village stretching before them. It was manageable, just barely grimier than the old village by the wall, due to lack of readily available resources, she quickly gathered. “Adequate.” She surmised with an abrupt nod.

Her lack of negative reaction seemed to irk him. “How fortunate that it’s received your approval.”

Nesta refused to stifle her irritation this time as she pointedly looked him over. “Adequacy is not enough to secure my approval. As you well know, Cassian.” She strutted passed him without glancing his way. “So, where am I meant to stay?”

Cassian cleared his throat, bitterly deciding not to address her comment, more determined to put focus to the task at hand. “Temporary lodgings will be at the Inn.” She noticed the two-story building they stood before. “Permanent lodgings will be acquired later in the evening, perhaps tomorrow.”

“Why the delay? If we begin looking immediately, I could possibly acquire a current vacancy and entirely forego staying at the Inn.”

“I have military business to attend to at our Windhaven war camp not too far from here.”

“Fortunate you were in the neighborhood,” she remarked blandly. “So, I’m meant to sit and wait for you to return before conducting business regarding my future residence?” Her incredulous inflection wasn’t lost on either Illyrian. “I hate the idea of wasting time and money at an Inn when this could be settled now.”

“Suddenly you’re concerned about finances.” He scoffed.

“It has been made blatantly obvious that I’ve been placed on a rigid budget and it’s not as though my human wealth has followed my path. Is your presence truly necessary to acquire my residence?”

“You are my responsibility,” he began in a sourly strained voice. “So yes, it is.”

Nesta scoffed and narrowed her eyes. “I’m an adult; I have no need of a guardian.”

“These past few months would suggest otherwise.” He sneered back at her.

“You mistake your place if you think I would validate any judgment you have of my life by considering it at all. My existence does not require your approval, General. Perhaps you should focus on your actual profession and hurry off to your war camp while my budget is squandered on a day of unproductivity, lounging at the Inn, awaiting your return.”

He began to open his mouth in retort as he glared at her but seemed to reconsider as he turned his attention to Azriel behind her. “Keep an eye on her. I should be back in a few hours as long as Devlon is in a compromising mood.”

Azriel nodded and Nesta practically spun on him as Cassian set down her luggage and quickly flew off. “I don’t appreciate being babysat.”

“And I don’t appreciate being a sitter, so if you don’t behave like a baby, neither one of us will be inconvenienced.”

Nesta watched him for a moment, surprised by his bluntness. She nodded. “Fair enough. Then I shall behave like an adult.” She lifted her two bags as she strutted away.

“The Inn is this way.”

“I know.” She called back.

“Then where are you going?”

“In search of a residence.”

“Did you listen to Cassian at all?”

She looked back at Azriel, somehow still able to exude confidence and sophistication though she was hunched over from the sheer size of the two bags. “I said I would behave as an adult and so I shall. Would you wait for your chaperone to return if you were in my place?”

He seemed to take a moment to consider. “Cassian asked me to secure lodgings at the Inn.”

“How is he to know at what time those lodgings were secured?” He watched her for a moment. “If we don’t find anything, Cassian will be none the wiser, but at least I will have tried my hand at retrieving some control of my life.” She could see her words swaying him. “I will do this either way, Shadowsinger. You can either join me or babysit me. The choice is yours.”

He approached her, quickly grabbing a bag out of her hand. Immediately her gaze challenged, but he loudly exhaled through his nostrils. “Fine, just don’t make me watch you hobble trying to carry twice your weight.”

In one quick movement, he unclipped the tethered strap and secured the bag across his back. He buckled it and speedily repeated the motion with her other bag. She made a move for the trunk, but he beat her to it. “This is nothing.” He nudged his head in the direction she’d been going.

Azriel took the lead and steered them both into a small building that looked littered in beige dust. Once inside, he set down the trunk after approaching a counter manned by an Illyrian female with tired charcoal eyes and a kind smile. “But first,” Azriel began as Nesta came up beside him. “Pick something.”

Her perplexed brow turned its attention to the glass case of rolls, buns and loaves. “I beg your pardon?” She asked in genuine confusion.

His expression was certain and immovable. “You’re done flying for the day. Time to eat.”

Nesta tried to summon an argument but could see the transparent unwillingness to compromise in his eyes. She glared at him. “No talk of finances or budgets.” He shook his head. “Just pick something and eat it. You’ll need the energy if we’re going house hunting.”

The Illyrian female smirked. “Newlyweds?”

Azriel looked at the baker, almost stunned by her congenial tone with such a question.

The distinction was lost on Nesta as she attempted and failed to stifle her scoff. “Hardly, I’m merely a thorn in his Lord’s side, ripe for removal.” The baker’s expression tightened.

Azriel turned his gaze firmly on Nesta. She looked back to the glass, reminded of his condition in assisting her. He turned his attention to the Illyrian patron. “Not removed, so much as relocated.” Nesta mutely pointed to the smallest roll she could see. It looked soft, speckled with a small red berry.

“Bright call to make Miss. Those infamous Hardy Rolls were made not an hour ago by my skilled young, Velara.”

Nesta’s annoyance softened under the female’s beaming maternal pride. “They look delicious.” She offered gently.

Azriel glanced back at Nesta. “Indeed, they do. We’ll take half a dozen.”

Nesta’s eyes threatened to bulge, but she fought off the urge. He paid and retrieved the trunk as Nesta graciously took the bag from the polite shopkeeper. She pushed the door open for Azriel but crashed against a steady resistance. A young Illyrian female with chocolate hair in long braids and olive skin stood outside with the door pressed against her. Nesta stilled as the shorter female tottered awkwardly. “I beg your pardon.” She apologized; her voice freckled with genuine concern for the shaky female.

The female gently pressed her fingers to her temple. “It’s fine.” Her soft voice responded.

“Are you sure?” Nesta prodded slightly. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

“I’m fine.” The soft voice hardened as it pushed back. She slowly entered, her striking emerald eyes briefly falling on Nesta as she bowed for good measure before making her way into the bakery.

“Ah, Velara,” the baker called after her. “Were you in luck?” Nesta watched Velara’s strained movements, her wings tucked in oddly.

Azriel quickly herded her out of the shop. “Pardon you!” She accused as soon as they were outside.

“Pardon yourself.” He bit back. “Were you never taught that it is rude to stare?” He led her to a bench.

“Why were her wings tucked in so awkwardly?” She asked as Azriel lowered the trunk and sat down.

He pulled the bag of bread from her hands. “They weren’t tucked,” Nesta looked away from the door, back to Azriel, hypnotized by the stoic sadness in his voice. “They were clipped.”

Nesta sat down beside him. “Why?”

Azriel shook his head aggravatedly. “It’s a horrible, primitive practice done through crude surgery. Many tribes normalized it as a way to disrupt female flight, to control them.”

Nesta could feel her blood burn. “They mutilate her body to break her spirit.”

“Yes.” He replied reluctantly. “Rhys has done a great deal to see the practice abolished, but sometimes…” He looked back at the door.

“It still happens.” She finished for him. “So, it hinders the ability to fly?”

He nodded. “Depending on the length of the cut, it can limit high altitude flight or any flight at all, if done ‘accurately’.”

“And if it’s not?”

“Major health issues can arise, especially from the healing process alone.” He glumly finished as he handed her a roll before biting into his own.

Reluctantly, she took it and nibbled slightly. It was warm and soft with a light and fragrant citrusy sweetness. His eyes stayed on the bakery. “It doesn’t make sense.” He shook his head. “That baker didn’t seem like the type to have her daughter clipped.”

“Perhaps she yielded to pressure.”

“Perhaps.” His voice hinted that he was thoroughly unconvinced as he chewed through his roll. What really caused him to question the possibility was the baker’s assumption of Nesta and him. For the baker to see an Illyrian and High Fae mingling and not only suspect the two for a couple, but for her to smile at the idea was very unlike the common xenophobic behavior of most Illyrians so far North. Mixing was at the very least frowned open. He finished eating and shook the thought away. “So, this is going to be difficult.”

“Securing a residence?” She rolled her eyes. “It’s never been so in the past.”

“Well, you haven’t moved to the Illyrian Mountains.”

“There is a first time for everything, it would seem.” She remarked impatiently. “Would you stop being so vague and explain the obstacle I am not seeing?”

“This kind of business is conducted seriously with a great deal of severity and it is rarely done in the company of females.”

“It will not be done in the company of females, but by a female.”

“How do you plan to keep such a promise?” He smirked, intrigued by her tenacity.

“Simple.” She sighed. “Don’t speak, only nod.”

“I beg your pardon?” Azriel had the sense to nearly sound outraged.

“I’m going to show you just how an Archeron conducts business, without a male interpreter.”

***

It seemed Nesta’s method relied heavily on deception and playing into Illyrian misogyny to fluster the few males she encountered. She started each tour with the sob story of her father’s vassal, Azriel (it would seem) doing his best to help secure her residence, though a tragic war injury had left him mute. She would remark how he kindly had given her a basic understanding of how to conduct such business.

Azriel’s annoyance was quickly replaced by shock to see how effortlessly she used the prejudices heaped against her in this foreign place to her advantage. He feared she would push too far and strike empty in greed but wasn’t given the opportunity to find out as she seemed entirely settled on the fourth property they visited. It was a two-story building that was larger than he suspected she needed, but it appeared to be the largest selling point to the eldest Archeron. With a small bedroom upstairs and the large open space below, it had once been a modest restaurant years before and had only been leased no more than a few months at a time since.

Once Nesta double checked with Azriel and he quickly determined that she could buy the property outright and forego the need for installation payments, she jumped on it. Though she knew that her ability to afford it without delving too deep into her pockets was proof that the Inner Circle’s outright wealth in Velaris had entirely skewed their perception of the cost of living in the lower-class Illyrian Mountains, she had no problem taking temporary advantage of their ignorance to see herself settled in the slightest comfort. She exited smugly after Azriel had relieved himself of the weight of her luggage. “Hopefully, Cassian won’t be too upset.”

“Why should he be?” Nesta sighed as her eyes pored over the exterior of her new home. “All the effort we saved him. He should thank us. It’s one less responsibility for him to buckle under.”

Azriel shook his head. “All the same. I think we should return to the Inn. I have a room to secure and Cassian will be returning there to meet us.”

***

After Azriel booked his room for the evening, he sat in the lobby and helped Nesta compile a list of tasks that she would need to see to. She inquired about her finances and coyly wondered at just how she was meant to spend her time. He noticed the leading cadence of her voice about possible projects and an entrepreneurial spirit slipping through as she remarked on the open space and the size of the kitchen in her new home. Once she excused herself to use the restroom, the Shadowsinger tensed, but quickly thought of the Nesta he’d come to know in the past few months and believed there was no danger she would follow through on such an endeavor.

Just as Azriel was beginning to wonder after Cassian, his brother entered through the lobby, looking sufficiently frustrated. “Could he not be appeased?” Az asked in lieu of a greeting.

Cassian shook his head. “He wants me to pore over the entire contract with Rhys.” He sat down at the bar and ordered an ale. “Ever since the war, it feels like every military interaction is stiff, like secession is right around the corner.”

Azriel patted his back once as the drink came. Cas gulped the libation greedily. “It won’t happen. You and Rhys command enough respect to keep tensions settled.” He ordered a drink.

“For now.” Cassian huffed. “But I can’t help but suspect that our time of past influence is running out. It’s as if that last battle reminded everyone just how small our little world is and now, they’re all desperate for the biggest piece they can carry.”

“Illyria is part of the Night Court. We won’t lose it.” Azriel swigged from his glass. “You won’t let that happen.”

Cassian’s expression became stern. “I can’t.”

Nesta marched from the lobby into the adjoined tavern and found the two Illyrians in a tense silence. “So, did you let him know?”

Azriel looked at Nesta and shook his head. “Well, you’re here now.”

“What?” Cassian reluctantly looked over at Nesta.

“I have a place. We went house hunting while you had your meeting.”

“I specifically-”

“Asked me to do nothing?” She nodded. “Yes, I do recall, but I chose not to listen.”

He turned and glared at Azriel. “I told you to keep an eye on her.”

“And I did, but I too, didn’t see the need for such delay.” Azriel shrugged. “It was an efficient process.” His tone caught Cassian’s attention as he noticed an unspoken humor pass behind his eyes.

Nesta nodded sharply. “The only way you wouldn’t have slowed us down is if you’d been there to hold the luggage.”

Cassian slowly turned back to face Nesta. “That is fine with me. I prefer knowing that I spent my day on something of significance, instead of holding your bags while you plot your next stint to play mistress of the house.”

For a moment he thought he had said enough to sting her, yet again she surprised him, appraising his slack defeated posture and one remaining sip of ale. “Yet I can’t help but wonder if I’m the only one to achieve some semblance of professional success, for at least I acquired a house. Has your war camp been appeased, General?” Her eyes narrowed just slightly on the final word.

Cassian wanted to sputter for some defense but couldn’t think of anything to say. “Military business is strictly confidential.”

She nodded. “It’s probably best that it stay as such then.” She turned away and secured one of seven small empty tables in the center of the diminutive dining room.

Cassian moved to stand, but Azriel paused his movement by placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I think you should fly back to Velaris and talk with Rhys.”

“Tonight?”

“You sense the unease. All that can fix this problem is time, effort and someone dedicated to finding a solution.”

Cassian nodded. “But what about…” He nudged his head in their female companion’s direction. “Her?”

Azriel shrugged. “She’s already set with a new home. All she needs is a few days of finalizing details.”

“But she’s my responsibility.” Cassian argued apathetically.

“No,” Azriel shook his head. “Now that she’s home, she is her own responsibility. That’s the whole point; pushing her to be self-sufficient. Today was the perfect start.”

“Somebody has to see her through this transition.”

“I will.”

Cassian stared blankly back at Azriel. “Why?”

A knowing smirk broke across Azriel’s face. “I know how difficult this has been for you, Cas. The past few months, the decision to leave her here and all of it happening at the same time as this military unrest. You should go home and put all your focus on where you would be the most help.”

“What about you?”

Azriel shrugged. It seemed time to detach himself again, though he couldn’t say it so bluntly. He needed space. “I’ve been wanting a break from Velaris. You know, take some time. Breathe in that frigid air.” He smirked lamely.

“I feel like I should stay.”

“And ruin my Cassian-free timeout with your annoying personality?” He grinned good-naturedly. “Trust me. You will be happier in Velaris and I will be a much more productive alternative in your stead.”

Cassian watched him closely for a moment. “Az, are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” He forced a light scoff. “Just a bit bored. This seems a worthy project.”

“I’m all for altruism, but you realize you couldn’t bestow it on a least grateful subject?”

“I don’t need her to be grateful, I just need her to be settled.” He shrugged. “I have no doubt I’ll be back within two weeks. Probably one.”

Cassian nodded. “I agree; you are definitely better suited to stay here and see this finished.”

Something about his words seemed uncharacteristically cold to Azriel, at least in regards to the eldest Archeron. It made him wonder, yet again, just what existed between them and how a smoldering flame could be turned to frigid ice? “Let’s have dinner before you’re off.”

The General nodded. “I’ll need the fuel.” He hadn’t expected to be returning that night, but a large part of him was relieved to know that he would soon be in the air, putting miles in between him and Nesta.

***

Somehow, Nesta found herself joining the two Illyrian males outside after dinner to see Cassian off. It was no farewell, and yet there was something truly significant to be said about the mutual emotional apathy they exhibited in the quick goodbye. They did not approach each other and only shared a look for the briefest of seconds.

“Goodbye, Nesta.” He ended simply.

“General.” She replied with an abrupt nod.

A second later he was in the air, shrinking as he further delved into the burning horizon. Nesta let her eyes leave him as soon as his wings caught on the wind. She stood beside Azriel and let her eyes roam across the village as far as she could see, reminding herself that she was now home, even if she still didn’t know what that meant.

“I’m grateful to finally have him rid of me.” Nesta spoke aloud, but Azriel knew the words weren’t meant for him.

Still, he couldn’t swallow his own curiosity. “How so?”

She looked over at him as if she had forgotten that he had been standing beside her. “Now that I’m gone, it’ll be so much easier for them. He won’t realize it as quickly as the others did, but he will.”

Azriel watched her closely. “It wasn’t about convenience. This is supposed to help you.” He offered quietly, a soft edge in his tone illuminating his sincerity.

Nesta couldn’t be offended by the gentility presented in his voice, yet she couldn’t mute her skepticism. “And that makes all the difference?”

His eyes pored over her for a silent moment. “They’re worried about you.”

She gave him a wry grin that didn’t penetrate her harsh eyes. “I can tell that you actually believe that.” She scoffed lightly. “But when you arrive back in Velaris, you’ll see otherwise.”

His brow contorted and for a brief second Nesta was charmed by the crack in his typically stoic countenance. “What do you mean?”

Azriel caught the softest shake of her head. “When you return to your world, look around. This wasn’t some push to save me.” A sharp sadness overcame her icy gaze and in a fraction of a second, it was gone. “This is a punishment meant to get me out of the way.”

“You’d assume that of your sisters?”

She looked back at him with no hesitance. “I envy you if you believe family is beyond such reproach.” The second the words left Nesta’s mouth, she felt that she was meant to regret them for the dark shadow that fell across his eyes.

“I don’t presume to know the inner workings of your family, but I envy your definition of reproach.” His hands tightened on reflex and Nesta carefully glanced at his scars, the source of the tension.

“Was it yours that gave you those?” The quiet question ripped from her mouth before she could weigh the necessity for such an inquiry.

Some structural piece of his façade crumbled before her eyes, forcing him to immediately stand taller. “I’ll be back to help you oversee preparations in the morning, Miss Archeron. I bid you goodnight.”

With a curt nod, he turned and left her standing guiltily in the waning sunset.

Chapter Text

Nesta hadn’t slept that night. The stark chill of the Illyrian Mountains was much crueler than the fair weather of Velaris. Though the house came moderately furnished, she had to rely on a heavy coat to keep her skin from icing over. Since sleep eluded her, she began to dust and plan out just what it would look like. Standing in the large dining room directly in front of the entrance, she couldn’t stop envisioning what this place could become.

She hadn’t seen all of the village, but she had a nagging suspicion that she saw enough to know that there was no real place for her here; it was cold and dark, most faces walking by wore decade-old scowls that set into the fine lines of their skin and it seemed there was no refuge to be found that was both clean and quiet.

There was something about standing barefoot on the cold floor in the silence that made her imagine the place where she could belong. A hushed sanctuary with books, tea and soft cakes; it could be like a café, only more intimate, with a deep emphasis on the written word. And she could oversee it.

The eldest Archeron began to feel as silly as a child when her heart started to thrum with terrifying anticipation, but it only forced her to realize that she had never had a dream. Beyond wishing for the basic necessities and yearning for wealth, she had never had an aspiration to excite or ground her. Logic failed to produce any argument to deter her. If money was a problem, then she could find her own way, but if not, why settle to be complacent and quietly tucked away when she could be creating something to be proud of?

As soon as she began to question her resolve, she reminded herself that she had already purchased the property and owed it to herself to try and see it used to its full potential. She dreaded the conversation she would need to have with the Shadowsinger in the morning. She thought of his face after the thoughtless words had fled her mouth.

Nesta hadn’t meant to hurt or condescend to him and yet she couldn’t see her words being interpreted any other way. Even if she couldn’t deny her curiosity of the commonly quiet Illyrian, she understood that she had no right asking such a question. If nothing else, she respected him a great deal, more than the rest of the Inner Circle; he did not deserve her callous inquiry and it shamed her.

In the entirety of her life, Nesta had only ever felt guilt twice. The first time it had been a little over a month since Feyre had begun going out into the woods to hunt. Her youngest sister had returned with a bloody hand from an accident with a sadly fashioned snare and Nesta could still remember the exact shade of scarlet as it flowed from her hand. A bitter thought had bombarded her; that this was all her fault. Her inaction had wounded her sister and though their father seemed incapable of caring, that burden too was thrust upon Nesta. She remembered how poorly she had bandaged Feyre’s hand and how quickly she had set herself to learning such a skill. Even now, she could never picture herself hunting, but she knew how to mend broken skin. She laughed aloud now, to think what a useless skill she had acquired for the future she could have never foreseen. Just what effort would it take, she wondered, to make herself bleed?

She sat alone in the silence for a few hours after that; only acknowledging the passage of time when the softest streams of light skewered through her window to announce the beginning of the new day; quite a busy one it would be.

***

Never, in his extremely long existence had Azriel ever been the type to drag his feet, in any situation, no matter how dreadful and yet this particular morning he couldn’t stop himself. The majority of the previous day had been pleasant enough and though he couldn’t deny that some part of him found the eldest Archeron to be unpredictably amusing; it had been that unpredictability of hers that fueled his reluctance now. He couldn’t help but be wary when he thought of her penetrating eyes like blue flame scalding him as careless words tumbled from her mouth. Her indelicate intrusion had left him shaken and thoroughly speechless by her bluntness. It was stunning to witness just what she was capable of with only a few prickly words. Still, he couldn’t assume it was intentional, which felt worse somehow.

He stood before her front door for a prolonged moment and nearly regretted sending Cassian away so early. It would be a long day and he wondered just what kind of defense he was meant to have prepared against the fearsome female. Once he realized he couldn’t stall any longer, he rapped on the door twice; it was less than a minute before she answered.

“Miss Archeron.” He nodded in greeting, offering her a Hardy Roll from the bakery they had visited the day before. She looked at the bread in his hand, almost bashfully and for a moment, he wondered just what she was thinking.

Nesta may as well have had another coat of guilt slabbed on top of her for how she felt. An apology wafted against her tongue, but never formed itself beyond her lips. Graciously, she took the warm gift. “Thank you.” She nodded, taking a step back. “Please come in. There is something I would like to discuss with you.”

***

“Are you saying you want to manage a café?” Azriel didn’t try to soften the shock in his voice.

Nesta sighed and shook her head. “Not a café, necessarily.” Taking a moment, she attempted to gather the argument she had tried polishing in her head the entire night. “If this is meant to be my home, I want to contribute something different that only I could offer. Yesterday we passed nothing but taverns, butcheries and bakeries.” She huffed. “If my finances could withstand it, I know I could make this,” She gestured to the nearly empty room around them. “Someplace special. There would be tea and pastries, and books for the patrons to choose from.”

Azriel watched her expression closely and instinctually knew that he needed no further interpretation to understand just what she was looking for, an escape. “You understand that this has the potential to be an incredibly risky venture?”

“Do you think it could be done?”

He thought for a moment and though he knew he should persuade her to abandon the idea, he found it impossible when he could finally see light looking out of her eyes and hear the excitement in her voice. Already he was surprised by her; the entire Inner Circle had been so certain that she was content to exist on the backs of others, but now he wasn’t so sure, not when she was excited for the first time in months at the prospect of working. He knew the full breadth of her allowance and was sure that even beyond that it could be negotiated for a noble cause, if deemed necessary. “Money would be tight for a while and if business doesn’t pick up early on, bare necessities could become luxuries.”

“That’s not a ‘no’.”

Azriel smirked at her and couldn’t help but be charmed by her stubbornness. “It would be difficult and even though it will lighten your change-purse, it might be best if you acquire assistance early on.” She looked away as if the thought had yet to cross her mind. “Because of the size of the space and the needs you would require, I’m sure you could easily thrive with a single staff member, as long as they are reliable.”

A brief, youthful smile contorted her face and vanished within a second. “I know that I could do this.”

Something about the anticipation in her gaze was undeniably contagious and Azriel realized that if she was, in fact right, he wanted to be there to see it. “Then we have no time to waste.” He stood and glanced down at her.

Nesta looked up, entirely confused. “I’m sorry?”

“You have a lot of details to go through and I’ll only be available to assist you for a week, two at most.”

She watched him quietly and so many unspoken thoughts seemed to pass behind her eyes. “Why would you want to do that?”

He shrugged. “Call it boredom or inspiration, but this feels a lot more significant than my tasks of late.”

“Even visits to war camps?”

“That’s more Cassian’s territory.”

“A fact I find all too bewildering.” She muttered.

“How so?” He asked with the subtlest quirk of his brow.

“It seems odd to have someone of his temperament thrown into a position that requires diplomacy.”

He smirked. “In most cases, you would be correct, but the Illyrian army is not like a High Fae army; someone too polished would not be respected amongst our ranks.”

“Yet arrogance is admired.”

“It inspires confidence.” He argued emptily.

“It promotes ego, not community.” She said in the softest judgment.

What bothered Azriel most was that he did not disagree with her. Illyrians were proud and it led, more often than not, to their own detriment. Surely, they fought side-by-side, but when there wasn’t a war to be waged, battles of discontent began to be sewn from within. “Perhaps you are right.” He conceded. “But that is a matter to be handled by someone else.”

She nodded. “Are you sure you want to assist me with this? I have nothing to offer in return.”

He shrugged. “And I am looking for nothing to gain. I was already planning to spend some time away from Velaris, only now I have a project to invest my energy into.”

“Thank you.” She said with nothing but the deepest sincerity, causing her cheeks to burn bashfully.

“Your thanks are premature.” He nudged his head and she stood. “We have work to do.”

***

Nesta had been able to notice the attention she had garnered from some of the locals over the past few days. It didn’t surprise her in the least as she seemed to be the only High Fae in the village of Illyrian civilians. Of course, being seen side-by-side with Azriel, the infamous Shadowsinger, war-hero and close comrade to the High Lord seemed to instigate whispers and curious glances. It was undoubtedly daunting for her, but she kept herself busy in any way she could. She tried to convince herself that mystery might pique interest in her blooming venture.

She was indescribably thankful for her business partner, even if she was unsure how to speak to him. He was kind and dutiful, but silent in a way that made her tense, uncertain if her careless mouth would search for some other way to insult him. It was an unintentional habit of hers, to push too far and test the boundaries of someone’s façade. In the past, such behavior had rarely been rewarded with results, but that first evening, she had been able to see all the cracks in his mask, as if he had never expected someone to be looking close enough to begin with. It intrigued her, made her remember the way he always seemed to be silently walking around the collective entanglement of the Inner Circle, still caught himself, though not the perpetrator; completely unaware that he was the collateral damage. She was ashamed to think that she might pity him, a male of all his strengths and virtues. Yet, some small piece of her did, recognizing herself to be equally caught in the web he too had been entangled in, merely innocent fools to their calculating comrades in arms.

“Miss Archeron?”

Nesta blinked and looked back at him, having lost herself in heavy thought. “I’m sorry?”

Azriel narrowed his eyes only slightly to shame her for her focus, or lack thereof. “I was asking if you had thought of a name?”

She looked at the dozen small tables and gentle decorations that had already made her feel more at home than she ever had in Velaris. Nesta didn’t have to ruminate on the decision, having realized that she had picked out a name before she had even purchased the property. “Haven.”

Azriel smiled gently and nodded, touched by her transparency. “That sounds perfect.”

She nodded proudly. “I was thinking about getting a sign commissioned to place directly above the door.” He shook his head. “Well, we need a sign.”

He shook his head again. “Of course, we need a sign, but I’m sure we could finish one in the time it would take to hire someone.”

Nesta eyed him warily. “I don’t know about you, Shadowsinger, but I’m not artistically inclined in the slightest. It seems Feyre is the only Archeron to receive the gift of artistry.”

“That is not true.” He offered. “Yes, Feyre has her painting, but Elain also has her gardening and you-”

“Possess the poetry of barbed words.” She gave a breathy laugh. “I can give it an honest effort but cannot promise beyond that.”

“That should be more than enough. If we work together, it will be done in no time at all.”

“Fine.” She conceded. “But I’m expecting you to supervise.”

“I’m sure I can manage it.” He said with a smirk.

***

Azriel was a few hours into carving as Nesta patiently approached him, having promised to paint over his lettering. She couldn’t deny that it eased her anxiety to know that her big contribution was simple tracing. Placing a hot cup of tea beside him, Nesta sat across the table. “Thank you,” he said awkwardly. “I’m not really thirsty.”

She shook her head. “It’s for your hands.” There was a moment of slightly loaded silence that pushed her to explain. “You keep flexing them.” She noted nonchalantly. “I assumed that the change in climate and the added tension of carving for hours is causing them to stiffen. I thought it might help.”

Azriel looked at her for a second and then nodded. He set down the knife his hands had been clawed around and slowly picked up the cup. It was hot, but not enough to bother him. He hadn’t even realized how cold his hands had become until the heated porcelain began to thaw his fingers. “Thank you.”

She shrugged. “Just consider it practice for the opening.”

He smirked. “About that…” Nesta stilled and he shook his head, as if knowing on instinct how to calm her nerves. “Although your allowance has already been settled and agreed upon, I think it would be best for me to let Rhys and Feyre know about what you’re doing.” He could see that the thought bothered her, the idea of her life being reported to the High Lord and Lady as if she were a child, yet he knew that keeping them up to speed would make them better able to assist and support her in such a venture.

“I doubt they’ll understand, but” She sighed heavily. “I think you’re right. In truth, they have just as much a right to know. After all, they are practically my investors.”

Azriel was relieved that she could see it so levelheadedly. “Except investors expect to see the return of their stake, plus profit.”

She nodded, not the slightest bit confused in her articulation. “Exactly and one day I’d like to make that happen. If this place is a success, Mother-willing.”

He looked around and sipped slowly from the teacup. “It’s already coming together.” He admired the way the striking sunset cast the softest peach light through the few large windows. Already, he could see the Haven before them; peaceful and intimate, like sitting in front of a warm fire after escaping a blizzard. Nesta seemed unbothered by his impromptu break as she stayed seated at the same table and began drafting a list of some simple items to place on the menu. He nodded in the direction of her list. “You know, that might make it more difficult to conjure up business.”

Nesta looked back at him with a tired expression. It had been the source of contention since the night before. On a matter of principle, she refused to sell alcohol at the Haven. In the half a week she’d been living in the Illyrian Mountains, he had insisted that she would have to understand the local businesses if she ever hoped to start her own. There seemed only taverns to visit and reluctantly they both did, usually two or so in a night.

Nesta found the entire atmosphere distasteful; it reminded her too intimately of her time in Velaris, allowing her sense to disappear behind another bottle as her body recklessly searched for its nightly distraction. The sour taste it had left in her throat was not quelled in the least when she took in the rowdy disposition of the patrons. She already knew Illyrians to be a physically boisterous kind of being, but to watch it unfold in a pub was entirely different; there was no restraint, no sense and disturbingly enough, no respect for themselves or one another. She would not stand to have her Haven corrupted so, even if that meant losing business along the way.

It was the one point on which she refused to compromise. So, although Azriel disagreed with her, he couldn’t help but respect her determination. He sipped once more and flexed his hands, glancing her way before he could return to the task at hand. She continued writing, seeing no need to reply to his concern. Though her neck was elegantly angled downward, there was an unwavering poise threaded through her every movement. She looked a great deal better than when they had left Velaris five days prior. Dark circles still nested under her eyes, though they were beginning to lighten, while the paleness of her skin shifted into her natural hue. Unchanged were her piercing cobalt eyes, though they appeared less exhausted than they had upon her arrival. He wondered if it was the geography that had been holding her back or perhaps the community? Either way, it was entirely undeniable that she was changed, for the better.

***

“You’ll never have this place together in time if you don’t hire someone soon.” Azriel chided after placing the sign above the door.

Nesta smirked at their handiwork. It had been no difficult feat as she just faithfully followed the deeply worked grooves he had painstakingly set for her. The blushing burgundy she had chosen was warm and inviting. “How am I to even go about that?”

“You could take out an ad.” He offered and she seemed to consider.

“Perhaps.” She said in soft contemplation, turning to see the view of the village from her front door. It was now dark out and the softest flurries of snow began floating down. She looked up and couldn’t shy away the quiet smile that adorned her face as the snow above nearly blended in the with ivory stars adorning the sky. This seemed the Court of Dreams, she thought gently, despite the stark chill that began to set in her bones. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so… alive wasn’t quite the right word, though she couldn’t disagree with it. There was a sense of freedom that enveloped her as she breathed in the icy night air.

“You’re proud.” Azriel said, almost in gentle accusation. He could see the contentment in her upturned posture as if she were elongating her spine.

She turned and looked at him with a brightness in her eyes that made him sure that though it had slipped away without a trace, she, Nesta the Ferocious, had been smiling. There was an almost playful humor that wound itself in her expression and her voice. “Something I have consistently been made aware of.”

His eyes narrowed at her purposeful misinterpretation of his comment. “No,” he huffed with insincere impatience. “About the Haven.”

Nesta bit her lip to keep from smiling at the sight of the sign directly above her door. It was not as if this had been some long dream of hers, but already it had helped immeasurably. Creating a space for herself in a place so different and fresh, made her feel unencumbered by the despondent existence she had survived in Velaris. She no longer was being pulled by strings; if she wanted, this could be everything she needed. She was free. “I’m proud of the potential before me and the experience behind me. At the risk of sounding an optimist, this,” She pointed to the sign. “Could be something, maybe even for someone more than just myself.” Azriel smirked at such an honest comment. “Thank you for your help, it has been greatly appreciated.” She nodded. “I’m sure you miss the fair nights of Velaris.”

He shrugged. “The nights may be fair, but I’ve developed immunity to their charm.”

“Surely, you do not mean entirely?” Her words seemed edged in a way that surprised Nesta herself. She knew it was her curiosity that had once been no more than a fleeting thought before her ‘re-location’ and had slowly built since the Solstice, now nagging at her in a way that made her feel brazen and nosy which propelled the leading tone and her cryptic words to jump from her mouth. “You must find charm with something in Velaris?”

His eyes tightened ever-so-subtly and Nesta felt her stomach clench. She had done it again; she hadn’t even seen her provocation coming before it had already been thrown from her mouth.

Before a word could leave his mouth, several male voices seemed to round the corner in a loud argument, catching their attention. “No, I’m telling you, they said-” The voice stumbled drunkenly for a second as three Illyrian males came into light across the narrow street. The speaker appeared to be tall and muscular with eyes obscured by unkempt curls. “Oh, wait,” He turned to look in Nesta and Azriel’s direction. “Speak of the devil and she shall appear.” He said with just enough liquor in his voice to slow his sentence, but not to adorn it with slurs as he quickly approached the two. His friends followed behind; an even taller, thin male with short hair and pale eyes and another short and stocky in stature.

The taller one spoke. “Tiernan, are you calling the devil a woman?”

“Makes the story seem all the more believable if you ask me.” The original speaker, Tiernan, replied to his friend before turning his full attention on Nesta. “There’s been talk about some new bonny face, an outsider, strutting proudly around town.” His glance seemed an accusation to her existence, yet she stood there quietly unbothered, even more so as she could sense that in the moment she had turned, Azriel had silently bridged the gap between them at the sound of voices. “Well?” The drunken Tiernan asked.

“Am I meant to respond or is that rhetorical?” She questioned, entirely serious. He looked back at her, not sure how to reply to her unshaken poise. She continued with a tone that teetered the edge of patronizing. “Talk seems to have been accurate, which you well know to recognize me now by such description. It is clear I am an outsider, and no one could argue, least of all myself, that I have been known to proudly strut. As for being a bonny face, I like to think I see myself in a modest light but wouldn’t go so far as to argue against your assumption that it is indeed me you seem to be talking about. However, you have asked me no question beyond the riveting and thought-provoking, ‘Well?’ as you so articulately put. Do you have a further inquiry beyond my confirmation of my own existence?”

Azriel couldn’t deny himself the humblest of smirks at the way her cavalcade of loquacious snark smacked against Tiernan’s expression. The drunken Illyrian looked up at the sign. “Heaven?” He said, turning to his friends. “The Devil seems to dabble in irony.”

“And the locals in illiteracy.” She bit back and Azriel ever-so-slightly nudged the back of her hand, wanting to remind her that such an attitude could turn away customers and sink her shoppe before it was born. She exhaled and he could see the effort she used to calm herself. “It says Haven.”

“Haven; what kind of tavern does the outsider bring us?”

“It is no tavern.”

“What with a name like Haven?” He turned to his friend and then eyed her lewdly. “What type of business are you seeking to strum up?”

Azriel tensed in a way that made Nesta sure, even without her eyes upon him that he was close to making a move merely for the offense; her hand flattened against his tight knuckles as if to signal him to stop before he moved. “I doubt you would be my clientele, sir, for this is a dry establishment.”

“What’s she mean, ‘dry’?” The short one asked.

“Yeah,” Tiernan asked belligerently. “What makes you think we’d turn our nose up at staying dry?” He wiped a collection of dewy white snowflakes from his face. “It’s the only way to drink this far North.”

Azriel was sure that his expression was that of the deepest shame and embarrassment, something he couldn’t help but feel while watching the encounter unfold. Nesta cleared her throat and did her best to wipe the snark from her voice, choosing to look at the moment as an opportunity to teach something, Mother-willing without the patented smugness she always had a hard time keeping silent. “By dry, I mean to say that my business will not sell any alcoholic beverages.”

“Then what’s it good for?” The tallest one asked.

“Well, Stern there must be quite the entertainment lined up.” Tiernan said suggestively. “Here I was thinking I might get another drink, but I don’t mind settling for a show.” He laughed sloppily and a loud rustling sound was heard just a few feet away.

All attention turned to see a familiar female Illyrian with tucked wings leaning awkwardly against a tree. As if feeling the eyes on her, she looked up and nearly shrunk under the attention. “Perfect!” Tiernan laughed loudly. “When the madam hires gals around the village, she’s got the dizzy baker to offer at a discount.”

Nesta’s blood burned, but before she could even think to move, Azriel had somehow whisked his way around her and stood directly in front of Tiernan, his imposing dark presence pushing down on the man. “You have no excuse for such crude belligerence, drunk or not. If you don’t get to moving on, my tested patience might fail me.”

Tiernan seemed fully intent on challenging Azriel, until he noticed a dark chasm in his eyes that warned of his power, just as intently as the siphons that his drunken eyes finally recognized. It meant the other part of the rumor was true. The female was protected by a respected and feared warrior, near equal to the High Lord. “Fortunately for you, I will not search for a fight when ales have influenced my ability to stand.”

“Then you are wise.” Azriel said with a sharpness that actually made Nesta shiver in shock.

The three were finally able to drag themselves away and Nesta approached the female from the bakery, passing by Azriel. “It’s Velara, right?”

She nodded. “Yes, my mother and father own the bakery just down the way.” Shyly she looked down at her slack posture. “I was trying to move by unseen, but sometimes I’m not so lucky.”

Nesta nodded. “We all have to move at slower paces sometimes.”

She eyed Nesta appreciatively. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t frustrating.”

Nesta laughed softly. “Can’t disagree with that.” She looked back at Azriel and gave him the subtlest nod to move a bit closer for introductions. “My name is Nesta.”

“And I’m Azriel.”

She bobbed her head gently. “I’ve seen you both in before.”

Nesta nodded. “To be honest, I can’t get enough of those Hardy Rolls you make. They’re incredible.” She looked back to Azriel.

He nodded as well. “They’ve become an important part of our morning routine and one of the few things she enjoys eating.”

She turned back and nearly scowled at him, but Velara’s soft voice spoke. “I’m happy that you like them. It’s a family recipe that’s been altered a bit over the past few years.”

Nesta looked back at Azriel. “I really need your help finalizing the menu.”

He looked at her puzzledly when Velara asked, “Menu? Are you opening a restaurant?”

Nesta smirked. “I’m still not sure how to properly explain it. It would be similar to a café; tea, pastries and most importantly books.”

“Books?” The shy female inquired.

“I want there to be a place for patrons to relax and read; somewhere to soak in some silence.”

“That sounds nice.” She smiled brightly.

“I like to think so.” Nesta grinned. “I know it’ll come together.”

Velara smiled and then seemed distracted by a thought. “I’m sorry to have lingered. I am fine now.” She laughed gently. “I need to be heading home.”

Nesta took a step closer and tried to present herself to be entirely nonthreatening. “Do you mind being seen home safely?” She didn’t want to push, only she couldn’t help but think of the three drunk vagrants they’d already encountered.

She scrutinized Nesta for a moment before congenially shaking her head. Her eyes warily took in the still slightly imposing form of Azriel who Nesta waved off. They walked side-by-side and Nesta was surprised to realize that in her original meeting of Velara, she hadn’t noticed the freckles that adorned the kind face, like little gold specks amongst olive skin. “So, you’re not sure what to place on your menu?”

Nesta nodded, her expression becoming briefly hopeless. “My experience with creating menus in the past has always been supervision of meals; I’ve made very few in my day and even less that are edible.”

Velara laughed. “Cooking and baking are not always the same. Perhaps you are about to discover your niche?”

Nesta thought for a moment and nodded, sensing Azriel far enough behind to not be detected by her companion, but close enough to be ready to step in should they come across more drunk and disorderly deviants. “I don’t doubt I could acquire the skill but creating the menu has been difficult.”

“How much do you know about local agriculture regarding seasonal fruits for your pastries?”

“Embarrassingly little, so it would seem.” She laughed.

Velara smirked. “I hope you’re not too desperate.”

Nesta shrugged. “Desperate is not my favorite word; I’d like to say I’m eager.”

Velara nodded. “I could help if you’d like the assistance.”

She openly smiled brightly. “That would be deeply appreciated; I really am at a total and utter loss.”

A moment later they came upon Velara’s home. She gave Nesta a small half-bow in thanks. “Perhaps I can stop by around afternoon to offer my services.”

“I’m in your debt.” She beamed graciously.

“I appreciate the escort.” Nesta nodded. “Thank you both.” Velara grinned smugly glancing at the Azriel-obscuring corner of a nearby home. “Tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow.”

Once Velara went inside, Nesta quickly approached Azriel. “I’m already learning names. What a productive day it’s been.”

Azriel eyed her warily. “You’re in some kind of recruitment mode right now.” He sighed. “Are you really trying to poach the baker’s daughter?”

Nesta huffed. “Please, I’m trying to gain a little wisdom from someone more experienced and hopefully gain a friend in the process.”

“Are you saying you have no intention to hire her?”

Nesta shrugged noncommittally. “I’m hoping to learn more tomorrow.” She looked back up at the sky as they rounded the corner before her home. Snow continued to quietly fall and Azriel silently walked beside her. The indescribable feeling began to stir in her chest again and she searched for the right word. Her eyes gently drifted downward and she caught sight of the sign they had just hung; suddenly it hit her. She felt hopeful.

Chapter Text

Velara was a great help, offering Nesta ideas and suggestions for small and delicate dessert pastries. “I hope this doesn’t seem as though I’m asking for disloyalty regarding your family’s bakery.” Nesta spoke gently as she copied measurements down.

The young Illyrian smiled sweetly and shook her head. “Not at all. I actually was speaking to my mother about this business of yours and she thought it was a lovely idea. She said she ‘appreciated someone trying to bring culture and a love of literature to this cold and bleak place.’ It reminds her of when we lived in Velaris.”

“You lived in Velaris?” Nesta couldn’t stifle her curiosity, even if she was wary of being overly inquisitive.

Her green eyes played out a myriad of unspoken memories as she smirked to herself. “I was born there. It is where my parents met. My mother loved it so much that it was what inspired her while naming me.” Nesta gave her a knowing smile and nod. “We lived there until I was 18.”

Again, she prodded, her voice soft. “Why leave when it meant so much?”

Something tense peeked through her eyes and Nesta wondered on what landmine she had carelessly skipped across. “We didn’t really choose to. A lot was happening at the time and we went away on holiday but couldn’t return.”

Nesta watched Velara for a moment, unable to stop herself from just barely chewing on the edge of her bottom lip, not wanting to push, but completely curious to know more. “Why?”

“Because of the Sealing of Velaris.” She said with a tone that suggested Nesta, given her company and talk of her earlier residence, might be familiar of the context behind her answer.

“Sealing of Velaris?” Nesta asked, transparently perplexed. “When?”

“Ah, a little more than 50 years ago.” She said with a lilt in her voice.

“50 years?” Nesta eyed the young woman, still not able to catch up with the new clock needed to calculate the life span of immortals.

“Do you not know of it?” She eyed her slightly.

“I only became a resident of the Night Court this past year.” She slightly explained.

“Well, that’d explain it.” She remarked melodically. “It was a little over 50 years ago when Amarantha cursed the Spring Court and held our High Lord in captivity.” Nesta listened intently, realizing that she was learning a different side to a story she had heard explained vaguely from its actual characters. “Well, to keep Velaris the grand secret it was and make it untouchable, the High Lord sealed it from discovery.” She struggled for the right word. “It was like a barrier enveloped the town, refusing entrance or exit.”

“So, your family could not return home?”

Velara shook her head. “We stayed in a much smaller village briefly before eventually settling here.”

Nesta could see something clinging to the female’s eyes that seemed to stutter shortly. “Do you like it here?”

She nodded without contagious enthusiasm, more a muted contentment. “We’ve been here so long that I couldn’t really picture being anywhere else.”

“It seems your family’s bakery does well here.”

“We do. Folks are civil enough and we are seen as reliable and reputable, which means a great deal here.”

“So, you plan to eventually take over the bakery?”

She thought for a second. “I don’t often think about it, but I guess it’s always an option.”

“Your parents don’t expect it of you?” Nesta watched Velara’s face curious to gauge her relationship with her parents.

She shook her head with an animated grin. “No, they support my interests and don’t mind that I like to volunteer myself to the business.”

Nesta nodded and smiled fondly. “They seem kind and doting.”

Velara became bashful. “They are. I couldn’t be more grateful for them.”

The younger of the two huffed aggravatedly. “Damn!”

“I’m sorry?” The Illyrian watched the High Fae with tense puzzlement.

Nesta shook her head. “I was entirely ready to try and poach you away from your parents, but you all seem so happy and content that I can’t even think about it without feeling guilty and to be frank, I’m sick of that emotion.”

Velara laughed. “I’m flattered, but what makes you so sure you’d want me here? Just because you enjoy a sweet breakfast roll I make?”

“It’s more than that. I looked into the Hardy berry and it is not easy to work with in the slightest. It needs to be harvested and prepared just so to get that perfect sweetness and you bake it effortlessly into the softest and sweetest bread I’ve ever had.” She shook her head with awe. “In my defense, I’d be a fool if I didn’t at least try to steal you from them.”

“There’s no need for theft. I am free to choose work as I please.” Velara answered with a soft voice and certain posture.

Nesta nodded and tried to ease her verbalization of the question swirling around her thoughts. “Have you ever thought of taking on employment elsewhere? And is there any chance you might be tempted?”

Velara looked at the roughly drafted menu for a brief moment. “You waste no time.”

Nesta shrugged. “I possess the shortcoming of being unstoppably decisive. Rarely, do I find the need to change my mind.” She looked up at the front door and sighed quietly. “The truth is that I could do this well enough on my own, but I could do it better with your help.”

“When were you wanting to open?”

She thought for a moment and calculated the time it should take to finalize details, making sure to afford room for the Shadowsinger’s return to Velaris so that he might catch her sister and her mate up on the recent venture of the eldest Archeron. “Less than a fortnight, but longer than a week.”

Velara seemed to consider the proposition for a moment. “I’d like to see this vision of yours come true.”

It was a simple statement, but it spiked Nesta’s anticipation. She knew that Velara would come to mean great deal to Haven and suspected that she would become a kind friend to her. “I’m grateful it has piqued your interest if it means persuading you to join the effort.”

Velara laughed and they continued to go over specifics. Only falling from their groove at the sound of the door opening. Azriel stepped inside carrying two large sacks of ingredients. Nesta thanked him for running the errand and began to unpack. “No need to worry, Shadowsinger.” She smirked. “I have finally filled the vacancy under my employ.”

His eyes commented comically though his words answered simply enough. “A wise choice, Miss Archeron.” He nodded. “And may I say the first predictable one you have made since your arrival?”

She shrugged, a playful smile invading her eyes. “I’ll try not to make a habit of it.” Nesta searched through the bag, wearing a puzzled expression. “Did you get cinna-” Her question was interrupted as Azriel handed her a large container of cinnamon from the other sack. Having reminded him twice, she had sworn that she didn’t have enough of the spice; though after watching her add it to just about everything, he wondered if she ever could. Nesta shook her head with a quiet, self-reflective smirk. “I’m not off to a great start.”

Velara’s quiet voice offered an apologetic tone as she questioned Nesta. “Are the groceries for a dry run?”

Nesta nodded. “I see now that you might have no use for the practice, but I figured I should play around with the process.”

Velara shook her head. “Either way, I always prefer more practice and truthfully I could stand to test my versatility in the kitchen.”

“Perhaps the Shadowsinger will be kind enough to sample our selections?” Nesta asked in a loaded cadence, looking at him with hopeful anticipation.

Azriel glanced at both females and a crooked smirk adorned his face as he noted the effortless and congenial attitude between the two who were no more than strangers the night before. “I can be easily persuaded today. Beside it might help my credibility if I know just what the Haven has to offer.”

Nesta wanted to laugh. It was so unusual to see him working in any environment softer than war; he was supportive, reliable and amusingly pragmatic in a way she had never suspected before her re-location. “Am I entitled to peruse the menu?” He asked as he sat down.

Nesta set it down in front of him. “It’s much better than my original draft.”

“Progress is promising.” He offered lightly, unaware at the way his remark captured her attention for its double meaning.

The progress since leaving Velaris had truly been promising and the fool in her chest wanted to be overcome with optimism even if her past experiences warned against becoming too comfortable. It didn’t stop her from taking in the moment and reflecting on how fortunate she felt. “Indeed, it is.”

***

Azriel couldn’t deny that things had been truly pleasant as of late. A piece of him felt almost sour to return to Velaris so soon before the opening, but an even larger part of him (literally) was thankful for the excuse to escape, feeling his body being further weighed down as he played guinea pig for every item on the menu, including countless variations they had been curious to try. He was meant to be absent for only a few days and felt relieved to think that Nesta had come to find a friend to work beside while he was gone. Though he knew she didn’t need someone to push her into staying motivated, he breathed easier knowing that she wasn’t sitting quietly by herself with no contact in her foreign new home.

With time being of the essence, Azriel decided to winnow home, hoping to get an audience with Rhys and Feyre alone to discuss her sister’s business. He found it to be calming, the slow trek up the House of Wind. It was a beautiful day and though he usually preferred to fly, his slight stall gave him just the precise amount of time before returning to his old comrades.

Cassian found him immediately upon his entrance. He patted him affectionately on the shoulder and offered him a sincere apology for Azriel assuming his responsibility. Just as Azriel was about to remark on the ease of his past week and a half in the eldest Archeron’s company, Mor and Amren entered the large foyer.

The latter seemed as content to see the Shadowsinger as he figured was possible for her; while the former beamed and approached as if she might open her arms. Something about the prospect seemed unpleasant and had ever since the Solstice. He quickly turned his attention back to Cassian. “Were you and Rhys able to come to a conclusion over the contract?”

He shrugged. “There has still been some debate. Rhys is wary of some of the language being used, especially around the fine print. He fears the camps are seeking out too much authority in their terms.”

“An adequate concern for him to have now.” Azriel confirmed with a nod.

“I agree, but until we can settle on precise wording and get it authorized, we could very well be looking at a stalemate.”

“Valid point.” He nodded. “I need to speak with Rhys.”

Cassian pointed him in the direction of the royal brother. “How is… everything?”

Azriel looked at him closely before answering. “Everything is as good as we could have hoped.”

“Good.” He nodded. “That’s good.”

The inflection in his tone made his words seem like a question, but Azriel was set to the task of finding Rhys and Feyre, so he refused the bait.

On his way to Rhys, he passed Elain in a wide hallway. She smiled brightly at him. “Azriel, you’re finally back.”

“Yes, Miss Archeron. I am returned for the moment.”

“The moment?” She asked with lifted brow.

“I’m overseeing an important project and might have sparse attendance in the House of Wind beginning this upcoming week.”

She nodded. “You must come see the garden. Some of the hardier plants are in full bloom.”

He bobbed his head politely. “I imagine it resembles a rustic treasure trove.”

“A fine description.” She confirmed.

After a minute of inconsequential small talk, Azriel excused himself to continue in his quest to find Rhys and once he had, a raw and nagging realization bombarded him with sour surprise. Elain had not mentioned her banished older sister once, not even to see how she had settled into the new home that had been forced upon her. The sweetness of her smile felt false to him with such obvious discernment.

Explaining Nesta’s proposition to Rhys and Feyre had been difficult as they were both utterly baffled at the prospect. He didn’t push against their concerns, merely doing his best to make his confidence in the eldest Archeron’s abilities to be known as he attested for the determination and dedication she had already put into the task. The two seemed to require a moment of deliberation, but he could see in their eyes, that it was mostly meant to give them a second to process the new information. It wasn’t long before they provided him with the answer he had expected and hoped for.

As dinner was being prepared, Azriel chose to walk around and familiarize himself with hallways and rooms he once knew all too well. Staying in constant motion kept him from the audience of others and though it felt odd, he was thankful to allow himself more time to mentally transition to the vastly different atmosphere.

It was an hour or so later when the entire group gathered around and began to feast at the dining table. He had hardly begun to savor the food when an arrogant voice snickered just prior to speaking. “Nesta, a tavern wench?” Cassian asked in a baffled humor as several expressions around the table shifted, some shock, others snarky amusement.

Azriel felt some unavoidable tension begin clenching his gut as he stopped himself from glaring at Rhys for what he couldn’t help but suspect to be petty and purposeful misinformation. “Hardly.” He replied, trying to mute his irritation. “Her residence had once been a successful business. She figured with the extra space and her abundance of time she might be in the perfect position to introduce a new enterprise to the stagnant economy.” He finished with a flowery flourish before hungrily devouring a large bite.

“In the form of?” There was no mistaking the arrogance in Rhys’s voice as he sipped his wine, behaving as though he didn’t comprehend the proposition that he had already agreed to.

“Something akin to a café, I believe.” Azriel replied pointedly before taking a drink from his glass.

Cassian snorted obnoxiously. “She seeks to dress up the Illyrian existence with fancy pastries and the entirely wrong kind of brew. It won’t return her to the human world.”

Azriel shook his head, deciding to place his focus on his barely touched plate.

“You disagree, Az?” Cassian nagged at his brother.

“With such a baseless, bordering on vapid assumption?” He felt surprised by his own words, expecting to rely on the filter he often used to soften his thoughts. There was no curbing the table full of shocked expressions, so he continued. “Yes, I do disagree.”

“You think she’s capable of turning hardened Illyrians into hoighty-toighty gentlemen?”

“I think that I have no way of calculating just what the eldest Miss Archeron is fully capable of, but I would say that it is a flawed line of questioning to begin with as it is not her intention in the slightest.”

“You claim to understand her intention?” Azriel nodded as Cassian continued. “Please enlighten us. I’d argue our High Lord and Lady deserve to know just what kind of business venture they are invested in.” There was a sharp look shared between the two brothers as Cassian continued. “What is her aim then?”

“To provide a place that offers and promotes peace, civility and knowledge.” It seemed a rehearsed mission statement, but in truth it was simply how he thought to describe her intended setting.

“So, she pities us poor, brutish Illyrian folk? Somehow, I’m left thoroughly unsurprised.”

“On the contrary, I’d wager she expects more of us.”

“Well, she’s bound to be disappointed on that front if she refuses to sell ale.”

“Something she has already been told by a few locals.”

“She should listen.”

Azriel refused to silence his objection this time around. “I disagree.”

“You do?” An edge infiltrated Cassian’s voice, an air so familiar that Azriel knew it to be meant for intimidation, but he was unaffected by his brother’s claim for dominance.

“I think it’s a noble aspiration, especially for an outsider.”

“To not sell libations?” He nearly mocked.

“To seek to prove that there is more to the Illyrian race than belligerence, willful ignorance and violence.”

“You seem to have a low opinion of our own kind.” Rhys’s voice broke through the duo’s conversation.

Azriel kept his snort at bay, nearly impossible when facing such blatant hypocrisy from Illyrian soldiers who dined on delicacies with no shortage of resources at the tip of their fingers, always within their reach. “I think it has been a long time since our natives have been graced by your presence, Rhys and almost as long since your neighbors have caught sight of you, Cassian. Perhaps once you remedy such absence, you’ll see that I do not speak from opinion, but observation.” His tone and words were simple enough to inspire stunned silence amongst his dinner companions.

Luckily, it wasn’t too long until Mor began to launch into some vapid verbal tirade, all of which Azriel easily blocked out. He ate his food and tried to not wear his distress across his face and found the task to be truly difficult. It made him sick to remember how the banished sister had spoken with absolute certainty that day of arrival, knowing that she was being taken away, conveniently pushed out of the path of her only kin and acquaintances to better suit their own agendas. Yet, he had refused to believe it, had wanted to think her cruel and self-pitying though her family had made the hard choice to help her.

Only now could he see that she had been right. She was hundreds of miles away with nothing beyond his positive word to vouch for her growth and they all sought to tease and ridicule the path she had chosen, the turnaround that he could recognize as the first real progress she had made since her father’s death. How could the argument be possibly made again that this had all been done to help her, when it seemed that those who chose her fate were now ultimately rooting for her failure?

***

Azriel felt as if he was being dragged around by the Inner Circle. In truth, he had been hoping to return to more work; however, it seemed everyone else was more determined to dabble in leisure as they took a stroll about Velaris.

It was, of course, beautiful and mild, but it was far too familiar for him to take any pleasure in the evening. Mor wanted to drag the females along the fashion district and while Feyre put in a token’s show of effort to decline, she was persuaded otherwise by Amren; Elain did not attempt to resist in the slightest.

Azriel walked side-by-side with his brothers, almost feeling too warm in the mild, temperate climate. He allowed the two other males to occupy the majority of the conversation, still experiencing the bitter taste in his throat. It wasn’t as if he was suddenly sick of his loved ones, but the painful reality was that he was disappointed in them. For so long, it had been easy to take pride in these connections; they were always distinct souls that had grown and served with one another, fighting for those who needed help, until it was inconvenient or it meant bruising one’s pride, so it now seemed.

He started to feel guilt for such judgment of his family and nearly villainized himself at the thought, but as they traversed further throughout the city, he remembered the last time he’d seen it. He’d been overhead, carrying the eldest Archeron in his arms as if she weighed little more than the breath in his lungs; he remembered the shrunken, wilted creature as she laid there quietly, nothing in those piercing blue eyes but exhaustion and resignation.

They had let it happen to her, all of it (in some form or another): the betrayal of information that led to her capture, her violent and cruel rebirth and the blatant and lonely decline of her spirit at the loss of her father. He wondered if that was why she had actually been sent away? In nearly every regard their negligence had led to her detriment; was it possible that they couldn’t stand looking at the reminder of their inarguable failure?

“…Az?”

Azriel popped his head up and looked at Cassian, having completely lost track of the conversation they’d been having. “What?”

Rhys watched him for a moment and Azriel immediately fortified the wall guarding his thoughts in response. “Mor had said before dinner that she wanted us all to have a ‘night on the town’, which is why she kidnapped the ladies, no doubt, for a costume change.”

Nothing about the proposition was tempting, the activity, the dress code or frankly, even the company. Azriel knew he couldn’t stomach such an evening, not with how he was currently feeling, so he opted for a fraction of the truth. “I don’t think I’m capable of that tonight.” The High Lord’s face faltered, but Cassian’s expression conveyed his dismay more noticeably. “I’m just feeling too tired for one of our nights out. I should probably get some rest.”

“Are you sure?” Cassian asked in concern.

He nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fully refreshed in the morning.”

The brothers accepted his dismissal and wished him goodnight before arguing over who would have to break the news to the Night Court’s third in command, but Azriel was entirely unbothered with the result of such debate as he headed back in the direction of the House of Wind. Just before he was about to take to the wind, a distinct and delectable smell yanked his attention and he went in search for it.

He was led to a small bakery that seemed to be preparing to close for the night. He made his way in and offered the short and bald male behind the counter an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I just had to follow that smell. It’s incredible.”

The shop owner seemed to brighten at the compliment. “Ah, that’d be the sweet braids.” He looked at a small pan that appeared to have just come from the oven. “I always like to bake a small batch before close to take home for my neighbor, though I mainly do it because it leaves such a delicious fragrance.”

“Cinnamon.” Azriel replied with a soft smirk.

He nodded. “Most important ingredient.”

He let out a hushed laugh. “I have a friend who believes as much.”

“Wise they be.” He moved to the pan and began glazing the four braided pastries. “Would you like to have one for your friend?”

“I’d actually like to purchase two if you don’t mind.”

The man shook his head. “These are my nightly scraps. I wasn’t going to get paid for ‘em an hour ago and I won’t be getting paid for ‘em now.”

“What about the inconvenience to your neighbor?”

He waved the concern away. “My neighbor could stand to downsize his nightly indulgence to merely two.”

The corner of Azriel’s mouth tugged into a smirk. “Well, my friend will greatly appreciate this.” He marveled over the dark-speckled and oval braided bread, noticing the perfect roast on the thinly sliced almonds that adorned the top.

“I daresay they’d be a fool not to.” He laughed. “I hope your friend is nearby; they’re best when warm.”

Azriel shrugged off the slight inquiry. “May I ask what the glaze is?”

“Mainly brown sugar.” He popped the pan back into the oven. “Afterwards I throw ‘em in for another couple minutes so the glaze will harden just enough for the best texture.”

“And that’s all, cinnamon, dough, almonds and brown sugar?” It seemed deceptively simple for the heaven scent that was wafting his way.

The shop keeper looked at him with an almost playful tension. “I don’t share my recipe so easily.”

Azriel remembered himself and shook his head. “Of course not, my apologies.”

“Why are you so keen to know?”

“My friend is about to open up her own establishment and this seems like the exact thing she’d love to put on her menu.”

The man watched him curiously. “Well surely you can understand that I can’t be giving out recipes to a competitor.”

Azriel shook his head. “There’s no competition.”

“You don’t appear to believe in your friend all that much.” He judged.

He was just barely able to bite back a laugh but couldn’t stop himself from smirking as he shook his head. “It’s more a matter of geography. Her business is in the Illyrian Mountains, not far from Windhaven Camp.”

He let out an impressed whistle. “I’d say we’re definitely not competing for the same customers then.” Azriel nodded. “I guess there’s not too much harm in it, her business being so far and all. It’s no easy feat, thriving up there.” He thought for a moment. “Come back in the morning. I might be willing to give you a copy.”

“Thank you.” He offered his sincere gratitude as the male pulled the pan from the oven for the final time. Once they were no longer scalding to the touch, he bagged up two of them for Azriel.

“Make sure your friend gets ‘em while they’re still hot.”

He nodded, looking at the two white paper packages. “May I borrow your pen?” It was offered immediately and Azriel began to scribble quickly atop one of them. “Thank you.” He handed the pen back. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Tell me how you like ‘em then.”

“Something tells me I won’t be able to stop myself from doing just that.”

“Good.” He laughed. “There’s no such thing as too much praise for a baker.”

He thanked him again before leaving. Azriel’s feet had only just grazed the cobblestone street before he winnowed into thin air.

The transition into the biting cold was callously quick and he fought off the need to shiver as he loudly rapped on her door. Once he was sure it had been heard, Azriel whisked himself back, aware that if he hadn’t been exhausted before, he certainly would be now, still it seemed entirely worth it to him.

***

The long-stretching silence was broken by a rapping at the door, catching Nesta entirely off-guard. She hesitantly approached the door and opened it to find no one. She looked around in confusion and noticed a white package waiting on her doorstep. Grabbing it, she began to read a small note scribbled on the packaging:

I came across this small bakery in Velaris because of the smell of their ‘sweet braids.’ I thought you might enjoy one. Hopefully, I can return soon with the recipe.

Nesta smirked as she went back inside, not needing his name signed on the note to know just who the gift had come from. She understood how such a smell could direct him through town as it began to fill the entrance of her home as soon as she shut her door. Sitting at one of the small empty tables, she pulled the pastry out of the bag and had to actively stop her mouth from watering.

The ‘sweet braid’, as it was so accurately named, was a braided and coiled golden oval with almonds and a textured glaze. She could smell and see the cinnamon as it was peppered heavily throughout the pastry. After the first bite, she prayed to the Mother that he was successful in obtaining the recipe, for even if she could not sell it in her shoppe, she would surely enjoy it on her own. It seemed unjust for such a delectable treat to remain solely in Velaris.

She finished it as slowly as she could, the warm sweetness soothing her chest as she savored every bite. Afterwards, she continued putting more books out on shelf. It was easy to see the place beginning to come together, one facet at a time. She tried to picture exactly how she wanted to adorn the open dining room and decided to set herself to the task the next day.

As she lay down for sleep the comforting taste of cinnamon lingered on her tongue and pleasantly flavored her dreams.

***

Nesta awoke early and quickly got ready to meander through the market for anything that might catch her attention. True to recently established tradition, she first frequented her favorite bakery.

Velara’s mother, Clea was pulling loaves of bread from the oven when she entered. “Ah, Miss Nesta.” She smiled brightly. “Up early this morning?”

She nodded congenially, still feeling stiff and awkward around the female, especially after poaching her daughter. “I’m setting to decoration today, but don’t know where to begin. An early start simply felt like it might give me an advantage.”

Her charcoal eyes, vibrant and kind, shined with amusement. “It’ll come to you.” Nesta nodded as Clea grabbed a Hardy Roll on instinct. The younger female reached into her coin purse but was gently stopped by the baker.

Nesta tried to argue, but Clea interrupted her with a steady tone. “I was actually hoping to speak with you.”

She felt her stomach clench as her thoughts assured her that Clea hated her for convincing Velara to work for her. She exhaled and tried to think of the best way to begin as not to offend the kind female. “About my hiring Velara?” She guessed and quickly continued, not allowing a moments silence for a reply. “I regret that I did not speak with you in person. It must’ve been jarring news, but I had to try and-”

Clea cut her off with a soft pat to her hand. “You are right as to what I wanted to speak about, but not why.” Nesta waited in silence. “I’m excited about Velara’s new employment. I can see how enthusiastic she is about this shoppe of yours and it has made her a great deal happier than I’ve seen her since she was very young. For that, I am truly thankful. Mother knows my girl deserves some happiness, but I can’t leave it simply at that.” The younger female nodded and Clea took it as a sign that she was listening intently.

“Velara is talented and incredibly bright. I know in the right environment she could excel beyond even my own expectations.” Nesta smiled softly to hear the mother’s unabashed love for her daughter. “But she’s not entirely well. I’m sure you’ve noticed how disoriented she can become, clumsy.” Nesta nodded. “That’s not something she can just overcome.” She sighed. “A long time ago she was hurt, badly.” The High Fae moved to open her mouth, but Clea continued. “I won’t speak of the details, as it is Velara’s life and entirely her choice to share the story or not. But I will say that her injury affected her entire sense of equilibrium, resulting in a horrible case of Vertigo. Despite how hard she tries she can never just return to the way she was. Some days it can be so bad, that she won’t get out of bed.” Clea’s voice broke and the emotion in it tore at Nesta’s chest. “She says it’s like the world is spinning beyond control, moving too fast around her. On those days, merely walking to the kitchen is enough to make her sick or sometimes even pass out.”

Nesta shook her head in solemn surprise. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea it was so bad.”

“And that is my point.” Clea offered gently. “I need you to understand just how difficult her condition can be in the future, especially if you are going to rely on her. She’ll work hard, I don’t doubt it for a second, but some days she might not be able to work at all and I won’t have her push herself, not for anybody.”

“I understand.”

Her eyes crinkled as she smirked at the young female. “I can see that you do, which is why I’m not hurt or angry that you hired her. I just want to make sure that she is working for someone who knows her struggle and doesn’t mind needing to work around her bad days every once in a while. It’s been a bit too easy having her here and not only because I could keep my eye on her.” She laughed. “But because she is kind, hard-working and determined. To be honest, I think you lucked out when you snagged her away.”

“Oh, I know. That’s why I wasted no time.” She laughed and Clea joined her. “Thank you, Clea, for sharing this with me. Your daughter is the first friend I’ve made here and if I can make her life a bit easier merely by being understanding and accommodating, then I will do just that.”

“Bless you, Miss Nesta.” Clea beamed with the brightest smile, the slightest trace of tears staying in her eyes.

“And you.” Nesta bobbed her head in reverence. Looking back up, she gestured to the roll in her hands. “Thank you.”

Clea nodded. “Now find something out there to get that shoppe of yours all nice and pretty for when Orman and I stop by for the Grand Opening.”

She smiled as she left and couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t every child’s dream to be visited at their new job by their parents, yet for the way Velara spoke of them, Nesta couldn’t help but wonder if she was the exception to the rule.

An hour later Nesta returned home, climbing up the stairs to her room, she smirked as she looked at her favorite spoil from the market. A kind woodworker who wore a youthful smile sold her a beautiful mahogany clock. The deep amber face was carved into a large and lush tree, its roots spreading and circling back to its canopy of leaves. She found herself comforted by the uniquely rustic timepiece. Immediately, she felt inspired with how she wanted to style Haven. She appreciated the financial frugality and simplicity of a more minimalist appearance for her soft and quiet shoppe. The male seemed to enjoy the work more than its profit Nesta noticed, as her mention of bookshelves captured his attention and he quoted her a surprisingly low price for a possible commission.

A knock sounded at her door and she quickly opened to find a red-cheeked Velara. Nesta watched her for a second before stepping aside to allow her entrance. The Illyrian female made her way to the kitchen to begin recreating a pie recipe she had mentioned earlier. Nesta looked over the instructions as Velara slowly collected the ingredients.
Nesta remembered the clock upstairs and excused herself to retrieve it to show her friend. She grabbed the clock and carried it down the stairs with her.

Halfway down, a large crash sounded in the kitchen and Nesta hurried faster towards the source. Velara was on the floor, a mess of ingredients spilled around her. “Damn the Cauldron!” Anger and frustration filled her voice.

“I couldn’t agree more.” Nesta approached, setting the clock on the counter. When Velara looked up at her, she could see tears filling the Illyrian’s green eyes. “Velara, are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”

The older female looked lost, her eyes exhausted and pained. “She’s right.”

“What?” Nesta offered her hand.

Velara only looked at it, unable to admit that she wasn’t quite able to stand yet. “My mother.” She sighed sadly. “She’s right. I’m never going to go back to the way I used to be. I’m stuck like this, forever.” Nesta’s mouth tightened as she realized that Velara had overheard some, if not all, of her conversation with Clea. The High Fae could see that she wasn’t hurt by her mother’s words, but by the truth in them.

The sentiment hit Nesta with a painful clarity and she dropped her hand and sat herself down beside her, firmly in the mess on the floor. Velara’s eyes widened, but Nesta didn’t even acknowledge the movement. “Are you okay?” She asked gently.

The sincerity in her voice coaxed truth from Velara. “No, I’m not.” She began to cry, soft sobs shaking off her. “It’s not fair. I didn’t deserve this. They had no right.” She sobbed even harder, burying her face in her hands.

Nesta watched while a tension took grip of her gut, as she anxiously wondered how to comfort a friend. Hesitantly, she reached out and patted her soft, dark hair gently. Velara looked up at her and Nesta couldn’t silence her own question, seeing honesty on the other side of troubled green eyes. “Who?” She prodded tenderly.

Velara shook her head. “I don’t know who they were.” Nesta wanted to ask what happened but bit her lip for the kind of invasive question it was. She turned her gaze downward as she continued. “When we couldn’t return home to Velaris, we stopped in some town not far from the border for nearly a week. My parents were worried and scared, so they went searching for answers. Once they were away, some males broke in-” Her voice cut off as another sob shook her whole being. “They called me brazen and awful names for having the audacity to walk around unclipped and they-” She forced herself to exhale. “They cut me.” Her wings twitched as she remembered the jagged, burning pain. “It broke my parents when they returned, even then they could see beyond what was done, to the crude method in which it was done.”

“I don’t understand.” Nesta said softly, her heart tearing to see her friend’s pain.

“It’s never safe, but the tools they used and their inaccuracy.” She shook her head. “They cut too close and deep.” The damage to the spine of her wings was extensive, doing more than restricting her ability to fly. “It ruined my equilibrium and now I’m this broken thing.”

“Don’t say that!” Nesta’s edged voice demanded as she removed her hand from Velara’s head. She looked up in response. “You are only broken once you give up on yourself.” Inhaling, she tried to push the red-hot anger from her voice. “Those monsters had no right to hurt you. You should’ve never had to endure that; I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how horrifying that experience was for you and your family, but you are more than that day and that terrible act committed against you.”

Velara’s vacant eyes met Nesta’s and for the first time in her life, affection came effortlessly to the eldest Archeron. Still sitting in the mess, she deftly pulled her friend into her arms and held her while she cried. Nesta’s heart broke with each sob, filling her with a sour taste of injustice for the gruesome attack her friend endured and all the pain she had continued to experience in the aftermath. Velara was right, it wasn’t fair and it infuriated Nesta that it couldn’t be fixed or undone. The worst pain was always permanent.

Chapter Text

Rhys looked at Azriel with a perplexed expression. “You want to go back?”

He nodded. “I think additional support right now will make it that much easier for Miss Archeron to become entirely self-sufficient.”

Rhys’s brow lifted. “You believe in her business that much?”

“I believe in her determination that much. If success is born from sheer willpower, I’ve never met anyone with a greater propensity towards it.”

Rhys couldn’t deny that, though what his brother saw as determination and willpower, he saw as stubborn and willful pride. “How long?”

“A month.” Azriel knew it wouldn’t take so long but believed it smarter to pad the time and see her better settled.

Rhys looked at him warily. “I don’t know that we can afford to be without you that long, tensions being what they are.” Azriel nodded quietly, trying to swallow what he recognized to be disappointment. “Will a fortnight suffice?”

“I will make the most of it that I can.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Rhys said with a nod, accepting his brother’s further absence. “How soon until you leave?”

Azriel could feel his palpable anxiety to return and make sure everything was as well with the eldest Archeron as when he left but knew that he shouldn’t make the immediate attempt to leave. “Two days.” He pushed beyond what he wanted to wait and hoped it would be enough time to leave with a good opinion of his friends again.

***

Nesta and Velara walked through the market; the former keeping a close eye on the latter since her breakdown the day before. The Illyrian female seemed to be doing surprisingly well; her smile looked entirely unburdened and it made Nesta wonder if her friend had just needed to cry and feel her own pain.

The former human was relieved to have been there for her and flattered herself by thinking she had been of some help. She pulled Velara to the stand that was already her favorite in the market. “Velara, this is where I purchased the clock.”

A light brightened her green eyes in recognition as she began to look at a few items, amazed by the focus and artistry necessary for such pieces. The woodworker turned at the sound of voices and grinned to see his customer returned. “I hope you are not here to collect a refund.” He jested with a kind humor.

Nesta shook her head. “Actually, I was wanting to show her where our clock came from.”

Velara’s eyes stayed on the pieces, her hand reaching out to touch an intricately carved flower hairclip. “You made this?” The surprise in her voice was unmistakable as she wondered at the kind of effort it required to create such a delicate and small object.

“Somehow.” The voice laughed and Velara finally looked up at the speaker. “These pieces don’t sell too well, but I find the practice for carving smaller, more ornate pieces is the best way to better the skill.” He spoke with a gentle joy for the work and Velara was charmed by its infectiousness.

“It’s beautiful.” She remarked with a soft smile.

“It’s yours.” He said, unaware of the words until after they left his mouth. As the taller female began to look at him with a lift in her brow, he quickly amended his words. “I mean both of yours.” He exhaled. “Consider it a gift of good faith for when you finally decide to commission me for those bookshelves of yours.”

“Bookshelves?” Velara looked over at Nesta.

She shrugged. “I mentioned it in passing yesterday.”

“And I haven’t forgotten.” He smirked revealing finely etched dimples. “Though,” He nodded with a playful solemnness. “I gather to be taken more seriously as a business contact, I should properly introduce myself.” He bowed his head and a crown of bountiful copper curls flopped buoyantly into his handsome face. When he lifted his head, honey-colored eyes shined brightly. “I’m Kale Bishop, aspiring woodworker.” He offered his hand and Nesta shook it.

“Nesta Archeron.”

“Aspiring?” Velara asked the offered hand. “With work like this, no one would argue against your right to call yourself a practicing woodworker.”

“Many thanks…” He allowed his voice to taper off, his hand still outstretched as he eagerly sought to finish introducing himself to the Illyrian female.

Suddenly interpreting the pause, Velara’s eyes widened. “Oh, Velara Skrein.” Hesitantly, she shook his hand.

His eyes stayed on Velara for a moment before he addressed both females. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise.” Nesta replied politely.

Just as the females were about to leave, Kale’s earnest voice spilled out. “Wait,” He picked up the clip Velara had set back down. “For you.”

Velara shook her head. “I can’t just take this.”

“Please,” A shy smile pulled at his eyes. “A gift of good faith.” He repeated. “So please consider me,” Immediately he forced himself to also make eye contact with the blonde. “For future projects.”

Nesta swallowed the smirk that threatened to tug at her mouth. “Of course.” She bobbed her head. “Good day.”

“Good day, Miss Nesta, Miss Velara.”

The two continued their stroll deeper through the market as the brisk winter chill fought against the bright rising sun. While they rounded a corner, Nesta was temporarily blinded as the sun peeked over the mountain. She walked into something solid and rough.

“Ah, the Devil herself.” A familiarly sloppy voice spoke and though Nesta’s eyes had yet to adjust, her gut clenched unpleasantly in immediate recognition.

Dark, unkempt curls came into view and unlike before she could see harsh dark eyes looking back at her. Nesta could sense Velara’s unease at her side. Tiernan seemed to be in the company of his stockier, nameless friend, yet Nesta had no desire to converse with either. Trying to make it around him, her way was quickly blocked by the graceless stretching of his wings. “That is indeed a proud strut you have there.” He remarked critically.

“Better than a drunken stumble I should think.” She said in tight-lipped challenge.

“Quick tongue to have without your bodyguard handy.” His tone threatened.

“I have no bodyguard and am in no need of one.”

“You speak too soon.” He laughed sharply, noticing Velara at her side. “Ah, but I see even the Devil can take direction. Is she already on the payroll?”

“Not for any services you might be looking to employ.” Nesta asserted.

“So, no ale and no fun; how ever will you hope to stay in business?”

“I would say that’s hardly a concern of yours.”

“And why ever not?” He opened his arms with a wide theatricality that made Nesta despise him, without the need for further information. “Is your Haven not open to the community?” Her eyes narrowed at him. “Am I not part of the community?”

She exhaled sharply. “My business will be surely open to civilized members of the community,” He looked at his friend and made a crude gesture that left Nesta completely unfazed, as it further proved her point. “Yet, I have a sneaking suspicion that tea cakes and novels are not the greatest incentive to persuade you to frequent an establishment.”

He laughed arrogantly. “Can’t say I argue with that, but you’ll notice that I’m far from the minority. You, on the other hand,” His eyes roamed across her and Nesta had to suppress a disgusted shiver. “Might soon come to realize that you’re out of your element here.”

“More than you know,” She admitted with a nod. “But that has never stopped me in the past and certainly won’t now.”

“Perhaps it should.”

Nesta could hear the unfocused threat in his words and subtly angled Velara slightly behind her. “If I let myself be shaken and disturbed every time a rowdy, sloppy male tried to scare me, I would’ve stopped trying long ago.”

“Some might consider that a challenge.” He pressed with a sadistic smile.

“Others might consider it a warning.” She served back.

“Fools,” He sneered. “As if I would let myself be frightened of some High Fae.” He snapped.

“I’m no High Fae!” She spit out in immediate defense.

Tiernan looked at her, utterly flabbergasted as his large, imposing wings twitched comically in the stilted silence. “Well, you’re certainly no Illyrian.” He scowled her way.

“I never claimed to be.” She argued, her voice more hesitant after her revealing outburst.

“Then what are you,” he jeered. “High Fae, that is not?”

“Who are you to believe yourself entitled to the answer?”

Her deflection bothered the Illyrian and furthered his curiosity. “If you are not High Fae, then what are you?”

“Something beyond your comprehension.”

“You flatter yourself, wench.”

“Hardly.” She laughed. “Demote me from Devil to wench, it doesn’t matter, but through any occupation, title or life that I have lived, I will always be beyond your ability to grasp.”

“I don’t know.” He stepped closer, intent on scaring her. “You seem within reach.”

With her head held high, she pushed Velara and herself around him. “Perhaps you should have your eyes checked.”

Tiernan let her pass, but his voice called to her back. “What are you?”

The two females went back to Nesta’s home. As Velara entered the threshold behind her friend, she couldn’t silence the question any longer. “Nesta, what did you mean by that?”

Nesta needed no elaboration to know what she was asking. Hesitantly, she regarded her friend with kind, but tired eyes. “The story is still too fresh to relive.” Velara seemed to deflate with the avoidance and Nesta felt guilt prod at her gut. “But I promise I’ll tell you once it isn’t.”

Velara nodded, understanding better than anyone, that sometimes picking at a sore before it healed, often left a scar.

***

Azriel kept his goodbyes short and simple just as he did before every mission, yet this was different. Of course, there was no danger promised this time around, though in truth Azriel couldn’t remember the last time he felt in danger; after 500 years, even death was too mild to conjure fear.

No, even without danger, something felt vastly different this time around. He seemed to be returning with anticipation. The entire household expressed discontent with his task, though no one truly sought to verbalize their opinion beyond a grunt of disapproval or by wishing his speedy return.

It was not yet noon when he descended the House of Wind in a dead drop, wings unfurling to catch the air just before his feet touched the ground. Within a magic-scented moment, cold snow was suddenly falling in his face as he stood before Haven.

He knocked and heard murmuring. A minute later the door opened revealing Velara’s laughing expression. Quickly, she opened it further to let him pass.

“Welcome back.” She offered kindly as they walked through the spacious dining room towards the kitchen. Azriel noticed the recently added decorations, small wicker basket centerpieces with local flora on every table, a medium length tapestry hanging in the corner stitched with a stunning forest scenery and an intricate large wooden clock carved into a tree.

Nesta stood before a bowl, mixing berries in dough. Her hair was pulled up, a few soft golden waves escaping to pester her flour-spotted face. Her countenance was fiercely focused, though not quite stern. Looking up, a surprised smile took hold of her face. “Azriel!”

The, no doubt, accidental slip of his name prodded him to respond in kind as his own smile formed, believing the double-beat pounding in his chest to be that of pure stupefaction. “Nesta.” He nodded, appreciating how striking her eyes appeared against the powder blue dress she wore.

She grabbed a towel and wiped off her hands as she approached. “I must admit, I almost didn’t expect you to return.”

“I said I would.” He asserted.

“A male of his word.” She nodded, appraising him with an impressed expression.

Velara crossed over looking at the bowl Nesta had been working on. “Don’t!” She chided without any real edge in her voice. “No assistance, intervention or advice! I can do this!”

Velara smirked and nodded, pantomiming her silence on the matter.

“What have I stumbled upon?” Azriel asked, humor saturating his voice.

“Oh,” Nesta exhaled, pushing some hair from her face. “A challenge of sorts.” She looked back at Velara, who considered and nodded. The blonde turned her attention back to Azriel. Before he could open his mouth to follow up with a question, she continued. “So, how is Elai-” She corrected herself. “How is everyone?”

He wanted to smirk but couldn’t swallow his unease at the reminder of the true difference between the Archeron sisters. “Am I meant to answer the question you were wanting to ask or the one you did?”

She shrugged with a smirk. “Either, though if the latter, you might notice a rapid decline in my interest.”

He grinned, charmed by her bluntness. “Elain is quite well, often found in the garden, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“Good.” She nodded, hoping to remove the tightness in her throat. “I trust everyone else fares similarly.”

He nodded. “End my suspense. What kind of challenge?”

“I’m trying to recreate the Hardy Roll.” She admitted brightly, though her posture hinted at her own defeat.

Velara sighed. “Nesta says that in fairness to my parents, she won’t ask me to bake our Hardy Roll for Haven; however, if she can make it herself without any help, then it is free territory.”

“How is she doing?”

Velara quietly shook her head. Nesta seemed to know what her friend was communicating, even though her back was facing the Illyrian female. “A momentary set-back, that’s all it is.”

Azriel nodded to appease her. “It looks nice out there.” He gestured to the dining area.

“It’s coming together. In fact, your return has come at the perfect time. Tomorrow we open.”

“How may I assist in preparations?”

Nesta watched him closely. “Hopefully by bringing me good news.”

He pulled a sheet from his pocket. “And here I assumed my return was good news enough.”

“It is.” She said with a smile as she snagged the recipe from his hands. “Just an added benefit.” She turned to face Velara. “The sweet braids I mentioned.”

The Illyrian female seemed more than pleased to grab the note from her employer, her eyes poring over it as she quickly disappeared into the dining room. Nesta gave a small half-smirk. “Off she goes.” Turning around, she went back to her waiting attempt.

Azriel followed, watching her concentrated movements. “And you?”

She looked up, slightly perplexed. “What about me?”

“How have you fared?”

“Oh,” her confusion seemed to double from his inquiry as she looked down bashfully. “Haven is ready to open and Velara has the menu memorized; everything seems to be coming together better than hoped.”

“That’s not what I asked.” He prompted her with a knowing expression and her eyes tightened slightly. “How are you? It’s not the simplest task to relocate.”

“No,” She shook her head. “It isn’t, but I like to think I’m handling the transition well.”

He watched her with soft eyes. “Quite well, I’d say.”

“Save such praise until after I earn it with a successful opening.”

Azriel nodded. “I have no doubt you’ll deliver.”

“I appreciate the confidence.” She said with a grateful smile, looking down as she kneaded the dough. “I fear I might be in need of it.”

He bobbed his head with a brightness in his eyes. “Then you have it.”

She released an airy huff of laughter as she began loading a pan with lopsided portions of dough. “I guess we’ll see.”

***

The Haven’s grand opening was quiet and understated, just as Nesta had imagined it. Clea and Orman were her first patrons of the day and they received a warm welcome, as well as thorough tour of the establishment.

Nesta was surprised an hour later when a few other patrons quietly came in; a soft-spoken couple and a diminutive female who seemed some years shy of full maturity. The couple ordered pastries and tea, while the youngest patron’s eyes marveled at the sight of books adorning a medium-sized shelf.

Azriel hovered, thankful for the opportunity to see the eldest Archeron in action. It was clear that she needed no assistance, nor his borrowed confidence, he noted as he watched her warmly greet all who walked in. In his observation, he could finally see the vision that she had been building towards for the past couple of weeks and it was indeed a Haven.

Nesta felt a familiar pride seeing to her customers and making sure everything was to their liking. She couldn’t help but liken it to the accomplishment she felt managing their old home a little more than a year prior. It brought her a deep contentment to keep things running smoothly.

Though there was a slight pick-up in business during the late afternoon, by evening it noticeably winded down. Just when Nesta expected to have served the last customer of the evening, the door opened.

Kale’s smile seemed to enter the establishment before the rest of him. Nesta quickly slipped into the kitchen. Shamelessly, the blonde returned to the dining room and leaned behind the counter beside Azriel.

“Aren’t you going to see to him?” He asked with the slightest confusion.

“Shh.” Nesta silenced him as she held up her hand. A second later Velara entered from the kitchen. Kale’s face immediately brightened, something Nesta wouldn’t have believed possible from the already jovial male, had she not witnessed it herself.

The woodworker stood and spoke animatedly with the baker, taking in the sight of the shoppe he had only heard described until now. He remarked on the empty corners that he could furnish and Velara smiled as she intently listened.

Kale’s smile faltered for a moment when he realized she was wearing the clip he had given her. He softly spoke of the way she complimented the accessory and bit his lip from admitting how the mere sight made him consider it his greatest piece.

Nesta brought a kettle of tea and two cinnamon rolls over for the conversing pair. Velara misread the gesture and apologized, making a move to continue, but the blonde shook her head and insisted their day of grand opening to finally be over. Placing a closed sign over the window, Nesta made eye contact with Azriel and nudged her head in the direction of the kitchen. He promptly obliged.

Once they entered the kitchen, Azriel peeked his head around the corner to see the two lost in effortless conversation. He turned to look back to Nesta. “Who is that?”

She grinned to herself as she began cleaning up the kitchen. “Kale Bishop. He’s a woodworker we met in the market a few days ago. He carved the clock.”

“Ah,” He nodded as he offered his help. While packing up and putting away ingredients, he glanced over at Nesta. “It seems someone has caught his eye.”

Nesta nodded, looking at Azriel for a moment. There was an amber-tinted humor staring back at her and she could feel a familiar impulse scratching at her throat. “What is it that catches your eye, Shadowsinger?”

There was a gentle tease to her question and Azriel wondered if she meant to throw him off his guard. An old knee-jerk reaction brought Mor’s face to mind, though her place in his thoughts felt greatly altered, no longer what it used to be. “Confidence?” He guessed.

She waited for a moment. “And?”

His mind stuttered. “Beauty,” he admitted lamely to himself.

“Well, that would make the confidence all the more attainable.”

“I don’t tend to carry a list of attributes that I admire.”

She nodded and her subtle smirk faded, a melancholy understanding filling her eyes. “Does it hurt?” She cast her eyes downward.

“Caring for the beautiful and confident?” He asked with a quiet humor, not able to discern her sudden severity. “It does have a tendency to wound one’s ego.”

She shook her head. “Being caught in the middle?” Their gaze met and he felt temporarily exposed. “Caring so much that you leave it all unspoken?”

He inspected her closely for a moment, unsure if she was indescribably observant or simply the first individual with enough courage to ask. Despite the genuine tone of her voice, he couldn’t help but buck at the revealing topic of conversation. “I suspect I should be asking the same of you.”

Her eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly as her attempt to siphon some clarity from him was thwarted. “You seem even less inclined for restraint than your brothers.” His stomach turned at her unintentional and loaded phrasing. “Not one for holding back, are you, Shadowsinger?”

“I don’t believe in skirting around in deceptive innocence, Slayer of Hybern.”

Nesta nodded, sensing his use of such a title as a way to illustrate that he knew better than to believe she needed such restraint. “Then perhaps you might want to relay that message to the façade that seems to have taken up permanent residence in your expression.”

Azriel couldn’t help but respect her undeterred frankness. “Why do you ask?”

“Working beside you has made me curious how you fit into such an equation.”

“How I fit into the equation or how I withstand it?”

“It doesn’t seem as though you do.”

Nesta watched Azriel with a tension in her eyes which quickly dissolved as he nodded. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“So, you just stay silent?”

“While I wait.” It was the answer that he had always given himself when the tension was too much and the unspoken words, too heavy, yet now it seemed odd and stilted to say aloud.

“For what?” There was nothing cruel about her question, save for the words, as curiosity covered her features.

He was quiet as the realization dawned on him that, in nearly 500 years, he’d never thought to ask himself that question. What was it that he had wanted? More importantly, he wondered if he still did? He was no longer that same person, none of them were. Had he continued this agonizing cycle out of anything more than sick tradition? “I’m not sure I know anymore.”

“Then why don’t you discover whatever it is you do want?” She offered encouragingly.

“What is it that you want?” Genuine curiosity pleaded him to ask.

Shyly, she looked back at him, not expecting the shift in focus. “Purpose.” She answered strongly.

“Is that what this is meant to bring?” He gestured to the building they stood in.

“No,” She shook her head. “This is simply meant to be something of my own.”

“Do you think it’s worth it?”

“It’s all that has made this relocation enjoyable.”

“Surely not all…” He verbally led her, thinking of the couple of friends she’d already seemed to make in the short time since moving.

She sweetly regarded him for a minute. “No, not all.”

***

After a week of regularly circulating business, Nesta couldn’t deny that a small part of her was waiting for catastrophe. Yet, peace somehow seemed to prevail.

Azriel had apparently promised the High Lord to check on the Windhaven camp as part of the condition for his return. Though she wanted to argue against Rhys’s need to compartmentalize the Shadowsinger’s time, something in her chest nagged that she could stand the break away from his observant, warm amber eyes.

With Haven closed for the day, she decided to walk off her building anxiety in the market and was pleased to encounter Velara along the way. “Nesta.” The Illyrian smiled with a nod. “Mother might be hurt to know you passed right by the bakery.”

The blonde allowed a playful humor to coat her words. “Well now that I know how to make rock solid Hardy Rolls, I see no reason to pay a visit.”

Velara laughed, remembering how awful the batch turned out as she patted her friend on the shoulder. “Well, it seems you’ll never need to purchase paper weights in the future.” Nesta bit her lip and grinned, unable to argue with the accurate comparison. “Where is Azriel?”

Nesta tensed and quickly questioned her own reaction to no avail before answering. “On an errand for the High Lord it would seem.”

“Not too keen to share his time?” Velara inquired, her tone laced expectantly.

Nesta shook her head. “He’ll return to Velaris in less than a week. I just don’t see the point in heaping the General’s duties on him.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t mind.”

“No,” Nesta shook her head. “Probably not, but then again, even if he did, it’s not as though he would say anything.”

“Well, you can’t force someone to speak.” Velara replied a little pointedly and Nesta nodded, feeling her own shame circle around.

Needing to change the subject, Nesta eyed her friend conspiratorially. “Were you off to a certain woodworker’s booth?” The Illyrian male had come in every evening since opening, to share a pot of tea with Velara at the end of the night.

Velara couldn’t hide her grin, even if she wanted to, though she decidedly did not. “I thought to pass by. You?”

“Just searching for a distraction, I guess.” She answered simply, having noticed Kale waving them over.

“Search enough and I have no doubt you’ll find one.”

“Or one might find you.” An arrogant voice spoke from behind them.

Nesta exhaled sharply through her nose. “Good day, Tiernan.” She turned and looked at her least favorite resident of the village. “Unarmed of your witless companions today, I see.”

“Eh,” He shrugged. “They’re a bit skittish now that your fella has returned.”

The blonde groaned. “I guess that would make you the witless one then.”

“I’m not afeared of some delicate soldier boy.” Nesta rolled her eyes, but the insufferable male continued. “It don’t make any sense why he hangs around you so. I’d have figured he’s got more important stuff to do.”

“That he does.” She agreed.

“Yet, he still returned.” He asserted. “Makes me wonder more than what, but who you are to keep such bumptious company?”

“No one of importance I assure you.”

“That’s not the entire truth, is it?”

Nesta could see Velara pointedly eyeing Kale, who soon made his way over. “Dazzle me with your theories then.”

“Maybe you’re the High Lord’s secret wench?”

Nesta outright laughed at the suggestion. “Please. The only connection the High Lord and I share is our mutual distaste for one another. Besides, I can vouch of his undying fidelity for his High Lady. They’re both quite nauseating actually.”

“Why else would he keep a High Fae like you?”

Nesta could feel her brow twitch. “No one has kept me. I’m no pet.”

“Not a pet and not High Fae. My interest is further invested.”

“Your interest is unwelcome.”

“Then answer the question.”

“There is nothing to answer.”

“What are you?” He pushed, eyes roaming over the distinct features that presented her as High Fae.

Kale approached and Nesta turned her full attention on Tiernan. “What I am, you wouldn’t believe and couldn’t fathom.”

“Try me.”

His challenge wasn’t enough to inspire her honesty, yet Nesta noticed the eager expression in Velara and Kale’s eyes. It was clear that she wasn’t the only one with a palpable distaste for the rowdy Illyrian, yet his question seemed reflected in the eyes of her friends. In that moment, she felt an almost drunken desire to reveal her truth and it was that impulse that spoke for her.

“A former human.” Her answer came finally, and it was clear that no one had expected it.

“Playing me for a fool?” Tiernan asked with disbelieving annoyance.

“You are either a fool or not.” She eyed him critically. “Believing me cannot make that distinction for you.” She spared a glance towards Velara and Kale, unable to interpret anything beyond shock in their expressions. “I’m speaking the truth. It has happened once before. The High Lady of the Night Court was also once human, as was I, remade with magic.”

She took a breath and stood straighter. “Perhaps you are correct when you call me High Fae, but I can’t define myself so simply as to erase everything but the last year of my life.”

Tiernan looked over and addressed Velara for the first time. “She’s lying, ain’t she?”

Velara shook her head, her eyes not moving from Nesta. “She doesn’t lie.”

Tiernan snorted. “To think I thought there was nothing worse you could be than High Fae.”

“Such a shame to not have the approval of someone of your caliber.” Nesta scoffed. “In that regard, I once would’ve agreed with you, but now,” Her head lifted in pride, refusing to feel embarrassed or shamed by her admission. “This is my life.” Now that she finally was living it, she no longer felt the burden of her remade existence. “A human-born High Fae; perhaps not one of a kind, but certainly not a pet or mistress.”

Once Nesta could see that no one knew what to say, she calmly excused herself. It no longer seemed necessary to search out a distraction, so she ignored the burning she could feel against her back as eyes watched her excuse herself and head for home.

***

Azriel returned from his insufferable meeting with Devlon to find Velara meandering distractedly in front of Haven. She glanced his way and her eyes quickly narrowed in a moment of consideration. “Is it true?” She suddenly blurted and then appeared embarrassed by her incomplete outburst. Exhaling, she tried again. “Was Nesta once human?”

Azriel’s eyes swiftly betrayed his surprise. “Who told you that?”

“Nesta.” She admitted. “She said she had been changed and I’ve never known her to lie.” She spoke more to herself than the Shadowsinger. “So, it must be true. Right?”

At a loss for words and not wanting to divulge any more than Nesta had, he merely nodded.

A dozen questions passed behind her eyes before she finally settled on one. “Why?”

Azriel opened his mouth and his eyes widened as if the answer continued to elude him. “I still don’t know.”

She exhaled, needing one more answer before she knew how to proceed. “Was it bad?”

He remembered that day with brutal clarity. An image of Nesta thrashing as her worst nightmare unfolded filled his thoughts and he shuddered to remember her heart-wrenching scream. He nodded curtly. “Yes.” His somber tone revealed that though he knew the reply was inadequate, it was all he could think to say.

“I understand.” She said solemnly with a subtle nod, immediately turning to knock on the door.

After nearly two minutes in a stunted silence, Nesta slowly opened the door. Her transparently surprised expression was the first thing to greet the two Illyrians standing outside. She stepped aside, allowing them space to enter.

“Back from Windhaven so soon, Azriel?” Nesta asked, a tension lining her voice, though she attempted to feign nonchalance.

“I wouldn’t call three hours in the company of Devlon soon by any means.” He huffed, quickly noticing that Nesta’s attention had already turned to Velara. “All that debating has left me parched.” Azriel excused himself in pursuit of the kitchen.

Velara shrugged. “So how did you want to spend our day off?”

Nesta smirked. “I was about to make some lunch.”

“Want some company?”

The blonde nodded. “I’d like that.”

There was an indescribable weight lifted from Nesta’s chest. It wasn’t as if the topic was suddenly yanked from the table, quite the contrary. The first words out of Velara’s mouth as they sat at a table were, “What was it like, being human?” Her eyes burned with transparent interest.

Nesta laughed lightly, entirely charmed by the question. “I don’t think I could explain it any more than you could explain being Illyrian.”

Velara seemed reluctant to halt her inquiries, but she nodded. “I’ve just never met a human.”

“I no longer am one.” She said with the gentlest melancholy tangling itself inside her tone as she finally admitted a truth she had spent the greater part of a year refusing to acknowledge. “It was another life.”

“Do you miss it?” She asked.

“Perhaps for what it could’ve been, but not what it was.” She sighed in deep thought. “My eyes were forced open and subsequently my intolerance tested and for that I am thankful.”

“Well, I’m happy you’re here now.”

Nesta’s mouth quirked into the smallest crooked smile. Velara’s statement was the purest and most unintentional form of selfish affection she had ever received, and it warmed her heart to be treasured so genuinely by a friend so dear. “Me too.” And in that moment, she truly meant it.

Chapter Text

A few days passed by with a companionable uneventfulness. It seemed Tiernan’s gaping maw had circulated into the local gossip, yet her establishment had only benefited from loose lips. It wasn’t as though her profit doubled, but an irrelevant interest in her origin exposed a handful of customers to the peace she both sought out and provided. She couldn’t entirely swallow her disappointment that her books remained mostly undisturbed, though she did take comfort from the expressions of ease that seemed to adorn the patrons of Haven.

Just as things began to externally settle, Nesta could feel a building perturbation in her gut, fueled by a sadness she couldn’t quite name, so she kept quiet, determined to force her uneasy stomach to follow suit.

Nesta almost wondered if it was the impending threat of Azriel’s return to Velaris. Yet though she could sense her soft disappointment at the prospect, she could feel it wasn’t the source.

It built beyond discomfort one day as soon as she woke up. Azriel had offered his services to man the counter and Nesta reluctantly obliged, feeling guilty for allowing his assistance. Velara stayed in the kitchen because of the slight disorientation she felt, refusing against Nesta’s request to go home for such ‘minor discomfort’.

It was early evening, just before sunset when Nesta could no longer ignore the tension in her veins. She barely gave Azriel a distracted glance underneath her lashes as she kept her hands occupied wiping the table closest to the counter. “What day is it?” She owned no calendar and though time always seemed to be slipping through her fingers, somehow, she knew, could feel it in her blood, like some mournful song.

“The 27th.” He replied simply, unaware of her apathetic and subsequently tenuous grasp of time.

“I thought as much.” She spoke gently, turning her face away too slowly to hide the ache in her eyes.

Azriel kept his focus on her rigid back, transfixed by the volume with which he could discern her unspoken pain. “What’s the significance?”

“Nothing,” she replied quickly, before taking a moment to fill her lungs. “Anymore; so, it would seem.”

His attention didn’t stutter from her withdrawn disposition, despite her forced nonchalance. There was an urge, almost an itch at the back of his throat to question her farther, but he couldn’t justify any right of his to push.

He would’ve been all too accommodating if the tension in the air around her had lessened there, but it did not. It was unnerving to see the blankness of Nesta’s expression, as if it was taking all her Cauldron-born ability to feel nothing.

At the end of the evening, after closing, she collected the few dishes left behind. Azriel followed her, disposing of any napkins that littered tables. He had no doubt that he looked ridiculous, looking for any reason to linger, to understand her dismal change of mood. It wasn’t until after she headed to the kitchen to send Velara home, that he knew he needed to confront her.

It was transparent, the restless anxiety growing around the petite Illyrian female as she exited the kitchen; her thoughts seemed to settle on the surface of her green eyes, entirely perplexed as unspoken questions yearned for closure. When her employer entered the dining room, Azriel understood why.

It was dripping off her in waves of fierce distress, an undisciplined darkness. He could almost feel it reverberating in his veins. Quickly seeing to Velara, he offered himself as an escort for her walk home. Thoroughly focused on returning to Nesta, he offered no commentary along the way; his presence seeing to Velara’s safety while the entirety of his thoughts clung to Nesta’s emotional health.

Velara offered her thanks, noticing the empty expression in his eyes as she bid him goodnight. With a sigh, her voice edged with concern. “You’ll talk to Nesta?” He looked at her, recognition blinking through his eyes at the sound of the female’s name.

He offered her a polite nod and she noted the impatient mannerisms lining his entire body. A second later he excused himself without a single word spoken and Velara felt relief to know that Nesta’s well-being was being looked after with such dedication.

He was slow to enter, sensing her visceral emotion before passing through the door as if she was finally free to unmask herself in the solitude. He was silent as usual, his inherent stealth sharpened by his quiet concern.

As the door shut behind him, he could feel her presence glued to the same spot she’d been standing when he had left with Velara. He tasted the tickle of darkness as wispy, charcoal tendrils ensnared her seemingly petrified person. It awakened his own shadows as they began to hum the echo of her own murky melody.

“Nesta?” He tried softly.

She awkwardly blinked and only the perfect angle of a naked moonbeam pouring through the open window was able to illuminate the thin, stunned tears that sprinted down her face. “Azriel? I thought you left.” Her voice remained soft, though he could hear her attempt to skewer the words with the poised edge she often articulated.

“No.” He shook his head as he approached slow enough to respect her space without arousing her often at-the-ready deflective defense. “I thought to see Velara home.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was gentle and genuine as she thought after her friend.

“And now I’m here for you.”

She forced out a huff of laughter, all levity lost by the telling timbre of her breath. “I don’t think that’s necessary, Azriel. I’m already home.”

The last word sounded strange to his ears, causing him to decide on the gamble that she trusted him, as he let all pretense fall away. “What is today, Nesta?”

She shied away from the intimate comprehension that coated his voice in the articulation of her name; it filled her with guilt at the thought to reply with dishonesty. “The 27th.” She answered blandly.

He came much closer to her now as his deep voice crashed upon her in the darkness. “I’ve made it clear how I feel about deceptive innocence, Nesta.” The skin at the back of her neck prickled in response to the firm line that threaded through his cadence. “I won’t force an answer from you, it’s not my place, but don’t insult my intelligence with pointless or redundant replies. I’d like to think we respect each other more than that.”

Nesta nodded as she looked at his dark silhouette in deep contemplation for a minute. Though a tightness in her chest yearned to look into his mysterious eyes, she was thankful for the shadow engulfing him, as if it protected her. Somehow it was easier this way when she couldn’t see him, though his kind and patient presence was unmistakable.

It made her thoughts swim in spirituality. She felt a sinner seeking solace in midnight confession, as the wind whistled a haunting hymn of remorse. She sighed, wishing for a wall, any cover to cloak her in anonymity. “It i-” She cut herself off abruptly. “It was my father’s birthday.” Silence filled the space between them and she rightly assumed he’d expected more, which she was able to give as long as he hovered in the shadows, allowing her to pretend she spoke these words as if in an unobserved soliloquy. “It seems so odd and pointless for it to strike me now since he’s gone, but it does.” She turned her back to the alluring mass of shadows, allowing her eyes to seek out the dripping moonlight through the window before her. “It’s not as if I ever made a fuss over the day.” She laughed sourly. “On the contrary, I refused to acknowledge it.” Azriel’s eyes never left her, though there was only so much sorrow he could glean from the slight slouch of her usually straight spine, so he listened with fervent attention for the smallest adjustments in her volume and tone. “He deserved no gift, nor could we afford any, so I never gave him one, but…” She was quiet as if caught in a moment’s memory.

“Yes?” He prodded gently and Nesta fought off the warmth in her gut at the reminder of his proximity by the feel of his soft breath, little more than a foot away.

“I was too angry and much too proud to dote as a daughter might, but,” She shook her head, feeling shamed by the weight of her inadequate affection. “I would speak to him.” She sighed. “It was never anything of importance and though they weren’t words of kindness, I wasn’t cruel. Small talk typically. I would remark on the price Feyre fetched from her new pelt or the way Elain’s garden was finally coming together and he would just watch me in confusion. There was always this moment where I could see understanding fill his expression. He realized what I was doing, but he never pointed it out.” A breeze shifted in the mild night, blowing her hair back and chilling her cheeks in a way that forced her to realize that silent, unbidden tears had fled from her eyes. “I sometimes wonder if it’s because he understood that it was all I was capable of offering.”

“I’m sure he appreciated it.” The seductive shadow offered obligingly.

“The worst part is how I would sometimes look forward to his day because it was the only time my self-righteous fury could justify any forgiveness, temporary as it may have been. It was the only time I would speak to my father.”

Deciphering the pain in her voice, Azriel recognized the wall her pride had constructed around her. “It is the only time you could.” The voice amended.

She turned to face him and though he had moved closer, she still couldn’t see his eyes, even though she could feel them. “No, it wasn’t.” She urged with no hostility in her voice. “No more than a handful of conversations passed between us in the span of a decade and still, I find myself entrenched in a quagmire of mourning for a man I never knew and never will know, because I was dignified and right while he was weak and wrong.” Her inflection seemed to mock the simplicity of her own reasoning. “Even though I still believe it to be true, that comfort has gone cold.” It was another reminder that she was more equipped to be alone, unable to stop herself from shutting down once she’d been hurt.

“So, you’ve spent the day carrying the silence.” There was no question presented in his inflection; he already understood.

“It seems my mind is forgetful, because more than once I caught myself,” Her voice broke, but was thankfully met with silence to help her find the courage to continue. “Planning what I would say to him today.” It was what had made her certain of the date. “I thought about how shocked he would be to see me cleaning off tables and helping in the kitchen. It made me wonder,” She scoffed and Azriel could hear her using the false sound to hide the authentic sob in her voice. “If he would be proud of me.” Nesta could actually feel the tears now and without the gentle reprieve of the night’s quiet wind, they scorched their way down her face.

Azriel stepped forward and the moment she identified warm sympathy in his eyes, her gut recoiled. “Don’t…” There was no noble regality in her tone, just broken pride to cushion her desperation as she pleaded. “I can’t…” She tried again, frustration flustering her words in clumsy articulation. “It’s easier if I can’t see you.” She hated the sound of strength abandoning her voice.

He nodded. “Then I will become your shadow.”

As if some trick of the light, what little she could see of his face and form fell out of her vision and were replaced with a benevolent darkness. It moved closer and though Nesta knew the sight should frighten her, all she could feel was his warm and compassionate presence. It took no more than a brief, strained breath before the shadow wrapped her in its tenderly hushed embrace. In the silence, she was unable to feign ignorance for who held her when she could feel his heartbeat nudging to her own and was even more incapable of numbing the deep comfort it brought her. Silence wrapped around them and Nesta could feel herself begin to shy from the emotional intimacy. “Is this the infamous power that gained you your title?”

The shadow rumbled against her chest in a way that reminded her of a laugh. “Surprisingly on the nose, wouldn’t you say?”

“No.” She spoke as if it was the only obvious answer. Even though he said nothing, she could sense his surprise as he pulled away, his features still opaque. “I appreciate the discretion, but can you let it fall away?”

She could practically taste the hesitance teeming from him, but slowly, he acquiesced to her request. Nesta watched with penetrating focus as Azriel unmasked himself before her. Now that her tears had dried, she was able to see his eyes looking back at her as they stood within arm’s reach of one another.

“It’s not as gentle as I’ve heard it described.” Relief filled her as his amber eyes locked onto her cobalt own; no longer were they speaking of her pain, though she wasn’t entirely sure that she wasn’t hoping to examine his. Something flickered behind his eyes and she was suddenly reminded that they were still nearly touching. “The shadows don’t sing.” She watched him with astute eyes. “They seem to cling to you, clawing at your silhouette as if they can tear their way inside.”

“There already are shadows inside.” He responded simply.

“I know.” Her voice was solemn as she reached for his hand. On reflex he tensed, causing her to meet his stare. “May I?”

There was something about the humble consideration in her voice as she looked at his scars in an almost muted reverence that left him entirely spellbound. He nodded silently, not sure if he had the adequate air in his lungs to speak.

Gingerly, she continued her reach, her hands unrushed as they discovered the scars she had remarked on that very first evening in the Illyrian Mountains. How much time had passed, he wondered, unable to calculate the linear passage when staring into her never-ending cobalt eyes.

Her touch was so warm and inviting that Azriel began to question if she was using her Cauldon-made abilities to coax something out of him. “Such suffering.” She spoke in a huff of a whisper that refrained from pity, wrapping him in its sincere sympathy. “How are you not angry? How are you not cruel?” There was deep admiration in her voice as she kept her eyes and hands on his own.

“How would it help if I was?” There was no judgment in his tone as he recalled the full account of his life in half a millennium of existence. “I would’ve denied myself the very thing I had spent my entire childhood craving.”

“Affection.” She answered knowingly, still not meeting his eyes as she delicately traced his scars.

“I was going to say connection.” He spoke sheepishly, trying to calm every nerve of his body, electrically charged by the dedication of her soft caresses, feeling as though she could see through him, murky shadows and all.

“Which do you prefer?”

“Are you claiming them to be mutually exclusive?”

Finally, she met his eyes. “Quite often they can be. I have known connections that were no more than desperate attempts for status and even more intimate connections, such as family, entirely devoid of affection.”

“Family or blood?” He asked.

“Do you claim them to be mutually exclusive?” She threw back with a forced playfulness.

“There is a vast difference between the two.” He asserted with a sigh. “At least in my experience.”

Not a shred of sharpness was left in her melting eyes as she appraised him with genuine interest. “I’m assuming it was the latter who did this to you.” Her tentative voice surprised him.

It wasn’t merely the unmistakable compassion of her voice that stunned him, but also her continued interest to know his story, something he never spoke about.

Taking in a breath, he could remember it all with harsh clarity and he could feel shadows dance around him in response. Nesta seemed undisturbed as the darkness returned, her hands holding him down, grounding him as her eyes sought the core of him.

“They burned me.” The words trickled off his tongue like they’d been waiting there all too patiently for 500 years. Nesta turned to face the broken pride in his strong Illyrian features. “My blood.” Her expression was gentle as she could feel his scarred hands clench inside hers; his gaze was cast off, focused on anything but the proof of his claim. “I was bastard born with incomprehensible abilities and they feared me.”

“They tortured you.” Her inflection purposefully amended his statement. “Whatever motives you believe persuaded their behavior is irrelevant.” Bringing her soft azure eyes to meet him, Nesta clutched his hands with a comforting pressure, a breathy exhale tumbled from her throat and it caused Azriel to still, as if drowning in her focus.

Tensely aware of how long she had been holding his hands and even more reluctant to let go, she forced herself to quickly drop them. She cleared her throat. “Yet you were strong enough to learn to trust. Not many are capable of such a feat.”

“Influenced by your own experiences?” He asked, trying not to take notice of how swiftly the warmth had fled his hands at the loss of her touch.

She smirked humorlessly to herself. “Contrary to popular belief, I am aware of my apparent ‘shortcomings’, even if I deem them as strengths.”

“Not entirely self-aware.” He flexed his suddenly cold hands with a strained exhale.

“Perhaps,” She began, the whisper vanishing from her voice as she took a step back, unable to breathe in the vulnerable atmosphere filling the short distance between them. “I’d prefer to be self-reliant.”

“No one could accuse otherwise.” His voice remained soft, laced with genuine pride and praise.

She stood taller. “Yet it won’t be truth until I repay your High Lord and Lady’s investment.”

And simple as that, Azriel felt Nesta sever the intimacy of the moment, her eyes becoming guarded once again.

“Something you’ll soon accomplish I have no doubt.”

She nodded, giving him a tight smile. “Though not by my efforts alone.” She regarded him gratefully. “Thank you for all the help you’ve given me.”

He nodded. “Undoubtedly the best investment I’ve made in centuries.”

“A debt I cannot repay.” There was a solemn line in her tone, as if weighed down by the thought of her past debts.

“An enriching project I could never consider a debt.” He could see it burning in her eyes, the need to make her way, the desire to live her own life, unimpeded by the biases and selfish will of others. “You have nothing to repay.”

Nesta believed him, simultaneously moving and frightening her. So many times she had wanted to trust, so many times she had been made a fool. Was there any value in trying again?

She nodded and Azriel smiled at her; it was a quiet and fragile thing that made her realize she wasn’t the only one who’d been hurt by those she trusted and if Azriel could still cling to hope in those pained amber eyes staring back at her, then so could she.

Shaking her head with an affectionate humor, Nesta spoke so gently Azriel could barely catch her words. “You’re a truly surprising specimen.”

“How so?” There was no offense in his voice as his head quirked, thoroughly puzzled as a playful smirk tugged at his mouth.

“I find myself inspired by you.” She spoke with the simplest shrug as if her remark was completely commonplace.

He watched her softly for a moment and she could feel her insides clench under the attention. “Is that meant to speak more to my character or a lack of ambition on your part?”

Nesta found herself easily grinning at his jest. “I find your query entirely unnecessary. It must be obvious.” She stepped closer with a wistful sigh as her hand rested against his shoulder, feeling warmth emanate through his cerulean siphon. Looking up through her lashes, Nesta sought out his eyes like burnt amber. “No one would accuse me of lacking ambition.”

He turned his head, magnetized by the realization of just how close her face was to him. “No, nor I dare say they ever could.”

Nesta nodded, her eyes crinkling with a quiet smile. “Thank you.” His brow lifted and she continued. “For listening. I don’t…” She gestured to herself and then him. “Usually know how to do that; though I’m not sure I’ve ever tried.”

“A shame.” He spoke with an almost sly crooked grin that made her stomach turn itself inside out. “You’re a natural.”

***

Azriel couldn’t deny the growing trepidation as it expanded beyond his tense gut, now flowing through his veins and pounding to his pulse. He would be returning to Velaris tomorrow and only stark displeasure centered around the certainty, forcing him to swallow his reluctance. A month would’ve been much better than two weeks, he couldn’t help but think sourly.

It was most unfortunate that he was expected to dedicate time both today and tomorrow to deal with the uncompromising and nauseating Devlon. He would’ve preferred to spend the full remainder of his time at Haven.

Thinking of his inevitable departure encouraged his unease to double. He sat with his legs hanging over the bed in the all-too-familiar room he had come to frequent at the Inn. He rubbed his hands across his face, wishing he could easily wipe away the tension that was affecting his sleep, though he suspected it wasn’t the entire reason.

The texture of his palms pushed him to open his eyes and look at his hands. Tension wasn’t the only thing that interrupted his sleep, he was forced to acknowledge as he remembered the softest touch of compassion that had held and caressed his marred hands. Surely, he had come to know of Nesta’s consideration and kindness, yet he could never have been prepared for the tender and warm feel of her hypnotizing strokes, sentiment in her voice and sympathy singing through her skin. His hands gripped at nothing but air and he tried to forget the tingle that had intoxicated his flesh at her touch.

His uncompromising thoughts were suddenly grateful that Windhaven required his presence for the greater half of a day.

***

Azriel was entirely shocked to find Cassian speaking with Devlon when he arrived. “Cas,” he felt a taut stretch of his stomach as he wondered why his brother had come. “What are you doing here?”

Cassian grinned brightly as he approached him, patting his shoulder affectionately. “Well, Rhys and I have been poring over arguments,” He nodded at Devlon, who reciprocated the gesture. “And we think a mutual understanding is well on its way.”

A soldier captured Devlon’s attention and the male gave a slight shrug that appeared to be his method of formal dismissal. “When did you get here?”

“An hour ago.”

Azriel’s head aimlessly swayed. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I figured I could come and try to finish this ordeal so when we leave tomorrow, there will be no need to continue these back-and-forth exchanges.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” He shrugged. “I figured I’d stay in the barracks here tonight, you know, share some ale and a few war stories with the soldiers, hopefully remind them of the importance in the unity of Illyria and the Night Court.”

“A noble goal.”

“I’ll settle for an attainable one.”

***

Azriel flew to the village, his movements unrushed as he wondered about the necessity to notify Nesta of the General’s return. He couldn’t begin to predict her reaction; would she be upset; what if she was pleased? Something told him that Cassian would not want to leave for Velaris without visiting the eldest Archeron.

Haven held a half of a dozen patrons and he could sense a slight impatience pulsing through the air. The sound of the door opening alerted Nesta and she met his gaze. A bright smile lit her face up and he felt the air tear from his lungs, yet he couldn’t stop himself from approaching. She gestured for him to pick a table and he obliged; looking around the shoppe, he couldn’t help but be taken aback by the power of her determination. She had made her vision a reality and it was impossible to not be impressed by it.

After a few minutes, Nesta joined him at the table, carrying two cups of tea. She sat and though her eyes were on Azriel, he could see her sharpened periphery honed towards the slightest call for her attention. “A lively night.”

“Perhaps not in occupancy, but certainly in energy.” A breathless laugh fell from her lips and Azriel noticed the smallest accumulation of sweat beading her hairline. “Was Devlon more tolerable today?”

He gave a half-shrug. “His company was otherwise occupied.”

“Well, that must’ve been nice.” She offered.

He laughed, his eyes roaming across the faces of her customers. “The day passed quickly enough.”

“And yet, you’re late, Shadowsinger.” She chided with a playful narrow of her eyes.

“I wasn’t aware that you had established a curfew for me, Nesta.”

She smirked bashfully, looking down. “I wouldn’t be so presumptuous as to think you need a keeper, Azriel.”

He laughed genuinely, shaking his head at how her voice speaking his name reminded him of the way his stomach floated in his chest like every plunging dead drop he’d ever experienced. “It seems our opinions differ in that regard.”

Her brows questioned him before the words fell from her mouth. “Should I adopt the role of sitter?”

“I don’t doubt you possess the disposition for such a role, but I’m not sure my pride could take such a fall.”

“You would be so lucky to be left under my care!” She asserted with a proud tilt of her head.

“Undoubtedly.” He smiled at her and the warmth in his eyes thawed her icy orbs.

There was a comfortable and light silence surrounding them, yet Azriel couldn’t help but notice eyes on them. After a minute, he realized the eyes weren’t watching them, but her.

“It seems you’ve officially acquired some positive interest from the locals.” He remarked softly, nudging his head to acknowledge an Illyrian male who he saw looking at Nesta for the sixth time. It was no wonder what captured his attention. The natural porcelain of her skin was no longer pallid and hollow, but bright and energized; the innate poetry of her figure had filled in the space that had once been skin and bones. A bashful blush adorned her cheeks and the infectiousness of her smirk accentuated the perfect pout of her pale pink lips as golden tresses framed her poised and regal expression. She was inarguably stunning and he quickly realized he’d been staring.

She gave a once-over to the admiring patron, who met her scrutiny head-on. “A class of interest I am all too determined to refuse, especially from one of his kind.”

He tensed at the remark. “What do you mean?”

She met his contorted gaze with a nearly timid expression. “There’s an aggressive arrogance in his eyes that I could never learn to trust. It reminds me of someone I used to know.”

Azriel immediately thought of Cassian and carefully prodded. “Another Illyrian?”

Her eyes widened as she grasped his implication. She shook her head. “No. he was from another life.”

“Your human one?” His tone was full of gentle consideration.

She nodded. “He was my fiancé, until I called it off. I’m thankful I saw it before it was too late. Though…” She uncharacteristically trailed off.

“Yes?” He finally asked, unable to muzzle his own curiosity.

Nesta met his engaged gaze and gave him the smallest of shrugs. “I can’t help but think that if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here now.”

“True.” Azriel nodded. “You would be dead.”

The remark surprised Nesta and he could see it clash across her usually poised features. “You think me so incapable?” There was a challenge in her voice, slightly marred by the offense she felt.

“Quite the contrary,” He spoke simply. “You were a pivotal part in the war. If you had married, never to be reborn, countless human lives would’ve been lost.”

It was clear she was taken aback by the comment and for a moment Azriel began to wonder if he’d overstepped his bounds. He thought to amend his bluntness but was interrupted by her gentle gratitude. “Thank you.”

Now it was his turn to be baffled by the brightness in her eyes as she continued. “I’m ashamed to admit I’ve taken a predilection to self-pity in the wake of such destruction, but I never thought to be grateful for all that we kept standing, so many lives spared from slavery and death.” She appraised him with a kind look of consideration. “Thank you for reminding me.”

A cushioned quiet settled between them and as Azriel’s stomach began to tighten while looking at Nesta’s newly born peaceful expression, some sour emotion tugged at the back of his chest. It made him wary of the moment, desperate to distract his unease. He pulled at a past thread of conversation, just barely regarding the seemingly bewitched Illyrian male. “Would you say all your judgments of individuals are just as,” he searched for the right word. “Efficient?”

Nesta watched his expression for a minute, her brow lifted as she read the contours of his face. “You think me superficial, Shadowsinger?”

He gave her a timid smirk. “I don’t possess the proper disposition to pass judgment.”

She gave him a tight-mouthed pensive grin. “No, you don’t. A great shame with a countenance as inscrutable as yours.” His eyes just barely revealed his amusement. “Why do you mention it then?”

“I’m curious how many have failed those penetrating eyes of yours?”

“Do you wonder if you’re among such a list?” She teased.

“Well, now it seems I’m inclined to believe so.”

She shook her head, eyes alight with a rare humor. “I can’t always be so efficient, sometimes I must delay my opinion.”

“Can I be of any assistance in that regard?”

“Are you so keen to face interrogation?”

“Perhaps peace has made me restless.” He joked.

“Yet you seem more grounded than any I know.” She replied with gentle respect.

The compliment pleased him and he wondered if she could see as much. “That sounds like a judgment.”

“Call it an observation.” She looked at the clock on the wall and excused herself to the kitchen.

Azriel stared off blankly, entirely unaware that he kept his eyes on her departing figure.

She returned a few minutes later. “Sorry, Velara’s pies were ready. I needed to pull them out.”

Azriel looked around for the petite and friendly female. “I didn’t see her.”

She nodded. “She went home.” A compassionate kindness filled her eyes and Azriel couldn’t tear his own away. “Today was a bad day.”

He nodded sympathetically. “So, you’re on your own?”

She smirked proudly. “Don’t look so worried. I’m beyond capable.”

“Of that I have no doubt, Slayer of Hybern.” He huffed with an airy laugh, casting his eyes downward. “I merely wondered if you would appreciate some assistance.”

She slightly narrowed her gaze on him. “Would this offer have anything to do with influencing your score on the regard of our earlier discussion?”

One side of Azriel’s mouth tugged into a youthful smirk. “Perhaps I can provide you collaboration in both matters?” He watched her for a moment. “You can’t blame me for trying.”

She laughed. “I’m hesitant to put the High Lord’s Shadowsinger to clean-up duty.”

“I have no other task to occupy my time. I might as well be productive.”

She couldn’t argue with that, remembering her similar attitude when she had first set foot in the Illyrian Mountains a month before. “I won’t deny you, if you wish.” He smiled at her concession and she nodded. “I’m thankful for the accommodating company.”

“Speaking of accommodating company,” He nudged his head in the direction behind her where the male began to approach. She looked before uttering a soft sigh while squaring her shoulders. “Allow me.”

“Azriel, you really don’t have to.”

He couldn’t refrain from smiling as she spoke his name. With a soft shrug, he stood. “It’s my job. And I’m not to be denied if I wish.”

She dipped her head to concede, also standing to depart for the kitchen again.

***

Once the shop had closed for the night, Azriel began picking up with Nesta. “He really wasn’t happy to be waited on by me.”

“Even with such impeccable service?” Nesta tsked and shook her head. “You really can’t make everyone happy.”

He followed her into the kitchen. “Well, I’m sure you could’ve.”

“I’d hate to plaster on the charm to sell a pastry.” She began to run the water and started washing the dishes.

Azriel effortlessly took the place beside her, rinsing and drying the dishes. He turned his head to the left and watched her with soft eyes. “You have no need to plaster.”

Her cheeks warmed and she focused her attention on the dishes. “That’s easy for you to say.”

“How so?”

She looked up at him, trying not to notice the warmth he emanated or allow her eyes to linger on the robust vein in his neck as her improved eyes could isolate the subtle motion of his pulse. “Because your company I enjoy.”

He nodded, unable to allow himself a second to acknowledge how pleased he was. “Likewise.”

Nesta cleared her throat, desperate not to feel the heavy beat in her chest as she remembered the way he had embraced her in shadows and even more, how it simultaneously charged her blood and promised her peace. “So, you return tomorrow?” The words tore from her mouth and she felt immediately irritated to have grasped at the one topic she could feel herself hoping to avoid.

Something sprinted behind his features. “Yes, the High Lord feels my presence is necessary in these uncertain times.”

“No doubt eager to be reunited with a dear friend.” She offered.

“Perhaps.” A nod. “I’ll miss this place.” He sighed.

“Are you preparing your permanent goodbyes?” She chided.

“Not permanent.” He quickly answered, realizing how unpleasant merely the thought was. “It’s not as if my reassignment bars me from winnowing on my down time.”

“So, tomorrow is not goodbye?”

He shook his head. “Not for long.”

She scoffed with a teasing humor. “And here I was thinking I might finally get the chance to miss your company.”

Azriel watched her closely. “But you would?”

She smirked, not able to meet his gaze. “Much to my chagrin, I dare say I could.”

As she passed him a plate, his fingers grazed her own and thoughts of her gentle touch bombarded him again. “I would.” He admitted; feeling a sense of danger and needing to escape their close proximity, he grabbed the dried dishes and began putting them away.

Nesta shut off the water and turned around to face him, her back leaning against the counter. “I’d wager you’re the only one in the Inner Circle who could say that with some truth.”

“I’d never taint my words with partial honesty.”

She regarded him with esteem. “You are braver than most.”

He accepted the compliment with a brief nod, his eyes soaking in the sight of her in the silence. Before she could speak, he forced out the sentence he’d been stalling since returning to the village. “Cassian is at Windhaven.”

“Oh?” She was clearly surprised by his words, but even more perplexed with the change of topic.

“He never even saw this place before heading home last time. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wants to see it before leaving.”

“It’s hard to believe only a month has passed.” She said, feeling unmoved with the news of the general.

Azriel nodded. “It all came together faster than I could have anticipated.”

She smirked shyly at the compliment. “It certainly did.”

***

Nesta was relieved when Cassian walked through the door. In truth, she had been dreading his presence all day, yet it seemed the sight of him rendered all her anxiety pointless. Even her once-scalding fury withered at his approach.

“Az is right,” he began. “This is a nice place you have here, even if you ignored my orders to purchase it.”

She nodded her thanks, unfazed by his minute provocation. “Do you mean to claim that free civilians are under the command of military rule?”

“Of course not, though you could have followed my simpler suggestions.”

“It seemed important to start my life here on my own terms.” Her tone allowed for no argument.

“Do you feel you have?”

Nodding her head, she felt the need to tie down her smirk. “All is surprisingly well.” She shook her head. “I never could’ve predicted it would become what it has.”

“Nor I.” He nodded. “I thought it was important to check and see how everything fares.”

Nesta watched him closely, feeling an edge in his voice as if he might breach topics she had long since laid to rest. “You don’t have to check up on everything; your obligation to me is over.” Shrugging, she began to put food away. “I have become situated, even comfortable; it’s almost felt like coming home.”

“I’m stunned to see you settled and here in my home of all places.” He thought of his own residence, no more than five minutes away in flight.

“Not yours.” She said with a simple shake of her head. “My own. I’ve made my way and refuse to concede it.”

“Not concede,” he almost wanted to laugh at her antagonistic nature. “But maybe share?”

Nesta looked at him with a disarming sadness. She reached out, gently touching his cheek. “That time for us has passed.”

It wasn’t her words that stunned him, but the considerate caution presented as she spoke them. There was no harshness edging her tone, only undeniable honesty. She hadn’t spoken to hurt him, but it was her benevolent intent that elicited such an effect.

Cassian wanted to continue, yet the resolute look in her eyes made it clear she wouldn’t be persuaded otherwise. He realized he should’ve caught it in her earlier words. “It wasn’t an obligation.” He tried pointlessly. Nesta faced him, her expression uncertain as he continued. “Checking on you.”

Her arched brow didn’t twitch in the slightest and Cassian could see it wasn’t the only way in which she was left unmoved by the comment. “If that were true, I would’ve seen you any other time than when direct orders dictated so.”

“I didn’t know how-” He began, but she held her hand up to cut him off.

“Cassian, don’t.” It felt like a dismissal even though it was clearly not her intention as she continued. “I’m finally happy and nothing you say can make me choose to return to how it was.”

“But Nesta, I-”

“Never wanted me.” She finished frankly, thoroughly exhausted with skirting around the unspoken thing that had once existed between them. Her words were sharp and piercing even if they weren’t being wielded as weapons. “Not really. I was always your easily-instigated distraction.”

Nesta stopped as she noticed his pained expression. “How can you say that?”

“How could I not feel it, Cassian? Don’t insult me by claiming that you had any substantial feelings for me when your actions were constantly proof to the contrary.”

It had always been there for Cassian, since the very moment he met her and he’d always assumed that it remained mutual, but it seemed to have faded away from her, without him even realizing it was happening. It was undeniable for him to see now as the burning fire that once captured her eyes whenever they sparred was lifeless as she looked at him. He wanted to fight but could see that she meant every word.

All he could manage in response seemed insufficient, but still he tried. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Words failed her for what would be the right reply, so she nodded and tried what felt the most honest. “I don’t think you meant to, but it can’t be undone.”

He nodded and glanced to the waning sun. “I should be going. Velaris awaits.”

“Good evening, General.”

Chapter Text

It was only a few hours later when Nesta was looking back at Azriel again. She scoffed. “You definitely didn’t give me the chance to miss you this time.”

He offered a tight, close-mouthed grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “I promise to take longer next time. I hadn’t planned on returning tonight, but I just wanted to see that you’re okay.”

“Of course; why wouldn’t I be?” She inquired, noticing the discomfort in his countenance.

“The flight home was…” He searched for the right words. “Quiet and stilted.”

“Ah,” She nodded. “Well, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”

“Do you mind if I ask?”

Nesta could see from his expression that he loathed to be doing this, though he couldn’t stop himself. She made sure to meet his gaze head-on. “Ask away.”

“Did he try to upset you?”

She shook her head, a smirk peeking through her eyes. “No, in fact, the opposite.”

Azriel tried to ignore the bitter mass in his gut. “I don’t understand.”

It felt an odd, prying topic, but Nesta knew she would answer anything he could think to ask, wanting to be that honest with him. “I believe he sought to mend our issues.”

“You don’t want that?” There was a hesitance in his voice, as if he meant to ready himself for when she would rescind her honesty.

“I don’t want to entertain company that would seek to make me feel a burden, but that was all that ever came from our interactions. I’m finished with being an obligation.”

“You aren’t.” He argued.

“Perhaps not to you.” She nodded gratefully. “But these past few months, before coming here,” She sighed. “I felt abandoned, like some broken promise, long forgotten.”
“I’m sorry.” He slipped out.

Shaking her head, she met his steady gaze. “I’m not. It took all of that, for me to find all this. If anything, I feel thankful. It really is better this way.”

“Can I ask you something personal?” Azriel could feel the question scorching his tongue.

“Isn’t that what you were doing?” He remained quiet and Nesta could see that he battled over his own inquiry. “Yes,” She nodded. “You may.”

“Did you,” The word seemed to fail him, and he tried something new. “Care for him?”

She sighed. “Yes, I did. Quite deeply at one point, but did I love him?” Azriel was yet again stunned by her frankness. She shook her head, and he couldn’t deny the relief it brought him. “I could never love him when he kept giving me reasons not to.”

***

It had been five days since Azriel’s return to Velaris and Nesta couldn’t help but find herself bothered by the notion that she missed him. Though it had been a quiet, somewhat peaceful day, an edge gnawed at her from within.

She found brief reprieve from her nameless ache while watching her dear friend and culinary partner practically float on air for the first time. Velara had spent the afternoon recounting the early excursion she had with Kale.

Starlight filled her eyes as she recalled her morning with the male. “After breakfast with my parents, he said he had a surprise for me.” From the look in her eyes, it seemed as though she was almost willing to risk her balance to twirl in her reverie. “He held me to his chest and flew us through the clouds in the sunrise.” She sighed with a peaceful smile. “I haven’t felt that in so long.” Straightening a few pastries in the case, a becoming blush bloomed across her cheeks. “It’s been a while since anyone sought to remind me of the wind on my face. I understand why; it really is indescribable.”

Nesta sighed. “I never much cared for flying.” She looked down and was surprised to feel her face warm as she remembered a strong embrace that had consoled her exhausted spirit, the morning of her re-location. “At first. Now, it’s as if I understand what,” The door opened, revealing her least favorite, slack-jawed trio. “Serenity feels like.”

It was clear that Velara had noticed the patrons, but she acted as if she had not. “You must’ve had a pretty bad first experience.”

She nodded. “Initially, yes. Though to be fair, I’m sure the High Lord meant to traumatize me.”

The brunette woman turned to look directly at her with puzzled eyes. “Your first flight was with the High Lord of the Night Court?” Her face expressed the novelty of the story before she thought to ask. “It hasn’t been so awful since though, has it?”

She seemed to think for a moment. “No, not awful, but perhaps claustrophobic; it felt as if I didn’t have enough room to breathe.” Stern began to pester customers in the slightest way he could without intervention, causing the two females to keep their eyes on him.

“What changed your opinion?”

Nesta remembered warm amber eyes, patiently acknowledging her as she awoke. His arms had been solid and reliable but they never felt stiff or constricting. Perhaps it had been the way he gently held her to his chest, as though he transported someone important, as if she hadn’t been expelled from those who no longer felt tethered to her in obligation.

How considerately those scarred hands had held her. “I’d be willing to wager that the experience entirely relies on the pilot.”

Velara nodded. “Well spoken.” She noticed the time and excused herself to grab a new batch from the oven.

Tiernan muttered about terrible service, though he had yet to near the counter or take a seat. Nesta stood taller to strengthen her resolve for what was sure to be an unpleasant experience as she decided to approach him.

Velara hummed softly as she exited the kitchen. Plate in hand, she grinned to see the patron notice their dish with praising enthusiasm. Quietly, she made her way to the table, setting her creation down with an infectious smile.

“Ah,” Tiernan bellowed. “How charming! A café run by some unwelcome experiment and her disabled pet.” He laughed, shoving Velara with drunken force as she passed him.

Before she could hit the floor, Tiernan was being thrown through the door by an invisible force, his wings flailing and failing to create some resistance.

Eyes all around the shoppe landed on Nesta, her hand outstretched and eyes aflame as an indescribable magic filled the air, darkening like untamable shadows around the shopkeeper. The eyes of his two companions bulging, stayed on her, while making no move to approach.

Nesta exhaled, shocked by her own power, not even meaning to tap into it. Looking around, she flinched at the one emotion that stared back at her from a dozen different faces, fear. Her hand dropped and a few patrons shrunk in response. “I-“ She began, not sure what to say or if it would even be listened to. In the silence, her thoughts jumped back to Velara on the floor. She knelt beside her and felt a tightness in her chest when her friend stiffened as she neared. “Are you okay?” She asked, careful not to touch the timid female. Nesta took little notice of customers quickly leaving.

Velara nodded and looked at Nesta for a moment, finally recognizing the High Fae before her, the tendrils of darkness fading around her. The undisturbed concern in her friend’s eyes touched the Illyrian. “I had no idea you could do that.”

“Me either.” She replied, her voice undeniably lost and scared.

Velara watched her for a moment. “That’s a lot of power to have and know nothing about.”

Nesta was silent as she stood and looked around the room, not wanting to lie to her friend, but unsure of where to begin. “Why isn’t Azriel here?” She mumbled to herself, trying to wrap her head around what had just transpired. An ugly foreboding tension weighed on her gut. Assessing that the Illyrian female was indeed fine, she offered her hand to help her up.

Velara thanked her and took the offering. Nesta sighed and her face tightened stoically. “I think it’s best we close for the night.” Though her words were simple and obvious, her thoughts were speeding behind her still face. Velara nodded. “You should probably head home.”

***

After a late dinner, when the rest of the House of Wind had settled in for the night, Azriel found his way to the balcony. Jumping without pause, he seemed to fall into the Illyrian Mountains. He knew Haven was closed today and wondered if she would even be awake, but couldn’t stop himself from winnowing regardless, having not been able to secure any free time to do so in the past several days.

It was an unwelcome sight that greeted him.

The front windows had been broken and their sign vandalized with a blood-red paint. The ‘a’ had been painted over with a ‘u’ and the ‘v’ modified into a ‘m’, a question mark had been added to the edge, posing a question. Nesta stood at the front door and turned with a nervousness in her posture. The relief in her eyes warmed his chest as he approached, but he swallowed the pleasant emotion to sputter for a question.

“What happened?” He finally managed, transparently distressed.

She sighed and looked down, shaking her head. “I lost control.”

Azriel knew better than to believe her responsible or even deserving of such disrespect. “Who did this?”

“Tiernan, I suspect.” She began picking up shards of glass that littered the ground in front of the door. “Everyone else still seems too afraid to approach.” His eyes fell on her and she squirmed under the weight of them. “He pushed Velara and without thinking, I threw him through the door.” She sighed. “Without touching him.” Understanding filled Azriel’s expression. He knew her magic had only been dormant, not depleted.

Finally, he spoke. “Is Velara okay?”

She nodded as a strained smile desperately reached for her eyes. “She’s fine.” Even though her friend had not run from her screaming, she still could not forget the fear in her eyes.

Azriel had seen enough to know that such acts of malice usually preceded more aggression. “You could stay in Velaris tonight. I’m sure we can find somewhere to keep you safe.”

Nesta shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time since her relocation, he was no longer charmed by her stubbornness. “Nesta, it’s not safe here.”

“This is my home.” He could hear the emotion in her voice and knew that she did not speak lightly. She dropped glass into a bucket she had set in front of the door and held her hand out for him to approach. He did and she turned her attention back to the sign. “Look at that.”

He turned back to her. “I have and I’m telling you it would be safer if-”

“I won’t leave.” She shook her head, eyes still on the vandalized sign. “All that work and they couldn’t be bothered to paint an ‘a’ over the ‘e’. Humen?” She sighed in exasperation. “That is proof that I’m needed here more than ever.”

“So, you can correct illiteracy in vandalism?” He was baffled and frustrated with her.

“No, to offer peace, civility and knowledge.” She shook her head. “I won’t leave. It’s my power they fear and though I don’t know the true extent of it, it’s more than enough to protect me.”

As irritated as he was, he knew he couldn’t argue against the determined look in her eyes. Exhaling loudly through his nose, he shrugged. “Then, let’s get it cleaned up.”

She smirked and they began to pick up the shattered glass around them. Once they had finished with that task, Azriel turned his attention to the sign. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed to see their handiwork carelessly scrawled over. As soon as he had hold of the sign, he looked down at her. “I’m staying downstairs tonight.”

As he pulled the sign down, a jagged nail tore against his palm. He grimaced and set the large piece down. Nesta quickly approached at the sight of blood spilling. She grabbed his hand and led him inside with her.

Sitting at a table, Nesta cleaned his wound and began working to bandage it.

“I must admit I’m surprised.” She looked back at him as he continued. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d be too good at this.” He nodded to her hands deftly moving around his own, the bandage applying just the right amount of pressure.

She shrugged. “I had some practice.”

“When?”

“Some years back, I decided to learn because Feyre’s initial hunting trips weren’t the epitome of grace.”

Azriel watched Nesta’s expression closely and she nearly shrunk under the weight. “Why would you do that?”

The stoic chill of her eyes faltered under his attention. “Because she was tracking blood all over the floor.”

“So, you learned how to bandage a wound to patch her up?” It had been a long time since he was convinced of her signature apathy towards her youngest sister.

“I merely was proactive in the effort to keep our residence clean.”

“Just once or twice?” He lifted his brow, humor saturating his voice and gaze. She nodded quietly. He shrugged. “I always figured Feyre to be more prepared for such circumstances.”

A large, clumsy huff slipped from Nesta’s mouth and it was the closest he’d ever heard her come to a snort. She shook her head and the mirth didn’t leave her eyes, electrifying them with a hypnotizing energy. “You Inner Circle are all too ready to exalt Feyre, yet I wonder if any of you actually know her?”

He felt offense immediately, not due to her claim of his ignorance regarding Feyre’s character, but from the simple and swift way she lumped him into some collective, the collective that she seemed to openly experience distaste for. She continued, thoroughly unaware of the way she wounded her subject. “Feyre has never been prepared.” Briefly mumbling to herself, she huffed. “She doesn’t possess the proper disposition for such forethought.”

He shook away the sting from her earlier jab and pushed a playful smile to his face. “Are you calling the High Lady of the Night Court stupid?” His lifted brow passed his words off as a teasing challenge.

She was undaunted by his loaded question. “Feyre is reckless, undeniably so. I wouldn’t call her stupid, merely unable to put any plan to action with adequate reasoning or preparation.”

“That is, without a doubt, the most diplomatic way I’ve heard someone be called careless.”

She shook her head. “I have no need of diplomacy when speaking of my sister, whose habits and mannerisms I lived with for nearly 20 years. Trust me, reckless is an underwhelming descriptor for her.”

“I’m not sure if I trust your judgment.”

“It’s hardly judgment, more of a … long-term assessment. Feyre sets her mind to something early on; once that happens, no additional information will sway her decision. She always enters engagements entirely head-on.” The strained tone in her voice made Azriel suspect if it was a quality she admired, possibly envied. Nesta continued, more to herself. “She’s always been that way with everything. One day she decided she would feed our family and by that evening she returned with a squirrel,” She smirked at Azriel. “That she still swears was a small hedgehog.” She shook her head lightly. “Two pigeons and a surprisingly large hare.”

“She hadn’t said anything?”

Nesta laughed, still holding his bandaged hand. “She simply returned with a rucksack filled with prey and said she had decided to go hunting.” Nesta shrugged. “In one night, she proved herself capable of saving the family, so we just let her.”

“Were you tempted to help her?”

Nesta looked at him quietly, having heard a similar inquiry more times than she could recall, yet this was the first time it hadn’t been asked with disdain or in pursuit of condemnation. “I wouldn’t have even known where to begin.” She answered honestly and was surprised to find that her response pleased him; she was even more stunned to feel how his gentle and accepting expression filled her with relief. “My greatest transgression, it would seem.” She added playfully.

“So far,” He smirked. “Immortality should give you countless more opportunities to infuriate or offend someone.” Her face faltered and Azriel tensed, his voice becoming soft. “Did I say something wrong?”

She looked up and smiled gently, causing his heart to skip a beat. “Nothing I haven’t had to remind myself of hundreds of times.” She shook her head and sighed. “Immortality.” They looked at each other closely for a moment in the quiet. “How do you stomach it?”

He smiled tenderly. “It’s the only reality I’ve ever known.”

She nodded. “I know it might sound silly and simple to any form of Fae, but I never wanted this life.” She relieved herself of a heavy exhale. “I only ever wanted enough to survive.” She grinned guiltily and conceded ever-so-slightly. “That’s not entirely true. I wanted enough; enough wealth and status to never have to question if a poor winter would be sufficient to destroy my livelihood. Beyond that, I just wanted a simple life; marry happily enough, raise some children, grow old.” Her voice broke at the end and Azriel tensed from the pain in her voice.

“Maybe because it’s the only reality you’ve ever known.”

Her eyes were glued to his, as if she was lost in consideration of the validity of his argument. Finally, her voice pushed through the silence, so thoroughly soft and undeniably lost, meeker than Azriel could’ve believed possible. “If that’s true, how can I be sure when I truly want something?”

Azriel shrugged, his eyes like a maple ocean, vast and mysterious. “You’ll feel it, like an echo that reverberates through your bones or a burn in your blood, like a-”

“Fluttering sickness in your chest?” She offered abruptly.

Something about the tone in her voice made his stomach clench. “Sometimes,” he agreed. “I hadn’t experienced that feeling in a long time, so I continue to proceed with caution.”

She shook her head and looked down. “Do you ever feel like you’ve lost the courage to proceed at all?”

“No and neither have you.” She met his gaze as he continued. “Maybe you feel depleted of motivation or you’re disappointed by the turn of things, but you’ve never lost courage.” He gestured around them. “This shoppe is a testament to that. You had the courage to make something good out of nothing and though it wasn’t easy, you haven’t given up on what you want.”

“Some things aren’t so easy to want.” Softly, her voice trickled out as she forced herself to let go of his hand, standing to place gauze on the counter behind her.

He stood and approached. “Nesta Archeron, Slayer of Hybern, deterred from desire due to minor inconvenience.”

“I wish it was minor.” Her voice was simultaneously wistful and melancholy.

He smiled at her. “Anything standing in your way is no more than a minor inconvenience.”

The pride shone back in her eyes before they softened. “You only say that because you don’t know what it is that I want.”

His head whipped silently back and forth. “I say it because it seems the greatest obstacle in your way is you choosing to commit to your own desires.” She nodded as a soft blush bloomed across her cheeks. “Maybe there is something to be said for the reckless?”

Nesta’s breath spilled out with the slightest quiver. “They never let an opportunity pass them by?”

Azriel could feel his gut seizing and knew innately that the cause was her eyes. Desperate to look away, he cursed his bad luck for immediately coming across her velvety pink lips and he pondered if they’d always looked so inviting. “I’ve always wondered if I possess the proper disposition of the reckless?” He met her gaze and could feel the flaming pit in his stomach reflected back in her eyes. “What do you think?” He stood a little straighter and was surprised by the way his pulse quaked as her eyes pensively raked over him.

“There’s only one way to find out.” Her silky voice replied.

It was a challenge and though a voice in his thoughts warned him against what he might do, he was damned if he turned from her now. That simple realization propelled his soft, scarred hands forward as he reached for her.

When their lips collided, Azriel lost all sense of coherence in his scrambled thoughts. He expected it to be foreign; wrong, he hoped, but it wasn’t. She slipped into his arms like she had been there a thousand times before, like she was supposed to be there and to him that’s exactly how it felt. She was soft and strong, shy and entirely certain as she kissed him back.

Azriel’s pulse blared in his ears and his chest thrashed when she gently placed her hand against him. She tasted of cinnamon and crisp fall nights, both comforting and terrifying him in a way he had never known, in a way that made him question if he had truly ever felt anything until this moment.

Logic had been silenced as his blood beckoned him to pull her closer. It wasn’t merely attraction or arousal that had him enthralled by her; it was the way her eyes became soft when she asked about his past, the surprised smile that would brighten her face or the pained tears she shed for her father the moment she was alone. It was a thousand things that spoke to her compassion, where others were only foolish enough to see a heart encased in thick stone, never understanding the bleeding organ underneath.

“Wait.” Nesta reached out to rest her hand against his chest as sounds began to approach. He watched her, his mouth still tingling and his thoughts a jumbled mess as she tensed. “Do you hear that?” It was coming from outside.

Reluctantly, he let go of her as they both headed for the door. Nesta was determined to cross through first, but he felt even more determined to hover as close as he could manage.

A large crowd had gathered in front of her home and Azriel tensed at the sight. He didn’t need to see torches and pitchforks to recognize an upset mob. Walking beyond the doorframe, Azriel’s right hand clenched subtly around his sword, thumb pressed tightly to the hilt, while his other fingers wrapped around the scabbard.

Nesta’s hand gently stopped his own. He looked at her with an expression contorted by confusion. Searching her eyes, he could only see concern, with no hint of anger or dread. “Don’t.” She spoke softly under her quickened breath, her cheeks still flushed. “Look at them.” She nudged her head. “They’re scared.”

“And armed.” He noted a few males with swords hanging from their belts.

“As am I.” She patted his hand once more and stepped forward.

Looking at the Illyrians with bold and unwavering cobalt eyes, nothing filled her thoughts but the necessity for truth to ease the anxiety in the faces of the community, her community, she reminded herself. This was her home and she had worked too hard to make it so to lose it to fear and misunderstanding.

“I’m sure countless theories have been established about me and as much as I would like to calm your concerns by claiming my abilities to be a fluke, I’m afraid I must disappoint, for the reality exceeds the locally circulated fiction.”

She took in a deep breath, thankful to be given the chance to speak as all eyes and ears offered their full attention, though she knew how likely it was that fear is what kept them listening. “Not long before the war, a much more intimate battle for control was being waged and unfortunately I was entirely unaware that I had been precariously placed in the middle.” She forced herself to stand taller so as not to be overcome by the moment that had changed everything. “Servants of the King of Hybern came for my younger sister and I. To prove his might, we were forcefully made Fae, nearly drowning in the very Cauldron of Creation.” Eyes bulged all around, but she steadied herself to continue. “For a long time after, I wished that I had, instead of being reborn as I was.”

Azriel tensed beside her, though not for fear of her safety, but with excruciating anxiety for the pain she had always been forced to shoulder alone. It made him infuriated with himself, that it had taken him this long to see it, to understand how deeply she had suffered. “That ruinous relic tore down everything from me, my home, my family and worst of all, my humanity, so I robbed it tenfold in that inky liquid oblivion.” Azriel looked around and saw no shred of doubt amongst her audience. “I took something that day and it has waded inside me ever since.” She turned her attention to the crowd. “I can’t regret this power, when it is the reason I’m still standing, but I won’t pretend that I am not frightened by it, by the potential of what that stolen darkness inside me is capable of. So, I won’t expect your understanding when such ease still eludes me, but I promise that I will never willfully seek to abuse this power and cause harm. It has been a great protection to some and if I must, I will rely on it again towards the same ends, but nothing more. You have my word.”

Nesta did not wait for any reaction from the crowd. She merely bowed her head and turned around. Pulling on Azriel’s sleeve to join her, they both entered the empty and still Haven, leaving a speechless audience behind.

Chapter Text

“I still think I should stay down here tonight.” He nodded. “Though I doubt you’ll have any visitors after that.”

She watched him closely, unable to forget the warmth of his hands and the gentle way they had moved against her skin. The right words failed her, so she sighed and ignored the ache in her to continue from where they had been interrupted. “I’ll get you a blanket.”

Slowly, she climbed up the stairs. With unrushed and trembling hands, she touched her mouth, thinking of how soft his lips had felt. She forced herself to shake away the thought, grabbing a thick blanket and her only pillow before descending the stairs. She found the Shadowsinger in the kitchen, greedily gulping a glass of water.

“Thank you.” Her voice broke the silence, causing him to look at her. For a brief second, she was taken aback by the warmth with which his eyes watched her.

He quickly looked away. “For what?”

“Out there, earlier.” She set down the pillow and blanket.

He shook his head. “That was entirely you.”

“I mean how ready you were in case something went poorly. It helped give me the courage to address them, knowing that you were there beside me.”

He nodded, refusing to look at her. “I did nothing.”

They both knew that wasn’t entirely true, despite the forced avoidance of his gaze. Nesta abhorred the painful grip of her gut but was too familiar with such disappointment to bring it to light. “Goodnight.”

“I’m sorry.” He said in a husky whisper.

Nesta turned. “For what?”

“For earlier,” His shy gaze finally looked her way. “I shouldn’t have-”

“Don’t.” She warned. “Don’t apologize for that, even if you are sorry.” He felt ashamed to realize he wasn’t; not in the slightest.

“Why?”

“Because I’m not.” Nesta spoke proudly, the full weight of the night falling from her thoughts, becoming insignificant in the comparison of his kiss. “I don’t want to hear you’re sorry for something I wanted, even though you regret it.”

He approached slowly. “I don’t regret it.”

“But you’re sorry?”

“Because I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“Why not?”

Cassian was his first thought, though he knew his brother had lost any chance to be with Nesta the moment he gave up on her after the war. “It’s too complicated.”

Nesta could feel it, the hesitance in his words, the pull of his blood, the focus in his eyes. She wasn’t the only one who wanted it. “It seems I was right. You are no minor obstacle.” She stepped closer. “So, my desire is irrelevant.”

He wanted to touch her, could feel the ache bellowing in his blood. “There are some things more important than desire.” She could hear the fight in his voice fading.

“Duty? Dedication to someone else’s vague and baseless claim? Or is it loyalty that stops you?”

He shook his head, his voice almost pleading with her. “I can’t.”

“Then don’t.” She replied defiantly as her fiery gaze sparked something within his own. “If it’s possible to turn away, then you should, but don’t look at me like that and don’t make my chest ache when you say my name.” The indignance in her voice was level, reasonable and it tore at him as he moved closer. She was tired of opening up and feeling so deeply to find only more disappointment, just as he had once felt before knowing her. She continued, anger threatening to spike her voice. “And don’t-”

“Kiss you?” He interrupted, unable to stop himself from reaching out, his bandaged hand gently caressing her chin so she would meet his eyes.

She nodded, a softness cushioning her breathy exhale in a way that made him feel drunk; entirely intoxicated and hypnotized by the thrashing sound of her heart as it perfectly echoed the beating in his chest. “Don’t kiss me…” she agreed, her sight magnetized to his lips for a moment before hungrily returning to his eyes. “If you find it that easy to stop yourself.”

‘Easy?’ He wanted to laugh. Nothing could be further from the truth, not when he could taste her hesitant, honeyed breaths mingling with his own. He could feel her desire building, mirroring his in a staggering way that thrilled and excited him. He felt a validation looking into her eyes, finally seeing that there never was any flaw in his affection; it could be, it was returned.

Her exhales were tight, strained by a tether in the depths of her gut and it caused his to clench in delectable agony.

Without a thought, his restraint thoroughly crumbled at her soft utterance of his name, special and sacred, the way only she could make it sound. “Azriel,” and not another word was spoken as he claimed her lips.

His initial contact was firm and strong, but a thoughtful caution charged his touch as if the need behind his action nearly took him by surprise. Nesta too was baffled by her behavior, unable to stop herself from moaning softly into his mouth as he pulled her to him.

She’d been kissed before, more times than she could count, but never like this. She could recall clumsy clashing of lips as desperate as her own had been, determined to distract their individual emptiness for a brief and shallow solace. It had never been more, as it was now.

She wasn’t merely a want that diverted his blood, nor a need to devour. He tasted her mouth as if driven by an ache that only she could soothe. And for all their shared, unspoken pain, she yearned to mend it for him.

His lips were soft, inquisitive and patient, exploring the feel and taste of her. Her hands pressed to his chest, her nails clutching at the luxurious leather beneath them. Never had she experienced such indescribable comfort, nor a touch so tender.

Azriel basked in the feel of her strong form writhing pleasantly against him. Something nagged in his gut and he knew he never wanted to let go of her, of this moment. It scared him and he reluctantly pulled away from her lips. All he needed to confirm his own realization was see the shy, breathless affection looking back at him.

“Nesta,” he began gently, feeling the ache within her chest in response to his address. She tensed as if waiting for the letdown and he regretted the way it shielded her expression, her fortified guard always patiently waiting at the ready. It sickened him; he never wanted to see the trust fall from her eyes when she looked at him. He couldn’t disappoint her just as everyone else had and he would never fail her as his brother did. He reached out his other hand, caressing her cheek, while the tips of his fingers disappeared in the satin cascade of her golden tresses. “Trust when I say it isn’t easy to stop. I don’t want to, but I can’t continue in a secret.” His bandaged hand grabbed hers, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles.

She watched him closely, still wanting to feel his attentive lips charming her own, despite the rejection she tensely expected to come from them.

“Neither of us are so dishonest; I don’t want to start now, not with this, with you.”

“Is this about Cassian?”

He could see in her eyes that she didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to sour the emotion with that name. She had truly let go of his brother, though he wasn’t sure the same could be said for the indelicate General.

“Not entirely,” He sighed his concession. “But yes.” Nesta’s eyes sharpened and he knew the words she wanted to speak before they left her mouth. “He may not be owed an explanation,” She nodded, still holding his hand fiercely in her own. “But we owe it to ourselves and each other,” His other hand played with her hair gently. “To be honest, not discover one another in secret.” He couldn’t be with her that way, not when he knew he needed her entirety, not some fraction partaken like an indulgence. This was infinitely more than that.

She nodded. “I understand.” A thought crossed her eyes. “Come.” She kept her grip on his hand, grabbing the pillow and blanket with her free one. She led him up the stairs.

He looked at her bed and then at her. “Are you sure you understand?” There was a slight levity tangling itself in his tone.

Nesta bit her lip with a soft smirk. “The windows are broken in down there; one blanket won’t suffice and this,” She gestured with her hand. “Is the only pillow I own.”

“And you were going to give it to me?”

“I was, but I’m hoping you wouldn’t mind sharing it with me.”

He watched her with warm eyes and she felt her insides melt. “Are you asking me to sleep with you?”

She tried to ignore the way the warmth started to move down her body at his words and gave him an abrupt nod. “There’s enough room for both of us.”

He could see no innocent deception or trickery looking back at him and though he knew it would be a true test of his willpower to not make a move, a large part of him was elated with her offer, with the idea of sleeping beside her. He nodded. “I’d like that.”

A shy smile pulled at her lip and she finally let go of his hand, placing her pillow in its usual spot and unfolding the blanket to toss on her bed. Nesta encouraged him to lay down first and become situated with his large wings. He was quick to disrobe his midsection, gently placing his top layer of fighting leathers and sword on the end table beside her bed. Leisurely, she joined him, ignoring the reckless beat of her heart at the sight of his strong and muscular tan chest, knowing that she couldn’t slow it down even though nothing would progress between them this night.

***

Azriel awoke gently, noting the way his head was in a constant motion of rise and fall. He opened his eyes to see that at some point in the night, he had moved even closer to Nesta. It seemed he had ignored her request to share the pillow with her and opted to use her as one instead. Her hand had wrapped itself in his short hair as he slept on her stomach. Her steady heartbeat sounded throughout her body and the tempo was the most serene percussion he’d ever heard.

He couldn’t think of any incentive to move from that spot as he pulled her closer. The movement caused her to hum and stretch herself awake. “Good morning.” Her voice had a charming huskiness to it that prodded a grin from him.

“It really is.” He turned his head to look at her. “So much for sharing that pillow of yours.”

She began playing with his hair. “That would be your fault, Shadowsinger.”

“My apologies.” He said without the slightest hint of contrition.

“Enough apologies from you, Azriel.” She sighed contentedly as she shielded her eyes from the rising sun while it began to peak through the window. “Regardless of how hollow they appear to be.” He laughed lightly against her stomach.

“They’re only hollow when I’m apologizing for this.” He brought himself closer to her, now wrapping his long arm around her midsection. “Yet, it seems I might have one more to recite today.”

Her hand stopped its movements in his hair. “When?”

“I have to talk to Cas-”

“I know.” She gently turned his head to look at her again. “But how much longer do I have of this?”

Azriel could feel an incredible lightness in his chest to hear the affection in her tone. She wanted him there and even duty wasn’t enough to make him disappoint her. “I’d like to leave before sunset, but until then I’m yours.”

Her hand touched his face gently. “And after?”

Exhaling, Azriel forced himself to sit up. She followed suit and he took her hand in his, quickly kissing it when tension started to touch her brow. “Before I have that conversation, I don’t want to leave things unspoken with you.” She nodded. “This is not some flirtation or shallow dalliance. I-” He affectionately rubbed his hands down the length of her arms, unsure of the adequate words to make her see how she’d been the main claim to his thoughts for weeks or how her smile made his heart race and her kindness warmed his chest. “I want this, I want you,” He ceased his nervous movement and settled on holding her hands in his own. It was impossible to not feel anxious, even when the strong grip of her hands proved the reciprocation of his feelings. “To be my home.”

For the first time in years, Nesta was speechless for fear that her words would be redundant. He knew exactly how she felt and even more, it was entirely mutual. “If that’s what you want,” She patted his hands and stood. “Then let’s christen this place.” He looked at her with a suggestive brow. She shook her head. “I know you have your code, which I respect. I meant something more innocent.”

“Such as?”

“Let’s go make breakfast.” He smirked at her. “What? I’m hungry.” Though she was famished for much more than food, she wouldn’t say as much, not with him still in her bed, looking incredibly delicious and well-built with charmingly mussed hair.

“Breakfast it is.” He stood and quickly dressed.

As they began to descend the stairs, Nesta could hear knocking against the front door. Kale’s face peaked through one of the broken windows and he turned his head to murmur something. Velara immediately nudged him over and gawked at the sight of Nesta and Azriel walking down the stairs that led directly to her bedroom. Her sweet, freckled face disappeared and the knock at the door returned, even more insistent.

Nesta laughed and looked over her shoulder at Azriel. He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her temple, pushing them both in the direction of her eager friend. “Double date it is then.” He said playfully, causing her to laugh again.

She took in a deep breath before opening the door. Velara immediately launched into her arms. “Are you okay?” She pulled away and looked over Nesta.

“Easy.” Kale warned Velara, watching her closely.

“I’m fine.” She shrugged off his concern.

Nesta noted the interaction. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She insisted again. “Kale’s just being cautious because-”

“She’s had a bad morning, but when I told her what I overheard at the market an hour ago, she was determined to come check on you.”

“And I made it here okay, did I not?” She challenged the male beside her.

“What did you overhear?” Azriel asked, bringing three pairs of eyes on him.

“About the damage to Haven and then a mob visiting you last night.” Velara huffed, entirely upset at the thought. “I knew I should’ve come yesterday, even if we were closed.”

Nesta shook her head. “I wouldn’t have wanted you here for all of that. It would’ve made me too anxious.”

Kale nodded. “It seems it was for the best. I heard a lot of talk about you and none of it too bad.”

“Define ‘too bad’.”

“Many folks are still afraid, but I think your speech quelled most of their fears.” He answered.

Nesta sighed. “Well, that’s the best I could’ve hoped for. Even if it takes some time, I know I can earn their trust back.”

“Well, you already have mine.” Velara said proudly.

Nesta smiled, remembering how Velara had looked at her before leaving that day. “That means more than you know.” She grabbed her friend’s hand. “We were just about to make breakfast, do you both want to join us?”

Kale nodded. “First I’d like to take a look at these windows.”

“I’ll help you with that.” Azriel offered. “You know they destroyed our sign too.”

“A shame.” Kale said. “I could make a new one in no time.”

Azriel shook his head, sparing a quick look back at Nesta, who smirked at him before heading to the kitchen with Velara. “It’s kind of our project.”

“I get it.” The woodworker nodded with a smirk.

Nesta pulled out some eggs and bacon, humming around the kitchen as Velara watched from her spot at the stool, where she sat only to appease Nesta’s fierce insistence. “What happened?”

Nesta didn’t try to feign ignorance as she shrugged. “I promise not what you think.”

“So, you didn’t sleep with Azriel?”

“Oh, no. I definitely did.” Velara opened her mouth, but Nesta continued. “Literally. He offered to stay after seeing the mess last night and then insisted after the crowd came.”

“Did he need to sleep in your bed?”

“No,” Nesta shook her head. “But I wanted him to.”

“Again, I ask, what happened?” Velara’s impatience was completely transparent.

Nesta tried to shake off the shy expression she could feel plastered across her face. “We kissed and we talked and…” She cut herself off. “I can’t get rid of this ridiculous smile.”

“He’s having just as hard a time of it as you are.”

“What?” Nesta asked, turning to see her friend peaking her head out of the kitchen.

“He’s smirking like a lovestruck fool.” She looked back at Nesta with a smile.

“It takes one to know one, Velara.” She accused.

She shrugged, not bothering to argue. “So, you kissed? Is that all?” Nesta nodded. “Why?”

The blonde sighed. “Because he’s a slave to honor.”

Velara snorted. “Is he wanting to protect your chastity?”

She shook her head. “Hardly and if he was, he’d be a few months late in that regard.”

“Then why?”

“He wants to tell his brother about us first.”

“Close family?”

She shook her head again. “No, well, yes, but that’s not why. There used to be something there. Cassian and I had some unspoken attraction that amounted to less than nothing after the war. Azriel doesn’t want us to begin anything in secret.”

“But he wants something to begin?” Nesta nodded and blushed. “And you?”

She released a hefty exhale. “I never knew that I could feel so strongly about someone without anxiety that I would mean nothing to him. Azriel is…” she searched for the right word and quickly realized that one wouldn’t be enough to describe just who he was, what he had come to mean to her. “Warmth and goodness. I’ve never met anyone more deserving and I can’t quite believe that he wants me.”

“I can!” Velara asserted. “You’re beautiful, kind, driven and loving. You are deserving of happiness.”

Nesta began frying eggs and cooking bacon, trying to shake away the bashfulness in her cheeks. A moment later, the two males came into the kitchen. Azriel quickly made his way around and grabbed four plates. “Sorry to disappoint Velara, but it looks like we’ll be closed for a bit.” Nesta sighed.

“Not too long, I’d think.” Azriel offered. “Kale and I were thinking about boarding the windows up for now. If you want, we can work on a new sign today.”
She shook her head with an exaggerated sadness. “Before I’ve even had a chance to mourn.”

He smirked. “My mourning period ended the moment that nail snagged me last night.”

“That’s right.” Nesta grabbed his hand, her fingers softly petting the bandage across his palm. “Remind me to look at that after breakfast.”

“Whatever you say, Miss Archeron.” He grinned and caught her hand before she could pull it away, placing a chaste kiss on her knuckles. She could feel her blush begin building again, her eyes staying on the pan in front of her, well-aware that she had a small audience to her shyness.

As soon as she finished cooking, Azriel made plates for everyone. Velara and Kale made their way to the dining room. Nesta turned and looked at Azriel, resting her palm to his cheek. Her thumb gently caressed his bottom lip before she leaned in and copied the motion with her own lips. She was rewarded with a bright grin.

“Are you sure you want to work on the sign today?” She pointedly looked at his bandage.

“Kale seemed all-too-ready to jump on the task, so I figured if I start today, he won’t get a chance.”

Nesta laughed. “Oh please, I can busy him with a bookshelf. He’s been waiting for me to finally put him to work on one.”

Azriel nodded. “Fine, but the sign is our thing.”

She smiled. “Agreed. Come on, I’m starving.” She nudged him towards the dining room.

“Me too.” He pulled her into a deep kiss that made her knees quake. When he pulled away, her eyes were still closed, lips pursed.

“What was that for?” She asked with a pleasant sigh in her voice as she slowly opened her eyes.

“Because I wanted to.” He answered gently.

She shook her head with a grin and pushed him in front of her, steering them both out of the kitchen. “You’re distracting and I’m hungry.”

“Apologies, Miss Archeron.”

“Another lie.” She said with a laugh.

***

After breakfast, Kale and Azriel temporarily boarded up the broken windows. Once the males had finished, Kale and Velara left; the latter finally satisfied to confirm that her friend was even better than when she’d left her.

Nesta checked Azriel’s bandage, feeling the plush softness of his eyes on her. “Thank you.”

She looked up at him, amusement in her eyes. “It’s nothing.”

“No, not the bandage, or not just the bandage, I should say.” He exhaled. “For last night; I was afraid that I had ruined everything when I kissed you, but I couldn’t stop myself and I didn’t want to. I felt so lost in you and I thought that I had done it to myself and that you didn’t, couldn’t feel that way.”

Nesta finished wrapping a clean bandage on his hand. “I’ve been trying to swallow these feelings for the past couple of weeks.” She shook her head. “I remember feeling so restless when you left for Velaris that first time and I tried to convince myself that it was because you were familiar, a connection to my old life, but then I realized that I never thought of that life around you. Surely, you had been there for it, but that wasn’t what this was or who we were here. You…” She sighed, trying to power through her coy expression. “You made me finally start wanting things for myself, namely, you, but I never thought it’d be possible.”

“You made me finally start admitting that I wanted something for myself.”

She sighed. “This is going to be messy, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Undoubtedly. Even so, I’m happy.” He kissed her hand. “It feels right, completely natural to be like this with you.” She nodded. “I don’t want to give this up, even if it means having to deal with a mess or some opposition.”

“I’m no stranger to either.”

“Nor am I.” He smirked.

“Off to battle we go then.”

***

They spent the day in, neither one sure it would be the best thing for Nesta to be strolling through the market so soon after the crowd’s visit to her home. It was hours of baking, speaking and sneaking kisses, both gentle and passionate before he knew that he couldn’t delay his trip any longer.

A pain took firm hold in her eyes. “I wish you didn’t have to do this.” The remark was spoken in vain and they both knew it, but she continued. “He’s your brother. I don’t want to be the cause of a rift in your relationship.”

He shook his head. “If ever our bond were to be pressed, I’d only want it to be now, for you,” He grabbed her hands in his. “For this. I couldn’t settle for less.”

She brought their joint hands to her face. Deftly, she kissed the scars across the back of his hand as his eyes remained glued to the gentle expression she wore.

“Do only my scars warrant the taste of your lips?”

She looked up, humor staring back at him. “Is there somewhere else with more dire need of tending to?”

A shy smirk tugged at his mouth. “Give me courage?” He proposed.

“I’ll give you a reminder.” She countered as she leaned close.

“Even better.” He grinned before pulling her close and kissing her fervently as his hand adoringly held her cheek. Once he pulled away, his hand still stayed. “Please, do me a favor.” She nodded. “I know you can take care of yourself, but I would feel better if you continued to stay in, just for the rest of the day.”

“When do you hope to be back?”

“As soon as possible. Though I don’t expect I’ll be able to return as quickly as I want.”

She nodded. “I’ll be here.”

“All the more reason to rush.” He smirked and kissed her on the forehead, winnowing a moment later.

***

Azriel landed in Velaris as the sun began to set. Looking out to the Sidra, he took in a deep breath and fortified his resolve, thinking of the fond face waiting for him. Despite his impatience to return, he couldn’t deny the anxiety filling his gut as he climbed the long, winding stairs to the House of Wind.

The first face he encountered was Mor’s. He was surprised to find that he felt absolutely nothing looking at the face that had once held him captive. A few centuries of infatuation were insignificant with the reminder of waking up wrapped in Nesta’s touch. He gave her a quick smile and wasted little time catching up. “Where is Cassian?”

“Looking for you, last I checked.” She offered. “You must’ve left at the crack of dawn.”

“Last night.” He amended.

“Where have you been?” She teased with a lifted brow.

“In good company.” He said with an abrupt nod to excuse himself, leaving the perplexed female speechless with curiosity.

Azriel decided to check his room but found Cassian in the kitchen along the way. “Az, where have you been?” He patted him on the shoulder. “Rhys was wanting our input on creating a war camp campaign for him now that the contract has been finalized.”

“That leaves us with quite a few new changes to implement, doesn’t it?”

He nodded. “I hope you’ve had your fill of Velaris for the moment.”

“For much longer than that.” He nodded, causing Cassian to stare at him in surprise. After a moment of strained silence, Azriel cleared his throat. “Cassian, I need to speak with you. Do you mind if we go somewhere to talk in private?”

He nodded and followed him out to the balcony. The burning sun had finally buried itself behind the horizon as Azriel turned, not looking at the view before him, but his brother beside him. It wasn’t the level, familiarly soft voice that had caused the general to tense, but Azriel’s uncommonly transparent and conflicted expression. “What is it, brother?” He tested their connection gently to gauge the severity in his response.

“Don’t call me that now.” He said without the slightest hint of malice. The air shifted between them and Cassian recognized the taste of magic. He waited for shadows to swarm and was surprised when they never came. It brought him the smallest relief, for now he knew that his brother was not cross, but worried.

If Cassian hadn’t been entirely shocked by the concern on Azriel’s face, he would’ve argued with him. Yet he knew to garner such reaction, he was clearly distressed. “What is it?” He asked again, briefly abandoning endearments.

“Something has happened.” Azriel shook his head, his countenance more uncertain than Cassian had ever seen. “No, that’s not right.” Az thought for a moment, trying to remember not the words he planned, but the way he felt, the honesty and honor he owed her. He looked at his friend again and exhaled. “I did not mean for this to happen and though I didn’t expect it, I don’t regret it, not in the slightest, which might make this more difficult for you. I found something,” He inhaled, feeling the desperation poise his tongue just to speak her name. “With Nesta.”

Cassian looked back at him, entirely stunned. A full minute passed before he spoke. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m not surprised.” He began, sharper than he’d meant. “These past few weeks have been a great transition for us both.” Cassian’s eyes narrowed in a way that would’ve threatened anyone besides Azriel. “With her establishing Haven, we began to spend a lot of time together.”

“You haven’t visited in over a week.” Cassian’s tight voice tore out like a childish accusation.

“No, I haven’t flown back in over a week.” Understanding filled Cassian’s gaze. “It wasn’t some intentional secret. At first it was simple convenience because I genuinely enjoyed helping and watching her create something she was proud of.” He tried to bite away a smile, remembering the way he began to anticipate his visits, thinking about what kind of humor or temper he’d find her in. “Then I realized that I wanted to see her, I needed to be around her.” How deeply he began to ache for her conversation and limitless wit; stunned by her beauty as she blossomed with pride, joy and purpose. He shook his head, realizing his thoughts had fled the currently baffled expression of Cassian. “It’s like I’ve been asleep for so long, but being with her, feeling this way,” Cassian’s brows knitted together. “It’s awakened me. Cassian, I’ve never felt so alive, I just…”

Azriel cut himself off as soon as he realized it seemed like he was bragging, throwing it in Cassian’s face. The truth was that he was happy for the first time in the greater of half of a millennia and it was because of Nesta, something he hadn’t been able to share with anyone. He should’ve been used to it by now, silencing his emotions for the good of the group so as not to inconvenience anyone with his bleeding heart; yet here it was, blunt and no doubt entirely problematic for the general and though Azriel sympathized, he couldn’t be bothered to feel a shred of guilt. He never needed to be quiet and convenient for her; somehow it had brought him the freedom to discover himself.

“Why are you saying this?” Cassian was unable to accept the words as they fell upon his ears.

“Because she feels the same way.” He said without an ounce of apology.

“And what way is that, exactly?” He asked tensely, standing taller on instinct.

Azriel looked him over. “I won’t admit to you, what I have yet to say to her.”

“So, you’re unsure?” He led his tone presumptuously.

“No, I’m not and she has no doubt of the conviction of my affections, nor my commitment to her.”

“Listen to yourself, Az.” An anxiety punctured his gut as he noticed the unmoving determination in the Shadowsinger’s eyes. “Commitment? To Nesta? Is that wise? How can you be convinced of her affections, of a heart so frigid?”

Azriel could feel anger begin to turn his blood. “I could never doubt the strength or sincerity of a heart so accepting and true. If anything, I suspect it is her affections that have been previously misplaced.”

Cassian scoffed harshly. “I stopped waiting for this day a few hundred years ago. I never expected you to be able to hold a grudge for so long.”

Azriel was, for the first time, disgusted by his brother. “I would never use a person for payback.” Just the suggestion disturbed bile in the pit of his gut. “We’ve seen enough cruelty to value life, to respect one another, to hold ourselves to higher standards. Even if that is your method of manipulation, it certainly could never be mine.” Cassian could see the tension in his brother’s scarred hands. Exhaling slowly, in hopes of dislodging the fury coating his throat, Azriel’s voice was even and immovable. “I have done nothing wrong and still I wanted to pay you a respect that I have never been afforded in return. I want to be, I will be with Nesta and nothing could make me decide to walk away from her. I thought I should let you know just where things stand.”

Azriel excused himself and went in search of the High Lord.

Rhys seemed distracted, offering Azriel a more fleshed out explanation of Cassian’s earlier warning of their new duties. He seemed entirely uninterested in knowing the Shadowsinger’s whereabouts for the day. Knowing that Cassian would no doubt bring the High Lord up to speed, he offered no explanation, merely counting down the time until he could be standing before Nesta yet again. Luckily for him, it seemed his presence would only be necessary at dawn to begin their flight into the Illyrian Mountains. After hearing so, he quickly took his leave.

Chapter Text

Azriel wasted absolutely no time, winnowing from a fall directly into Haven. Nesta’s eyes fell upon him in a second. “Azriel, I’m surprised at you. Winnowing into a female’s bedroom.” She tsked playfully.

“I didn’t want to wait at the door.” He admitted with a soft smirk.

“Impatient or eager?” She inquired.

His eyes appreciatively roamed across her. “Both.”

She seemed satisfied with such an answer. “Then you’re in good company.” She laughed, quickly finding her way into his arms. Hesitating before she could kiss him, she sighed. “It wasn’t too unpleasant?”

He shrugged. “It was unpleasant enough, but I made myself clear. I am without a regret.”

“Likewise.” She grinned before kissing him fervently.

Her enthusiasm was entirely matched, as if neither one wanted to squander another moment in ignorance of each other; leaving them drunk on a feeling. It didn’t take long for the obstacle of clothing to be abandoned as they made their way to her bed.

Something in his touch struck her; there was a tenderness reaching for her, but his motions were fueled with an enticing force, powerful magic flowing through his veins, pulsing to the sound of her ragged breaths. It was unlike any caress she’d ever known, anticipating her desires before they could even manifest in a thought. His soft, lonesome lips were agony against the hollow of her throat as her exhales continued to build.

Nesta couldn’t help but treasure the textured scars of his hands as they discovered her body; introducing themselves with her thighs, becoming nimbly acquainted with the peaks of her chest, finally memorizing the furthest depths of her that he could reach.

Tentatively, Nesta sought to traverse the lines and ridges in his skin. When her hands found his chest, she smirked just in time for her lips to be reunited with his own. His heart pounded beneath her splayed fingers and she felt intoxicated by the entrancing percussion.

His body joined her own and she was overwhelmed in the seamless fit, biting his lip to keep from crying his name. He moaned against her mouth and it was the most sensuous sound she’d ever heard, bringing her a delicious pride to have been the cause. Though her hands had originally stalled at the feel of him, she was hungry for more.

Battle scars provided intricate landmarks of both his body, as well as the history of Prythian. Her voracious fingers searched out his massive ebony wings in the darkness and she could taste the catch in his breath. Testing her way along, Nesta’s heartbeat picked up every time he rewarded her exploration with a deep guttural hum of approval.

Azriel wasn’t sure if it had been hours or seconds; all his mind could comprehend was Nesta. The future was irrelevant, the past insignificant, but her breath, her touch, that was endless. When his wings felt her eager blessing, it seemed as though his heart might seize, until she bellowed his name against his lips.

His body fought against oblivion, greedily stealing as many moments of her tantalizing flesh as he could hope to earn. His lips found their way to her neck again and marveled at the sensation of the steady throb against his mouth. Whilst her pulse pushed back, kissing his lips, he could taste the building pressure of her body.

Nesta’s breaths impatiently interrupted themselves, collapsing atop one another with growing speed as she became desperate to come undone. His torturous touch kept her dangling precariously over the edge and just when she couldn’t stand it any longer, he spoke. “Come for me, Nesta.”

She wasn’t sure if genuine magic was the cause for the desired outcome to his command or if it was merely the feel of his husky voice gnawing at the tender skin of her neck, but Nesta willingly obeyed. Air refused to enter or exit her lungs; only shallow pointless breaths made it just beyond her lips, supplying the bare minimum of oxygen as her body quivered around him with a cry.

It was ultimately Nesta’s euphoric expression in her release that caused Azriel to follow quite soon after.

***

“I’ll have to disappear by dawn.” He spoke into her shoulder with a kiss.

She looked his way, feeling the soft designs he was tracing into her midsection underneath the blanket. “For how long?”

He smirked. “No more than a few hours it would seem. Rhys has tasked us with the work of overseeing changes in the war camps.”

Turning on her side, she looked at him with soft, cobalt eyes. “Can’t stay far for too long?”

“From you?” He shook his head. “Why would I want to?”

“You’ll be exhausted in the morning.” She warned.

He offered a pensive expression. “I’m incapable of mourning sleep that is lost to your attentive company.”

She grinned. “I’ll have a hot cup of coffee awaiting your return.”

***

Just before dawn, Azriel kissed Nesta’s sleeping forehead and winnowed himself back to Velaris. Rhys found him the moment he entered the House of Wind and Azriel could see from the High Lord’s expression that Cassian had not lost any time before relaying the news. He quickly nudged him into the library without a word.

Once inside, Rhys sternly looked at his friend. “Azriel, do you realize what you’re doing?”

He nodded. “With the utmost clarity.”

“What about Cassian?” He challenged.

Azriel shook his head, trying not to show the true extent of his impatience. “That questions hold no validity.”

The reply baffled Rhys. “What?”

The Shadowsinger exhaled. “He had the chance to be something for her, but he kept his distance when she needed him most. He could’ve been her choice if only he had been there for her. If he had,” Azriel paused. “We wouldn’t be where we are.”

“Don’t you care what this is doing to him?”

Azriel’s patience officially snapped as his voice raised in frustration. “Why am I the only one expected to hurt for others? Do you think Cassian ever asked himself that same question, do you think my past pain was even a fleeting thought of his? Did you see fit to step in then or only now do you change your policy to meddle into others’ affairs?”

Rhys had never seen Azriel so transparently upset. “It’s not the same thing.”

“You’re right.” Azriel sighed, a warmth filling his eyes as his voice softened. “It is different. I love Nesta.” Rhys’s eyes widened. “I’m in love with Nesta.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to, but you need to respect it.” Rhys opened his mouth, but Azriel held his hand up to stop him and continued. “Rhys, for the first time in my life, I’m happy, not complacent or content, but actually happy and it’s because of her, who she is, how she makes me feel.”

Rhys was entirely at a loss for words, but he couldn’t argue when he could see the truth drenching his brother’s once-pained eyes. An edge suddenly filled his amber orbs. “Now think about what you’re asking me to do by walking away?” Not that he would or could, but still he needed Rhys to understand the hypocrisy and cruelty of such a request. “He chose to abandon her; I won’t do the same, regardless of how uncomfortable it might make anyone.”

“You won’t waver on this?” Despite the inflection, it was clear that he wasn’t really asking a question.

“No and I won’t apologize either.”

Rhys nodded. “It seems there is nothing else to be said.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He said with a nod, stretching his wings for the impending flight before them.

***

The tour was unappealing for Azriel, but he took some solace from the silence afforded him by his entirely speechless companions. He didn’t secure lodgings with his brothers and though the action made the quiet feel even more strained, nothing was said or done. He winnowed for Haven the moment they were dismissed that evening and found Nesta sitting at a table with Velara and Kale.

The former was beaming as she displayed a beautiful, ornately carved walking staff the woodworker had clearly made for her. It was of bust height with an ivy engraving, a star etched at the top. Even as she sat, the thoughtful present rested against her shoulder as if in bittersweet irony of its function.

The small group brightened as the Shadowsinger entered. “Azriel,” Nesta beamed tenderly while approaching him. “We were just discussing the benefits of a soft re-opening tomorrow.”

He nodded and kissed her on the cheek. “Do you need any assistance in that regard?”

She shook her head. “You’re already working on your own project.”

He shrugged. “That doesn’t mean I can’t help with this one.”

She waved him off. “Just let me know when you have the time to start working on that sign.”

Kale opened his mouth, but Nesta interrupted his thought with one word: “Bookshelves.” He nodded immediately and stayed quiet as Azriel laughed at the brief interaction.

He bowed his head slightly. “I’m entirely at your service, Miss Archeron.”

***

Later that night, after their friends had left, Nesta wrapped her arms around Azriel and soothed something deep inside him. It was hard to believe he had lived so long without a comfort such as her embrace.

It was odd, but somehow Nesta felt that Azriel’s kindness and silent consideration had comfortably aged her into her now immeasurable existence.

It was just before dawn when she had captured his hands in her own, while an exhausted, slurred thought slipped from her mouth. “How long does immortality stretch?”

His thumbs caressed the soft skin of her hands, greatly juxtaposed with the mangled scars marring his own; so different, yet undeniably similar in the strength of their unwavering hold. His eyes were drawn to her own and he thought he could drown in the reciprocated affection and there was no other way he wanted to perish. He spoke simply, a permanent smile now affixed to his eyes. “Forever.”