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Chapter Text

Cassian paced impatiently in the training ring, temper already boiling despite the early hour. Six o’clock. He had told Nesta to be in this ring at six o’clock and not a moment later. She had made such a fuss over refusing to train in Windhaven that he had agreed to train her here, and she had humored him for all of two days before this. Her body was still much too thin for her to be skipping out on their morning sessions, and Cassian thrummed with the determination to get actual muscle on her before she next presented herself to their family. But that wouldn’t happen if she refused to show up to begin with.

“What time is it now?” he asked, scowling.

“A little past seven, I reckon,” Azriel replied, dryly, content to watch his brother fret from the corner of the ring.

“This is ridiculous. She knows the agreement.”

“Are you sure she felt well last night?” Azriel asked, tilting his head.

“She was the same as she always was,” Cassian grumbled, “absolutely miserable.”

“The bruises on her face from her fall the other night were still there, did you notice?”

Cassian paused, turning to look at the shadowsinger who, while usually openly amused at the endless arguing and tension between he and Nesta, had the softest glimmer of concern in his eyes.

“What do you mean? She didn’t fall that hard. Those bruises and scrapes should’ve faded in an hour or two.”

A frown tugged at Azriel’s lips. “She could have killed herself, Cassian, had she fallen any farther. You felt inclined to tease her about it, but we very well could have been dragging a bloody corpse up the stairs had she-”

“Don’t,” Cassian cut off sharply. “Don’t say that. She wouldn’t. She’s just being stubborn. Again.”

His brother sighed then, straightening up and approaching him slowly. Face hard and serious, he said, “that is what you all keep saying, when the look in her eyes says otherwise. If that’s what you need to tell yourself to sleep at night, fine, but you can’t ignore what’s right in front of you.”

“I’m not ignoring it, Azriel, I’m addressing it. Head on. She can disagree with my methods, but if they get her to stop drinking and looking like she just came out of a war camp then I will not apologize for it.”

Azriel closed his eyes for a moment, clearly irritated. Cassian waited silently for his brother to reply, attributing his stress to what was likely another lackluster round of reports from his spies on the Queens, Autumn, and Illyria, but was ultimately only met with another sigh and a shrug as Azriel turned and walked towards the other side of the ring.

“Whatever you say, Cass. Either way, if you’re that pressed to pull her out of bed, go fetch her yourself. I’m sure she’ll love it.”

Cassian scoffed, prepared to reject the notion, wanting to argue that Nesta knew her responsibilities and thus she would come to him or not at all. But there was something in the way Azriel’s brows furrowed, the softness of his tone, that made him reconsider. He hadn’t noticed anything wrong with Nesta the last few days, but Azriel was spy master for a reason. What if she was feeling unwell?

“Fine, but it’s on you when this ends in another screaming match.”

Azriel offered him nothing in response, just simple acceptance, and, running a rough hand over his face, Cassian made his way down to Nesta’s quarters, a place he had dared not tread since her arrival, for fear of facing the realities of their situation.

The door was firmly shut, and no sound could be heard from inside. Cassian rolled his eyes at the knowledge that she was likely just asleep, buried under the covers and avoiding the world as she had always done. With a deep breath, he knocked loudly, once, twice, and waited. And waited. And waited.

Nothing.

Growing more irritated by the second, he banged his fist on the door louder, calling out,

“Come on, sweetheart, getting your beauty rest may seem important, but it is not an excuse for skipping out on training.”

Still, there was nothing. No sound of rustling sheets or sleep-addled grumbles of discontent. A frown tugged at his lips and something too close to anxiety tugged at his chest.

“Nesta if you aren’t outside this door in the next five minutes, I will come in there and drag you myself.”

Crossing his arms, he waited for a reply. There was no way she slept that deeply, no fae did, and he knew just by the black circles under her eyes that, most of the time, even a light doze was hard for her to find these days. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t disappoint Feyre by letting Nesta keep her old habits. So, he leaned on the wall beside the door, waiting for the moment she showed her angry face, teeth bared and ready to rip into him. But as the minutes ticked on and the only thing to greet him was silence, he began to care less about chastising her for her tardiness. Instead, a new, burning need arose within him to simply lay his eyes on her to ensure that she was actually alive.

In the end, he didn’t actually know if five minutes had passed or not when he finally caved and opened the door, only a little surprised that it was unlocked.

“I warned you, Nes, I won’t apologize for what happens next,” he called as he entered, but froze when he took in the disarray of the room and, most notably, the very empty bed in the center of it.

“Nesta?” he asked, wondering where she would have gone without them knowing, or what would account for the blankets strewn about as if she shed them off her as she rose. Suddenly, Azriel’s comment about the incident on the stairs flashed through his mind, and his heart clenched. He scanned the room anxiously, looking for any sign of her, when he heard it.

A soft, quiet, pitiful whimper.

His head snapped towards the door to the bathroom, which he now realized was cracked open, though no light came from within. Slowly, he crept towards it, ears straining.

“Nes?” he said softer, and as he pushed the door open just enough to let the light in, his breath caught in his chest at what he found.

Nesta was still in her night gown, though it was soaked through with sweat, arms covering her head to block the ruckus he had made. Her breathing was labored, and as he looked at her closely, he could see the way her arms trembled, as if the muscles were straining just to keep them up over her.

“Just…give me a few… a few minutes,” she mumbled, her voiced slurred and muffled, as if her mind was too sluggish to form coherent thoughts. Cassian's chest tightened. Never, not once in the time he'd known her, had Nesta ever stuttered over her words. 

Quickly, without fully registering what she had said, he dropped to his knees beside her.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Are you sick? Is it your cycle?”

She didn’t respond verbally, but he saw the way her head shook. After an agonizing moment of silence, he watched as she pried her arms off her face and used them to push herself up, though it looked to be a monumental effort. Instinctively, he reached out to help her.

“Please don’t touch me,” she whispered, eyes still closed, and the words sent a spear through his heart. “This is normal, just…just go back outside and I’ll come once I…” she trailed off then, in a wince, and a hand shot to her head. At the loss of support, she suddenly pitched forward, and, without thinking about the demand she just gave him, he caught her, fear spiking at the limp way she laid against him.

At once, they both hissed. Nesta, from the pain, but Cassian from how hot her skin was. It nearly burned him, but as quickly as he held her, she had flinched back, out of his reach. As he looked for anything to cool her with, he heard the sound of her slumping back onto the floor, only this time her back was to him. Beside her, a bucket of cool water and a cloth had appeared, a courtesy of the House.  

“Gods, Nesta, you’re on fire, what do you mean this is normal?” he asked, shifting to grab the cloth.  A heartbreaking shudder moved through her as he placed it on the back of her neck, and, even from the limited way he was touching her, he could feel how tight her muscles were, the small tremors that continued to make their way down her arms and legs.

“It’s just a condition I have,” she murmured, grimacing as she shifted away from him just enough to send another wave of guilt and anxiety through him. Determined to help her, he settled more comfortably on the floor, closer to the basin of water that he was already re-dipping the cloth into. His brows furrowed at her words, trying to remember anyone mentioning such a thing.

“What do you mean, sweetheart? How long has this been going on?”

She didn’t answer him for a long moment, her eyes closed, so he gently brushed his thumb along the back of her neck, to get her attention.

“Nes, how long has this been happening?”

She let out a long breath, as if the thought of speaking anymore exhausted her.

“I don’t know, forever?” she mumbled against the tile, where she had turned her face into, “I have these episodes sometimes, they’re just worse now. I told you to just give me a few minutes, Cassian.”

Cassian shook his head. “I’m not letting you train like this; I need to get you to Madja.”

He started to get up, intending on putting her in his arms, but as soon as his hands touched her fully, she flinched, another whimper making its way past her lips at the sudden jostling. He decided he never wanted to hear that sound again.

“Please don’t,” she whispered, and her voice was so weak, so vulnerable, that he couldn’t refute her.

“Okay,” he relented, deciding to ignore the way his throat had tightened at her aversion to him. “Okay, sweetheart, I won’t touch you. But we need to get someone to bring Madja, then.”

He knew the words would prompt the shadows throughout the house to alert their master, and as he waited for Azriel to come down from the ring he began pondering his options for how to keep her settled, how to help.

“We need to cool you down,” he said gently, “a bath will help until she gets here,”

At this, Nesta reared back, attempting to sit herself up at such a speed that the dizziness that overcame her was palpable. For the first time since he found her, she met his eyes, and her gaze held such raw pain and terror that he was suddenly adamant about finding whoever gave her this “condition” and giving them a slow, painful death.

“No baths,” she gasped, and he frowned at the way he saw her fingers tremble from their place on the floor.

He stared at her for a moment in confusion, but her distress alone was enough for him to acquiesce, if only to soothe her. Gently, and slow enough to give her time to move away, he lifted a hand to brush the sweaty strands of hair from her face.

“Okay,” he said. “No baths. Just the cloth, okay?”

Her body sagged at the words, and, to his surprise and immense relief, Nesta allowed him to ease her back down into the floor. Once she settled, head resting just next to his thigh, he began tentatively running the cool cloth over her arms, neck, and shoulders, listening for his brother’s footsteps. She still flinched the first couple times the fabric touched her skin, but after several moments she quieted, encouraging him to keep up the gentle movements until she said otherwise.

As expected, Azriel peaked his head in through the door a moment later, lips pursed as he took in the state of her. They didn’t need to exchange any words before he turned on his heel, mission clear. Nesta had nestled her face back into the tile, to block out any light, and he was growing increasingly frustrated that he couldn’t pull her into his lap properly, either from the pain or the chasm that now strained their relationship.

“Does Feyre know about this?” he asked, frowning as he watched the way her too thin frame shook with another wave of tremors rocking through her. Nesta shook her head.

“Don’t bother her with it,” she said, muffled, “don’t bother anyone with it.”

“Nesta you’re in agony. How often do you hurt like this?”

Her silence at the question left him uneasy, and he began to wonder if she had felt this way the whole time but hadn’t said anything. Suddenly, the harsh words he said to her after her incident on the stairs filled him with a sickening sense of dread.

Attempting to settle himself, Cassian closed his eyes for a long moment, going through the rote motions of soothing the cloth over any exposed skin he could reach before re-dipping it in the water and repeating. She didn’t say whether it helped, but, selfishly, he needed to do something, anything to make him feel less awful for neglecting whatever this was. Because clearly, she was sick, and had been for awhile. And, clearly, he was the asshole who missed it. They sat for several minutes in silence, so long that Cassian wondered if Nesta had succumbed to sleep. But her breathing was still labored and uneven, and every once in a while, a soft, near silent whine would pass through her lips, stirring that instinct buried deep within him to protect her at all costs. An instinct he had refused to acknowledge until now.

He heard, rather than saw Azriel and Madja’s arrival, mainly because it was followed by the familiar sound of Rhys’ voice, and by Feyre’s. He fought the urge to let out a long sigh, unsure whether he wanted them here at all, and just hoped they wouldn’t all come in at once and shatter this fragile moment of peace he had created. But, even with the commotion down the hall, Nesta didn’t stir, not even when, thankfully, it was just Madja who entered her bedroom.

The old healer had a firm frown on her face as she set herself down by Nesta’s side. Gently, she reached out a hand to brush over the back of Nesta’s head, her magic thrumming as it assessed her. When her frown only deepened, Cassian’s throat became uncomfortably tight.

“Leave her to me,” Madja said, no room for questioning in her voice. Cassian opened his mouth to protest but was met with a glare so sharp it jolted him, for he had never seen such open anger on the usually kind female’s face. So, reluctantly, he set down the cloth and watched, helplessly, as Madja settled Nesta’s head into her lap without protest.

Pushing himself up on unsteady feet, he left them to it, deciding he should, at least, inform Feyre about her sister’s condition. He turned back to look at Nesta once more before he left, frowning deeply at the way Madja was already running her magic through her body. And as he finally stepped through the door into the hall, he heard the healer say softly,

“It’s alright, my dear, you can rest now.”

He tried not to let the implication leave a bitter taste in his mouth as he made his way towards his family.

---

Stress lined Feyre’s face as she met Cassian’s gaze when he entered the sitting room down the hall. Rhys had made himself comfortable, drink already in hand, though he too had distinct tension in his shoulders, a frown on his face.

“What happened?” Feyre asked, “Azriel said she fell down the stairs?”

Cassian looked at his brother who was standing by the door, arms crossed, broodier than when he had left. With a sigh, he said,

“She did, but that isn’t what this is. She’s burning up, I found her on the bathroom floor. I don’t know if it’s an illness or something else.”

Feyre’s lips pursed. “Do you think it’s her magic? Those flames?”

Cassian shrugged, tucking his wings in tight. “She said it was normal, but I’ve never seen her like that before.”

“If it is her magic, that’s all the more reason she needs to train,” Rhys said, and Cassian pinched his brow, not really in the mood to have another discussion about what Nesta should and shouldn’t do when they apparently didn’t even know what state she was in to begin with.

Luckily, before they could get into rehashing that conversation, Madja appeared in the living room, arms crossed, mouth set in a grim line. 

“How is she?” Feyre asked, wringing her hands, “Will she be alright?”

Madja assessed the group of them for a moment before replying, “your sister’s health condition seems to have worsened after she was Made, rather than being healed. I believe whatever powers she took from the Cauldron are exasperating it.”

“Condition?” Feyre said, confusion clear in her voice. “What condition?”

Madja stared at her High Lady with something akin to bewilderment. “Your sister suffers from an inflammatory condition of the nerves and muscles. According to her, she’s had it her entire life. I find it difficult to believe you are unaware of it.”

A pregnant silence filled the room, and Cassian’s mind came to a screeching halt.

“She’s…never said,” Feyre replied, brows furrowed. “She always seemed well enough. I mean, there were days she’d spend in bed, but I just assumed it was to keep warm or because she couldn’t be bothered. But you say it’s worse now?”

“I believe the magic she inherited from the Cauldron has manipulated it, accounting for the increase in body temperature in addition to the pain.”

“But this condition is already painful on its own?” Cassian asked. “Or is that just from the Cauldron?”

Madja’s lips pursed, and almost looked as though she were ready to call him an idiot. “Such inflammation on its own would be very uncomfortable, to say the least. I wouldn’t be surprised if Nesta has been in a considerable amount of pain on most days of her life. This episode, I believe, was triggered by extensive physical exertion. I don’t suppose you have any insight on why that might be?”

“We’re…training her,” Cassian replied, swallowing, and shifting uncomfortably, suddenly nervous.

“Training for what, exactly?” Madja shot back, irritation clear on her face, “the Blood Rite? There’s no reason for her body to be put through the kind of strain I know you Illyrians like to inflict on yourselves, not in her condition.”

“We didn’t know about it, Madja, please believe us. We hoped it would help with her behaviors,” Rhys said, gently, “the drinking and self-destruction, that is, in addition to control her magic.”

“Two issues that you should have come to me for immediately,” she replied, almost scolding, unbothered by the fact that she was talking to the High Lord. “For you to take matters into your own hands without a proper evaluation of her health was reckless. If she managed to keep her condition secret from you, which frankly is quite baffling given how debilitating it can be, I fear she would similarly hide the consequences of this plan you have in place. We’re lucky the consequences weren’t more dire.”

Another round of silence fell for several moments, each of them processing the weight of Madja’s words. Azriel’s shadows had darkened the room, and Feyre had bowed her head, racking her brain for memories of her sister’s pain. Rhys sat with his lips pressed into a thin line, attempting to reconcile her diagnosis with his perceptions. Cassian, meanwhile, felt as though the room was spinning. How did they miss this?

“Unfortunately, it seems that we were misguided. What do you recommend?” Rhys asked, though the judgement or suspicion in his tone that was normally present when they discussed Nesta was missing.

“The nature of her condition can cause significant strain on the mind, subjecting her to increased vulnerability to depression, anxiety, and difficulty to cope with trauma, in addition to the physical pain she feels. It’s rare in fae, but her circumstances aren’t exactly normal. The behaviors you describe are, in my opinion, not out of the question from what I’d expect for someone who went through what she has. She needs to be treated gently, with care, rather than put through paces like a soldier.”

Rhys nodded, frowning. “But what about her magic? That must be controlled.”

“I would think you’d know by now that not all magic is honed through harsh combat. In fact, I would say it only exacerbates her suffering further. I recommend a more refined approach, treat it like an academic pursuit rather than a foe to be vanquished. But she needs rest, now. No working, no training, just rest and gentle care. I don't know whether you’re keeping her up here for punishment or for healing, but she needs to stay within her physical limits. If physical training is something she wants to continue, I can provide a list of exercises that will help her build strength in a way that isn’t as stressful on the body.”

Cassian watched as Rhys took Madja’s criticisms, shoulders slumping as if he had just been chastised by his mother. He expected him to push back, to criticize Nesta as he’d always done. But instead, he just nodded, something akin to guilt in his eyes, as if he was unable to bring himself to go head-to-head with the female who helped bring him into the world.

“I understand,” he said quietly, “I hope you’ll forgive our oversight.”

Madja nodded. “It seems Nesta was keen on hiding it from you, so I cannot fault you entirely. Though, in the future, when one of you has an issue, I ask that you contact me before the crisis, rather than later. I must have told you that a thousand times by now.”

Rhys offered her an apologetic smile, and briefly the tension in the room eased. But Feyre’s eyes were still full of concern, anxiety, and in a tentative voice she asked,

“Can I see her?”

“She’s sleeping,” Madja replied, “I gave her something to cool her down and to ease the pain. I reckon she’ll sleep for the rest of the day. But she was adamant for privacy, so in the interest of my patient I’ve warded the door to her room. Unless she is in distress or opens the door herself, you’ll have to wait till tomorrow morning.”

Feyre frowned deeply, and looked almost ready to protest, but after a beat of silence, likely in which Rhys was communicating with her mind to mind, she nodded, a crestfallen expression on her face.

“I’ve left a healthy supply of the tonics I gave her for future episodes. Let her sleep, and make sure she eats in the morning. If she isn’t better by tomorrow, I’ll return. Otherwise, I’ll check in with her in a few days.”

Decidedly finished with her evaluation, Madja turned to Azriel to take her home, who did so without a word, leaving Cassian, Feyre, and Rhys to their thoughts. As they left, Rhys let out a long sigh, rubbing a hand over his face before lifting an arm for Feyre to sink into his side. She sat stiffly, quiet as she contemplated the last few years of her life, trying to remember any signs that Nesta was in pain.

“I swear I never knew,” she said quietly, “we’ll have to ask Elain. But Gods, if she’s been in pain all this time…”

“Then we’ll help her,” Rhys finished, pressing a kiss to her head. “She is your sister, and will be taken care of. At least we know now.”

And while that seemed to ease Feyre, at least for the moment, Cassian could only stare blankly down the hallway towards Nesta’s room, mind caving in with the guilt he felt over the consequences of their ignorance. His words to her the other night, telling her everyone hated her, paired with the way she flinched away from his grasp would haunt him for the rest of his life.

But at the same time, he knew just as well why many hid their pain. He himself did so more than most. The difference was his family knew that too, and thus didn’t let him get away with it very often. And so, the longer he sat, stewing in his own anxieties over the well being of a female who meant more to him than he was ready to admit, the firmer he became in his decision.

He would not let her get away with hiding her pain. Not from him. He would be there, day or night, showing her what it meant to be cared for, if only to atone for the months he should have spent doing so. He would listen, and he would learn what she needed, what she wanted, something he realized he’d never even asked. And, most of all, he would be the male who she deserved, who kissed her on that battlefield and promised her time, ready to die with her in his arms.

He only hoped she still had the strength to listen.  

Chapter Text

Nesta’s entire body felt heavy as she slowly dragged herself up from the cloud of the deep sleep that settled over her. The last few hours came to her in flashes: the searing pain in her head that sent her up out of bed, trying and failing to convince herself to sit in a cold bath and relying instead on the bucket of water the House deposited at her feet. She remembered the moment her body finally gave out, when she decided that the floor was perhaps the most comfortable surface in existence. She remembered the anxiety, knowing that training was close upon her, but just needing five more minutes, five more minutes, five more minutes. 

Then, she remembered Cassian, remembered his heavy hand searing too hot on her skin, the softness in his voice, the irritation she could feel when the old healer demanded he leave before that blessed female finally gave her peace.

Fuck.

With a groan, Nesta pushed herself up into a sitting position, relishing in the darkness that had been carefully preserved, curtains drawn with a little something extra, something magic, maintaining the silence, the gentle shadows that kept any sharp beams of light from reaching her. She was blissfully cool, and though she ached all over in the aftermath of her body’s revolt against itself, it was a relief to be, at least temporarily, relieved of the fire that scorched her insides from the root of her scalp to the tips of her fingers.

But despite the welcome reprieve from her physical turmoil, her mind was already racing with the realities of what her episode brought. Cassian knew. Cassian knew of her true weakness, of the meticulously kept secret she had hidden from her sisters, from everyone. Cassian knew and he likely had already told Azriel, who almost certainly told Rhysand and Feyre. Running a hand over her face, she took a long breath, the words of her keeper ringing in her head, just as they had from the moment, he said them.

Everyone hates you.

She wondered if they were celebrating, relishing in the newfound knowledge that they had not only successfully wrangled her into this prison so that she could wallow in the shame of her own inadequacy, but her body was also on their side, punishing her for her failures for as long as she could remember. Slowly, she rolled her shoulders, testing the stiffness in her limbs, before tentatively shifting to place her feet on the floor.

Exhaustion still seeped from her bones as she pushed herself up, padding over slowly to look at herself in the mirror, grimacing at the aftermath of the night’s turmoil. Her eyes were hollow, cheeks gaunt, and though the pain was mitigated by whatever tonic Madja had flowing through her veins, she looked just about as awful as she did yesterday. But she knew that there would be consequences for staying holed up for a full day, and though all she wanted to do was stay curled up in bed, perhaps with a book, she figured it was best to get things over with.

She took it slow, sliding on the softest leathers she could find, her skin still prickling with oversensitivity at the contact with the fabric. She didn’t go as far as to put on proper boots, hoping at least to get the chance to have a cup of tea during her scolding, to give herself the chance to rally her energy. She left her hair braided loosely over her shoulder, arms aching at the prospect of attempting to pin it all up, and with a deep breath finally opened the door to her quarters.

Even in the dim hallway, her eyes squinted against the sunlight that streamed in from windows up the corridor. The feeling of waking up after these episodes was sometimes worse than any hangover she’d had, and today was shaping up to be no exception. On quiet, slow feet she padded towards the dining room, arms hugging herself loosely both out of nerves and to steady the physical discomfort of her body attempting to regain normalcy.

The House was strangely quiet, the usual sound of Cassian’s boisterous voice absent, as were the sounds of swords or fists clashing. She wondered if they had actually left her up here alone, perhaps to scheme, but as she rounded the corner and got her first glimpse of the large dining table, she saw both Illyrians seated at one end of it, each picking through breakfast in relative silence.

She realized, then, that she had no idea what time it actually was, so it was unclear to her whether this was simply their normal breakfast time or if they too had slept in. She took a couple of steps into the room, hoping for just a cup of tea to soothe her, when Cassian’s eyes flicked up from his plate, the sharp anxiety clear within them freezing her where she stood.

For a moment, they stared at each other with wide, unblinking eyes, both seemingly unsure of what kind of conversation was about to unfold. Nesta could only watch, mind blank, as he suddenly jolted, as if Azriel had kicked him from under the table.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he said, voice even softer than it had been when he found her. It almost sounded like the tone he used with Elain, or children he met on the street. It made her narrow her eyes. “How are you feeling?”

She hesitated for a moment, unsure if she was welcome to take a seat on the other side of the table, until the House conjured a tiny tea pot and simple, white toast. Tentatively, she approached. “I’m fine,” she said, keeping her tone neutral, trying to ignore both Illyrian’s eyes on her as she sat down.

Silently, she poured herself a cup, slowing stirring in a spoonful of sugar, an indulgence. Cassian continued to stare at her, even as Azriel went back to his own meal, until the intensity of his gaze was too much for her.

“Is there something else?” she asked, and though there was usually bite to her words, they just came out as tired. She was tired.

Cassian blinked, realizing his disposition, before he cast his gaze to the side. “No, nothing else.”

Nesta nodded, still skeptical, before letting herself enjoy her tea, wholly uninterested in the toast beside her. Her appetite was beyond non-existent, despite the ordeal her body had been through, and the increased pressure from her housemates to eat riddled her stomach with too much anxiety to carry out the order. She finished her beverage in silence, noting the glances the two brothers kept exchanging with each other, and sighed.

“What time is training?”

Azriel lifted his eyes from his plate and assessed her for a moment before flicking them to Cassian, waiting expectantly.

Cassian swallowed, actually swallowed, before he replied, “there isn’t any training today, sweetheart.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes at him again, trying to assess what kind of game he was playing. “The library then.”

She watched as he simply shook his head. “No work, either.”

A frown tugged at her lips, and she waited for him to continue, folding her hands on top of the table.

“We decided to end training for now, and work, just so you could rest. You don’t have to continue with either, if you don’t want to.”

Nesta stared at him, for one second, then two, then three. We decided. Once again, they decided something about her, without her input.

“Did you vote on it?” she asked, unable to muster up the will to add any emotion to her voice.

Cassian blinked in confusion. “What?”

“Did you vote on these new marching orders?”

She watched out of the corner of her eye as Azriel leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. Who he was more irritated at, she wasn’t sure.

“I- we didn’t vote, Nesta,” he said, quietly, almost if he was guilty. “They’re Madja’s orders.”

“I see. I expect I’ll do double then, to make up for the loss once her prescribed respite is over?”

“No, of course not. What makes you think that?”

At this, Azriel let out something between a scoff and a laugh, something so striking and unusual from him that they both turned their heads in surprise. Cassian’s eyes narrowed into a glare, a warning in his gaze, before he turned back to Nesta.

“We just want to take care of you, Nes, and the training and the work wasn’t the right way to go about it. So, now we focus on protecting your health in a way that’s best for you.”

An absurd laugh threatened to work its way out of Nesta’s throat at the prospect. But, to save herself the ire that would surely come as a result, she merely shook her head at him.

“I find that hard to believe.”

She could see the exasperation already growing in his eyes, his hand flexing around his cup. “Nesta, everything we have done has been because we care about you.”

“Except you don’t care about me, Cassian. You said so yourself.”

She watched the way he blanched, how his lips pursed.

“My condition has been the same the entire time I have been here. When I use my power, it hurts. When I exert myself physically, it hurts. It always has, and always will, and I have taken care of it this entire time. You just happening to see what that looks like doesn’t mean you suddenly care. You say you do now, but if everybody hates me, I simply don’t believe that to be true.” 

She rose from her seat then, already done with this conversation. If it was true that there was no training and no work, then she wanted to do nothing else but sleep. Cassian couldn’t answer her, staring at her as if she had just jammed a knife in his chest. As she stood, she sighed and said,

“You don’t have to pretend for my sake, it doesn’t actually change anything. I certainly wont hold it against you.”

She didn’t wait for a reply, walking back to her room without another word. Their open hatred for her, she could take. His harsh words and ruthless regiment of physical training and labor she could handle. It was the sudden shift, the sudden soft demeanor, as if she hadn’t suffered the same way for most of her life. It didn’t comfort her, not when she knew it likely was only just to make himself feel better.

Padding down the hall, anxious to settle herself back under the blankets, she caught only one sentence from the conversation that had likely started as soon as she left.

“Wipe that fucking look off your face, Azriel.”

---

It was late into the day before Cassian dared to approach Nesta again, and only because he wasn’t alone. Her words stung him deeply, and not because he was insulted. Because she was right, he had made no indication that he actually cared for her beyond making her sister happy.

Her sister who was, currently, standing beside him nervously, brows pinched together, Elain to her left.

“She hasn’t come back out?” Feyre asked. “Did she even eat anything, like Madja ordered?”

Cassian closed his eyes, irritated at himself for being so shocked by Nesta’s ire that he didn’t ensure that she had the sustenance to recover properly.

“She didn’t,” he admitted quietly. “I’m not sure if the House has given her something or not.”

A firm frown was permanently set on Elain’s face, only adding to the guilt he felt at what had become of her sister.

“Elain said she’d never noticed either, right?” Feyre asked again, turning to her sister, imploring.

“When we were little, sometimes I wouldn’t see her all day. I thought it was lessons, but a couple of times I heard father talking with the doctor, the one who did all our regular exams. I was never told what it was about, I assumed it was his own health. In the cabin, though, sometimes she’d stay in bed all day, or wouldn’t speak. It was the only time I ever saw father do anything. He’d make her tea, if we happened to have it, or just warm water with whatever herbs he could find. She’d always make sure she was up before you got back, though. I should’ve asked, but…I didn’t want to know, I think. Didn’t want to see any more suffering. But now that I think back on it, the dots connect.”

The High Lady let out a long sigh, tipping her head back with closed eyes. “I don’t even know where to begin to fix this.”

Cassian ran a hand over his face. “You don’t have to fix anything. You have always cared for her. She just hasn’t let you in to care for her the way she needs to be, and that’s not your fault. It’s whoever came before, who made it clear that she couldn’t be open with it. Now, we just have to convince her that she can. Which… won’t be easy. And that is my fault.”

At this, she turned her gaze to him, eyes slightly narrowed in a way so similar to Nesta that his heart clenched. “Why is that?”

Cassian looked down at his feet, guilt eating at him with every breath he took. He didn’t know how Feyre would react when he admitted the things he had said to her sister over the past few months. But he did know that, if he were in her position, he would not have been exactly happy to hear them.

“I’ve said some…horrible things to her. I wanted to goad her, to get a reaction out of her, but it didn’t do anything except make things worse.”

Elain crossed her arms, brows furrowing, the closet to angry Cassian had seen from the middle Archeron.

“Go on,” Feyre said quietly, her expression carefully schooled.

“Last solstice when I followed her outside, I told her I didn’t know why you and Elain loved her, that she should try harder this year. I even told her to leave Velaris. She ignored me, walked away without a word. And then, a few days ago, after she fell down those damn stairs, I made fun of her for it and I…I told her everyone hates her.”

A heavy silence existed between them for a full minute as Feyre processed the words. Elain had gone still, something brimming in her eyes that had him shifting uncomfortably, like a child knowing he’d been caught bullying his peers.

“You told her that everyone hates her,” Feyre repeated. Cassian could only nod, swallowing in an attempt to ease the tightness in his throat.

“You told her that everyone hates her when you know how much Elain and I love her. When you know how difficult it has been for me, to watch you all condemn her, criticize her, and oust her while I still tried to include her, to be kind to her, because I knew she was suffering but didn’t know how to help her.”

“I didn’t mean it to hurt you,” Cassian said quietly. “I wanted to get a reaction out of her. She was so emotionless, so void, I just…I thought anger would be better than nothing.”

“You thought hurt would be better than nothing,” Elain corrected, voice quiet. “Not anger. You wanted to hurt her.”

“I- yes. I guess. She threw it back in my face this morning, if its any consolation.”

“It’s not.” Feyre snapped. “Nesta responds to hurt like a wounded animal, she can be viscous and spiteful and defensive. It’s difficult, and it’s not healthy, but that does not mean she does not deserve care. That does not mean you can say those things to her. I put her up here with you and Azriel because I trusted you to care for her like you did me, I figured one of you could break through her exterior, to reach her. Now I see that may have been misguided.”

 The blow cut Cassian to his core. His anger had gotten the best of him, something inside him unable to resist meeting the challenge every time Nesta spit fire and bared her teeth. He let out a shaky breath, having no excuses to offer her.

“You really think she didn’t feel every single one of those insults? I know she has given them back to you in equal measure, and that your hurt is valid, but you have also come at her from day one, you couldn’t resist. And now that I know the full truth of her situation, of her health, it just adds another layer of mess. How could she not feel like a prisoner here when we’re working her to the bone and you’re telling her that everyone hates her? I’m having to re-assess everything I know about her, think about her. I suggest you do the same.”

“I am,” Cassian said, voice hoarse, “if I had known, Feyre, I swear I wouldn’t have-”

“Does it make a difference?” Elain asked, exapserated. “Would you really have treated her like a breakable doll if you knew? I guarantee you Nesta doesn’t want to be treated differently because of this, why else would she have hidden it?”

“Did you apologize?” Feyre followed up; arms crossed, and the relentless interrogation of the sisters was beginning to overwhelm him.  

“Not yet,” Cassian answered. “I intend to though, Feyre, I swear it.”

“See that you do,” she answered, no room for pushback in her tone. “Until then, Elain and I will take care of her. You can go… somewhere else.”

Cassian could only nod, sorrow filling him from top to bottom. Despite the burning need within him to see Nesta himself, to speak to her again, he forced himself to watch, helpless, as both sisters brushed past him and made their way to her room, for it was no less than he deserved.

---

Nesta didn’t remember when she last sat in a comfortable bed, surrounded by soft pillows and blankets, free to recover at her own pace. Perhaps this was the first time. Her mother had certainly never allowed it, and in the cabin it wasn't really possible. Her body was still heavy, still sore and aching, but there was a peace to this room, an ability to simply breathe, that hadn’t been there before. It was as if the House had transformed the space, perhaps in apology, for the pitiful state she was in last night.

After the disastrous conversation at breakfast, Nesta had quickly fallen back to sleep, still drowsy from the tonics and Madja’s healing. She didn’t know what time it was when she woke, but she had little desire to leave her bed, not if there was nothing currently being demanded of her. Instead, she did something she’d never allowed herself to do. She sat in bed, all day, simply because she wanted to, and not because she physically couldn’t get up or her sorrows were drowning her. She read her books and sipped the endless supply of tea that appeared at her bedside table, content to pretend, just for the moment, that there wasn’t chaos and disappointment waiting for her outside.

She was on her second book of the day when a knock finally sounded at the door. It was too light to be Cassian’s, too gentle, and she knew right away who it was. With a shuddering breath, she slowly set her latest read in her lap, and called for her visitor to enter, cringing at the hoarseness of her own voice. Slowly, Feyre peaked her head in, taking in the sight of what Nesta imagined she perceived as her pathetic, bedridden sister, before she stepped in with silent feet, followed closely by Elain.

“Hi Nesta,” she said softly, approaching the side of the bed. "How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Nesta replied, nervous to speak with her sisters after the truth came to light. She assumed they both knew, there was no other reason why they were here, looking at her with eyes full of pity.

“Are you comfortable? Have you eaten?”

She frowned, fighting the urge to immediately go on the defense. “I’m not hungry,” she said quietly, “but I’m fine, Feyre, really. You didn’t have to come up here.”

“Madja said you needed something,” her sister pressed, lips pursing. “Elain made soup, something light, if you think your body can handle it.”

Nesta was ready to refuse her, ready to snap that she wasn’t suddenly a child who needed coddling. But Elain looked at her with those large brown eyes, so full of concern and worry that she wanted to scream. To tell them to stop this, to stop caring. Still, she couldn’t deny her.

“Alright,” she murmured, and she supposed that the way Elain’s shoulders slumped in relief made her nausea at the thought of eating anything worth it.

Feyre offered her a tiny smile before she sat carefully on the side of the bed, taking care not to disrupt the makeshift nest the House had built. They were quiet for a few moments before she finally said,

“I wish you’d told us, Nesta. I wish we’d known. I wouldn’t have said half the things I did if I’d have known.”

“I wasn’t going to be more of a burden than I already am,” Nesta replied, tense. “I was horrible to you regardless.”

“Still,” her sister said, stubborn as ever, “we could’ve found something, for the pain. I can’t imagine what I would have done in that cabin, being in pain every day. It couldn’t have been easy.”

“Nothing about the cabin was easy,” Nesta murmured, looking down at the soft blue blanket bunched around her waist, “it wasn’t worth the extra trouble to say anything.”

“Did mother or father ever do anything to help you?” Elain asked, her hands bunched in her skirts, “before, I mean.”

“Father had pain similar to mine, so at first, he recommended a healer that helped ease the tension and prescribed physical exercises,” Nesta began, not knowing why exactly she was offering this information to them other than to get them off her back. “But a lady who is physically broken is not a suitable wife, so mother put an end to it, and I learned to hide it on my own. She was right, of course, who would want to marry this.”

“Don’t say that,” Feyre said, sorrow so evident in her tone that it was frustrating. “You aren’t broken.”

“I don’t know what else you would call it, Feyre,” Nesta snapped, avoiding her sister’s gazes. “Other than a just punishment, perhaps, for everything I am.”

Everybody hates you; Cassian’s voice rang in her head, her new daily reminder. 

“You know that’s not true, don’t you?” Feyre said, and Nesta mentally scolded herself for forgetting her sister’s mind reading abilities. “I don’t hate you, Nesta.”

Nesta didn’t reply for a long moment, lips pressed into a thin line. There was no reason for them not to hate her, even now when they knew the truth. She hadn’t done anything to deserve their love, their pity. She just wanted to be alone.

“Nevertheless,” she finally said, “you don’t need to worry about this. I’ve handled it for this long, I’ll handle it now. Yesterday was an unfortunate lapse of control.”

“Nesta, we know the Cauldron made it worse,” Elain cut in, her pitch high with anxiety. “You don’t have to deal with that alone. You did everything for me after I was made, please let us help you.”

Feyre’s face was full of tension, eyes fixated on the way Nesta’s hands started brushing over the soft fabric of the blankets, finding solace in their textures. “I know you are angry with us,” she said quietly, “because we took your choice, because we put you up here with strict orders, and did so without your input. The voting was wrong, Nesta, I admit. I should have talked to you, should have asked how you were feeling. I’m sorry.”

Nesta shook her head, unwilling to accept apologies from her sister who had already given so much. “I don’t fit with your family, Feyre,” she said quietly, “you had limited options. Personally, I would have just dropped me in the woods somewhere and been done with it. Being your weapon or soldier or whatever is probably all I’m good for anyway, and it's clear your family agrees. I won’t hold it against you for putting me somewhere out of sight until the next war.”

Elain sucked in a gasp, horrified at her words, but Feyre didn’t flinch, as if she expected that response. Tentatively, Nesta flicked her eyes to her youngest sister’s gaze and frowned at the way she was watching her, calculating, as if she was relearning everything about her. It made her deeply uncomfortable, exposed.

“I know it’s hard for you to believe, Nesta, but I do love you” Feyre replied. “But I understand that it will be a long time before you can accept it. I know this situation did not go the way we planned, that the execution was wrong. But I am listening now. I’m listening and I will support you. I will get you the help you need, be it healers or Priestesses or whoever else. I want to know what hurts, what makes it worse, what makes it better. I want to know what you want, who you want to be.”

Nesta sighed, tipping her head to look up at the ceiling, trying desperately not to say something cruel, something sharp, so that they would stop poking at her, trying to find her innermost secrets. But she knew the consequences of the defense she had relied on all these years, and, honestly, she was too tired to protect herself that way anymore.

“I don’t want to be anything,” she whispered, “I just want to go away, be done with everything. Why can’t you let me?”

Her sister’s tattooed hand suddenly rested over top of hers, gripping tightly enough that she brought her head forward to meet her gaze. There was determination in Feyre’s eyes, determination, and sadness. In her periphery, she saw Elain’s splotchy cheeks, heard the way she sniffled, and fought the tears brimming in her own eyes.

“Because the people I love don’t deserve to suffer,” Feyre replied, resolute. “And I am going to prove it to you.”

Chapter Text

After Feyre and Elain’s visit, Nesta opted to stay in bed until late evening. She had managed to keep down the soup her sister made, though she was loathe to eat anything else for the foreseeable future and allowed them to fret over her until they remembered that they had more important things they could be doing and took their leave. She genuinely couldn’t wrap her head around why they were suddenly so distraught, not when she was exactly where they wanted her, at their mercy. Nevertheless, she knew Feyre was stubborn, and with a declaration like the one she made at her bedside, Nesta knew to expect to see her much more frequently.

The moon was already bright in the night sky when she finally left her room, restlessness getting the better of her. She didn’t really know what she was after, be it a new book from the library or just fresh air, so she let her mind take her wherever it saw fit, bare feet padding along cool tiles until she stepped out onto one of the House’s many balconies and took in the view of Velaris, radiant against the backdrop of mountains and dazzling starlight.

Nesta wished she could love it as much as everyone else, wished she could properly take in its splendor, but it wasn’t home to her. It only served as a reminder of what her life would look like for the next thousands of years. It was suffocating, even from a distance, and it served as a constant reminder of the riches that her family had compared to the stark suffering she witnessed in Illyria. Her thoughts drifted to Emerie then, of that wonderful shopkeeper, and wondered if she could only look at the lot of them with carefully hidden disdain. She wouldn’t blame her. She wondered what she would think of all this, of her current situation.

Reaching up, she subconsciously dug her fingers into the tight muscles of her shoulder, working out the stiffness that permanently resided there. Her permanent state of soreness was nothing new, but with these episodes from the Cauldron getting more frequent, she was less and less able to ignore it.

“Do you still hurt?” A soft, deep voice came from behind her.

Only slightly startled, Nesta turned her head to assess the shadowsinger, leaning against the entryway, arms folded. His expression was softer than normal, unguarded, and his shoulders were relaxed in a way she rarely witnessed. Still, the scars on his hands served as a visible reminder that he was not a stranger to a lifetime of pain, the kind that never quite goes away, and so she offered,

“I always hurt.”

Azriel cocked his head in acquiescence, but elaborated,

“That much was easily guessed. I meant more than usual.”

Nesta hesitated, unsure whether or not she actually wanted to talk about how she felt. After hours of assuring everyone that she was fine, to reveal the truth only seemed more exhausting. Still, the male before her was Spy Master for a reason, and she’d only get so far with evasive maneuvers.

“Just tired,” she replied. When he remained perfectly still, watching her expectantly, she begrudgingly added, “a little sore.”

He hummed in agreement, satisfied, before taking a few steps forward to join her on the balcony. She watched as his fingers flexed over the railing as he settled beside her, the way his shadows swirled out over them. After a beat of silence, he lifted a hand and reached into one of his countless pockets, pulling out a small tin and placing it in front of her.

“I thought this might help.”

Blinking, Nesta picked up his offering and removed the lid, taking in the smooth salve within, the soft minty scent. Azriel continued,

“My hands hurt too; I usually can’t move them very well in the mornings. This helps. I figured you may find it useful.”

It took her several seconds to realize what he was saying, the connection he was offering her. Slowly, she raised her eyes to his, still cautious.

“Don’t you need it then?” she asked, a bit dumbly.

The shadowsinger let out a soft, near silent laugh. “There is a Priestess in the Library who makes it. I have an infinite supply.”

“Oh,” Nesta replied, unsure why that much wasn’t obvious to her. The awkwardness in her voice was apparent when she replied, “thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Azriel said, leaning forward to rest on his forearms. “I need to apologize, for not noticing sooner.”

“I’d rather you didn’t, it’s not necessary,” Nesta countered, unsure how many more apologies she could take, especially ones only to make the guilty party feel better.

As if he had suddenly acquired his brother’s ability for mind reading, his sharp eyes flicked to hers the moment the thought entered her head. “It is,” he shot back, “because, based on your tone, clearly you think none of us actually care about you enough to not want you to suffer.”

Nesta pressed her lips together in a thin line, letting her fingers drum lightly on the lid of the salve he gifted her. Azriel let out a sigh then, turning his gaze back to the city below.

“I could tell you were in pain, usually, but I assumed it had more to do with being put through physical regiments for the first time than anything serious. But when you gradually got worse instead of better, I realized it was something else. I didn’t say anything, and I should have. I shouldn’t have let Cassian continue to push you, and I certainly should not have let him get away with teasing you after you fell down those stairs.”

“He had every right to,” Nesta replied, “I’m not exactly supposed to be able to escape.”

“You aren’t a prisoner,” Azriel answered shortly, “at least, that is not what I voted for.”

“And yet you did vote,” she countered, unable to shake the irritation at the millionth reminder that she had been stripped of her choices.

“Yes,” he acquiesced quietly, “I did. I’m sorry. It was a bad plan, all around. I know you have been told you should have been put in the Court of Nightmares or the Prison, and that isn’t acceptable. This wasn’t meant to be a punishment, at least in theory. But the fact that you clearly feel like it is, that you must obey or face death or exile, is not something I support. Now that the truth of your condition is out, you’ll be getting a lot of these apologies out of guilt. But it shouldn’t have taken this for you to receive them and it isn’t why I’m giving you one now.”

She fought the urge to sigh, crossing her arms. “What is the reason then, shadowsinger?”

Azriel’s lips tugged into a frown. “It’s what Cassian said to you, and the way you just accepted it, that prompted me. Because it’s not true, at least not for me. I want you to know that, if you want to leave at any time, I will take you.”

Nesta stared at him, her mind processing the words that came out of his mouth. An apology she was expecting, pity too. But there was a deeper kind of understanding in his eyes that had her less on the defense than she thought she would be.

“I don’t want to be a solider, or a weapon,” she blurted, unsure of what else to say, or frankly, why she was feeling so talkative, “I just wish someone would have asked me before you voted. I’ve never had choice before, it’s all I wanted. That’s what the apartment was to me.”

“I know,” Azriel replied, “and I’m sorry I let them take it from you, let them put you in this position. But it won’t happen again. I will make sure you get to pick your home when you’re ready. And I will make sure you decide who you want to be, not us.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes slightly, waiting for a catch. “That seems like a tall order. Is this some kind of offer, then? A bargain? I’m not stupid enough to know there isn’t a catch.”

The Illyrian before her sighed and turned to face her properly, his shadows brushing over her fingers as the swirled from his own.

“No, there isn’t a catch. It’s a promise, Nesta, and I don’t break my promises.”

---

Nesta avoided her other Illyrian housemate for the next several days. Instead, she kept to her room, took quiet walks in the afternoons, and, surprisingly, was kept company by Azriel in the evenings, when she dared to sit in the House library and relish in the sudden calm that dominated the space ever since the truth came out. According to the shadowsinger, Cassian had issues to attend to in Illyria, and had been gone for over two days, answering for why she had dodged him so easily. Nevertheless, she knew that he would return sooner rather than later, and she had already prepared herself for the battle of words they’d surely have.

On the morning of his expected return, however, her anxiety got the best of her. So, instead of pacing around the House’s corridors, she took herself in the Library, looking for something, anything to occupy her, to put off seeing him. However, word travelled fast, and it wasn’t surprising to her that Clotho was well informed about the developments in the residence upstairs. In the end, she was granted entry to peruse or seek solace as she liked, but there would be no carts of books to be reshelved or waiting for orders from whichever Priestess decided to waste their time with her.

She supposed she should be happy that she had the freedom to do as she pleased, but there was always that nagging frustration at the way she had obtained it. If Madja hadn’t ordered it, would they have actually let her stop the training and the work? Or would she have gotten one day’s reprieve only to be back at it the following morning? It was this uncertainty, this doubt, as to whether they truly cared that plagued her the most. There was no trust, no certainty, that anyone would waste more than a day mourning her had something more drastic happened. Not that she blamed them. She didn’t exactly deserve it, anyway.

“Clotho mentioned you had found your way back here,” a sharp, yet kind voice said, interrupting the thoughts she lost herself in. Slowly, Nesta raised her eyes to meet the large teal ones of Gwyneth Berdara.

“There’s little else for me to do,” Nesta replied dryly, cautious as the Priestess took in her appearance, as if she was cataloguing every detail about her.

“I expect being kept in a House by yourself can get exhausting after a while.”

Nesta frowned, unsure how much Gwyn knew about what exactly went on at the House, but didn’t protest when the red head suddenly settled herself beside her, seemingly relieved to take a break from whatever task she’d busied herself with.

“How is your pain today?”

Nesta’s head snapped to the Priestess, observing something too close to amusement in her eyes. After she stared dumbly at her for several moments, Gwyn added,

“It was obvious to me from the moment we met. You realize you’re in a Library with a bunch of recovering females.”

“Right,” Nesta replied, unsure what to do with herself. This was different from the conversations upstairs, this was someone who knew what true pain and suffering was, while also not having preconceived notions about her to contend with. While most of the Inner Circle were well acquainted with the former, it was the latter that had ended up mattering the most.

“I expect the shadowsinger has given you the salve I made?”

Unsure if she could handle anymore revelations, Nesta merely nodded. Now that she thought about it, it shouldn’t have surprised her at all that the two of them knew each other beyond general pleasantries. Azriel and Gwyneth had the same knack for being far too observant.

“You should at least let me pay you for it,” Nesta managed to get out, “I imagine it takes a lot of work.”

“Not at much as you’d expect,” Gwyn replied, “does it help?”

And, despite how much Nesta wanted to deny it, it did. She had tried it as soon as she returned to her room the other night, and the soft cooling sensation had been nothing short of exquisite. She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to live without it again, not that she’d be telling Azriel that any time soon.

“Yes,” she said, watching the way a bright smile spread across the Priestess’ features, “thank you.”

“Then that’s payment enough,” she said, “I imagine it must be relieving, to no longer suffer in silence. I hope they treat you well, after everything.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes, once again questioning what this female was able to ascertain about her just from their brief interactions. Or, perhaps, Azriel had mentioned it on his apparent visit to pick up his peace offering to her. Either way, there was something about Gwyn that eased her, that didn’t have her immediately on the defensive. And so, tentatively, she offered,

“We’ll see.”

Gwyn snorted, and it brought the tiniest of smiles to her face. It felt good, to have someone who came at the many problems in her life from her side. And though she knew, that if Gwyn learned the truth about her, it wouldn’t last, their budding friendship was a comfort that she would let herself indulge in for now.

Suddenly, a bell chimed from one of the ancient clocks adorning a nearby wall, and as quickly as she came, the Priestess was back on her feet, clearly already occupied with whatever research she was currently pursuing. But before she walked away, Gwyn offered her a gentle, warm smile.

“Well, I do hope you’ll keep making visits down here. I like you, Nesta Archeron.”

Nesta nodded, still processing how she felt about someone who seemed as good as Gwyn being so keen on her friendship. Had anyone ever said they liked her? Despite her own shock, she let the tiny smile the Priestess brought out in her stay on her face as Gwyn left, content, for once, with her social interactions for the day.

She stayed in the Library for a few more hours, letting herself actually take in the space and enjoy it for the first time. For once, there was no one there to bother her, to give her tasks, or any ancient monsters to threaten her life. She was able to appreciate the beauty of the winding floors, the soft scents of leather, and warm incense. And, after meandering the halls with no agenda, she finally understood why so many found refuge here.

But this place had not been offered to her in the way it had been to these Priestesses. She was merely a visitor here, unworthy of a permanent sanctuary such as this. Still, she would let herself be selfish in small doses, taking in the peace and quiet while her family decided what to do with her, or until her body was sore enough to warrant returning to her room.

The clock struck three when Nesta finally left the Library, grimacing as she slowly made her way up the long flight of stairs that connected to the House. Her joints ached at the effort after sitting so long, and she realized then that she hadn’t actually eaten anything that day, having denied herself the necessary nutrients for athletic feats such as climbing a single flight of stairs. By the time she got to the top, she was gripping the banister tightly, panting just enough to make it obvious to the keen eye that the activity had tired her. But before she could gather herself, could decide what to do with the rest of her day, her eyes landed on the figure who was leaning against the wall ahead of her, clearly waiting on her arrival.

Cassian.

He looked…disheveled. As if he hadn’t cleaned himself up since flying in from the mountains. Much like the other morning, they merely blinked at each other for several moments, Nesta’s back going ramrod straight as she saw him. But she only remained frozen for a second before snapping into action, pushing past him at a brisk pace, as if he hadn’t been there at all. Without missing a beat, he followed.

“Nesta, wait-”

But she didn’t slow, instead turning corners and walking down long hallways in an attempt to evade him. She had no idea where Azriel was but, perhaps for the first time, wished for his company specifically to reign in the large bat following quite loudly behind her. After what was almost certainly several minutes, her legs were tired, and she picked the nearest room to go into and lock the door, irritated that he hadn’t gotten the message.

Pushing into what was, blessedly, the House’s own private library, she turned, preparing to slam the door, only for a large foot to wedge in between it and the frame, stopping her. She let out an irritated huff.

“Leave me alone,” she snapped, really not in the mood for another round of insults from him.

“Nesta, please, let me in, I need to talk to you. Just five minutes, sweetheart, please. Then I’ll get out of your hair.”

Nesta contemplated her options, weighing the different outcomes of accepting or rejecting his request. In the end, she figured a quick conversation now may save her a longer, more annoying one later, so with a long sigh that made her frustration clear, she stepped back from the door to let the towering male in.

Cassian’s breathing was heavy, his brow taut with tension, and his wings tucked tight. Shutting the door behind him, he stared at her, that specific look of his that leaned too much towards pity rather than simply empathy clear in his gaze.

“What.” Nesta asked flatly, crossing her arms.

“Do you…want to sit down?” He asked tentatively, and she raised an eyebrow, in silent question. “I-It’s just that you’re flushed-”

“Your five minutes have already started,” she said, opting to remain standing, if only to assert her own ability. She’d kept a perfect façade for nearly her whole life, having someone question her limits now was far more frustrating than she expected it to be.

“Right,” he stammered, and it was the fact that he appeared so nervous, so unsure of himself, that had her paying less attention to the clock in the corner of the room and more to what he was about to say. He ran an anxious hand through his hair and took a breath, casting his gaze to the floor.

“I said horrible things to you,” he began, hands sliding into his pockets, “really horrible things, and I have to apologize for them. I just wanted to get a reaction out of you, anything to show me that you hadn’t completely left us, but I went about it the wrong way. I was used to our arguments, the way you’d spit fire back at me, but I went too far. I should never have said the things that I did. They aren’t true, Nes, you have to know that. Please tell me you know that.”

Nesta met him with a hard stare. She could tell him, but then she’d be a liar. And she was nothing if not brutally honest. Cassian let her silence hang in the air, the weight of it pressing down on the both of them, his eyes taking on a more agonized expression. Suddenly, he took a few steps closer, just on the verge of invading her personal space.

“I don’t hate you,” he said quietly, “Azriel doesn’t hate you, Feyre doesn’t hate you, Elain doesn’t hate you, Rhys-”

“Enough.”

Sharp hazel eyes met hers, his words immediately silenced by her soft tone. It wasn’t the retort he expected, but instead something much more sorrowful.

“I’d stop there,” she added, and her brows furrowed as she watched silver gather on his lashes. He blinked rapidly a few times, but said,

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry how this ended up. We never should have let it get to this point.”

“Let what get to this point?” Nesta asked, “My problems or your family’s hatred of them?”

Cassian swallowed. “Both, I guess. I should have spoken to you, shouldn’t have taken everything so personally. I shouldn’t have let them insult you, it went far beyond the boundary of their actual offense.”

“Amren said I was a waste of life,” Nesta said simply, and watched as the words fractured something deep in his expression, “did you know that? That’s what happened on that stupid boat party you forced me out of bed for. That was my reward for attending.”

Cassian closed his eyes for a long moment, shaking his head. But Nesta wasn’t finished. There was something raging in her, something that wanted him to know exactly what she felt these past months. Walking away, if only to put distance between them, she continued,

“You know, I almost threw myself into the Sidra afterwards.” His eyes snapped open, and horror replaced the sorrow on his face. But before he could open his mouth, she rambled, “the only reason I didn’t was because I was too much of a coward. And, Morrigan had said something that night about being another embarrassment to Feyre and the family. I figured there’d be nothing more embarrassing than fishing the corpse of the High Lady’s sister out of a river. Who even knows if it would have worked anyway? So instead, I went to whatever tavern was closest and let whoever take me home. I figured if they were distracted with me, they wouldn’t harass any of the other females there who actually had lives worth living. Because Amren is right, I am a waste.”

“Nesta…” Cassian gasped, as if every sentence hit him like a physical blow.

Nesta turned to him then and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “The first day you took me to Windhaven, to put on a show for all your Illyrian soldiers who spend their time abusing their females, Morrigan came to watch, came to gloat. She told me she wanted to put me in the Court of Nightmares. I probably deserve it, but the words made everything make sense. You will all go out of your way to save the people who fit your perfect image of purity from the horrors of this world, but anyone who falls below, who differs, is ignored, or used for your gain. Don’t think I don’t know that the reason you wanted me up here training is to be the perfect soldier for you to use. Rhysand is intimidated by my power and can’t stand the thought of it not being at his disposal or under his control. But now I can’t even be that. So how long until I’m put somewhere else?”

“I would never let him hurt you,” Cassian replied firmly, “he wouldn’t, but he wouldn’t just answer to me if he did.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that not everything has to be done with physical violence? With torture and horrific scare tactics? Even if I could, I don’t want to be a soldier. I don’t want to fight. I was made to use words, Cassian, words, and negotiation. That is the game I am good at, not slaughtering my enemies with swords and daggers and whatever else. But none of you ever asked, you just assumed.”

And though she could see the way his shoulders tensed the moment she dared to slight his High Lord, the General miraculously remained silent about it. When she didn’t continue her tirade, he said finally murmured,

“I thought it’d help. With the anger. It helped Feyre, so I thought…”

“I think you’ve all made it perfectly clear that I am not my sister. Locking my sister in a house she can’t escape is worth destroying a Court for. Putting me in one, however, is a blessing.”

“You aren’t trapped, Nes, we would take you anywhere you wanted to go. And the stairs-”

“Yes, because someone in my condition is certainly capable of walking down ten thousand steps. Though I’m sure you’d like to see another attempt at it for your next dinner time entertainment. Can you even do it?”

Cassian swallowed. “I haven’t tried since I was a child,” he admitted, shifting from one foot to the other. “I never had a reason to.”

“Right.”

Nesta shook her head, unsure what else she could say in that moment. She could hear the deep breaths Cassian was taking, surely composing himself. Whether it was to keep from crying or screaming at her, she didn’t know. Probably both.

“How badly did you hurt, all those times?” He asked, almost in a whisper. Nesta let out a mirthless laugh.

“Why does it matter? It doesn’t change anything.”

“I know,” Cassian said quickly, “I know it doesn’t. But please, just tell me. I just… need to know.”

Nesta watched him closely, trying to discern what he was truly after. But he didn’t budge, instead staring at her with wide, pleading eyes. She let out a long sigh, letting her arms drop to her sides.

“In Windhaven, the cold made it worse. By the time Mor got there, I couldn’t move my fingers. I had tensed up so much that it hurt to move, that’s why I stayed on that stupid rock. When you dragged me to that boat party, I’d been in bed all day because of the pain, not because I was simply laying around. I could go on, but it’s all the same. If you want to know if I hurt the answer is yes. I always hurt. I don’t remember a time when I haven’t, in one way or another. But don’t tell me you actually care all of a sudden, just because you have a guilty conscience.”

“I do care, Nesta, don’t you get it?” he cried, his frustration getting the best of him. “I care, but I didn’t know how to show you. I just did the only thing I knew how to do. And you’re right, it doesn’t matter if you were perfectly healthy or otherwise. I didn’t talk to you, didn’t get your consent or your input, I never asked how you were actually feeling. I promised you…I promised you time and I didn’t give it. I did the opposite. For that, I am so sorry, Nesta.”

Nesta didn’t realize how quickly her breaths were coming until another round of silence hung over them. She was suddenly very, very, tired. But she wouldn’t show him that weakness, not again, not just for him to pity her. Cassian watched her for a few seconds before he was invading her space again, reaching for her hands. She didn’t know why she let him take them, maybe it was because she knew how much this damned family relied on physical touch.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I won’t let anything like that happen again. I’ll be better. I’ll listen to you, I’ll help you the way you need, even if that way is different than what the others want from me. I will earn your trust, and I will keep it, no matter how long it takes.”

His eyes flicked down to their hands, where his thumb had anxiously started stroking against her skin. Nesta’s own were narrowed, watching him closely. His touch was nice, soothing even, but then, it always had been, to her, even when she didn’t want to admit it.

“Are you sure it’s even worth it?” she asked quietly, taking care to keep her voice neutral.

His gaze locked back onto hers then, and within it lied a kind of sudden understanding that had her stomach fluttering with anxiety.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” he replied simply, staring at her so intensely that even when she scoffed, amused by the absurdity of the notion, he didn’t waver. Instead, he took a tiny step closer.

“I want to know when you hurt,” he said, “I want to know how it feels, what helps, and what doesn’t. I want to be there, to help you when you need it, and simply be by your side when you don’t. I don’t care what time it is, Nesta, I just want to be there for you the way someone should have been this whole time. Would you let me?”

She was skeptical, cautious. Her sisters already wanted to know these things, things she didn’t know how to convey after spending a lifetime handling them on her own, and now he did too. The risk wasn’t lost on her, of how horribly this could all go. But Cassian was gripping her hands with newfound determination, and as difficult as it was to admit it, it felt good to hear those words. His apology. It didn’t fix everything, but it soothed some of the scalding burn. But even in her hurt and frustration, that didn’t mean she thought he needed to bear the burden of the stones her body liked to throw at her. So, with a deep breath, she said,

“I don’t know why you would want such a thing. Sooner or later, you’ll admit it.”

But Cassian only shook his head, squeezing her hands tighter.

“No,” he asserted, “I won’t.”

And though Nesta didn’t believe him, didn’t think he’d be able to resist the influence of his family, she decided to let the argument die, for now. Her lack of refusal lit up his expression, as if she’d just rewarded him with something, or given him a new quest to accomplish.

If only he knew it almost always ended badly.

Chapter Text

Cassian’s request to know every detail about her condition got old. Fast. It seemed like every few seconds he was at her side, asking her if she needed anything, if something hurt, if she wanted to go out into the city or to the Library, or wherever else. She supposed she should be grateful for it, relieved that the male who’d somehow consumed her thoughts from the moment they met was suddenly determined to be by her side. But it didn’t. If she was honest, it only made things worse. How could she let someone so perfect, so brilliant, be condemned to caring for someone like her?

Her sisters weren’t much better. Elain and Feyre treated her like glass, hesitating before touching her, using only soft voices. It was as if a switch had been flipped, and suddenly she was the helpless victim everyone was rushing to save. It made her sick in ways she couldn’t imagine. To think that, had she been normal, they would all still be hating her, seeing her as nothing more than a spiteful, ungrateful witch who did everything in her power to make her heroic, flawless sister’s life miserable.

Of all of them, only Azriel treated her normally, understanding her on a level no one else could, but while she was grateful for him, for his easy companionship, she was still unsure how to tread. The shadowsinger had never treated her the same way the others had, and yet she didn’t dare reveal her true nature to him, beyond the exposed limitations of her body. Even then, every time he grasped her arm to support her on a flight of stairs or let his cool shadows brush along her neck to ease the fire in her veins, she feared that he was simply waiting for enough time to pass after they all learned the truth to stop being courteous.

She made weekly visits to Gwyn, usually more than once, and had started writing to Emerie, as she’d promised when they met, but had otherwise made little progress on whatever it was they had sent her up here to do. She still ached down to her bones; her exhaustion so palpable that sometimes even the House felt tired, gloomy. Madja’s tonics offered a bit of relief, though the one meant to cool her down often left her chilled afterwards, shivering into a fitful sleep, and the one for pain, well… Nesta hadn’t dared touch it since that morning in the bathroom when the kind healer had eased it down her throat. It was just another vice, another addiction the others could use to judge and condemn her, another way to make herself numb to pain she probably deserved. Besides, she’d been able to live for 25 years without it, so why shouldn’t she now?

Nevertheless, each day wore on her, and it was increasingly clear that her family didn’t quite know how exactly to proceed, what to do with her now that the truth was out. But as much as Nesta wanted to shout at them for it, she didn’t have the energy to tell them to stop hovering or that she wasn’t worth it, that they didn’t need to pretend. It had been weeks since that fateful morning, and they had yet to go back to normal, all treating her like a porcelain doll and walking on eggshells around her. And though she hadn’t laid eyes on Amren or Mor, or even Rhysand, she had a sinking feeling that her next trip to the River House would be far from comfortable, indeed.

Her next trip that was, coincidentally, imminently upon her.

It had been a simple request, a small dinner, and though Feyre had made it clear that Nesta shouldn’t feel pressured to come if she wasn’t up to it physically, she had a feeling that her sisters would be disappointed in her if she was anything other than bedridden. And so, on tired feet she waited for Cassian or Azriel or whomever else to escort her from her imposed home to whatever fate awaited her down below.

As luck would have it, it was the first of the two that met her out on the balcony, dressed in warm leathers and cloak. Cassian had been attempting to talk to her at every turn, desperately wanting to be relieved of his guilt for missing the signs of her discomfort. It was as if he was always one step behind her, asking her a million questions and offering to do everything from hold the book in her arms or make an ornate nest of pillows in the living room. So far, she had consistently denied him, unwilling to let herself take pleasure in his care, while also keeping him at arm’s length as the hurt of his initial treatment of her still burned. Nevertheless, the Illyrian before her took one look at her thin form, clad only in a simple dress despite the chill, and frowned deeply, concern already evident in his gaze.

“Are you sure you’re up to this, sweetheart? Feyre will understand.”

In truth, Nesta wasn’t. She ached in the way she always did before a bad episode, her heart was heavy, and the cooling tonic she had taken earlier could wear off at any time. But she’d be damned if she had to see any of their pitying expressions again.

“It’s dinner. You know how your family is about dinner.”

“Just because it’s important to us doesn’t mean we want you there even if you’re suffering,” he replied, tucking his wings in tight.

Nesta stared at him for a long moment as his words settled over her, as if waiting for him to pick up on the hypocrisy of his own statement. It took him one second, then two, before a grimace slid over his features and he averted his gaze. Awkwardly, he scuffed his foot against the marble floor as he added,

“You have the choice now, at least.”

“How generous.” Nesta replied flatly, crossing her arms. She watched the blow land, the way those beautiful eyes of his filled with that same guilt that had been hanging over everyone for the last few weeks. She knew she should have been gentler, more understanding with her words, but Nesta Archeron was only good at one thing and that was being the most argumentative, spiteful person in the room, and it was only a matter of time before he gave up on her. Despite herself, though, she couldn’t let him wallow for more than a few moments before she added,

“It doesn’t matter. Are we going?”

Cassian blinked, perhaps not expecting her to drop the conversation so easily before he stepped forward and held out a hand. Nesta tried not to take it too quickly, or else expose more than her own physical weakness, and instead let him pull her slowly into his arms.

“You’re freezing, Nes, are you sure you don’t want a cloak? You can have mine-”

“I’m fine,” she asserted, even as she relished in the warmth radiating off him, the scent of him. “It’s just Madja’s tonic.”

Cassian shifted to look down at her properly, even as her eyes followed the way his wings stretched out, observing in the stiffness that she could see sometimes lingered after he kept them tucked for long periods.

“Is the pain bad today? Do you need-” he cut himself off this time as her sharp gaze flicked to his, a silent warning. Letting out a breath, he said, “Fine. But please tell me if it’s too much. I just want to help, Nesta.”

And though she made a humming noise somewhere between agreement and acquiescence, she knew for certain that she wouldn’t, couldn’t let him, or else she would never want to be without his care again.

---

To say the River House was awkward was a gross understatement. Nesta felt the tension before she stepped through the door, and, despite Cassian’s assertion to be by her side as they flew down from the House of Wind, it was only a matter of time before he was drawn in by his family, and she couldn’t find it in herself to blame him for it. What she did hate, however, was the way every pair of eyes landed on her as she entered the sitting room, all varying emotions. While Feyre and Elain had the same worried, slightly nervous look they’d been giving her lately, Mor met her with the same cool skepticism she always had and Amren’s eyes narrowed, almost accusingly. It was enough to stir up the anxiety in her chest, something that only grew when Rhysand, who sat closet to her, stood from his chair, a silent offering.

It was like a test, she thought, as she sat stiffly on the edge of it, to see if she was really as nasty as they all thought when she wasn’t in pain. She supposed at some point she’d have to be the bearer of bad news. It was only when Azriel arrived, brushing snow off his shoulders and sending a flurry of shadows throughout the room, that she eased, but only after one of his peculiar friends brushed across her shoulders, something she’d learned was his way of silent greeting.

“We’re so glad you could make it,” Feyre said with a gentle smile. Nesta awkwardly tried to find something to say, but, thankfully, was saved the responsibility of a response when Cassian replied with something or other about not having to be in ‘cold fucking Illyria’ for once. The pleasantries only lasted for a few more seconds before everyone was satisfied and moved on to normal conversation, leaving her in the background as usual. She wished, then, that she at least had a glass of wine, to give her something to focus on, but even though everyone seemed well on their way to a second or third or fourth glass of whatever they chose to take the edge of, she hadn’t been offered anything, the reason painfully obvious.

She decided not to dwell too much on the absurdity of her situation, instead focusing on how the muscles in her shoulders had started to burn, how her vision occasionally became obscured by sparkling lights or shadows. She knew the signs of a bad episode when she saw one, and though the heat in her veins was kept under control for the moment, the clock had started ticking on how long she could comfortably keep up appearances, especially when everyone was waiting to see the first chip in her composure.

In the end, she managed to sit through another hour of socializing and a lavish dinner she had no interest in before she took her first break, making the most of the family’s movement back to the living room for a casual dessert. For five blessed minutes (or ten, she really didn’t know) she let herself sit in the washroom with the lights off, pressing her fingers into her eyes as pain sharp as ice picks set deeply into her skull. She wondered how long Cassian intended to stay, how long she’d have to sit there, until she’d be granted the reprieve of her own bed. By the time she exited the blissfully dark room, she had started a mental clock, counting down the minutes until she thought it’d be acceptable to ask for an escape.

Mind hazy, she walked slowly back towards the living room, in no rush to be in a space full of loud, cheery conversations. But it was a different, softer pair of voices that ultimately caught her attention, and she paused outside the entry way to the dining room, heart dropping when she heard a familiar, sharp voice say her name.

“It’s a waste that someone granted so much power doesn’t have the body to keep up with it,” Amren said, with a sigh, “at least give it to someone useful.”

“I just feel bad for Cassian,” replied another, lighter voice. Morrigan. “He was already spending all of his time taking care of her, I can’t imagine he has anytime to himself now that there’s more he has to do.”

“Nesta was perfectly capable of taking care of whatever condition this is on her own, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was her own form of revenge for our generous last attempt to help her.”

Mor hummed, as if in contemplation. “I can’t imagine living like that, though,” she said, her tone softer, “it must be awful. I do feel for her.”

“Everything about Nesta Archeron is awful, in some way. It’s hardly a surprise. I suggest you don’t waste your time worrying, she certainly doesn’t worry for you.”

Nesta waited until she heard their footsteps fade away before she breathed again, taking a moment to tilt her head back and close her eyes, to steady herself. It was hardly the first time Amren had said horrible things about her, the tiny female being unable to reconcile with her after her attempted training of Nesta’s power being unsuccessful, but now that she had the truth in her arsenal, the words only cut deeper. At least, it seemed, Morrigan hadn’t completely agreed, not that it suggested she felt any different.

She took several deep breaths, trying to balance the increasing disorientation and pain with the sadness, the hurt, that hit her like a blow to the chest and tightened her throat. When her eyes burned with unshed tears, she scowled, digging her nails into her palm. She hated how quickly she could be moved to tears when she was like this, how easy it was to break through her cold exterior and cut to her core.

“Are you…alright, Nesta?”

Nesta blinked and tilted her head back forward, meeting the cautious, yet concerned, eyes of her brother-in-law. Rhysand had clearly been on his way back to the living room from the kitchen, if the cup of tea in his hands was any indication. Or maybe he conjured it, she never knew with him. Either way, he looked about as uncomfortable as she felt.

“Fine,” she replied, a bit dumbly, unsure why he was even speaking to her.

“I noticed you didn’t eat at dinner, I thought, well… I don’t suppose it matters. Tea?”

She shifted her eyes to the cup in his hands, taking in the steam that curled upwards from the warm liquid.

“I never eat at dinner,” she replied, though she hadn’t really processed what she was going to say until the words were out of her mouth. Why was she talking to him again?

Rhysand shifted, as if he was nervous. “I know. It…takes time.”

At this, she flicked her eyes back to his face, searching for whatever the real purpose was for this conversation, whatever he wanted from her. He jerked, just slightly, as the thought crossed her mind, and vaguely she remembered that he knew what she was thinking. She couldn’t say she particularly cared, in that moment, with how badly her head was throbbing.

“This might help,” he offered again, and she refocused her gaze on his hands that were now outstretched. Unsure what else to do with herself, she raised her own to take the cup from him, the scent of the tea leaves not erasing her pain but doing just enough to take the edge off.

“I can ask Azriel to take you back to the House, if you like. He’s waiting for an excuse to escape.”

It took several seconds for his words to make sense to her, her mind increasingly foggy. The High Lord waited, likely fully aware of just how muddled she had become in the past few minutes, and it confused her why he was being so kind, what his motive was.

“Alright,” she said eventually, and he offered her the tiniest of smiles before he continued to the living room, though his shoulders were tight with tension.

She stood there a bit dumbly after he left, unsure what to do with herself after their interaction. It wasn’t bad per say, just…new. There wasn’t pity in his gaze, at least not in the same way that showed in Feyre or Elain. She wasn’t sure how she felt, exactly, about what he had said, the indication that he had known why she never ate at these gatherings and had only waited till now to say something. She supposed they never really had to the chance to communicate without others present.

Regardless, she didn’t have the energy to dwell on it, not when putting words together was an increasingly difficult task. So, instead, she lifted the cup to her lips, and took a long sip.

---

Cassian should have known, from the moment he touched Nesta’s skin before they left, that she needed to stay home. He should’ve fought harder, should have let her snap at him, should have done more to earn her trust so that it was him she would come to when she hurt. But when Rhys had mentioned that Azriel was taking her home, the only thing he felt was bitter jealously.

Not in the least when he followed after the shadowsinger into the front hall, desperate to lay eyes on her himself, only to find him brushing her hair off her shoulder and applying something to the smooth skin of her neck. He had never been jealous of Azriel in his life, had never questioned that his brother knew what Nesta was to him, but in that moment, he contemplated whether or not he should strangle him.

But that wasn’t what mattered, at least not right now, not when he took in the way her brows were furrowed, the slight sway that indicated she wasn’t steady on her feet, the lack of focus in her eyes. It was a stark difference to the sharp, firm appearance she’d had only hours earlier. He hadn’t known it could be this fast.

“Are you alright, Nes?” he asked, voice a little harder than he intended. Immediately, he chastised himself, hoping she didn’t take it poorly. His brother, however, knew exactly what was wrong, and flashed him a sharp glare of his own, a warning.

“She’s alright, just needs to get some sleep,” Azriel replied, stepping away from Nesta enough so Cassian could see the jar of salve in his hands, “this should help relax her enough until we get to the House.”

It hit Cassian all at once then, how much of an idiot he was. Of course, Azriel would know how to ease a lifetime of chronic pain. By the look in the shadowsinger’s eyes, he knew his brother was thinking the same thing.

“Can we borrow your cloak?” Azriel asked then, refocusing him on the matter at hand. Perhaps it was throwing him a bone, to allow him to assist Nesta in this tiny way, and he didn’t balk at the chance. Moving over to grab the soft fabric off a hook on the wall, he tried not to relish too much in draping it over her shoulders, or how she let out the softest of sighs at the newfound warmth. The cloak drowned her, but he had a feeling Azriel would carry her right to bed anyway. He tried to ignore the bitter taste that left in his mouth.

“I wish you’d said you hurt this much,” he said softly as he fastened the buttons at her throat as best, he could.

Nesta’s bleary eyes met his then, her voice equally quiet as she replied, “you enjoy these dinners too much. I couldn’t.”

His eyebrows rose at her response, but something warm tugged deep within his chest. He supposed it shouldn’t have been surprising to him, that after a lifetime of hiding her pain for the sake of others, she’d do the same for him. Nevertheless, it was a moment he’d hold onto all his life, another reminder that under her frosty exterior, Nesta Archeron was not the selfish witch many thought her to be. Unable to resist, he lifted a hand to brush some of the stray hair out of her face.

“There will be plenty of dinners, Nes,” he murmured, frowning at the way her eyes fluttered at his touch.

“And there will be plenty that I miss, because of this,” she said, “you don’t need to miss them too.”

Azriel shifted then, drawing her up into his arms with a rare display of gentleness. Cassian could only watch as she hesitated, just for a moment, before easing into his hold, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. It was a yielding, he knew, to allow Azriel to care for her this way. He could only hope that, if not with him, she at least felt safe with his brother.

“I’ll get her to bed while you wrap up,” Azriel said quietly, “go reassure Feyre and Elain that she’ll be alright.”

Cassian could only nod, knowing full well that he’d be hot on their heels not long after they left. Whether Azriel knew that too, he didn’t show it, instead moving without another word, fading into the shadows to offer Nesta the quickest way back to the safety of the House.

---

In the end, Cassian lasted another half an hour before he made his escape up to the House of Wind. Surprisingly, no one fought him on it. Instead, Elain sent him with dessert, and Feyre demanded to know how Nesta was doing as soon as he laid eyes on her. It was refreshing, to not have skepticism or exasperation when it came to Nesta, at least from the people who mattered most to her. Even Rhys seemed keen on knowing her wellbeing, mentioning something about tea and whether it would help with headaches, though he wasn’t sure when his brother had interacted with Nesta to ask such a thing.

When he touched down in the House, all was quiet, save for Azriel, who was working away on his latest report from the living room. He knew for a fact that his brother always preferred to write in the private of his quarters, meaning that he had waited for him to return to give him an update before they all went to bed.

“She was mostly already asleep on the way up,” Azriel had said, “but she did ask for you, when I put her to bed. I’m not sure she knew she said it out loud.”

It was enough to fill Cassian with warmth from the tip of his wings to his toes, and though every part of him wanted to check on her that second, to assure her that he was here in whatever way she wanted, he knew that sleep was more important, and he’d was loathe to be the one to wake her. It was that sentiment that held him over as he himself got ready for bed, and it wasn’t long before he too fell asleep, content, and full of hope that they were at least a little closer to trust.

At least, for a few hours.

It was the lights flickering that woke him, turning on and off as if someone was controlling them. Groaning, he cracked an eye open, expecting to see Azriel or Rhys in the doorway, demanding something of him, but instead he was met with his room completely empty, the same way he’d left it. The lights however, continued to flash on and off at him, and before he could write it off as some kind of magical mishap, a pillow landed squarely on his face, conjured out of thin air.

“What the fuck,” he muttered, sitting up to assess the potential threat the House was suddenly posing. When he was hit with another pillow, he said, “Cut it out, I won’t have you wake Nesta.”

At this, the lights stopped abruptly, and suddenly he was met with a sense of unease. Fully awake in an instant, he asked,

“Is that why you woke me? Nesta?”

Putting the fact that he was talking to a house at some ungodly hour in the morning aside, anxiety pierced through his chest as the lights flickered once more, and his door swung open, an invitation. In one movement, he was out of bed, a shirt tugged over his shoulders, and padding his way down the hall to the bedroom that resided at the end of it. He wasn’t quite sure when the House obtained the ability to pseudo communicate like this, but that was a distinct problem for later, not in the least when he opened the door to Nesta’s room, finding the blankets askew not all that unlike that fateful morning all those weeks ago, his cloak among them.

This time, though, light streamed from the attached bathing chamber, and it was with slow steps that he approached, taking notice of a line of unopened potion bottles that formed a trail from her bed to wear he found her. Still clad in a thin nightgown, she sat half inside the bathtub, half out of it, face contorted in discomfort, hands white knuckling the edge as if the water itself was burning her alive. Immediately, he was on his knees before her.

“Sweetheart, what is it? Is it bad again?”

Nesta’s eyes snapped open, and it was only then he could see the remnants of tear tracks on her cheeks. A soft, soothing sound emitted from his chest at the sight.

“It’s nothing, it’ll go away,” she rasped, “I just needed to cool off.”

Dipping a hand in the water, he noted the colder temperature, just as he noticed the way she trembled, from pain but also from…fear. Tentatively, he placed a hand on hers.

“What’s got you scared?” he asked gently, “you’ll only hurt yourself more with how tense you are.”

A shuddering breath left her, shaking her entire frame. She seemed to debate her next words, avoiding his gaze all together, before she uttered,

“It’s the baths, I can’t…I can’t.”

Cassian’s lips parted as he pieced together her meaning. Suddenly, her demand for no baths that morning made sense. Of course, she couldn’t do baths. Not in the least cold ones, not after-

“The Cauldron,” he said aloud, frowning at her single nod and tightening his grip on her hand, “I’m so sorry, Nes, you should have said.” Looking around at the line of bottles, he asked, “Are these the tonics to cool off? Have you taken one?”

As if on cue, a different, lighter colored bottle appeared in front of him, just as she shook her head. “No, those are for…” suddenly she trailed off, eyes wide, as if realizing that she’d been caught at something.

It took him several moments to realize why she stopped her explanation, why she suddenly looked incredibly sheepish, and like she was wishing she was anywhere but there. These were for the pain. And she wasn’t taking them.

Opening the tonic to cool her, he brought it to her lips slowly, placing a cooled hand on her cheek as he did. As she sipped it down, he began to piece together his words.

“Can you tell me why you aren’t taking away your pain?” he asked quietly, brushing a thumb under her closed eyes to catch the next tear that rolled down her cheek, “do they not work?’

Nesta leaned into the cool skin of his palm, taking several deep breaths. “No,” she said after a while, “they work perfectly.”

“Then why…”

Blearily, she opened her eyes to assess him, and it was the raw, unhindered agony that had his own eyes burning.

“It’s not bad enough to need it yet, I can… I can manage without it.”

“Nesta, there isn’t a threshold. If you hurt, you need to take it.”

Vehemently, she shook her head, wincing at the movement. Instinctively, he moved a hand to the back of her neck, to steady her.

“I can’t risk it…” she whispered, and Cassian’s third revelation of the night barreled into him so quickly he almost gasped.

“The drinking,” he suddenly said, “it was for the pain…this pain. Right?”

She blinked at him for several moments, as if surprised he had come to the correct conclusion, before she offered a single nod. “All I feel is pain,” she whispered, a fresh round of tears wetting her cheeks, “all the time. This kind and…the other kind.”

Silver lined his eyes, and it was his turn to let out a shuddering breath. Something knocked against his knee, and he glanced down to see the House’s latest attempt to get her to take the potion on the floor in front of him. Reaching down, he picked up the vial.

“No one will take this from you, sweetheart, you need it. This is different. Please take it, you don’t deserve this.”

A soft, silent laugh shook her shoulders. “Don’t I?” she asked, her voice barely over a whisper.

“No,” he asserted, “you don’t. Even if you don’t believe it.” Uncorking the bottle in his hands, he moved to bring it to her lips. “I won’t let you suffer like this, not if I can help it.”

She was cautious, hesitant, pulling away just enough that the potion couldn’t reach her. Her fear was palpable, then, and he decided he’d had enough of it for one evening.

“I’m here,” he said, “nothing will happen. You’re safe, Nes, please take it.”

When she remained frozen, watching him closely, he leaned forward.

“Please,” he said, “let me help. Let this help. You don’t need to punish yourself anymore, not tonight.”

Tension hung in the air for several seconds, and he had fully prepared for her to refuse, but suddenly, finally, her shoulders slumped, and she sagged forward, nodding her head once. The relief he felt was mild in comparison to the worry that remained as he eased the tonic down her throat, especially as her hands still trembled, her heart racing at the thought of the water she was desperately trying to find solace in. Dipping his hands back in to cool them, he placed one on the back of her neck, while the other took her hand in his.

“I have you,” he said, “this water can’t hurt you. You are safe here.”

Nesta closed her eyes, sending more tears down her cheeks, but he was patient, gently rubbing his thumb against the stiff muscles of her neck. As he brushed over a particularly nasty knot of tension, she let out a shuddering breath and her head dipped forward, to rest on the edge of the tub.

“Does that help?” he asked, shifting so that he could rest more comfortably against the cool side of the basin beside her.

Nesta nodded, and though it elated him, he kept quiet, determined to ease her back into peace. For several minutes they sat, in silence, Cassian slowly getting the tension in her muscles to yield, taking solace in the way her skin was slowly but surely cooling. He watched as her eyes began to droop, the tonic for pain doing its work, and he watched her gradually start to relax, keeping the steady rhythm of his fingers rubbing her neck as she rested her cheek on the edge of the tub. It wasn’t until she shivered that he said,

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you to bed.”

She murmured something that sounded like agreement, though it was muffled from her position.

“Can I help you out of there?” he asked, brushing hair back from her face, taking stock of what touches felt good, what didn’t. She nodded properly this time, eyes closed, and with as much care as he could muster, he leaned forward, wrapping an arm around her torso before gently helping her up. Immediately, the magic of the House swirled, wrapping her in warm towels before a warmer nightdress appeared, folded neatly at his side. She didn’t protest as he pulled it over her head, easing the wet one down with it as he brought it over the rest of her. By the time he lifted her properly in his arms, she was so quiet that he wondered if the tonic had already sent her to sleep.

But as he placed her in bed, draping the lighter blankets back over her shoulders, her hand reached out to grasp his, and quietly, so quietly, she asked,

“Can you keep doing…”

Cassian let himself smile then, and settled down on his knees beside her bed, facing her as she rested on her side towards the edge of it. Resting his own head on the crook of his elbow, he raised his free hand to the back of her neck, beginning his ministrations once more. The sigh she let out would make any stiffness he felt in the morning worth it.

“Sleep, love,” he said quietly, “I’ll be here when you wake.”

And as Nesta’s eyes closed again, her breathing evening out, he pressed the softest of kisses to her forehead, a silent promise.

Chapter Text

Nesta didn’t know what time it was when she stumbled out of that decrepit room she shared with Feyre and Elain. Her two sisters slept soundly, pressed close to each other to keep warm. But she’d been up all night, the ache in her body too much for her to ignore. Water. She just needed water, or tea, or anything to take the edge off, just enough that she could force herself to sleep.

On shaky legs she reached the counter, the pitiful sink empty except for the four chipped dishes they found when they arrived. Empty, which meant she’d have to go outside for water, down to the well and back. Frustration welled up within her and tears stung at her eyes as she gripped the counter, letting out a soft sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper.

There was no way she could go out there, not like this. Not when her mind was foggy, and her legs trembled under her weight. Her muscles screamed at her, and her head throbbed, a sharp, angry pulse like an ice pick being driven through with a hammer. Biting her lip as hard as she could, she took one deep, shuddering breath, determined to keep her composure.

“Nesta,” a hoarse, deep voice croaked from behind her. And though she didn’t have the energy to turn to address her father, she heard his tell tale shuffling as he made his way over, grunting at the effort of moving his destroyed leg, until a large, warm hand landed between her shoulder blades.

“My darling girl,” her father said, in a tone he hadn’t used with her since before mother’s death, “tell me what hurts.”

Nesta let out a frustrated sigh, shaking her head. “I just wanted some water, and I can’t even…”

Another hand came to rest on her arm, and though her relationship with her father was tenuous at best, she had no energy left to fight him as he guided her away from the kitchen, into the living room where the rickety cot he slept on sat in front of a smoldering hearth. She did protest when he made to lay her down on it, insisting it wasn’t worth the effort, but her father let out an exasperated sound and pleaded,

“Just lay down, Nesta, don’t fight me on this.”

And though she still wasn’t sure how she felt about his help, after everything, she did as he asked, grimacing as he guided her head onto a pitiful pillow made of rolled up shirts. She watched with bleary eyes as he turned, reaching for a canteen that had been placed beside an old chair, and the relief she felt as he returned to press it to her lips was enough that her eyes fluttered closed, and her shoulders slumped. She didn’t open them until she heard him shuffling again, his wince as he settled onto the floor beside her, stretching out his leg. She wondered, briefly, if he was in as much pain as she was tonight.

His eyes were kind as he assessed her, kind but so tired, and not for the first time did she feel the bitter taste of anger in her mouth at this situation, at how everything had fallen apart so quickly. Lifting a hand, her father placed it on the back of her head, stroking through her tresses before settling at the base of her neck, his thumb stroking along the taut muscles, the only relief he could offer her.

“Oh, my dearest love,” he whispered, though she’d already closed her eyes again, trying desperately to drift in the space between sleep and consciousness. “I am so sorry to have done this to you.”

She didn’t answer, focusing on the feeling of his calloused fingertips on her skin, the small heat from the hearth soothing her into sleep. But before she could fade off completely, she heard him ask,

“Could you ever forgive me?”

Nesta’s eyes snapped open with a start, and it took her several seconds to fully comprehend where she was and what was happening. A warm, yet gentle weight was on her neck, and she could feel a constant, subtle movement against the base of her skull, stroking back and forth. A hand, she realized, but not her father’s. Her father wasn’t here to help her anymore.

Blinking in an attempt to clear her head, she settled her eyes on the mass in front of her, a head of dark, curly hair, long eyelashes against the smooth skin of a cheek, the sharp curve of a nose. Cassian. The Illyrian still sat on his knees on the floor at the edge of the bed, dozing with his head pillowed on his arm while his other rested in the space between them, his hand gently resting on the back of her neck. She could tell, vaguely, that it was still dark outside, indicating that it was probably some ungodly hour in the morning, and as her foggy mind continued to take in her surroundings, she saw the way his wings drooped behind him, as if he had grown tired of holding them up. Gods, he was probably so uncomfortable.

As if hearing her thoughts, his eyes opened and she sucked in a small breath as they immediately found her own, sharp and assessing as if he’d been wide awake the whole time. Suddenly, his thumb increased its pressure against her neck, as if he’d realized he had slowed the movement as he dozed.

“Hey,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Getting there,” she whispered, and she hoped whatever expression she wore on her face didn’t convey the way her heart pounded, how her mind raced with anxiety, and the heavy, heavy sadness she always felt when she dreamt of her father. Cassian offered her a warm smile, though he didn’t lift his head from where it rested on the bed.

“That cannot be comfortable,” she said finally. “You’re going to feel like shit tomorrow.”

The smile on Cassian’s face widened just slightly, an amused glint in his eyes. “I’ve definitely slept in worse places. Besides, you need good sleep more than I do. I’m fine right where I am.”

But Nesta narrowed her eyes, remembering the instances in which she could see the stiffness in his wings, likely from the countless injuries they’d sustained, or the offhanded comment he’d sometimes make to Azriel about soreness in his knees. Without giving herself too long to think about it, she pushed herself backwards, making room. This time, Cassian did lift his head, looking at her with raised eyebrows.

“Get in,” she mumbled through a yawn, resettling her head against the pillows. “I won’t have you in pain because of me.”

“Nes,” Cassian said, conflict clear in his expression, “it’s really alright, I’m fine.”

“Do you not want to?” she asked, her mind catching up to the decision she had made, the implications of it, even if she was still caught in the lull of tonic-induced drowsiness.

 “Well, of course I want to-” he started, but stopped short, suddenly looking sheepish. “I just don’t want to take advantage of you like this, not when you’re hurting.”

“Cassian,” Nesta breathed, already wanting to go back to sleep, the residual ache in her bones limiting her patience and, more importantly, her ability to filter her thoughts. “I want you to. I’ll still want you to in the morning. Your body is 500 years old I won’t have it falling apart on my account. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Cassian watched her for a moment before he let out a breath of acquiescence. She didn’t miss the way he groaned softly as he pushed himself up and slowly, carefully, settled himself on top of the blankets. He kept a healthy distance as he rested on his side, but she was content with this outcome enough to close her eyes again. She heard the blankets rustle for a moment before they were brought up over her shoulders, the soft fabric soothing against her skin. He didn’t touch her again for a few seconds, the air tense between them, but eventually she felt his fingers at her forehead, brushing wayward strands of hair behind her ear, his palm coming to rest on her cheek just briefly before sliding back to its previous resting place on her neck.

“Go back to sleep, Nes,” he whispered, and she hummed in agreement, already well on her way back into oblivion thanks to the magic of Madja’s tonic. Once again, his fingers stroked along her skin, warm and soothing.

“My father used to do this for me,” she mumbled, mainly to herself, but she was too far into sleep to fully realize she’d spoken aloud. Gone within seconds, she missed the soft intake of breath from the male beside her, the way he shifted just a little closer, and the heavy, comforting weight of a wing draping to rest over top of her, as if to keep her safe.

---

When Cassian next woke, it was to a face full of hair, soft against his nose and mouth. Breathing in, he was hit with a scent that was uniquely Nesta Archeron, and all at once he was wide awake. Nesta’s breathing was slow and deep, and though he couldn’t see her face, which was tucked into his chest, he could tell by how heavily she rested against him that she was still deep within the confines of sleep. Their positioning was a bit awkward, her being under the blankets while he was on top of them, but at some point, she had nestled closer until she was against his chest, his arm having slid down around her waist. His wing was still draped across her tiny frame, nearly covering her entirely, and it was a scene so peaceful, so warm, that he almost didn’t believe it real. He had pictured waking up to Nesta many times by now, in various ways, but nothing compared to this, the real thing, even if nothing had happened.

Closing his eyes, he took several long breaths, savoring having her so close. He thought back to what she’d said in those few minutes she briefly woke, about her father. His heart had clenched in sympathy for her, knowing that his death ate at her in ways none of them realized. He wondered how she had coped in that cabin, if the man who was supposed to care for his daughters but didn’t, had eased her suffering, if she’d let herself depend on him. He hoped that one day, he could be that person who she turned to, and not just when she was in the height of her pain.

But he also didn’t want to push her too far, too soon. He knew that she’d insisted she was okay with what had transpired in the last few hours, but he didn’t think he could live with himself if she awoke only to be mortified by their position. So, after letting himself relish in her closeness for a few more moments, he pressed a kiss to the crown of her hair and slowly extracted himself from the bed. She didn’t stir as he moved, instead settling deeper into the pillows with the softest of sighs. He watched her sleep for a few seconds more, relishing in the sight of her peace, before he slipped quietly out of the room and set off to start his day.

After changing into soft leathers in an attempt to look presentable, he entered the dining room to find Azriel halfway through breakfast, his latest intel reports in front of him. As Cassian settled at the table, his brother asked without looking up,

“Sleep well?”

Cassian narrowed his eyes, especially as a smirk tugged at the shadowsinger’s lips.

“She just needed someone there, is all,” he said, turning his full attention to the meal that appeared in front of him.

Azriel hummed, amusement clear in his tone, but gave him a few moments reprieve before he spoke again. When he did, it was more serious,

“Was it bad?”

Cassian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She hasn’t been taking the tonic for pain. She’s afraid we’ll take it from her, if she uses it too often. Is that what she thinks of us?”

Azriel set his fork down slowly, and met his gaze, though his expression gave away nothing.

“I mean,” he continued, “we haven’t really given her a reason to think otherwise, I guess.”

“She considers this place a prison,” Azriel replied “She told me herself. She doesn’t feel safe here, around us. It’s why I am so gentle with her.”

“I don’t think anyone has ever been gentle with Nesta in her life,” Cassian murmured, pinching his brow.

“No, they haven’t,” Azriel answered. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t start. Last night seemed to work pretty well, right?”

Cassian’s cheeks heated just slightly, and he turned his eyes back to his food. “How much did you see?” He asked.

By the silence he received in response, he imagined that Azriel was giving him some kind of deadpan look, his shadows swirling around his shoulders in a constant reminder that his brother saw everything, all the time.

“I checked on her a couple hours ago, while you were both still sleeping. Looked cozy.”

“Don’t read into it,” Cassian replied, exasperated. “She just wanted someone there, it didn’t mean anything, it could have been anyone.”

Azriel hummed again, in that irritating way of his that suggested he knew the truth without having to say it. “You sell yourself short,” is all he said, taking a long sip of his coffee.

“Do I?” Cassian asked, crossing his arms. “You just said yourself she thinks this is a prison. What have I done to be anything other than the warden?”

“You apologized, didn’t you?” Azriel asked. “That’s a good start as any to become something else.”

Cassian sighed, but didn’t reply, unsure how far into this hole he wanted to talk himself over breakfast. Azriel took the hint, and the two of them finished their meals in silence. There was no sound from Nesta’s bedroom, but neither Illyrian intended to wake her, not again. It wasn’t until the shadowsinger rose from his chair that he finally added,

“All I’m saying, is that it wasn’t me she asked for last night. Don’t mope too much.”

Snapping his head up from his plate, Cassian opened his mouth to retort, but Azriel had already moved, slipping away into the shadows without another word. With a long sigh, he went back to his breakfast, trying to steady his racing heart at his brother’s words. Azriel may be confident that Nesta cared for him, but until she said it herself, he wouldn’t dare assume. He would treat last night like any other, just a friend helping a friend, and if she didn’t mention it, he’d pretend it didn’t happen, even if it stung harder than any blade.

Chapter Text

It had been two days since that night, and Nesta was a mess of emotions. Waking up to an empty bed shouldn’t have been as jarring as it was, but when she’d been so wrapped up in the comfort Cassian provided, it was more than a little disappointing to be alone when she’d finally come back to consciousness. Not that she could hold it against him, she supposed, after what she’d heard Amren and Mor say the other night. He was probably more than a little tired of her, even if he’d been so kind and gentle. She was a fool to think she deserved it.

It was easier, she decided, to pretend it never happened, to carry on in the awkward state between formal and informal, tense and comfortable. Cassian certainly didn’t say otherwise, instead offering her nothing but his usual grin when she emerged that day, simply asking her how she was feeling before carrying on as they always had. He made no mention of sharing her bed, as innocent as it was, and instead had busied himself on Illyrian matters with Azriel, who split his time between shooting her unreadable glances and glaring at his brother. Since then, Cassian hadn’t really spoken to her at all, but any heartbreak she felt was decidedly ignored in favor of putting up her usual unbothered front.

But try as she might, it was getting increasingly difficult to remain that way, to act as though she was okay with this situation. Every time Cassian looked her way, she felt his phantom touch against her skin, so like her father’s yet wholly different, and in the few times he did ask if she was feeling alright, she was reminded all over again that his concern was only for her physical wellbeing. It didn’t matter that the nightmares kept her up nearly every night, that she couldn’t keep down her food, or that looking herself in the mirror filled her with such vicious hatred that her power would flare until there was sweat on her brow. In the weeks she’d been in the House, she didn’t feel any better than she had when they’d put her up here. The only difference was that no one was reminding her of her failures every day and were instead whispering in closed rooms about how pitiful she was.

“Nesta, is everything alright?”

The old healer’s voice pulled her from her thoughts, and Nesta turned her head to assess her. Madja had checked in regularly since that fateful morning, always coming with gentle exercises to strengthen her body without hurting it. She couldn’t say she did them regularly, most of the time she didn’t even want to get out of bed, let alone do anything to heal, but she couldn’t find it in herself to admit that to the kind female.

“Everything’s fine. Better,” she said, keeping her expression perfectly schooled, just like her mother taught her.

Madja tilted her head, assessing, before she offered her a small, sad smile.

“I’ve been calling your name for the last several minutes, my dear. You’ve been far away.”

Nesta cringed, hating being caught unaware, but before she could open her mouth to apologize, Madja continued,

“Your heart is heavy; I can understand not feeling up to the tasks I assigned you. There are ways to remedy this, too.”

Nesta swallowed, unsure she wanted to be roped into this conversation, though she supposed it was due to her own failure at maintaining her mask that it was happening.

“Are you angry about how your family has reacted to your diagnosis? I know it can be hard, after hiding it for so long.”

“I…” Nesta started, then stopped, unsure how safe it was to speak freely with the High Lord’s personal healer, even if she'd promised her confidentiality more than once. “I shouldn’t be, not really.”

“Should or shouldn’t is irrelevant, Nesta,” Madja said firmly, though not unkindly. “I can feel the hurt in you, around your heart. You are still so thin. Your body needs support physically and mentally if it’s going to be healthy.”

“Well, what if I don’t want it to be healthy,” she snapped, her patience going up in smoke in a matter of seconds.

Madja’s lips pressed into a thin line, though she didn’t look offended. “I imagine it’s frightening, being in a body that attacks you instead of protects you. Worse still when it’s not a body you’re entirely familiar with.”

Nesta let out a shaky sigh, pinching her brow, guilty for her inability to be genial. “It’s not anything I don’t deserve,” she muttered.

“And why do you think that?” Madja asked. “You did your part in the war, did you not? I’d say that redeems whatever wrongs you think you’ve done.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Nesta said, exasperated. “It’ll be enough for them just to keep me alive, I’m sure. Happiness isn’t really important.”

At this, Madja leaned forward and took her hands, squeezing them so tightly that she was unable to do anything but give the healer her full attention.

“What other people want is not relevant when it comes to my patients,” she said, intense determination in her gaze. “Now, you listen to me. Your happiness is just as important to me as your physical health. They are interlinked, you know. You are grieving, my dear, and you are not letting yourself grieve properly. Your trauma is deep, but you are ignoring it. I cannot in good conscience let this go on, Nesta. If you need to go somewhere away from here, I will see that it happens. If you’d like to stay in this house, then there are Priestesses in the Library I want you to speak with, who are equipped to help you through this. You know, there’s only one other person in recent memory that I’ve seen hold as much hatred for themselves as you, and if I can pull them out of that darkness, I’m confident I can help you too.”

Nesta stared at the old female for a long moment, trying to make sense of all the words she was saying. She didn’t know who on earth she was talking about, but what was more confounding was that she seemed to genuinely care. There wasn’t an ounce of irritation or pity in the healer’s eyes, just deep understanding and determination. She was like Gwyn, like Azriel, even. Suddenly, her throat was tight, and she was fighting tears. But, she supposed she should try, for her.

“I…the House, it likes me, I think,” she stuttered out, and Madja smiled encouragingly. “I don’t know why, but it does things for me that it doesn’t do for anyone else. Maybe that’s a sign I should stay, I don’t know.”

“I’m aware you didn’t come up here by choice. Do you feel safe?”

Nesta bit her lip, contemplating. “I don’t think Cassian would hurt me,” she said quietly, “or Azriel. I feel better here now than I did before.”

Madja nodded and squeezed her hands again. “Company is an important part of this kind of recovery,” she said. “Do you have anyone you’d consider a friend? That you could speak with away from your family? If you stay here there is a Priestess, I’d like you to meet with as I mentioned, but it’s just as important to have someone without a specific purpose other than being your friend.”

 Immediately, her mind went to Gwyn, someone she’d grown rather attached to in the last few weeks. Though she’d never interacted with her outside of the library, their conversations were often what pulled her through most days. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, let herself be that hopeful, but she offered,

“There is one person.” And though her voice was quiet, almost bashful, Madja smiled widely, satisfied.

“An excellent start. I’ve left more tonics for you. In the meantime, try and meet regularly with this friend of yours. I’ll send word to the Priestess in the library, I’d like you to meet with her a few times a week. And, if you can, those exercises really will help, Nesta. I know getting your body to do the things you want is difficult, but it will be beneficial. Perhaps your friend can do them with you.”

And though Nesta couldn’t say she was as optimistic as the healer in front of her, she didn’t have it in herself to say no. After all, she had no other options. So, with a nod, she acquiesced to whatever Madja had in store for her. She only hoped it would be enough to keep her family satisfied.

---

Cassian paced back and forth in the front hall as Madja met with Nesta. Usually, he let the healer do her work in peace, without intervening too much in whatever it was the two of them discussed. But since that night, when Nesta had asked him to stay, she'd been closed off, withdrawn from him enough that he began to wonder if he’d done something wrong. What she’d confided in him had shaken him to his core, to know that she’d been afraid to take the potions, that the drinking had been just as much for physical pain as mental, that she couldn’t so much as take a bath without the horrors of the last year haunting her. But he didn’t know how to re-approach her, to ask her what she needed from him. The last thing he wanted is for her to realize she told him too much and to shut down entirely.

Azriel, on the other hand, seemed to have the entire thing figured out, if the looks he would flash him at the dinner table were any indication. But he wasn’t exactly sharing, instead only giving him exasperated sighs or those obnoxious smirks of his, leaving Cassian to come to any realizations about their female housemate himself. It was only after the first day that he’d bluntly asked if they’d spoken yet, and when Cassian had said no his brother had thrown a book at him from across the room, hitting him squarely on the head.

So, when the door to Nesta’s room did finally open, an hour or so after Madja had gone to see her, Cassian was all but jittering with nerves. He tried not to look too anxious as Madja emerged, standing in the hall with his arms crossed. The old healer didn’t say anything right away, finishing piling the rest of her things into her bag. As she started walking towards the main balcony, Cassian wondered if she’d speak to him at all, until she stopped in the doorway and said without looking at him,

“I won’t tell you what Nesta said, but I do have two favors to ask of you.”

Cassian nodded immediately; fairly certain he’d jump off a cliff if it would cure her of her suffering.

Madja turned to assess him with sharp eyes before she continued, “I know the revelations of her condition have been the primary focus of your family, but do not forget that she is still a female deeply traumatized by the war and its aftermath. Improving her mental state is essential to ensuring that she remains well. I think it would do her good to have someone outside of the family she could spend time with. Despite your best efforts, it is clear to me that she does not trust you all enough to believe you care for her.”

And though the words made his heart clench, devastated that even after the last few weeks she was still so cautious, he asked, “so you’re saying she needs friends?”

The old healer smiled. “Friends would be the best place to start. There are some exercises I want her to be doing, but it often takes encouragement to get a person that is in pain to work through it. If someone was there to support her who didn’t have preconceived notions, I think it would go a long way.”

Cassian nodded, chastising himself for not considering it sooner. He immediately thought of Emerie, of the conversation he’d walked in on that day in Windhaven and wondered what it would take to convince her to pay a visit to Velaris. “There is someone, I think, who fits your description,” he said quietly. “Your other favor?”

Madja sighed, then, in the same exasperated way that Azriel did every time Cassian opened his mouth about Nesta. “My other favor is to decide what exactly it is you feel for that girl and to make it clear to her. You’ve stood out here fretting as though she’s on death’s door every time I have come to assess her, and yet I still believe she thinks herself an inconvenience to you. For the sake of the Mother, at least tell her that she isn’t just another problem for you to fix.”

Cassian blinked, not expecting the conversation to take this direction. “Did…Did Nesta say something to you?” He asked, a bit dumbly.

“I told you I wouldn’t tell you the specifics. But no, she didn’t have to,” Madja replied, holding out a hand, indicating her desire to return to her own home. “It was written all over her face.”

---

Nesta sat in the House’s library after Madja’s meeting, staring blankly into the unlit fireplace. Friends. She didn’t know if she’d ever called anyone a friend. Amren could have been, once, and she didn’t know what Gwyn considered her. Still, the kind Priestess’ talks did leave her feeling lighter afterwards, so maybe it was worth pursuing. It would, at least, take her away from this House, where she still wasn’t sure where she stood.

As if on cue, a gentle knock on the door sounded, and she looked up to see the male she was most unsure of peak his head through. She knew he’d flown Madja home but hadn’t expected him back so soon. Cassian stepped in quietly, something she didn’t even know was possible for him, and offered her a tiny smile.

“I was thinking,” he said, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, his tell that he was nervous. “That shopkeeper, in Windhaven, would you want to visit her again?”

Nesta blinked, his question being the last thing she expected. “Emerie?” She asked. “I’ve been meaning to write to her, I just… haven’t found the time.” Or the energy.

Cassian nodded, as if he knew the full truth of the situation. “I have to go up this week, to check in on our newest recruits. I didn’t know if you wanted to come. To see her, that is.”

At this, Nesta hesitated, her desire to see the female outweighed by the words she overheard that night at dinner. “I wouldn’t want to burden you,” she said quietly, a frown tugging at her lips.

“Burden me? You are the farthest thing from a burden, Nes, especially in Illyria,” Cassian replied, eyebrows raised, as if the notion was absurd to him.

But that was the thing about Cassian, wasn’t it? He’d never admit that anything was burdensome, even if it weighed him down until he was dragging himself across the floor, not unlike that horrific day she was Made. That’s what made him so good.

“You don’t have to lie,” Nesta said, voice more bitter than she intended. “I know you were already overwhelmed before I messed things up further. I don’t want you doing more now just because you think it’s the right thing to do. It shouldn’t have changed anything, really, don’t you know that?”

Cassian stared at her for several moments, his eyes unreadable. She wondered if she’d offended him, if he regretted sitting with her the other night and sharing her bed, even if it was just for sleep. Sitting stiffly in her chair, Nesta waited for whatever sharp retort he’d have for her.

“Did someone say something to you?” He finally asked, another question that she wasn’t expecting.

“What?”

“Did someone say something to you, about the impact your being up here has had on me?”

Nesta sighed and averted her gaze. “They didn’t have to, not really,” she said. “You are too good to admit it, but I know what I am, Cassian.”

“And what are you?” He asked, crossing his arms.

Nesta huffed and leaned back in her chair, crossing her own. “You know well enough.”

“I think you and I may have two different answers,” he replied, and at the sound of his feet on the wood flooring she turned her gaze back to watch him take a few steps closer.

“Are you really going to make me say it?” She snapped, and though frustration was evident on his face, he only nodded, wings tucked in tightly, face tense with determination.

She debated just getting up and leaving, for a moment, and forgetting this happened. If she told him the truth, and he agreed, it may be a final straw for her, and that wasn’t something she was prepared for, not after the mental prodding during her meeting with Madja. But his gaze was intense, and he didn’t waver, and, despite herself, she was never one to back down from a fight.

“I’m a bitch, right?” she asked, ignoring the way shock filled his eyes. “I'm spiteful, ungrateful, and a nuisance. I am undeserving of anything you or your family offers, and I will never make up for it. I’m a failure, at being a sister, at using my power, gods, at just living. Everyone is waiting for you to give up on me, to throw in the towel, so they can finally wipe their hands. You have been walking on eggshells around me since that morning, but do you have any idea how patronizing it is to know that I only receive your kindness because the truth is out? None of you actually care, beyond having a good image, so why should I try and get better? It’s not worth it. I’m the same person I was when I was just a wretch in that apartment, I haven’t changed. Sooner or later, you will drop the act.”

For an agonizing moment, Cassian merely stared at her, taking one deep breath, then another. When he did move again it was slow, sinking down onto his knees in front of her. Nesta followed the movement with her eyes, but remained frozen in her spot, unsure what his intention was, getting into her space like this. Even on his knees, Cassian’s face was nearly level with hers, and for several seconds he simply stared, as if he was taking in every inch of her expression, cataloguing it. Nesta would be damned if she averted her gaze first.

“You’re right,” he said finally, and the pain that seared through her chest at his words must have shown on her face, for he was quickly reaching out and gripping her hands, to keep her here with him. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have treated you differently. I shouldn’t have acted like you were a different person, because of this. It was an excuse, really, a way of ignoring my other mistakes, the ones that landed us here in this situation in the first place. Ignoring you, taunting you, letting the others judge you. You were just like me after my first war, and I condemned you for it. It was wrong of me, Nesta, and I am sorry.”

Nesta shook her head, desperate to relieve him of his guilt even if she was also furious at him. “You had every right to ignore me. I was your distraction during the war, that was all. You weren’t obligated to me. You aren’t.”

The expression that fell over the Illyrian’s face then was nothing short of offended, as if she’d slapped him across the face. His mouth opened and shut a few times before he said, “that’s what you think? That you were a distraction?”

She shifted, inclined to pull away, to put space between them, but his hands tightened on hers, and with his position in front of her, she’d have to do some kind of acrobatic maneuvering to get around him, something she surely didn’t have the energy for, or the skill. “You don’t have to deny it,” she said quietly, cheeks suddenly very hot. “How you acted around Morrigan was confirmation enough.”

His eyes went distant for a moment, as if he was trying to remember what exactly she was referring to. It didn’t take him long, his mind so much sharper than most gave him credit for, and when he met her gaze again there was shame in his eyes.

“That was wrong of me,” he said. “Mor and I have… a history, but it was never anything more than one foolish night centuries ago. I served as a buffer of sorts, between her and Azriel, and that hurt you in turn. You didn’t deserve that.”

Nesta shook her head, prepared to protest, but he continued, “I promised you time, Nesta, and I didn’t give it to you. Not in the way that mattered.”

“I don’t deserve it. Your family knows that and they’re just waiting for you to realize.”

“I don’t care what my family thinks,” he replied firmly. “I can’t let you think that you were just a distraction to me, not when you were…when you are so much more.”

Nesta’s mind went painfully quiet at this confession, utterly blank. She had nothing to say to him, staring dumbly as if he’d just tried to tell her the sky was green, and the ground was blue. This was dangerous territory, and she wasn’t sure she knew how to tread. But Gods damn her, if she didn't want to. 

“I’d thought it was so obvious,” he continued, as if fully aware of the crisis happening in her head, “what I felt, how I couldn’t stop myself from meeting every insult you threw at me with a harsher one. I should have known that you already thought so lowly of yourself, I should have seen it.” Reaching up, he brushed hair back from her face, an action she’d treasured when he’d started doing it after he found her in the bathroom. It was a touch she constantly had been yearning for ever since.

“The other night,” she finally stuttered out, “you didn’t say anything, I thought you regretted it.”

Cassian blinked, then huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. At her raised eyebrow, he supplied, “Azriel called me an idiot, you know, afterwards. I didn’t know what he meant until now.” Moving his hands, he cupped her cheeks, brushing his thumbs against the bone. “Do you have any idea,” he murmured, seemingly fascinated by the feel of his warm skin against hers, “how hard it was for me to leave you in that bed?”

Nesta furrowed her brows, irritation and confusion welling in her chest, despite the heat on her cheeks. “Then why did you?” She asked, her own hands clenching in her lap, unsure what to do with herself, what his intention was, touching her like this.

“Because I didn’t want to overstay my welcome. You weren’t well, sweetheart, I didn’t want to take advantage of you.”

“You didn’t,” she whispered, more than sure that he could feel how quickly her heart was beating against her chest. “You could have asked, anyway.”

“I’ve learned my lesson,” he replied, sliding one hand back to rest where it had that night, just at the base of her skull. It was like a magic button, and she melted into the gentle pressure. “Even Madja told me so.”

“What did she tell you?” Nesta asked quickly, terrified that the confidentiality she’d been promised truly was a ruse.

“Nothing, sweetheart, don’t worry,” he replied. “Just that I needed to make it clear to you how I felt, because it was driving her mad.”

“Oh,” she breathed, balancing her focus between the feel of his hands and the way his gaze kept roaming her face, from her eyes down to her lips and back again.

“I thought they were exaggerating, Azriel and Madja. I thought for sure you knew that it was me waiting for your word. But maybe we’re both idiots.”

Her nose scrunched up in a scowl at this, offended at the prospect, and he laughed, a soft, lovely sound that made her traitorous heart flutter. “Don’t worry, clearly I am the larger one here.”

She didn’t know when he’d leaned in closer, but now their breaths were mingling, and it was her eyes darting down to his lips.

“I won’t deny that,” she said quietly, and his chest rumbled again.

“This doesn’t change anything, I am still going to earn your trust, your forgiveness, but…” leaning in, until their noses brushed, he finished, “I hope this makes things clearer.”

When Cassian’s lips touched hers, any semblance she had of composure vanished. The sound that came out of her throat was somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, something that made his lips quirk against hers, nothing short of a cocky grin. He shifted, sitting up on his knees so that his face was just enough above hers that he could tip her head back, to kiss her properly, deeply. That damn thumb of his continued stroking against the back of her skull, while his other slid from her cheek to cup her jaw in a move that gave him full control of whatever pure bliss this was.

Nesta’s hands hung awkwardly in the air while he kissed her for all she was worth. It was all she could do to meet him stroke for stroke. Eventually, they found purchase on his chest, gripping onto the fabric of his shirt so hard her knuckles shook from the effort. She didn’t know how long they sat there, Cassian kissing her languidly as if he had all the time in the world, his tongue having taken the opportunity of her gasp to explore every inch of her mouth. It was only when he pulled away that she realized he was just as wrecked as she was, his chest heaving, his eyes slowly fluttering open, those hazel orbs dark and molten. Absentmindedly, she felt her hair half out of its usual updo, tangled in his fingers.

His eyes flittered over her face, smiling slightly at the way her lips were parted, the tension entirely faded from her expression. Shifting, he brushed their noses again.

“Not a distraction,” he murmured, and though he had thoroughly dominated what just happened, he sounded breathless, as if he was awestruck.

Nesta’s breath shuddered. “Then why didn’t you…before…?” She asked, tempted to lean in again, but hesitating, still so caught up in her bewilderment that she had no semblance of where they stood now.

“At first, I thought you weren’t interested. But then, I knew I didn’t deserve it. I still don’t.” Pulling away, and sinking back to where he had been before, he brought his hands back down to clasp hers, squeezing gently. “I will earn it, this.”

“And what is this?” She asked, deliberately not focusing on the way she’d laced their fingers, to keep him close.

“This is getting to kiss you, to hold you. To be the one who cherishes you, who cares for you. But it also doesn’t have to be anything if you don’t wish it to be. Say the word and I’ll never touch you again.”

Nesta shook her head but couldn’t vocalize what exactly it was that she was feeling. On the one hand, she wanted to devour him, to climb into his lap and continue where they’d left off, right here on the floor of the library. On the other, there was no universe in which she deserved this, him, where it didn’t end badly. He would see that, soon enough. But right now, his smile was soft, as if he knew every single thought in her head, and she couldn’t bring herself to be the reason it faded.  

“So, now that things are clear,” he said, that smile widening into something even more beautiful, “would you like to come with me to Windhaven?”

And though she would probably regret it later, there was something about this moment, whatever had just happened, that filled her with something other than the empty numbness of the past months. It was something that she, selfishly, was desperate to cling to. And so, with a deep breath, she replied,

“Yes.”

Chapter Text

“What in gods’ name happened to you?!”

Nesta flinched as Emerie’s sharp voice echoed off the walls of her shop. She’d been prepared for a scolding, but the look of horror on her Illyrian friend’s face as she entered hadn’t been something she’d expected. But now, Emerie had stepped forward, cupping her face and assessing her carefully, handling her like glass as she tilted her head this way and that.

“You look like you’re two seconds from death, Nesta,” she said, concern laced in her tone. Nesta opened her mouth and closed it again, unsure of what to say to her, but before she could decide, Emerie was turning her attention to Cassian, who stood awkwardly behind them in the doorway.

“What have you done to her?” Emerie snapped, moving so quickly Nesta wasn’t able to stop her. Turning, she found her up in Cassian’s space, rage rippling off of her in waves.

Guilt was immediately painted across his face, though he didn’t so much as blink at her friend’s attack. He also made no effort to deny blame for her accusations.

“Emerie, he didn’t do anything,” Nesta said, wringing her hands. “I’m just unwell, is all.”

“Bullshit,” Emerie snapped, keeping her eyes on Cassian. “I noticed something was off from the moment you stepped foot in this shop all those weeks ago. I won’t ask again, General.”

“Emerie-”

“I was arrogant,” Cassian said, cutting off Nesta’s plea, his voice perfectly calm and even. “I was arrogant and ignorant, and because of that Nesta couldn’t trust me and got hurt as a result. I will never forgive myself for it, and I make no excuses. But I have sworn to be better, to earn her trust, and I will. I swear it to you, as her friend. I will protect Nesta with my life and I have told her as such.”

Emerie stared at him for several seconds, likely evaluating whether she believed him or would demand his head. Cassian took every second of her scrutinization, making no effort to hide the pain in his eyes, the regret. Nesta had never been defended this way, and so she stood awkwardly, hoping that her new friend wouldn’t try and kill her…whatever Cassian was to her. But eventually, in a low voice that promised nothing short of violence should he fail, Emerie said,

“See that you do.”

And without giving him a chance to respond, she promptly shut the door in his face. Turning back to Nesta, she took hold of her arm, gently, and led her away from the entryway, asserting that she needed to eat something, to gain her strength back. It wasn’t until they were seated at her tiny kitchen table that Nesta finally said,

“I have a condition. My body, it fights me, when I overwork myself. My muscles don’t work the way they’re supposed to. I pushed a little too hard, and this is the consequence. He didn’t know about it, I kept it from him. He didn’t hurt me on purpose, Emerie.”

Emerie was quiet, pouring them both a cup of tea. She took a long sip before she met Nesta’s eyes, saying simply, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you keep it from him?”

“I…” Nesta started, then stopped. “I kept it from everyone, always. It’s a weakness. I didn’t want pity.”

“So, you couldn’t trust that he wouldn’t pity you? That he wouldn’t use your condition against you?”

“It’s not that,” Nesta said, “they just…my family, that is, they expected certain things from me. I’ve already failed them many times, I didn’t want to do it again. It seems I was unsuccessful either way, as my body gave out pretty quickly after they started their regiment.”

“Regiment? Are you a soldier?”

“It’s the only way they know how to be, I think. Soldiers. But like I said, I failed pretty quickly. That’s over now.”  

Emerie hummed, thoughtful. “And this condition, how are you treating it?”

“Our healer gave me some tonics, to help with the pain. She also has a list of gentle exercises, things to build my strength without hurting me in the process. And…she wants me to talk to someone, a professional, to make sure my mind keeps up with her tasks. She says I need friends. I can’t imagine why.”

“You have one, at least,” Emerie said, smiling slightly. “I wish you’d told me.”

“I didn’t want to trouble you with it,” Nesta said, finally allowing herself to sip the tea Emerie offered. “I still don’t. It’s really nothing to be worried about.”

“Please,” Emerie replied. “It’s not trouble if my care is freely given. I knew I liked you from the moment you entered my shop, and I certainly am not pleased with the fact that you are thinner now than you were then. You say you need friends? Then you have one. Hell, if you need me to do these exercises with you, I will.”

Nesta blinked, the idea of making her travel from Illyria to Velaris absurd to her. “I could never ask you to do that,” she replied, “to leave your shop like this just for some gentle stretches? That’s a huge ask, Emerie.”

“You’re not asking,” Emerie shot back. “I’m offering. I’ve always wanted to see Velaris, anyway. You haven’t responded very often to my letters, and now I know why. So I’ll just have to pester you in person.”

Nesta swallowed, taking several bites of the warm stew Emerie offered her as she considered. She’d never had anyone offer such a thing, not like this, and she couldn’t decide if it was better to deny her with gratitude or accept and know that she was another inconvenience for someone.

“Nesta,” Emerie said, any teasing in her tone evaporating in an instant. “I’ve seen females fade away like you are now. I won’t let that happen to you. I want to help you, to do this with you. You need another female on your side, you can’t just have these males preening all over the place. Let me help you.”

Sucking in a breath, Nesta stared at the Illyrian in front of her for a moment, her inner turmoil making her blood roar in her ears. But Emerie looked resolute, and she knew from their brief interactions that she was rarely swayed from doing something she wanted to do. For the sake of the Mother, she’d been ready to fight the Lord of Bloodshed just because Nesta looked less put together than usual. So, she nodded, just once.

“If you insist. But please, don’t inconvenience yourself for me.”

“It’s not an inconvenience if I get access to all the books you’re reading,” Emerie replied, a teasing smile on her lips. “I want to see this library you mentioned. You owe me a list of recommendations.”

And though Nesta remained cautious, anxious not to be another person’s burden, she couldn’t help the smile that tugged on her lips, the idea of having someone to share her escape into the world of romance novels sounding not all that bad.

---

Nesta spent the rest of the day with Emerie, laughing over their latest reads, sharing sweets, and making plans for when the Illyrian female finally made her first visit to the House. Her friend had marched outside after their conversation, down to the edge of the training rings, and once Nesta identified Azriel as her housemate, harassed him until he agreed to winnow her back and forth every week. Nesta had apologized to the shadowsinger, but his lips had turned upwards just slightly, informing her in that stoic way of his that it wasn’t a bother. She caught Cassian’s gaze from across the ring soon after, and though he was fully embodying the intimidating persona that defined his reputation, his eyes softened for her, just a little, and her stomach flipped anxiously in response.

It was past dinner by the time her Illyrian housemates finished with whatever discontent they were tasked with settling this time. After Nesta bid Emerie goodbye, wrapped in new leathers that fit her properly, she found Cassian waiting outside, a bit too much like a loyal dog, seated perfectly still on a tree stump, sharpening one of his many blades.   

“Did you not have anything better to do than to just sit here?” She asked, approaching him.

Cassian’s eyes found hers at the sound of her voice and warmed, a grin tugging at his lips. She paused a few feet from him, unsure how to tread after that day and that kiss.

“Just making sure you didn’t get lost on your way out, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want you to freeze to death,” he replied.

Nesta scoffed, tempted to retort, but she could see exhaustion on his face, and she knew these days were often hard on both him and Azriel. So, instead, she tried,

“I’m sorry about Emerie earlier, I didn’t expect her to do that.”

“She had every right to,” Cassian replied, taking a few steps closer to her. “I heard she wants to do your exercises with you, at the House.”

“Only if it isn’t too inconvenient,” Nesta said. “I tried to talk her out of it, I’m not sure why she’d agree to such a thing.”

Cassian studied her for a moment, long enough that she began to feel too exposed, before he answered, “she cares about you, Nes. Let her.”

Nesta frowned, the prospect easier said than done. He seemed to anticipate that, though, for a soft laugh rumbled out of his chest.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, a response to her expression. “But Azriel is more than happy to winnow her back and forth, it only takes a second. I think he prefers his little shadow realm anyway.”

Nesta hummed, contemplative, but froze as he stepped closer, tensing as he lifted a hand. When he brushed wayward strands out of her face, she eased, allowing herself to take pleasure in the warmth that radiated from his palm in the brief moment it stroked her skin.

“You always do that,” he murmured, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You freeze when I touch you, but then you relax. Does it hurt?”

She blinked. “N-No,” she stuttered, annoyed at how flustered she got when he used this particular tone with her, soft and warm and entirely indicative of what exactly he was thinking about her. “I’m just not used to it, is all.”

“Used to what?” He asked, letting his fingers toy with the ends of the strands. “Being touched?”

“Being touched like this,” she said, unsure why she was admitting such a thing to him. But when he looked at her the way he now, she seemed to lose all sense of control. “Gently.”

“Nicely?” He added, his brows furrowing. The men in the taverns that she took home were usually gruff, handling her only when they needed to. Some were gentle, like her first, but most of the time once they were satisfied that was it. And before that, well…

A shiver moved through her at the thought of her grandmother’s cane, the sharpness of her mother’s nails when she grabbed her arm. Cassian frowned, and suddenly, his other hand was at her waist, drawing her closer.

“Cold?” He asked quietly, though by the sorrow in his eyes, she knew that he fully understood why she reacted that way.

“Just a bit,” she whispered, grateful that he didn’t feel the need to call her out on it, that they could pretend it was something so simple as a chill. 

“These leathers fit you better, but you still need something warmer. I’ll have Azriel winnow us home,” he replied, but made no move to find his brother, instead simply watching her face, assessing her reactions.

“Alright,” she said, and for a moment she thought he might kiss her again, his eyes darting down to her lips, his new closeness making their breaths mingle. She couldn't deny it, she wanted him to kiss her again, too. But instead of her mouth, he lifted his chin and pressed the softest of kisses to her forehead. She decided that she didn't like the disappointment that settled in her chest at it.

“I’ll be sure to touch you like this more often,” he said against her skin. “You deserve to become used to it.”

Before she could argue, could ask what exactly he meant by that, he was moving, calling out Azriel’s name and drawing his brother’s attention away from the training he was watching between two young males. Nesta sucked in a breath as he left, gathering her wits. Azriel was quick to winnow them, likely more anxious than anyone to return to Velaris, and once they had warmed up a bit in the House, he said,

“Tomorrow morning, Feyre and Rhys need us at the River House. Something about the queens.”

Nesta frowned, anxiety piercing her chest at the thought of being in the presence of the entire Circle again. They had all continued to tread carefully around her, and it continued to grind on her nerves with every passing day. But they had been increasingly anxious about Koschei, about the missing queens, and ensuring stability in the realm after the war, and the idea of more danger paired with the newfound limits impressed on her made her feel all the more useless. If she couldn’t help them, why should she be allowed to stay?

“Fine,” Cassian replied, more used to this kind of summons than Nesta was. “Until then, I’m happy to ignore my responsibilities for tonight. What do you say, Nes?”

When Nesta observed his face, she hated that she could see his telltale signs of concern in his brow. In an attempt to feign normalcy, she replied,

“There are about a thousand different things I’d rather do than ‘ignore responsibilities’ with you, Illyrian bat.”

Azriel’s brows raised, amusement in his eyes, while Cassian looked at her shocked for several moments before he grinned, accepting her silent ask to play.

“Calling me boring, Nes?”

Narrowing her eyes at him, she replied, “boring or obnoxious, take your pick. Either way, I’m content to spend my evening in peace, thank you.”

His laugh was loud, echoing off the walls of the House. “I think you’re just scared to have a good time.”

Nesta scoffed. “I don’t need anyone to do that.”

“Yes, the smut you read is surely enticing enough to satisfy you, I’m sure.”

“Maybe it is. You’ll certainly never know.”

At this, Azriel let out a long sigh, taking that as his cue to leave, disappearing into the shadows faster than Nesta had ever seen. Cassian smirked as he left, something more molten in his eyes now that they were alone.  

“Anything else, General? Or can I return to my smut?” She asked, but he didn’t reply, instead moving forward, once again invading her space, making her heart skip several beats.

He wasted no time, reaching up to cup her face. “I can’t let you go to your room without a proper goodnight, sweetheart.”

“And what does that entail?” She asked. “Something horribly lewd, I expect, knowing you.”

Cassian’s smirk softened into a warm smile, amusement alight in his eyes. “You wish,” he said. “We can be lewd later. For now,”

This time, when he kissed her, she had more of her wits about her, enough to greet him readily. She made to push closer, placing her hands on his chest with the intention of sliding them up to his neck, into his hair, but he held her firmly in place. The kiss was…sweet, almost chaste. Nothing like the intensity of the other day, or the teasing of the last few minutes, but still conveying more feelings than she was ready to process. When they parted, her cheeks were warm, and by the smirk tugging at his lips, she had a feeling a dusting of pink had painted her cheeks.

“What was that for?” She asked, subconsciously leaning into the way his right thumb brushed her cheek.

“Just reminding you,” he said quietly, “of my promise.”

“It’s not like I’d forgotten,” she replied, and he laughed softly.

“I didn’t think you had. But reassurance never hurt anyone, and you’ve been wanting to kiss me all day. I saw your face back in Windhaven. Next time, Nes, just do it.”

Before she could fully process his words, sputtering at the implication, he was gone, disappearing down the hallway as if he’d never been there. Scowling, she had half a mind to call out to him, though she expected he was betting on it. Instead, she huffed, pointedly ignoring the way her heart raced in her chest and her cheeks burned, and made a beeline for the House library, intent on finding something, anything, to distract her from him.

---

Nesta’s ears roared as she sat in the study of the River House. The Dead Trove. They wanted to find the Dead Trove and they wanted Elain to do it.

“Absolutely not,” she said, unable to mask the anger in her tone. “You could be killed, Elain.”

“It’s better than you doing it,” Elain shot back, concern so apparent in her face that Nesta felt nauseous. “You shouldn’t attempt something like thi in your condition.”

“I’ve at least done it before, you forget,” Nesta said. “And as a result you were taken and we almost lost you. I can’t let you do this.”

Elain’s eyes sharpened into a glare, something harsh and unforgiving. “It’s my choice,” she said. “I can try. And if I remember correctly, Feyre and Azriel rescued me, not you.”

Nesta swallowed, her palms sweaty. Beside her, Cassian was stock still, watching her closely as if he knew the ledge she teetered on.

“Well why can’t Feyre do it then?” She asked, sharper than she intended.

But even as she asked the question, she knew the answer, had known it from the last time she’d seen her, watching her mannerisms. And when Feyre announced her pregnancy and chaos erupted around the room, it only solidified her decision. She couldn’t let her sister risk this joy that she’d been blessed with.

“I can do it,” Nesta asserted once everyone had their chance to both congratulate and chastise the couple for their secret keeping. “I’ll track the Trove.”

“Nesta,” Rhys said carefully, his arm still wrapped around Feyre’s shoulder. “It’s not like it was on that battlefield. Elain is safe here. If she can’t do it, then you can try. But Elain is right, you shouldn’t have to strain yourself if you aren’t well.”

I’ve never been well, she wanted to snap. Because she hadn’t, really. She hadn’t been when she scried the first time and she hadn’t been when she’d let her power explode out of her in a last ditch effort to kill the King. It enraged her, his words, and despite the joy that had briefly interrupted their argument, she snapped,

“Don’t you dare pretend as if that matters to you. I’m the same as I was before. You held disdain for me then, you hold disdain for me now. That doesn’t go away because you have new reasons to pity me.”

 A deadly silence fell across the room, Rhys blinking several times as he took the full blow of her words.

“That’s not what this is,” Feyre tried, a hand resting on her stomach. “We know the truth of it now, Nesta. We can’t treat you that way anymore, it isn’t fair when your body has different needs than ours.”

“And that’s the only reason,” she muttered, averting her gaze to burn a hole into the carpet.  

“Let the girl try if she wants,” Amren said. “If she keels over, she keels over.”

Beside her, Cassian’s hand suddenly laced through hers, squeezing hard. It was enough to jar her, to pull her attention enough to look at him with a raised eyebrow. He had a sharp glare fixed on Amren, something she was accustomed to seeing be aimed at herself.

“Nesta’s right,” he said, and she decidedly ignored the raised eyebrows in the room. “We failed her before we found out about her health, and we shouldn’t treat her differently just because of that and not because of everything else. If she feels confident, she can do something, we can’t stop her. And if she does something and requires help afterwards, we can’t shame her for that either.”

It was Nesta’s turn to stare in shock, unsure if she heard him correctly.

“Still,” Feyre said, “let Elain try first. Cassian’s right, we have more to apologize for than just missing the signs of your physical illness, but your body is still recovering. You look worse than you did when you went…when we put you in the House.”

The implications of that observation, of her decline rather than her improvement, weighed heavily in the air, and she felt Cassian tense, his guilt evident. Perhaps against her better judgement, she squeezed his hand, hoping it conveyed the same sense of reassurance that he’d offered her. After several minutes, Azriel shifted from the corner of the room, and in that soft, stoic voice of his, he said,

“Let Elain try if she wants, just to see if she can. If she can’t, Nesta can try.”

Turning to address her directly, he said, “I have no doubt that you can do it, but whether you should is another matter. Either way, the danger we are facing is real and imminent. Finding the Trove is essential. If you are willing to risk your wellbeing to help, I can’t stop you. But you can’t stop me from helping you recover afterwards.”

She assessed the shadowsinger for a long moment, wanting to ask if he let his family help him, when he pushed his body too far. It was a compromise, she knew, and she would accept it, but not without a grain of salt. It was true, she didn’t know how her body would handle trying to find the Trove, but she couldn’t let Elain endanger herself when she could do something instead. And now that Feyre was with child, she couldn’t be the person who did everything anymore.  

“It’ll be alright, Nesta,” Elain said. “Just let me try. Please.”

Every bone in her body protested the idea, the risk, but Nesta knew the room was stacked against her. If Elain needed to try, she would have to let her.

She just hoped she’d fail.

Chapter Text

Elain did fail, in the end, but not without valiant effort.

It was only days later, the group of them crowded in Rhys’ study, where Elain tried for hours to successfully scry for the items of the Dead Trove. All the while, Nesta’s power hummed within her, threatening to bubble to the surface with every passing minute. Cassian stood resolute beside her in the back of the room, his hand resting on the small of her back, his thumb stroking gently, as if he knew that whatever monstrous entity, she’d stolen from the Cauldron was clawing at her, scratching its way under her skin until it hurt to breathe. She stood with her arms tightly crossed, her expression carefully schooled, stock still.

Eventually, Elain let out a long sigh, turning to face her sister with a look of irritation across her delicate features.

“Nesta?” she asked. “I don’t suppose you’d want to give it a try?”

Nesta blinked, slowly cataloguing everyone’s eyes as they landed on her. Cassian’s hand stilled for a moment before sliding up to her shoulder, squeezing gently. If anyone was surprised or unnerved by the action, they didn’t show it, instead waiting expectantly for her to make a decision. Slowly, she took in a long breath before she walked forward, approaching the table and picking up the pile of stones and bones Elain had discarded.

“Be careful, Nesta,” Feyre said quietly, worrying her lip between her teeth as she watched from Rhys’ side.

Nesta didn’t answer her, instead focusing on that deep well within her, that endless noise that always threatened to drown out her own thoughts. It would work, she knew it instantly, and it was that knowledge that settled her as she closed her eyes and begun.

---

The air shifted as soon as she tapped into her power, and all they could do was stare in tense shock. Cassian stopped breathing the moment she stepped forward, every instinct within him screaming at the potential danger she was in. It was all he could do to follow on numb legs, letting her lace their fingers together once he reached her side, and he squeezed hard, reminding her of his presence, that her place was here and not wherever the Cauldron wanted to take her. The temperature plummeted, a feeling nothing short of pure death filling every crevice of the room until each of them were on edge, desperate to be reprieved of it. Cassian let out a shaky sigh.

“That’s…something else,” Rhys murmured, unnerved as he slid an arm around Feyre more deliberately, as if to protect her from her own sister’s abilities though she was already heavily shielded. It was different from the first time she did this, the power so much stronger, so much more alive than it had been with Hybern. The room got colder and colder, the tension so thick it drowned everything else in Cassian’s mind. Vaguely, he heard Feyre and Rhysand asking her to let go of the stones and bones, both unable to get into her mind, her iron will that had saved her so many times throughout her life too strong for them. But he wasn’t listening, not even as he inched closer into her space, eyes observing the way hers moved under her eyelids, searching and searching for that damned mask.

Her fingers had gone ice cold in his hands, colder than any corpse he had ever felt, but she showed no fear, didn’t so much as flinch. And if she stood strong, then so would he. They all waited with bated breath for what seemed like an eternity, the clock in the room ticking and ticking and ticking. Suddenly, when her hand clenched onto his with all the force she could muster, his panic flared. Her eyes snapped open, pure gleaming silver, something so other that all of them didn’t know if it was truly her that controlled her body. It was Cassian’s own voice that asked Rhys to intervene, though it sounded foreign to him, but he was only met with the same devastating answer that he couldn’t.

Cassian squeezed her hand hard, letting his siphons flare to bite into her skin. He let her feel the warmth, the sting of his power, coaxing her until her head turned to him, unblinking as she met his gaze. But he was unafraid.

“Hello, Nes,” he said softly, squeezing her hand tighter. She watched him for several moments, those eyes burrowing deep within him, and he let her see it all. He pushed all the affection he had for her down the bond that he had been so reluctant to let himself acknowledge, warm and loving, holding her gaze unflinchingly for as long as she wanted it.

Slowly, he raised their hands, and placed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “Can you drop those for me?” he asked, letting his thumb continue to stroke over the back of her palm.

She didn’t respond to him, but her eyes flicked down to watch the movement, like a cat watching its prey. But despite the overwhelming sense of dread that filled the room, he didn’t feel a threat from her. Just…curiosity. And if he had Lady Death’s attention, he would keep it.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, pressing another series of kisses to her hand. “Let go and we can play.”

Nesta blinked, just once, and her head tilted just a fraction, almost as if she was considering it. He continued to send the force of his feelings through the bond, the power of it warming the room as his siphons flared. And though this power looking at him through Nesta’s eyes wasn’t her, per say, it was still embedded within her very being, tied to every emotion, every inch of her soul, and that included the part of it reserved for him, her mate. He felt it then, the tug against his chest, a response to his pleas, and suddenly she shuddered, the hand over the table opening to scatter its contents over the map.

The room collectively let out a breath but remained frozen until she blinked rapidly, her eyes clearing back to their normal hues. Cassian smiled at her, and squeezed her hand again, murmuring, “there she is.”

Turning her head back to the map, she observed the bog the stones indicated, staring blankly at it while the rest of them began their meticulous process of assessing her conclusion, something hollow about her expression. Her skin was still ghostly white, but her skin was already warm, too warm, as if the ice she had emitted was so cold it burned. Quietly, she moved, away from him and towards the door.

“Are you alright?” he asked, acutely aware of the potions he had stuffed into his leathers, prepared for whatever fallout this brought onto her health.

Nesta simply nodded, her voice barely above a whisper when she said, “it’s hot. I just need a moment, in the hall.”

He took a step forward, to go with her, but she held up a hand, indicating her desire to be alone. Against his better judgement, he watched her slip through the door, closing it softly behind her.

“Shouldn’t you go with her?” Feyre asked, unable to wipe the shock off her face over what she witnessed.

Cassian looked back at his sister and frowned, not quite sure of the answer himself.

“Give her five minutes,” Rhys said. “She deserves a chance to recollect herself.”

And though Cassian was reluctant to agree, he himself wanting to keep eyes on her, he nodded, flexing his hand from where it still tingled with the residual energy of their powers meeting. Slowly, the group continued their discussion, each of them trying to settle their nerves, the knowledge of what she was capable of.

“The bog will be dangerous,” Rhys said, “but if the mask is truly there, then we don’t have time to waste.”

“I’ll go,” Cassian said immediately, “Azriel and I can retrieve it.”

“You should bring Nesta with you,” Amren replied. “It answers to her.”

“Is that wise?” Feyre asked. “She could be killed. She’s not trained in combat.”

“I doubt she’d need it, with what we just witnessed,” Amren said. “No one is getting through that kind of magic. Besides, are any of you willing to try and pick it up anyway?”

“I think Nesta should be the one to make that call,” Azriel said. “But the risk is high. There’s no guarantee that any of us will find the mask, with or without her. Cassian and I can protect her, but even then, we have no idea what could happen out there.”

Rhys was quiet for a moment, thoughtful as he stared at the map. “I should go with you,” he said, “I won’t risk your safety when there’s so much we don’t know. Not when-”

Suddenly, he stopped mid-sentence, eyes flicking up to the doorway Nesta had disappeared through seconds prior. Before any of them could ask what caught his attention, he was gone, the snap of a winnow echoing through the room. Cassian didn’t hesitate, opening the door and moving out into the hall just in time to see his brother lowering a distinctly unconscious Nesta to the floor, sinking down with her to keep her steady. Feyre let out a distressed sound as she joined him, the rest of their family piling behind, but Rhys’ voice was calm as he said,

“She’s alright - just burned out. She used too much power too quickly after not using it for however long it’s been. I felt her mind slip when she fainted.”

“I told you it was a waste,” Amren murmured. “A body that can’t handle the power it possesses.”

“Amren,” Rhys snapped, briefly turning his eyes to the petite female, “enough.”

His Second scowled but averted her gaze, and Cassian allowed her to stew as he sunk to his knees on the other side of Nesta, reaching out to feel her forehead. As expected, her skin was like fire, though Rhys was not visibly bothered by it, despite maintaining his hold on her. Feyre joined them on the floor, but before she could tap into the magic she took from Thesan, Nesta’s eyes fluttered.

“Nesta,” Rhys said softly. “Nesta, can you hear me?”

Brows furrowing, Cassian tried not to let the relief overwhelm him as her eyes cracked open, distinctly unfocused as her head lolled to the side, into Rhys’ shoulder. It took a second, but he watched as she realized just who it was holding her and tried not to crack a smile at the way she stiffened, her brows coming together even more intensely as she focused her gaze on the High Lord.

“Do you know where you are?” Rhys asked, and she blinked, staring blankly at him for long enough that fear pierced through Cassian’s chest, until, blessedly, she rasped,

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

The tension in Rhys’ shoulders eased and a smile of his own tugged on his lips. But Cassian could see that lines of stress remained on his face, his jaw clenched.

“How do you feel?” Feyre asked cautiously, reaching out to help her sit up.

“I feel…fine,” Nesta said, and it was the confusion in her voice, the surprise, that solidified what Cassian guessed. Locking his eyes with his brother, he took in the subtle distant look within them. Rhys was taking her pain, and had likely felt it as if it were his own to do it.

“You should take Madja’s tonics anyway,” Cassian said, resting a hand on her back, “to get ahead of it.”

Still dazed, Nesta merely nodded at him, her own focus limited by Rhys’ intervention. Gently, he helped her up, knowing she likely was already mortified by waking up on the floor, and walked her to the living room, easing the tonics down her throat once she settled on the couch. Rhys followed, the rest of them trailing behind, and Nesta lifted her gaze to his as he hovered in the entry way.

“You can stop that,” she said softly. "It's a lost cause. I'm fine.”

Rhys blinked, surprised at her ability to realize what he was doing, but acquiesced, sinking down into an armchair across from her as if it had exhausted him.

“Is that how you feel every time?” He asked, and Cassian frowned, seating himself beside her, the need to protect her driving every aspect of his senses.  

“You get used to it,” was all Nesta said, though she leaned enough into Cassian’s arm to indicate her own fatigue. He let himself lace their hands back together, nonplussed by the presence of their family, though she didn’t respond to the gesture.

The rest of them settled into the room soon after, preventing Rhys from responding to her comment, though Feyre looked between the two of them skeptically as she sat at his side.

“The bog,” Nesta said, voice perfectly neutral. “We need to go tomorrow.”

“Nesta, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Feyre said. “You should rest first.”

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” Nesta snapped.

Feyre frowned, guilt passing over her features as she dipped her head, and Rhys let out a long sigh.

“I don’t think passing out in The Middle is the best strategy, girl,” Amren shot back. “Maybe if you didn’t keel over every time, you so much as tapped that power of yours, we wouldn’t have to have this conversation about your capabilities.”

“Amren.” Rhys snapped in a low growl, something that had Nesta’s eyebrows raising. “I’d like to see you do better.”

“At this rate, I probably could.”

“Shut your mouth.” Cassian snarled, his hand tightening on Nesta’s. But she had had enough.

“No,” she said quietly. “Let her speak. She’s the only one who hasn’t changed how she’s treated me since this came out. She still thinks the same about me as she did in the first place. A waste of life.”

“I don’t think the same about you,” Amren said, eyes cold and unforgiving. “I think less of you. I thought you were unworthy before; I know with certainty you are now.”

Nesta let out a low huff of a laugh, even as every person in the room wore expressions of enraged shock. She supposed most of them had never heard Amren speak to her entirely without a filter. Her comments were always cold and cutting, but she usually operated with at least a little restraint in the presence of the rest of the Court.

“How dare you speak to her that way,” Feyre said, eyes blazing. “How long have you spoken to her that way?”

“Long enough,” Nesta said, rising to her feet. “And for what it’s worth, several of you have spoken to me that way too, until recently.” Turning to Rhys she said, “I heard every comment you and Morrigan whispered to each other every time I dragged myself out of bed to sit in silence at one of your dinners, just as I heard your snickers and sneers when I showed weakness. I appreciate your concern now, but it is not needed. I know where all of you stand.”

On surprisingly stable feet, she made her way to the entryway. Turning back to address them, she said, “we will go to the bog tomorrow. It can’t wait.” Looking at Feyre, she said, “I am sorry, truly, for all I’ve caused you, you’ve only ever done what was best for our family. But I do not need these facades to do what is needed, I do not think less of anyone for speaking their minds. I know what I am and don’t need patronizing to accept it.”

She didn’t dwell on the stable quiet of her tone, her ability to reign in her temper enough to not say everything with the most hateful voice she could muster. She was just too tired. Rhys had been in her head, feeling her pain, and still, frankly, looked rattled by it. But it didn’t change anything, not really. These people hated her, and they should. Her body didn’t change that.

But it wasn’t this anger that drove her away. She’d been itching to escape from the moment she pulled herself out of that dark abyss. Looking into Cassian’s eyes, feeling the warmth of his siphons flaring against her power, it was abundantly clear what pulled her back. It was the only thing that cut through her barrier, that coaxed the Cauldron’s power, enticed it.

Mate, it had said. Our mate calls, Nesta.

Our mate fears us, can’t you taste it?

We must have him, Nesta. He is ours.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta…

“Nesta.”

Nesta turned her head, her cool gaze meeting the near violet hues of the High Lord. She’d frozen a few steps from the front gate, consumed by the heavy truth that now weighed on her. Rhysand looked uncomfortable, sheepish even.

“Rhysand.” She replied flatly, though it came off as more exasperated, and crossed her arms.

His eyes assessed her carefully, his skin paler than she’d seen since the war.

“Cassian is tearing into everyone, at the moment.”

“Are you telling me this so I can go reign him in?” She asked, and her heart cracked just a little more. It was natural, she thought, for a male to defend his mate, nothing more.

“No,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets. “It needs to be said.”

“Feyre doesn’t need to hear it,” Nesta replied.  

“I think…” he started, and stopped, actually taking time to consider his words. “I think she does, actually. Ever since she’s learned, she’s treated you like glass. She’s not let anything remotely critical be said about you, but also hasn’t considered how you are feeling. Elain, too. They love you, but you are right. There are issues between the three of you that don’t go away just because more truth is revealed. But it does change their perspective. They need to find a balance.”

“And what?” Nesta asked. “Are you here to meddle in these issues?”

“No,” Rhys said. “Feyre has made it abundantly clear the consequences of doing that. But it’s not just Elain and Feyre. It’s all of us. I was childish, making those comments about you as if it was suddenly an egregious immorality. We’ve all done what you did, worse even. If you think you’ve slept with everyone in this city, you haven’t seen the looks I get from the fae my age. Even if you didn’t have this on top of everything else, I should have been more considerate. I was angry at you, for hurting Feyre. I probably still am. But I am her mate, and that is my job. Feyre has forgiven you, though, which means it’s my turn. But I also need your forgiveness.”

Nesta blinked, unsure what to do other than stand awkwardly and listen to this 500-year-old male spill his heart out.

 “We have been at odds from the moment we’ve met, and I haven’t bothered to learn about you because of our many similarities. I was unnecessarily cruel to you, which set an example for the rest of my Court. I organized putting you up in the House of Wind because I did want it to feel like a punishment, at least a little. That was wrong of me. I should have given you a choice. I can’t claim to be a leader who offers it only to not follow through. I want you to know that you are safe here, whether you want to train in combat or live a peaceful life for the rest of your days. You are welcome here, too, to find happiness between you and your sisters.”

She hesitated, evaluating him for threat, but his face was open, earnest. “The pain really affected you that badly?” She asked, though there was no bite to the question. Rhys sucked in a long breath.

“It did, but that is not why I am saying these things.” As he said the words, he lifted a hand, subconsciously rubbing at his shoulder in a way that she often did, as if the phantom of her pain still lingered in him. “It was eye opening, though. I’m sorry you feel it so often.”

Nesta shrugged, accustomed to these kinds of apologies. They stood in awkward silence, regarding each other cautiously, nervously, even. Until, with a breath, Nesta relented.

“Thank you,” she said, “for saying those things. I know it was hard for you.”

The High Lord huffed out a silent laugh. “It was, but I think I did well.”

She hummed skeptically, bringing out a small smile on his face.

“It doesn’t make up for all the chaos we’ve caused, but…I wonder if it’s too late to start over. After all, there’s a child on the way and I have no idea what to do when they arrive. Elain mentioned you often cared for Feyre when she was a baby, we’ll probably be in your debt fairly quickly.”

Surprise filled her chest, at her sister’s willingness to share that information. She’d been obsessed with her baby sister from the beginning, too young when Elain was born to have a hand in caring for her. With Feyre, she was allowed to help the nursemaids and the nannies when she wasn’t in her lessons or unwell. She wished she’d kept that enthusiasm as they grew. Regarding the male in front of her, she evaluated her options. Ultimately, she just wanted peace. She didn’t deserve their friendship, or forgiveness, but if it meant a moment of quiet, then,

“I suppose it isn’t. Apparently I have to live forever, so ‘too late’ doesn’t really apply anymore.”

His eyes sparkled at that, and nodded, tilting his head as he likely listened in to what was happening inside. After a moment, he said,

“If you feel you must go to the bog tomorrow, then I will not stop you. But please, be careful. It won’t be like anything you’ve experienced before.”

“I will,” she replied. “But I think you should worry about Cassian more. He likes to be reckless.”

She got a proper snort at that. “Don’t remind me.”

And though pain pierced her chest at the thought of that male, her mate, she let her lips twitch in response. It seemed he knew he was being discussed, for as soon as Rhys turned to go back inside, he was in the doorway, eyes blazing. Without hesitation, he stepped into her space, brushing his hands up her arms.

“House?”

She nodded silently, knowing she couldn’t voice any words in his presence, in Rhys’. What she was feeling was chaotic, devastating. She wasn’t a distraction; she was his mate. She wasn’t someone he fell in love with, who he organically cared about. He was obligated to her. If Cassian noticed her distress, he didn’t say as he scooped her up and shot into the sky. She decided that was for the better.

---

In the end, things happened very quickly. First, Azriel went down. Then, Cassian went after him. Third, Nesta came face to face with sheer terror itself. After that, well, her memory was fuzzy. The first thing she really comprehended was sitting in front of the mask, hearing Rhysand ask her how she got into that room, and vaguely registering that Helion was now coming to teach her things. But in the end, her mind was mostly just a deafening roar, her pain the only thing keeping her from succumbing to her own mental anguish over seeing Cassian’s face, his terror, after he caught her in his arms.

She hadn’t slept the night prior, tossing and turning as the words kept playing over and over in her head.

Our mate, our mate.

He’d ranted and raved about the argument that unfolded between he and Amren after she’d left, but all she could do was stare blankly at him, trying not to dwell on the fact that his anger was likely bond-related. Azriel had sensed something was off with her, silently offering her tea as the General continued his tirade, but she couldn’t find any words for the rest of the night, ultimately slipping to bed quietly without much fanfare.

And now, she was here. In the Moon Palace. It was beautiful, though she preferred the House. She had washed and watched as her wounds scabbed over, healing so much faster in this body even with it working against her. She’d slept for who knows how long, largely undisturbed, and full of tonics, avoiding Cassian at every opportunity when she was awake. But in the end, she decided that, despite the spaciousness of this place and the distance it put between her and him, she wanted her room where her books appeared at will, where she could hide and feel at least a small sense of calm.

So when she opened the door to the room she'd been given, and found him in a heap on the floor, as if he’d been standing guard and grown tired, she used all of her energy to remain stoic. He likely was exhausted, seeing as he had been in that hellish place too, but when his head snapped up there was only worry in his gaze. Worry, and… she didn’t want to think about it.

“I want to go back to the House.” She said without ceremony, watching him blankly.

Cassian blinked at her for several seconds, likely regaining his full consciousness, before he assessed her closely, perhaps evaluating if she was able to fly. She almost pleaded, almost went into a justification, but he simply nodded, rising to his feet. She let him scoop her up in the hallway, clutching her tightly to him as if she would slip through his fingers, and it was hard to breathe. By the time he’d shot out of one of the large windows, her eyes were squeezed shut as her head rested on his shoulder, fighting tears.

When they landed, she set herself down quickly, prepared to beeline to her room. But the stubborn Illyrian followed, reaching out to grasp her wrist.

“Nesta…” he said softly. “Nesta, what is it?”

Nesta froze, reluctant to meet his gaze. “I don’t know what you mean,” she replied, her voice barely over a whisper.

“You’ve avoided me like the plague,” Cassian said, a bit sharper. “What have I done?”

A shuddering breath forced its way out of her chest, and suddenly he was tugging her closer, tipping her chin up to assess her. She figured she may as well get things over with. At least, before he kissed her, and she forgot why she was upset in the first place.

“You said I wasn’t a distraction,” she murmured, keeping her eyes firmly fixated on his chest over his face. “And you were right. I’m an obligation.”

The Illyrian was silent for an agonizing moment, so long that she couldn’t let it go on.

“The bond,” she said, “that’s how you reached me, during the scrying. My power responded to the bond and let me go.”

The breath that loosed out of his chest was long. “I was going to tell you,” he said quietly, and those words were perhaps more devastating than discovering the truth in the first place.

“I thought…” she started but stopped. “It doesn’t matter. The reality is clear.”

“Nesta, that’s not it,” he pressed, anxiety lacing his tone, but she pulled away, taking several steps towards her room.

“You don’t have to persuade me anymore, I understand.”

“No, Nesta, listen-”

“Stop,” she snapped. “Just stop. I forgive you. But I can’t pretend this is something it isn’t.”

Without waiting for him to respond, she continued to move to her room, opening the door. He stood in the hallway, something too close to heartbreak in his eyes.

“I’m only sorry,” she said quietly, “that the Mother cursed you with me.”

Promptly, she shut the door and locked it before she started to cry.

Chapter Text

Nesta woke slowly, brain heavy with fatigue, her body nestled comfortably in the thick comforter of her bed. She was burrowed underneath it, the light blue silk sheets soft against her skin. Opening her eyes, she was met with the face of her favorite stuffed cat, Whiskers, the one she hid from mother so as not to lose it the next time she went on one of her ‘you’re too old for this’ rampages. Sliding her arms around her fuzzy companion, she lifted her head, bleary eyed as she took in the shadows casted over her room by the singular lamp glowing at her bedside. Turning her head to assess it, she saw her father seated in an armchair dragged over from the corner, feet propped up on the mattress, a heavy book in his lap.

“Papa,” she whispered, as if speaking any louder would wake the rest of the house, would require her to become her mother’s perfect daughter again.

Her father raised his eyes, soft and warm, and a smile tugged on his lips as he closed his book and sat forward, reaching to brush wayward strands of hair out of her face.

“There she is, my darling girl,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

Nesta’s chest warmed, her cheek pressing into his palm. “My head still hurts, a little,” she replied, and she didn’t miss the way his smile fractured, just for a second.

“How about some more of that special tea the doctor brought. That helped last time, right?”

Nesta thought about it, remembering the strange taste of it, the way it made her sleepy. She wasn’t sure if she liked it, but she did wake up feeling better, so she nodded.

She watched as he leaned over the side of his chair, picking up a tea pot that had been sitting on a tray on the floor. He poured her a cup with steady hands before rising to seat himself on the edge of the bed. And though she was much too old for such things, at seven years old, she let him cup the back of her head and bring it to her lips, easing the liquid down her throat.

“There,” he said, setting the cup aside but continuing to stroke his hand through her hair.

“Papa,” she asked, “why are you awake?”

Her father hummed, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. “Because I have to make sure no monsters bother you in the night, of course.”

Nesta allowed herself a small giggle. “Papa, I’m too old to be scared of monsters. I’m seven now.”

“You’ve only been seven for three days, darling, I think that permits me a transitional period.”

She pondered the logic of it for a moment, before acquiescing with a sharp nod. A soft laugh rumbled out of his chest as he tucked her blankets more properly around her waist.

“Where’s mother?”

“Fast asleep, just like your sisters.”

“So why aren’t you protecting Elain and Feyre from the monsters? They’re smaller than me.”

“They are,” he said, taking her hand and squeezing it. “But their monsters are different than yours, sweet girl. They don’t come around very often.”

Nesta frowned and subconsciously reached for her stuffed friend beside her, holding it to her chest. “What did I do wrong, then?” She asked. “Is it because I didn’t do well in my lessons?”

Her father stared at her for a moment with an expression she didn’t quite understand. Sad, but there was something stronger in his eyes, almost like when he was cross. An apology rose to her lips, anxious for him to smile again. Instead, he moved, settling himself on the bed beside her, and tucking her under his arm. It was an indulgence Nesta hadn’t received in, well…she didn’t know how long. Mother didn’t permit such things anymore. She blinked up at him, confused, even as he pulled her into his chest and pressed a firm kiss to her hair.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, little love,” he whispered, his voice different, thicker. “You didn’t do anything at all. Sometimes we’re just unlucky.”

Unlucky, she thought with a frown, even as she cuddled into her father’s embrace. If she was unlucky, then what did that mean for her future? For all the things she was supposed to do?

---

“I think I fucked up.”

Azriel rose his eyes slowly from the breakfast table, an unimpressed expression on his face as he took in the half hazard state of his brother. Cassian’s hair was wild, more so than usual, and dark circles sat heavy under his eyes as he all but threw himself into a chair.

“You drink too much or something?” he drawled, and he watched as Cassian’s brows furrowed.

“Don’t be an ass. I think I fucked up with Nesta.”

Azriel let out a long sigh, leaning back in his chair. If he had a coin for every time Cassian had ‘fucked up’ with Nesta, he’d be a much richer male. And probably retired.

“Was this before or after she was nearly eaten by a kelpie?”

“Before. And After.” He said, with a forlorn expression. “And she took care of that thing all by herself, don’t act like you were in any better of a position to help her.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Azriel replied. “Only that she’s had a rough few days. So, if you think she’s angry with you, I’d wait until she recovers more.”

“No…” Cassian said, his voice low, and Azriel frowned as he watched him scratch the back of his neck. “No, I know it’s me.”

“What is you?” A voice sounded from the doorway, and Cassian winced at the sight of Feyre with her arms crossed, Rhysand at her heels.

“I thought we agreed no surprise visits,” Cassian said, his eyes narrowed slightly at Rhys as the pair of them sat at the table.

“We did,” Feyre said. “But it’s been three days and I haven’t heard if Nesta is alright or not.”

Azriel’s frown deepened. In truth, Nesta hadn’t left her room in the three days since she’d returned from the Moon Palace, and he was intending to go down to the Library, to see if Gwyn would brave coming up to see her. Or call for Emerie. Or both. Cassian slumped in his seat and ran a hand over his face.

“She hasn’t come out yet. The House always says if she’s hurt, so I’ve just been letting her recover.”

“Fine,” Feyre said, “but what did you say to her this time?”

“This time?” Rhys asked, eyebrow raised as he stirred milk into the coffee that appeared in front of him, as if he’d been sitting there for hours.

Cassian grimaced, even as Feyre said,

“Cassian has a penchant for telling my sister that everyone hates her.”

“Had.” Cassian said, his tone pleading. “Feyre, I’ve already apologized to her repeatedly. That isn’t what this is about.”

“So, tell us,” Azriel said. “You look like someone killed your puppy.”

Cassian hesitated, unsure how involved he wanted them in this situation, how much Nesta wanted them to know. But Feyre’s eyes blazed and he had a feeling he wouldn’t walk out of this alive unless he fessed up, at least a little.

“When she was scrying, I reached her because…well, because we have a mating bond. It was why I was able to pull her back.”

Feyre let out a long breath through her nose, even as Rhys froze half way to bringing his cup to his mouth. For Azriel, however, this was old news.

“And what? You told her?”

“No, she knew it was the bond that reached her. It’s more complicated than that.”

“More complicated than dropping a mating bond on my sister who has only been in this body for a little over a year and hasn’t been well for all of that time?”

Cassian sighed. “Whatever thing we had, during the war, I never followed up on it afterwards. I was letting her come to me, but as we have all learned, that wasn’t the right choice. Because of that and everything that happened, she assumed I was using her as a distraction. I told her, a while ago, that she was more than that, but I didn’t say we were mates. Last night, she said she understood that she was an obligation, rather than a distraction. Then she apologized for it and hasn’t come out of her room since.”

Heavy silence hung in the air for several seconds as everyone processed the words. Eventually, it was Rhys that said,

“You fucked up, indeed.”

“Thank you, High Lord, for that incredibly insightful observation. In case you forgot, you wallowed in your own self-pity too until Feyre found out the truth herself.”

Rhys winced, but yielded the point to him, taking a long sip of his coffee.

“I don’t think that Nesta has ever felt truly wanted in her life,” Azriel said. “It makes perfect sense for her to resist the idea that you do until the very end.”

“I know,” Cassian said. “I hadn’t intended to tell her. I wasn’t going to acknowledge it at all, until she was ready. Or until it snapped for her.”

“I’m sure that would’ve gone swimmingly, too,” Feyre said, exasperated as she pinched her brow. “It’s not your fault,” she relented. “Nesta was raised to be sold off to the highest bidder, everything pre-arranged by mother or father. To know that the universe pre-arranged something like a mating bond probably means the same thing to her.”

Cassian rubbed over his face roughly. For days now he only saw the heartbroken expression on Nesta’s face, the hollowness that was so apparent from the moment they returned from the bog. She truly didn’t think herself worthy of love, and he’d certainly done his part to re-enforce that.

“It will take time,” Rhys said, tone gentler than it had been before, “she’s fragile, right now, healing. She also just did something that none of us thought possible, getting that mask. I imagine dropping another life altering moment into her lap is not what she wants or needs.”

“Since when have you been team Nesta?” Cassian asked, crossing his arms.

“Since I apologized for our past grievances after getting a healthy taste of what her pain feels like.”

Cassian huffed, unable to stem the jealous surge at the notion of someone else gaining her favor, even if it was something as wholly platonic as with Rhys.  

“You have to prove to her that what you feel is genuine,” Rhys continued. “Not all bonds involve love, but she doesn’t know that.”

“And do you?” Feyre asked suddenly, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Do I what?” Cassian replied tiredly.

“Do you love my sister?” Feyre clarified, burning her gaze into his own. Cassian swallowed but didn’t hesitate.

“I do.”

He decidedly ignored the much too soft smile that crossed Rhys’ face, the giant sap that he was. Azriel, meanwhile, had the same expression on his face that he always did when someone was saying things he already knew. He made a mental note to punch him for it later. But Feyre assessed him closely, scrutinizing every detail as if searching for the fault. He held her gaze, determined to pass whatever test she was executing. Eventually, she nodded.

“Then you know what you have to do.”

Cassian pursed his lips but couldn’t refute her.

“I don’t want to bother her if she’s sleeping,” Feyre said, rising to her feet. “But the moment she comes out, I want to know.”

Cassian murmured his agreement, watching Rhys follow his mate out the door, like a loyal dog. Azriel snorted, sharing the same thought, before he leveled his stare at him.

“What are you thinking?” Cassian asked once he heard them depart, finger tapping anxiously on the table.

“I’m thinking that it’s time for Emerie to pay her first visit. And perhaps some company from the Library is in order.”

---

Nesta stared at the ceiling, unblinking. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard her father, soft and gentle, coaxing her back to sleep, vowing to protect her from the monsters, the storms, and whatever else fell upon her ‘unlucky’ shoulders. She heard the call of that mask, beckoning her, coaxing her into giving in to its desires. She had different monsters, her father told her once, worse ones. She wondered what he’d say now, knowing she had become one.

She didn’t know how long she’d stayed in bed, only that the sun had set a few times. Her body was exhausted down to the bones, so much so that she could barely move. Aside from the physical toll the retrieval of the mask had taken on her, the knowledge of the truth kept pulling her down under the weight of her own despair. The knowledge that she was Cassian’s mate, his predestined partner, made her feel so, so heavy. Once upon a time, she might have thought it romantic. But to know that he was bound to her even if he hated her, unable to sever a Cauldron-blessed bond, it was a final straw.

So, when the door opened, she didn’t intend on acknowledging her visitor, assuming it was likely Madja or Feyre or maybe even him, coming to harass her. When the bed dipped and she felt a weight beside her, she merely noted that it was too small to be Cassian and instead continued tracing the white trim along the ceilings with her eyes.

“This room doesn’t suit you,” the voice of Gwyneth Berdara said. “It’s too drab. Too grey. Depressing, really.”

Nesta blinked, her mind slowly registering just who it was beside her. Gwyn continued,

“There’s also only one bookshelf in here. You need a room that actually feels like yours. Isn’t this house magic or something? Surely it can do better than this.”  

A flash brightened the space momentarily, and Nesta turned her eyes to see the color of the walls turn a rich blue, the bedding along with it, in shades of shimmering silver tones to complement the new color scheme. The rest of the furniture didn’t change, though she supposed the noise would be enough to draw her other housemates out of wherever they decided to reside. Gwyn laughed.

“That’s a start, I guess.”

At last, Nesta turned her head, assessing the Priestess. Gwyn’s face was calm as she stared up at the ceiling, mirroring Nesta’s position, flat on her back with her hands resting gently on her stomach. She didn’t meet her gaze, instead content to close her eyes, taking a moment’s reprieve.

“I found a book in the library,” she said, “on a female fighting legion called the Valkyries. They used a lot of the same stretches in the regiment you showed me. They also did a lot of breathing and meditation. I’ve been practicing it, and I think it’s helping, though I’m still not very good. I was thinking we try it together.”

Nesta raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the concept. Gwyn opened her eyes and turned her head to look at her, a gentle smile on her face.

“At least, we can laugh about it when we both fail.”

Nesta’s mouth tugged at the edges. It didn’t sound so bad, laughing together. “I could probably convince the House to give us dessert afterwards,” she said quietly, her voice hoarse from disuse.

Gwyn grinned. “Now you’re talking.”

Nesta allowed a small smile to properly spread across her face and the pair of them sat in comfortable silence until the sound of footsteps could be heard from the hallway. She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath for whoever it was, but it came out of her in a long gasp when Emerie said,

“Gods, Archeron, you look like shit.”

Raising her head, she watched as the Illyrian shut and locked the door and looked around the room. Eyes landing on Gwyn, she said,

“I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Emerie, the other link to the book swap we all have going.”

Gwyn sat up excitedly. “You’re who introduced us to Sellyn Drake? I think I might be in love with you.”

Emerie blushed but grinned as she settled herself on the other side of Nesta. “Azriel said I wasn’t allowed to yell at Cassian until I talked to you,” she said. “Should I yell at him now?”

Nesta sighed, turning to stare back up at the ceiling. “No,” she said. “He didn’t do anything.”

“Azriel said he did,” Gwyn said. “He said he was a moron.”

Nesta huffed a small laugh. “No. He’s my mate, that’s all.”

She was met with silence for one beat, then two, before both of the females said at once,

“Your mate? The General?”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious,” Nesta said, pushing herself up to rest against the headboard. “He’s stuck with me. I can’t figure out how the Mother granted him such an awful mate.”

Emerie scowled, brows furrowing. “He’s not stuck with you. If anything, you’re stuck with him. Do you even want to have a romantic relationship?”

“I did,” Nesta said, not seeing the point in lying to them. “I didn’t let myself admit it, but I did. And we were moving that way, maybe. But I don’t…I can’t do something like that if it’s just out of obligation for him. If he only cares for me because of the bond.”

“That’s not exactly how the bonds work,” Gwyn said kindly. “The only feelings that come with the bond are a sense of protectiveness and perhaps possessiveness. But love, care, like or dislike, that’s all organic. That’s all you. I’ve read about it fairly extensively.”

Nesta raised an eyebrow at her, curious.

“She’s right,” Emerie said. “I’ve seen it both ways. And that male is head over heels for you.”

“Don’t say that” Nesta replied. “He shouldn’t be.”

“We’ll agree to disagree on that,” Emerie shot back, Gwyn nodding her head affirmatively. “Now, I told you I was here to do these exercises with you, why don’t we get out of bed and try them? At the very least, get you up and moving before you become one with the mattress.”

Nesta sighed, contemplating it. Their presence helped, their ability to talk her down from the anxieties that roared in her head. Deciding that she’d rather do this here in the comfort of her room than anywhere else, she nodded her head and let them pull her out of bed and settle on the floor.

“We don’t have to do all of these at once,” Gwyn said. “I think it’s supposed to be in stages.”

“So, what’s first?” Emerie asked, rolling her shoulders as she sat cross legged on the carpet.

Gwyn hummed, contemplatively, flipping through Madja’s paper instructions that appeared in her hands as soon as she sat.

“Balancing,” she said at last. “Lots and lots of balancing.”

---

In the end, the three of them practiced various balancing exercises for two hours. It was difficult. Exceptionally difficult. And by the end, Nesta was ready to curl back up into bed and pretend it never happened. But the session ended with a series of stretches, a way to cool down, according to Madja, and Nesta couldn’t deny that it felt good. Enough so that it no longer ached for her to get up.

Gwyn and Emerie stayed through dinner, the House providing them a lavish meal in her bedroom, complete with chocolate cake and a stack of books for dessert. Not once did Cassian or Azriel interrupt, and Nesta let herself be swept away by discussions of their favorite tropes and love interests, laughing over which metaphors for genitalia made them cringe the hardest. Nesta felt lighter than she had in days by the end of it, and when both females returned to their respective homes, she was even looking forward to their next meeting, set for next week, with the added promise that Gwyn would come in the morning to do another session with her.

But in the silence of the House, interrupted only by the rain that started to fall a few hours after their departure, the memories came back to her, sweeping her away until she simply sat and stared. Stared and remembered.

“Little love, be careful not to go outside without a coat, you get sick easier than your sisters.”

“My darling girl, tell papa where it hurts, and I’ll make it better.”

“Nesta, you have to get up. I know it’s hard, but you have a job to do, and we don’t want to disappoint mother.”

“We don’t have any herbs for the pain, Nesta, I’m so sorry. Maybe Feyre will bring some back from the woods.”

“I loved you from the first moment I held you in my arms.”

Nesta shuddered, pushing herself out of the armchair she’d settled in that evening and letting her book fall to the floor. Her skin prickled with the anxiety, the shame, of her failures, of her inability to save him, to help him. She’d hated him by the end, hated that he couldn’t do anything to help their situation, and it only made her hate herself more. She knew his pain was likely as severe as her own, worse even with his leg, but she couldn’t let go of that disappointment, that rage, at his lack of action, at his overconfidence in his abilities that ended up ruining them and their futures. And now, it was too late to fix it.

Outside, the wind howled as a storm moved in over the mountains, rain pattering against the windows. It was late, the House silent as she moved from her bedroom, padding down the hallways. She didn’t know what her mission was, only that if she stewed in that room for one more moment, the memories would overwhelm her. She had to get out, had to get away from it.

When the first drops of water hit her skin, she sighed with relief. The air was frigid, the wind whipping her hair across her face as she stepped out onto the balcony. She couldn’t see Velaris from here, the storm too strong, only the flicking of lights fighting against the fog. She couldn’t hear anything but the rain, the wind, howling and wailing as if it, too, was anguished. When her hands hit the railing, she gripped hard, tilting her head back to take a deep breath, letting herself soak through until her nightgown clung to her skin, her fingers and toes numb.

It was the biting cold that eased her, that soothed the burn in her chest, even for a moment. Drowned out by the torrential downpour, her father’s voice couldn’t reach her here, the call of that mask that constantly tormented her couldn’t reach her here. Instead, she could focus on Gwyn, on Emerie, on anything else. She closed her eyes, ignoring the hot tears that slipped down her cheeks, left over from those damned memories, and let herself tune everything out. Everything, that is, except-

“Nesta??”

Brows furrowing, she tilted her head forward and blinked her eyes open.

“Nesta, gods, what are you doing?”

Turning, she saw him beside her on the balcony, soaked through and chest heaving, clad in his leathers. He had just arrived, she realized, his hair pulled back tightly from the wind, his weapons still strapped to him. She realized, abruptly, that she had no idea how long she'd been standing there. 

“A person can barely fly in this weather, let alone see. I could have barreled right into you.”

“You didn’t,” she said simply, and watched as he stepped closer, eyes sharp as they assessed her.

“What are you doing out here? You’ll freeze dressed like that.”

Looking down at herself, she realized that her nightgown that fell just above her knees truly did nothing to keep the chill from her bones. But it was at least something she could feel, something she could cling to. Surely, he’d understand that if she explained.

“I’m fine,” she replied, and she watched as his brows raised, likely catching the scent of salt of her tears that still coated her cheeks.

“Sweetheart,” he started, lifting a hand but stopping, held back by the rift that now existed between them.

The movement had her pulling back, prying her hands off the railing and turning back towards the House, desperate to get away from that touch that both intoxicated and soothed her.

“That male is head over heels for you.”

She couldn’t accept that, couldn’t let him damn himself. He didn’t call after her, instead staring with wide, concerned eyes as she stood in the doorway. Unable to find it within herself to open the box on all they needed to discuss, she simply repeated,

“I’m fine, Cassian.”

And she was. She would be. She'd ignore the agony and despair and do what was required of her. And it was those thoughts that drove her as she disappeared back down the hall into the silence, leaving him in the cold. 

Chapter Text

The first sneeze happened as she was getting dressed, sudden and jarring. She’d ignored it, thought nothing of it as she moved silently down the hallways towards the Library. But when the second hit, then the third, and the fourth, in the span of the next hour, a foreboding feeling settled in her stomach.

“Are you sick?” Gwyn said, looking at her with narrowed eyes. “You look a little off.”

“I’m always a little off,” Nesta replied, with a frown. “That’s kind of the entire point of all this.”

Gwyn placated her with a small smile, but tilted her head, indicating her concern.

“Besides,” she continued, intently shelving the cart of books Gwyn had been assigned, “I thought fae never got sick.”

“Fae rarely get sick,” Gwyn corrected, following along behind her as she moved through the aisles. “But you aren’t a normal fae, so I don’t know if that applies to you.”

Nesta scoffed. “I’m fine, Gwyn. It’s just the sniffles. Probably allergies or something.”

Gwyn looked like she wanted to protest, but ultimately kept silent, instead stepping forward and taking the cart from Nesta’s grip. “Fine. But let me at least do my job so you don’t keel over.”

And though Nesta laughed her comment off, she couldn’t deny that her muscles had been particularly achy that morning. She also couldn’t deny the fatigue that hung heavy over her, like a thick cloud that made her mind hazy. It had been a long night, she figured. It was only natural to feel a little under the weather.

It was that thought in mind that kept her moving throughout the day, kept her occupied as she did her stretches and holed herself up in the House library. But her focus wasn’t there, each word of her beloved novels blurring together, and she only made it a few hours until she snapped them shut angrily, her thoughts preoccupied with the nightmares that kept her awake the night before, the sight of Cassian’s concerned face in the rain as she asserted that she was absolutely and unequivocally fine.

Thankfully, the House was quiet today, both Azriel and Cassian having been out and about doing something probably essential to Court security. It allowed her to wander the halls, exploring until she knew every inch of it, but it was also dangerous, and her thoughts ran rampant. Leaving her alone also meant letting her wallow in her own uselessness, emphasized by the heavy silence.

It was infuriating, to both loathe the idea of being subject to the whims of Rhysand and his schemes but also not wanting to live a life doing nothing but read books and waste away in a House that catered to her. She felt weak, pathetic, even. Certainly not the equal to the Lord of Bloodshed like the Mother apparently deemed. Her frustration was so acute that she found herself at the stairs, determined to prove that was capable, no matter what Madja said. In the end, she made it all of one hundred steps before a harsh, burning cough rattled her chest, and she ended up crawling back to the top, pushing herself into the living room where she all but collapsed on the couch.

In front of her stood the large, empty hearth. She stared at it for what could have been hours or minutes, as if to scold herself for her inability to handle it. For her aversion to it. She didn’t know what it was about today that was particularly irritating, that had her skin crawling and shivering, but everything hurt, the House too loud and too quiet at the same time. Perhaps she should have stayed in bed last night instead of waltzing out into a torrential storm like a wraith. She didn't know how long she stood out there, only that it had been long enough for the candles in her room to burn through. The thought was emphasized by another series of harsh coughs, a point proven.

The House tried its best to ease her, dropping everything from chocolate cake to a fuzzy blanket before ultimately settling on lighting a few candles and dimming the rest of the lights. By the time the sun was setting Nesta had finally relented in the battle against herself, sliding herself down fully onto the cushions and closing her eyes, a constant, deep throbbing emitting from the top of her forehead to her cheek bones. An ache had settled in her chest at some point in her meaningless meandering, and as she lied there, alone, and miserable, every part of her body felt increasingly heavy, her sniffling becoming relentless until she could scarcely breathe.

In the end, there was no denying it any further. Not when she eventually drifted off into a long, dreamless sleep, nightmares coming in and out like angry waves crashing against a jagged shore. Her father, the King, Elain and Feyre, her father again, her mother. They were all there, taunting her, yelling at her to get up, to do something, to prove she wasn’t as useless as they all thought. Cassian was there too, looking at her with nothing but pity and disdain, voice warped and face blurry as he said angrily,

I don’t know what I’ve done to make the Mother shackle me to you.

She was too hot and too cold all at once, eyes fluttering open just enough to vaguely recognize where she was before she was falling again, drowning in whatever hell the universe had decided to grant her today. Drowning in the taunts of the people who claimed to be her family, of the people who were her family yet didn’t treat her as such, of Tomas Mandray and the brutes who bound her hands and brought her to that wicked, wicked, Cauldron. She could feel the biting cold of it, the agony of all her bones breaking and reforming, the scalding burn of the power she stole.

When a rough hand brushed hair back from her face to settle on her forehead, she jumped, desperate to get away, to be left alone. A low voice called her name softly, yet the reality of the situation did not become clear until Azriel slipped his arms underneath her, lifting as if she weighed nothing. She registered the soft pulse of his siphons then, concentrating on the blue color, and it was his voice that said the truth of things.

“You getting sick is the last thing you need.”

She didn’t answer him, suffocating in her own misery, until that voice called out again, farther away this time as she was suddenly sinking into something soft and warm. A bed. (hers?) A long sigh came from above.

“I don’t know how you keep getting in these situations, I turn my back for one minute and the two of you have created nothing but chaos. It’s baffling.”

Vaguely, she registered the humor of the Night Court’s spymaster muttering to himself like an annoyed mother, but another round of coughing rattled her frame and all thoughts left her, in favor of the haze that had slowly been edging its way into her mind since she woke up this morning.

“I’m going to have to call Madja,” the voice said again, and suddenly something was cool on her forehead. “You’ve done a number on yourself, Nes.”

Yes, she probably had. Between the bog and the despair of the bond and the storm and everything else, she’d done a number on herself indeed. But she didn’t dwell on it, didn’t care, really, as she faded off into oblivion, simply hoping that she’d be blessed with never waking up.

---

“I thought you said fae couldn’t get sick like this?” Feyre asked, a hand resting on her slightly swollen stomach as she paced in the front room.

“I said they rarely get sick,” Rhys replied, brows furrowed, “not that they couldn’t. To get sick this quickly, though, is a feat.”

The look she shot him was enough for him to raise his hands apologetically before he settled his gaze on his brothers. Azriel stood at the hearth, staring into the flames in deep contemplation, something dark and haunted in his eyes. It was jarring enough that Rhys moved without thinking, stepping closer and brushing up against his mind with his power. The shadowsinger blinked, but didn’t meet his gaze, instead turning his back to the quiet flames to assess Cassian. Cassian, who sat on the couch, legs bouncing, mouth resting on his folded hands, which balanced precariously on his knees.

“You said you saw her outside last night, how long had she been out there?” Azriel asked, his voice carefully quiet.

Cassian shook his head. “I don’t know. I could barely see anything. I almost barreled right into her. She was like a ghost. She left almost as soon as I arrived. But she was soaked through.”

“You didn’t follow her?” Feyre asked, frowning. “How do you even know she went back to bed?”

Cassian sighed, rubbing his hands down his face. “I don’t know. She told me everything was fine. I should have.”

“I take it you haven’t had a conversation since this mess started,” Feyre followed up, crossing her arms.

“No, she didn’t leave her room for three days, remember? I was trying to give her space and let Gwyn and Emerie see her.”

Feyre’s brows furrowed then, at the prospect of someone else filling the role that she felt she was meant to.

“They cheered her up,” Azriel said. “She looked better the next time I saw her. Better, but still exhausted. She did just defeat an ancient being only a few days ago, that probably didn’t help stop whatever this is.”

Feyre let out a long sigh. “I’m not sure how this keeps ending up as a disaster. We never should have let her do the scrying.”

“It was her choice,” Cassian said. “We’ve taken enough of them from her, don’t you think?”

Silence hung in the air for several moments as each of them battled with their own feelings regarding the events that led them to this. The conversation where Rhys had laid out this plan seemed like ages ago, but the consequences were plain.

“She will have choices, real choices,” Rhys said softly.  “I promise.”

Cassian eyed his brother for several seconds, assessing him. But before Rhys could voice his dismay at the lack of trust in his General’s eyes, Madja entered the living room, a scene far too reminiscent of that first day all those weeks ago.

“It’s the flu,” she said, holding up a hand to placate Cassian, who’d shot to his feet at her arrival. “Likely the culmination of the last few days. The bog and last night’s storm did her no favors. But her pain is under control and she’s sleeping. The fever is what will likely be the challenge, with the way her body regulates temperatures. But Nesta is strong. I don’t doubt she’ll sweat it out and recover.”

Feyre’s shoulders slumped in relief. “You must be getting tired of this,” she said weakly, a tight smile on her face.

“On the contrary, you and your sister are much better patients than anyone else in this room. Between the baby and my weekly meetings with Nesta, it’s been a refreshing break.”

Rhys scoffed, but offered the healer a guilty look, knowing full well the grief he and his brothers had caused her over the last five centuries.

“Can I sit with her?” Feyre asked.

“Is that a good idea? You shouldn’t be getting sick,” Rhys cut in, concern panging in his chest at the risk to his mate and unborn child.

“Nesta is sick because she already has a weakened system,” Madja replied. “I see no issue with Feyre keeping watch over her. She keeps asking for her anyway.”

Feyre’s brows raised in surprise, but she didn’t hesitate, moving towards the hall without another word. Rhys followed, something within him also anxious to lay eyes on this female, call it guilt or admiration for what she’d achieved with the Trove. By the time he stood in the doorway, Feyre was already at her sister’s side, seated in a chair Madja had likely been occupying, a cool cloth in her hands. On the bed, Nesta was in a fitful sleep, brows furrowed as her head tossed on the pillows.

“I hate seeing her like this,” Feyre said, running the cool cloth over her forehead. “I’ve lived my whole life never witnessing it and now it seems to happen every day.”

“She’s been pushed harder now than she ever has,” Rhys offered, moving to join his mate at Nesta’s bedside. “There was no way to prepare for this, darling. It’s never happened before. But she’s safe here, I promise.”

Feyre turned to look at him, relief in her eyes that had his gut twisting at the implication that she hadn’t thought such a thing before. But before she could reply to him, Nesta stirred, a distressed sound slipping past her lips.

“Feyre…” she murmured in her sleep, “Feyre, you can’t go…”

“I’m not going anywhere, Nesta,” Feyre replied, taking her sister’s hand to squeeze. “I’m right here.”

Nesta’s head turned to the side, eyes moving under the lids. A dream, Rhys knew instantly, brought on by the fever.

“It’s too cold…” she mumbled again. “You shouldn’t…you shouldn’t have let her go out there. How could you?”

Feyre’s hand froze from where she had lifted the cloth off her forehead, her face fracturing as she comprehended the meaning of her words.

“I’m not going,” Feyre assured, voice tight. “I’m staying here with you.” Rhys placed a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s dangerous, father,” Nesta murmured again, head tossing back towards Feyre, sweat glistening on her brow. “We shouldn’t have…why did you…?”

“He couldn’t have stopped me, Nesta…” Feyre said softly, running her fingers through her hair. Turning to Rhys, she asked, tears on her cheeks, “can’t you ease her?”

Rhys blinked before he shifted, internally chastising himself for being too caught up in witnessing the moment to help. But just as he’d seated himself on the edge of the bed, Nesta’s eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused.

“Feyre?” She whispered.

“I’m here,” Feyre replied, and Rhys felt the way cold emitted from her hands as they stroked her sister’s cheek, pulling from Kallias’ power.

“You can’t go,” Nesta said to her, voice cracking at the effort. Feyre tried to shush her, stroking her hair, but Nesta pushed herself up, just enough to grip her arm. “Promise me?”

Feyre hesitated, inhaling a shuddering breath. But quietly, in a steady, even tone despite the tears rolling down her face, she replied, “I promise, Nes. I won’t go.”

Nesta hummed, sated, and her eyes closed again, already drifting back into the haze that the fever kept her in as Feyre eased her back down onto the bed. This time, before she could fall too far, Rhys found his opening, a small fissure in that iron will of hers, and soothed the raging storm in her mind into a soft, easy tranquility.

---

They took the night in shifts. Though ‘they’ consisted only of Rhys and Azriel, both of them unable to coax Feyre or Cassian from Nesta’s side. Elain, too, had taken up residence, relieving Feyre of the job of keeping a cool cloth on Nesta’s forehead, letting her instead be the constant soothing voice that kept their sister from becoming too distressed. In the end, Rhys and Azriel’s job consisted more of ensuring the group of them stayed sane than actually keeping an eye on the patient.

Eventually, though, Feyre’s exhaustion caught up with her, and though she protested, Rhys convinced her to sleep in the room next door. Elain made it until the clock struck three, when her yawning became so pronounced that she didn’t protest when Azriel politely suggested she join her. By the time the two sisters were asleep in the large bed, Cassian had finally gotten brave enough to move to Nesta’s side, away from the far wall where he’d parked himself. There was no use trying to convince him to sleep, not when his eyes held all of his grief.

“You’ll give yourself away when she wakes, brother,” Rhys offered as he settled down in Elain’s spot, picking up the cloth in his hands and fiddling with it for a moment before he slowly, a bit awkwardly, placed it back onto Nesta’s brow.

“Would that be so bad?” Cassian asked, unable to stop the single eyebrow that quirked upwards at the sight of Rhys caring for Nesta as if he were her nurse.

“Not necessarily,” Rhys replied, placing the back of his hand against her cheeks and her neck. “I think she’s a little cooler than she was a few hours ago.”

“Since when are you Nesta’s mother hen?” Azriel asked dryly from his spot at the end of the bed, his shadows swirling along the sheets.

“Can a male not ease his guilty conscience in peace?” Rhys shot back, unamused.

“I think my conscience is guiltier than yours,” Cassian replied. “If you didn’t look so ridiculous right now I’d take that rag from you.”

“You say that like I’ve never done this before,” Rhys argued. “I seem to recall being your nurse on more than one occasion.”

“It’s the fatherhood kicking in,” Azriel said, though he had contented himself with straightening the blankets around Nesta’s feet. “Soon he’ll be insufferable.”

Cassian huffed out a single laugh but couldn’t help the soft feeling that settled in his chest at the thought of what awaited them in a few months. “It won’t be the first time,” he said quietly, and Rhys’ eyes turned melancholy, even as he smiled.

“She got sick like this too, remember?” He asked. “That time she flew through that storm to make it to the cabin. I was up all night with her for two days.”

“She was a horrid patient for everyone but you,” Azriel said, resting his arms on the bottom bedframe. “If there ever was a test for fatherhood, raising your sister was it.”

Cassian let out a long breath, the eternal grief of her loss hanging heavy between the three of them. Rhys was quiet for several moments, content with running the cloth along Nesta’s flushed cheeks, almost to busy herself.

“She would have been an incredible aunt,” he finally said, voice almost a whisper, and Cassian reached over to squeeze his shoulder comfortingly.

“The best,” Cassian agreed. “But he’ll still have all of us at his disposal to throw things at and sneak him out for late night flying.”

Rhys scoffed. “He won’t convince Nesta to do anything. She’ll be the one we have to call when he starts getting into fights as a moody teenager.”

That got a genuine chuckle from the three of them, the mood lifting. Nesta stirred slightly at the sound, murmuring something incoherent, head turning slightly towards Cassian who let out a soft soothing sound to ease her.

“For what it’s worth,” Rhys said, “I think she’ll forgive you. Convincing someone that they’re loved isn’t easy, but if anyone has had a successful track record doing it, it’s you.”

Cassian sighed.

“Convincing Nesta Archeron of anything is harder than any battle I’ve ever fought. I can only hope you're right.”  

---

Nesta drifted in nothing for an unknown amount of time. In and out, voices swirled around her. Feyre, Elain, then Feyre again, soft, and constant. But then Feyre was gone and there was silence, nothing, until different voices filled her head. Rhysand, Azriel, him.

She’d been consumed in the memories of her father, of her failures, but it was only a matter of time until her thoughts drifted to him. Of saddling him with a broken mate, of the way he pulled his hand away from her when Mor entered that war tent yet had kissed her knuckles and held her close after she scried for the mask. The memories muddled together until she wasn’t sure what was real and what had actually happened.

Everybody hates you.

She saw his eyes, sharp and furious glaring down at her, no affection in them.

Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to leave you in that bed?

She felt the weight of his hand, firm yet gentle as his fingers worked through the knots in her neck, steady and soothing in a way she had never felt before.

Come on sweetheart, let go and we can play.

She tasted him, the feel of his lips as he kissed her in that library, the musky scent of him flooding her senses.

Not a distraction.

Not a distraction, but…

“It’s alright, Nes, you’re okay.”

She felt a cool sensation, the relief of it immense in comparison to the burn of whatever hell she had been in before. Her mind quieted just for a moment.

“Shh, sweetheart.”

She heard him more clearly now, his voice unmistakable. She wanted to hear it again, pushed herself towards it, until her eyes fluttered and he came into view, his hair pulled back from his face. His brows were pinched but his eyes were kind, so much kinder than they’d been in her dreams.

“Cassian,” she said, though it came out as a soft rasp.

“Right here,” he answered, lips quirking in a small smile. “I think your fever is breaking, thank the gods.”

Nesta furrowed her brows, trying to remember what had happened over the last few hours, everything after her visit with Gwyn too hazy. A thumb suddenly pressed between them, as if to soothe the creases, and his skin was cool to the touch, a stark contrast from what usually radiated from him. Before she could ask, the unmistakable feeling of a cloth replaced his hand and she blinked, trying to focus on him properly.

“Go back to sleep, love, you need to rest.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, eyes catching on the talon at the top of his wing, glinting in the sunlight. The last thing she’d remembered, it’d been dark outside.

“Don’t be,” Cassian replied. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m sorry the Mother gave you a broken mate,” she continued, not really focusing on what he was saying as her exhaustion tugged at her again. She still felt so heavy.  “I’m sorry, Cassian.”

“No,” he murmured, and she felt his fingers clasp hers. He lifted her hand slowly and brought it to his lips, pressing kisses to her fingers the same way he had when he pulled her out of the depths of her power.

“No, my love, she didn’t give me a broken mate. She gave me a perfect one, perfect and strong and so brilliant. You’re so brilliant, Nes.”

Her heart leapt even if the weight of his words didn’t fully register, her mind already drifting. All she knew for certain was that she felt safe in this moment, felt calm knowing the terror of her dreams was just that: dreams.

“I’ll be right here,” he said. “Right here until you never say something like that again. But for now, just sleep.”

With minimal prompting, she heeded him, his voice the last thing she recognized before she faded out as quickly as she’d woken.

Chapter Text

When Nesta next opened her eyes, her chest felt lighter, the pounding in her head eased into hazy soreness. Whatever magic Madja had worked on her did wonders, the congestion that had started this whole thing gone, save for the lightest sniffle and occasional rattle in her chest. Blinking, she tried to take stock of the last few hours, not remembering much aside from the blue of Azriel’s siphons as he carried her to bed, the vague knowledge that Feyre and Elain had been there, Cassian’s lips on her knuckles.

“Nesta? Are you awake?”

Nesta’s brows furrowed. That voice belonged to neither her sisters nor her housemates. Turning her head, she squinted as she took in the High Lord beside her, settled comfortably in an arm chair, a book open in his lap. One of hers, she realized vaguely, though she couldn’t read the title. The sun shone brightly behind him, a stark contrast to his traditional black wardrobe.

Suddenly, the back of his hand was on her forehead, her cheeks, and the confusion on her face had to be nothing short of extreme, for a soft, low chuckle rumbled out of his chest.

“Forgive me, I should have warned you. Your fever is broken, though, thank the Mother.”

“Are you reading Sellyn Drake?”

Rhysand froze, like she had caught him with his hand in a cookie jar. She didn’t know what prompted her to ask, only that it was the only thought she could focus on, now that her eyes had time to focus on the book he’d set on the bed when he leaned forward to feel her head. If she looked hard enough, she saw the beginnings of a blush on his cheeks.

“I, well…you didn’t have much else in here.”

“This house is above a library,” she replied flatly, tone nasally from the left over congestion. “There’s a whole room of books down the hall. Azriel collects mystery novels.”

Rhysand stared at her in silence for several seconds, perhaps debating if he should just erase this entire interaction from her mind. Offering him a bone, she added,

“That one has a sequel. I’ll expect your review. Or Feyre’s if you’re taking notes.”

She watched him with a raised eyebrow as he seemed to consider his options. After a moment, he said,

“I trust this will stay between us, then.”

If Nesta hadn’t been so stuffed up, she would have snorted.

“I’m ill, remember? This is all probably a fever dream.”

A tiny, mischievous smile spread across the High Lord’s face, something that gave her the urge to smile back, though she wouldn’t grant him that kind of satisfaction just yet. They had a truce, perhaps, but Nesta did not quite consider them to be best of friends.

“Feyre’s in the siting room with Elain, I’ll fetch them.” Rhys said, rising to his feet.

“Should Feyre be in here at all? With the baby?”

“Madja isn’t worried.”

Though, by the amusement in his brow, Nesta had a sinking indication that he had asked the very same thing. Another testament to the uncomfortable number of similarities between them. She pursed her lips but nodded her consent, waiting until he had left before pushing herself up against the pillows. This was the second time she’d been in this position, two more times than she’d ever been in her life with her sisters.

Get it together, Archeron.

Feyre peaked her head in a moment later, concern pinching her brow, and Nesta offered her a wry smile as she moved over to the bed and placed her own hand to her skin.

“Here we are again,” Nesta said flatly, sarcasm dripping from every word. But Feyre only frowned deeper.

“We shouldn’t be here at all,” Feyre said.

Nesta sighed. “I’m sorry,” she began, long prepared for the moment one of them grew tired of this and told her so outright.

“That’s not what I meant,” her sister replied, narrowing her eyes. “We’re doing a horrible job of taking care of you.”

“I’m doing a horrible job of taking care of me,” Nesta corrected. “You’re doing the best you can. Besides, this is more care than I’ve ever received, so I suppose you’re winning at something.”

“Even when mother lived?” Elain asked from her place in the door. When Nesta didn’t reply, she shut it and approached Feyre’s side, sitting down gently.

“Mother didn’t want to see it,” Nesta said, more comfortable with ensured privacy. “Father took care of me on bad nights, but that was it.”

“But I remember the doctors coming,” Elain said, twisting her hands together nervously.

“They came for father. Occasionally, he would send them to me afterwards.”

“So you and father have…had the same condition, then?” Feyre asked.

Nesta shrugged. “I suppose. They never knew too much about it. What worked for him usually worked for me, at least.”

Feyre let out a long breath, opening her mouth.

“Don’t.” Nesta cut her off. “Don’t apologize again, for the sake of the Mother. You’ve apologized enough for things that weren’t your fault to begin with.”

“I shouldn’t have harped on you so much,” Feyre said. “I never expected you to pick up a bow, but I should have at least asked what it was you could and couldn’t do.”

“I wouldn’t have said I could do anything,” Nesta replied. “I wanted father to see our condition and do something about it. That’s why I griped about helping you. It was a failed tactic, to begin with. I knew he wasn’t going to do anything, but it was his job. I couldn’t let that go.”

She still couldn’t, if she was honest. She feared she’d never be free of the crippling disappointment of learning that the person who promised to always provide for her had failed.

“Besides,” she continued, “I was too cruel to you. You had every right to dish it right back.”

Feyre sighed, sinking down into the armchair at her bedside. “Our family was fucked,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“So fucked,” Elain added, though her cheeks colored slightly when both her sisters looked at her in shock.

Nesta couldn’t help it in that moment, despite the pain it caused in her chest, not when the contrast of the foul language against her fair, overly polite sister was so extreme. Tilting her head back, she laughed.

---

Cassian paced anxiously on the balcony as he awaited the moment Feyre and Elain would relinquish their hold on their sister and he could go back to her side. Feyre knew perfectly well his intentions, having sat with him for the better part of the morning, and he knew that she was feeling particularly vengeful when she told him in no uncertain terms that they were not to be disturbed, even as the sun started setting below the horizon. Rhys stood beside him, staring out at Velaris with that same, slightly far away look he got in his eyes whenever he observed his lands. Azriel had been down in the Library for the better part of an hour, but Cassian hadn’t the faintest idea what his mission could be.

“I think Nesta and I will be excellent friends, one day,” Rhys said abruptly, and Cassian turned his head towards him with a raised brow.

“Any reason for this revelation?” He asked dryly, not particularly in the mood to discuss how well others were getting along with her, when he was still digging himself out of a hole.

“Yes. I’ve left her some of my tea as a gesture of good will.”

“Gods forbid anyone drink your special tea without your permission,” Cassian mused, though his usual humor was lacking.

“What I mean to say is if Nesta and I have achieved this kind of truce, you will certainly regain her favor.”

Cassian scoffed. “You didn’t hurt her the way I did.”

“No, but it was, admittedly, my goal to make her feel less than welcome. And Nesta didn’t like me to begin with. You, however, are another matter. She lo-”

“Don’t.” Cassian cut off sharply. “Don’t say it.”

“Why not? It’s true,” Rhys said, crossing his arms.

Cassian fixated his gaze on the Sidra. “I don’t deserve to hear it,” he replied softly. “At least, not yet.”

“Gods, the two of you really are a perfect match. I don’t know how I didn’t see this coming.”

Cassian didn’t reply, content to ignore Rhys until he changed the subject.

“She was asking for you this morning, in her sleep. After you went to breakfast. She knew you’d left her.”

His head swiveled at that, irritation burning in his chest at the fact that Rhys hadn’t called him back to her room immediately. As if to rub it in, Rhys laughed softly.

“You’re a goner, Cass. Another victim of the Archeron sisters.”

“I have half a mind to push you off this balcony.”

“Fine, we’ll change the subject. What do we think Azriel is up to down in that Library?”

Cassian narrowed his eyes. “Why, what do you know?”

It was Rhys’ turn to look at him, eyebrows raised. “What do you know?”

“I know that Gwyneth Berdara makes the special balm that he and Nesta use. But why he’s been down there for an hour is beyond me.”

“Do you like her? This Gwyneth Berdara?”

Cassian hummed thoughtfully. “She makes Nesta smile, so she’s one of my favorite people. But my interactions with her consist of only knowing that she thinks I’m a moron.”

Rhys grinned. “Then she sounds like someone I should meet.”

Rolling his eyes, Cassian tried to think back to any interactions he’d witnessed between the Priestess and their brother. Azriel never mentioned their visits, but he never missed one, not even when he had missions to attend to. At first, they’d only been quick pick ups for whatever magic she created for him and Nesta, but they’d gotten increasingly longer. It was curious.

“Perhaps in your newfound friendship with Nesta you can play the part of spymaster and find out what’s going on between them,” Cassian said, though even as he said the words, he himself was determined to find out first.

Rhys smirked like a cat at the prospect of competition. But before he could verbalize his agreement, Feyre appeared on the balcony, Elain at her side.

“Nesta’s out of bed, I think it was her signal to politely kick us out,” Feyre said, and there was something much lighter about her than when everyone had first arrived.

“Is she well?” Rhys asked, holding out an arm to tug her in towards his chest. Cassian’s heart clenched.

“She laughed,” Elain said, with a smile. “I realized, I’d never heard her laugh, before. Not once.”

Feyre nodded, her eyes misty, holding the emotion they all felt at the notion, the achievement. Turning to assess Cassian, she said, “Azriel is still on his errand, I suggest you don’t lose your moment, while she’s in a good mood.”

“Good luck, brother,” Rhys crooned, though he knew the words weren’t for this looming conversation.

Cassian grumbled but didn’t argue, instead merely placing a kiss on both sisters’ cheeks before disappearing into the House, not looking back to watch as they departed.

---

Nesta sat at the vanity in her room as the sun set, running a comb repeatedly through her hair. It had been a tangled mess from the tossing and turning she’d done through the night, but she couldn’t take another second of the feeling of it stuck to her neck, courtesy of the sweat that drenched her. It had been a relief to change into a new nightgown, the House swapping the sheets and providing her a light silk robe for her modesty. The furniture was slowly changing in this room, perhaps on Gwyn’s instructions, and for the first time it felt like something specifically for her, instead of where she had simply been put.

She should have expected it, with the House empty, for Cassian to come knocking. She only remembered his presence in flashes, the soft tone of his voice, his touch. She knew he’d been there, but the specifics were lost on her. Nevertheless, when he knocked, opening the door with a cup of tea in hand, her chest tightened, nervous at what would happen now that she was conscious.  

“Your hair looks beautiful like that,” he said quietly, his hazel eyes tracing the way it fell over one shoulder in gentle waves, long enough to reach her waist.

“It’s a nuisance is what it is,” Nesta replied, turning back to assess herself in the mirror, trying to feign normalcy even as he shut the door and approached her.

“Rhys seems to have decided you will one day be best friends,” he tried, setting the cup down beside her. “He left you the tea he drinks for his headaches. In 500 years, I’ve never been allowed to have any.”

“Rhysand gets headaches?” Nesta asked mildly, pausing in her ministrations.

“Only when he uses his daemati powers too much. I don’t think there’s anything particularly special about this tea except that it calms the nerves, if I’m honest. Doesn’t mean I’m less inclined to try it, just to say I have.”  

“Well, nothing’s stopping you now,” Nesta said, running her hands through her long tresses as if preparing to braid it, though never actually beginning, something about his first comment keeping her from putting it up.

“No, it’s for you. I’ll steal some from the kitchen later.”

Nesta hummed in acquiescence, avoiding his gaze as she resumed her attempts of de-tangling her hair. Cassian remained frozen beside her, though she felt his eyes following each movement.

“How are you feeling?” He finally asked, quiet and careful.

“Better,” Nesta said. “I’m sorry for causing another upheaval.”

Cassian shook his head. “It’s not your fault,” he replied.

“I made the decision to go outside in a storm, so I think it is,” she said. “I am not suddenly infallible just because there is more to me than it seems, Cassian.”

The male let out a huff. “Well, I certainly didn’t help things.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Nesta said, determined to detach herself from the emotions tugging at her heart. “I assumed things that weren’t true, it’s my fault.”

Cassian let out a sharp sigh. “You assumed wrong, then didn’t let me explain,” he argued, though the usual anger in his voice was gone. “The bond has nothing to do with what I feel for you, Nesta, you just won’t hear it.”

At the use of her full name her eyes flicked to his through the mirror, watching the intensity that swirled within them. “We really don’t have to talk about this,” she said, rising to her feet and pulling her robe closed as she moved across the room. “I should probably go back to bed.”

“We do,” Cassian said, moving to stand in front of her. “I’m not going to let you run away from me before I can tell you the truth.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes at him, lips pulling into a frown. He towered over her, even at her height, but she refused to avert her gaze, determined to win this battle of wills.

“I didn’t know about the bond, when we met,” he said, stepping into her space, not waiting for her to deny him his chance. “I didn’t actually know for sure until you found the mask. I had a feeling, but I’d ignored it, because I assumed you didn’t want anything to do with me. When you weren’t responding to anything during the scry, it was my last resort. When you told me you felt it, it was the confirmation I needed. But it doesn’t change anything, Nes. Not for me. It’s just a bonus, I guess. To what I already feel for you.”

Nesta blinked, reluctant to give in so easily. “You said I wasn’t a distraction,” she said. “If I’m not a distraction or an obligation then what am I?”

Cassian was quiet for a moment, assessing every inch of her face, before his hand reached up to let his fingers run through her hair, seemingly fascinated by the way the strands slid through them.

“You are... Well, you're everything, Nesta.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” she said, though she remained frozen in her spot. But Cassian simply shook his head.

“You are my obsession, my desire, my hopes, my dreams. You are my mate, yes, but you are also my love, the person I want to spend my future with, the person I want to live with. You infuriate me and challenge me and knock me down a peg when I need it, but you also make me feel more than I ever have. You make me want to be better, to do the things I’ve always been too afraid to. Do you understand?”

She took in several breaths, slow and unsteady. He was patient, instead fixated on his fingers in her hair, the contrast of his skin against the light floral pattern of her robe as his hand slid to rest on her shoulder.

“I shouldn’t be the person you feel all this for,” she said, quietly. “I’m not worth all of that, Cassian.”

“You should and you are,” he replied simply. “Don’t say that.”

Nesta shook her head. “You don’t have to say these things,” she whispered.

Cassian stepped forward again, closing in until his scent enveloped her. “Stop,” he whispered back. “Stop it. Why won’t you let me love you, Nesta?”

“Because you shouldn’t,” she said. “You don’t.”

She wondered, vaguely, how he was reigning in the anger and frustration that normally dictated these conversations. Because instead of yelling, he raised his other hand to cup her face, brushing his thumb against her cheek bones.

“Nesta, I’ve loved you since that night you kneed me in the balls in the human lands. I’ve loved you for every minute afterwards. I know I didn’t show it, I know I made a mess of it. But it’s the truth. I promised you I’d be better, and I will be. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the bond right away. I knew you were averse to it, and I didn’t want it to be something else you had to deal with, not with everything else happening. And it wasn’t because I thought you couldn’t handle it; it was because it was so inconsequential to me at the time. Because I already loved you, I already decided that you were all I wanted. But that was selfish, and I’m sorry. I didn’t want to lose you. But I almost did anyway. I am not so egotistical as to believe that I won’t still.”

For several seconds, there was no sound but their breathing filling the room. Nesta stared at him, unblinking, as she processed his words. His eyes were nothing but earnest, desperate even, despite his calm demeanor. She took in a long breath, her chest shuddering at the effort, a reminder of the illness that was still working its way out of her system. Cassian shifted his hand, brushing any loose strands behind her ear.

“You apologized to me early this morning, for the Mother giving me a broken mate. Do you remember?”

Nesta shook her head. “Just that you were there,” she said softly. “But when I woke in the afternoon, Rhysand was instead.”

Cassian nodded, letting his finger trace over her ear, brushing up over the point of it. “You aren’t broken, sweetheart. Nothing could break you. There’s nothing to fix. You’re healing after going through things that would kill most people, and that’s okay. It doesn’t mean you don’t deserve love or care or any of the other things you have denied yourself for the last twenty years.”

She let out another sigh, finally averting her gaze from his to settle on his chest, the opening of his loose cotton shirt that revealed the smooth skin of his chest.

“You know how I feel, don’t you?” she whispered after a long moment, barely audible despite the silence in the room.

“A male can hope, but never presume,” he replied, “despite what Azriel says.”

Nesta let out a soft huff, but considered her words, wondering if she could take that leap.

“You don’t have to say it now,” Cassian said, ever observant. Her shoulders slumped.

“I’ve been yours from the first moment, don’t you know that?” She whispered, closing her eyes as the statement landed, as she heard him intake a breath. The hand that lingered in her hair moved, bunching it up as he cupped her jaw, the other moving down from her ear to the back of her neck, tilting her head up until she met his gaze.

“I love you,” he said firmly, despite speaking barely over a whisper himself. Slowly, he leaned in to brush his nose along her hair line, down over her brow, where he pressed a gentle kiss. “Gods, I love you, sweetheart.”

Nesta shuddered, but let him pull her closer, enough that she rested her hands on his chest, light and unsure.

“You don’t have to say it back now, tomorrow, or even in a decade, it doesn’t matter. But I’ll never let you forget it,” he murmured, brushing their noses.

“I…It might take me awhile,” she said quietly, “before I believe you. I’m hopelessly difficult. Notorious, even, for fucking these things up.”

Cassian laughed then, soft, and gentle. “I’m patient,” he said. “We can go as slowly as you want. I just need you to know.”

Nesta raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, and he smiled. “I’ll be patient for you, Nes. I promise.”

Shifting, he pressed a kiss to her cheek, but before he could move inward, toward her lips, she raised a hand, placing it over his moth.

“I’m still ill, remember?” She said, pulling back. “I won’t be the reason you get sick.”

Cassian pressed kisses to her fingers, grasping them in his own to hold them to his lips. “Madja’s tonics work quickly,” he said, “I’m not concerned.”

But Nesta wasn’t swayed, brows furrowed, even if the butterflies in her stomach hadn’t settled. She held firm in her gaze until he sighed, contenting himself with wrapping an arm around her waist and nuzzling his face into her palm.

“But” he relented, “if it is what you wish, I will wait.”

A smile tugged on her lips, just a little, though she knew it wouldn’t be this easy. She knew there would be so many moments where she doubted and questioned and hated herself for letting all of this happen when she so clearly didn’t deserve it.

“So what can I do, then?” He asked, unable to stop pressing kisses to her knuckles, her fingers, the inside of her wrist, eyes full of promise and understanding, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “How can I care for you tonight?”

Nesta watched, fascinated at the way he trailed kisses on the smooth skin of her wrist, as if he was unable to stop himself.

“Stay?” She whispered, and her cheeks heated slightly at the grin that spread across his face.

“As long as you’ll have me,” he said, finally relinquishing her arm in favor of running his hand over the back of her head, pressing a gentle kiss to her brow as he held her to his chest.

She pulled back well before she wanted to, body heated enough by his presence that she was now desperate to get her hair off her skin. He watched her, silently, as she braided it into a simple plait, eyes soft and full of affection. She couldn’t quite meet his gaze, even as she let herself enjoy the tea, he brought her and didn’t complain when he pulled the braid back over her shoulder, letting it drop along her spine, making room for his hands to rub into her shoulders, to ease the tension there.

When she finally did decide to return to bed, body still exhausted from the past few days, he stayed perfectly still, waiting until she slid the robe off her shoulders and pulled back the sheets, settling in the center. Without a word, she turned her eyes back to him, uncertainty within them as she lifted a hand, a silent invitation. He didn’t hesitate.

Cassian propped himself up against the pillows, lifting an arm to allow Nesta to curl up beside him, comfortable against his chest as a book appeared in her lap, as she was not quite ready to go back to sleep so soon. Instead, they sat in content silence, his hand warm and soothing as it ran along her shoulders, her back, any bare skin that had been revealed to him now that she was just in her nightgown. Despite her expectation for his pestering, he sat quietly, his lips resting in her hair.

In the end, they simply sat in each other’s company for well over an hour, until she closed her book and settled more comfortably against him, her hand coming up to rest on the bare skin of his chest that peaked out from the opening of his shirt. As she traced the tattoos that peaked out at her, Cassian hummed, a low sound that filled her with warmth from her head to the bottom of her toes.

“I love you,” he said softly, settling his arms around her waist as he shifted down to properly lie against the pillows. “My Nesta.”

Closing her eyes, she relaxed against him, deciding, for the moment, to cherish the absolute bliss that she felt when he said the words.

Chapter Text

The carriage jolted Nesta uncomfortably, despite the way her father held her against his chest, wrapped tightly in his coat. Her head hurt, everything hurt, but she didn’t know why. She didn’t know what she’d done wrong. She’d been fine, yesterday. She’d done her lessons, practiced her letters, danced with grandmother. This morning, when she’d been told she was accompanying her mother and father to one of his associates, to meet their son, aged ten, she’d been so excited. But when they were sitting at tea, things went wrong.

Her mother told her never to complain in public, to be subtle and poised as a lady should be. But when her head started feeling funny and she could no longer sit up straight, not even her mother’s firm hand could bring her out of it. And when her father had lifted her into his arms and held her throughout the rest of their visit, the only face she could see was her mother’s frown, firm and disappointed.

“We shouldn’t have brought her, she wasn’t ready.”

“Wasn’t ready for what, Elizabeth? She did perfectly.”

Nesta’s eyes fluttered open, her face nestled into her father’s neck. His large hand rested on the back of her head, firm but gentle.

“Their boy will have little interest in a wife that can’t even sit through tea.”

“The boy is ten, I doubt he even noticed. Or cared, frankly. Our daughter is five, no one expects her to behave as if she’s a woman.”

“I do. Her grandmother does. Nesta will marry up, I will not settle for less.”

She felt a long sigh come from his chest, his hand running absentmindedly through her curls, which he’d unpinned from the updo her mother meticulously did this morning. She thought she’d looked so pretty, like the ladies she’d seen promenading through town. But it helped, just a little, to have her hair loose.

“I think we have more important things to worry about right now than whether or not young Tristan favors Nesta ten years from now.”

There was silence for several moments, long enough that Nesta closed her eyes again, the carriage rocking her back to sleep. It was her mother’s cold, low voice that woke her again, her tone sharp, the same she used when she was cross.

“You said you didn’t think there was a risk of your condition passing to our children. But this is how it starts, isn’t it? She’s broken, like you.”

“She isn’t broken, Liz. She is brilliant. What five-year-old can dance like she does or recite poetry in two languages? She’ll just live a bit differently.”

“Live differently? She’ll be weak. I can’t imagine she’ll do well bearing children like this.”

“Is there ever anything else you think about? Our daughter will be a wonderful wife to whoever wins her heart.”

“Nesta’s heart comes second to her duty, she knows that.”

Nesta listened, wanting to lift her head an assure her mother that she’d make her proud, no matter how bad she felt.

“The way you value our child’s happiness is astounding to me, wife.” Her father snapped; his voice quiet despite the anger in it.

“You’ve agreed to everything, husband, do not absolve yourself. You know what is expected of daughters in this world.”

Her mother let out a frustrated sigh then, just as the carriage jolted sharply, bringing Nesta fully into consciousness. Before she could help it, she let out a surprised whimper, lifting her head just slightly. But her father’s hand eased her back into his neck before she got too far, a soft, soothing sound coming from his chest.

“It’s alright, Nesta. Go back to sleep, darling, we’ll be home soon.”

Nesta closed her eyes again, more than content in the soft fabric of his coat, to ignore her mother’s frown, just for a moment.

“You coddle her too much.”

Her father dropped a kiss to her hair.

“Only while I can, my dear.”

---

Nesta woke with a sharp intake of breath, eyes snapping open. The memories were endless these days, endless and tormenting. For several seconds she stared at the wall, slightly sore from the way she rested on her side, arm under her head, beneath a pillow.

Something warm trailed up her waist, and as she began reorienting herself, she felt lips on her hair, the tip of her ear, down her cheek and jawline, to her neck and shoulder. Cassian.

“It’s just a dream, my love, just a dream,” his said in a whisper. He had been murmuring to her for some time, she realized, and as his hand trailed back down to her hip, squeezing reassuringly, she shifted, rolling over to meet his gaze, eyes sharp and alert. She wondered how long he had been awake.

“What plagues you, sweetheart?” He asked, raising a hand to cup her cheek.

“Just memories,” she said quietly, closing her eyes again when he pressed his lips to her forehead. “How long have you been awake?”

“You were crying in your sleep,” he replied, brushing his thumb under her eye. “I had to keep the monsters away.”

Nesta’s eyes snapped open again and she assessed him, wondering if she’d mentioned what her father used to call her episodes and simply forgotten. Cassian’s gaze was soft, affectionate, and he made no further indication whether she did or not as he continued to stroke the soft skin of her cheeks. Her heart clenched until her entire chest ached.

“I’m sorry to keep you awake,” she whispered.

“I’m usually up before dawn, you know,” he said, “being a soldier and all.”

“Then I’m sorry to keep you trapped here,” she replied, “you could have gone.”

Cassian slid his arm around her waist, pulling her until she was flush against him. “I never thought I’d get to hold you like this,” he said. “I’ll be damned if I let go before you do.”

Nesta shuddered, the movement sending a series of coughs through her chest. Cassian settled a hand on her back, holding her steady until they passed. When she eased, he still held her, comfortable to waste the morning in her bed. She didn’t know how to tread, she felt awkward, even, at the prospect of cuddling. On principal, Nesta Archeron didn’t cuddle. It seemed, however, that her mate did.

“You’re as stiff as a board,” Cassian said, and suddenly his hand was moving up to her neck, going right for the tension points that bothered her most and digging his fingers in. Nesta couldn’t help herself, she preened like a cat, a moan escaping from her lips. He grinned.

“Gods the sounds you make,” he said lowly, and she looked up to meet his gaze, which had turned molten. Tentatively, she ran a hand up his chest, to rest over his heart. It was confusing to her, the way he would say these things and yet never act on them, for he made no move to shift from the simple act of touching her to something more.

“I don’t know what to do now,” she said, though she was melting into the way his fingers massaged her skin, something about his touch more relieving than anyone else’s.

“No one’s ever held you just because they can?” Cassian asked, though she could see in his eyes that he already knew the answer. “Not even the lovers you took here?”

Nesta let out a soft huff. “I wouldn’t call them lovers,” she said. “They usually just took me home and did whatever they wanted and left. I didn’t care. Sometimes it was good, most of the time it wasn’t.”

Cassian stopped short at this and, gently, he tilted her head backwards to look at him properly. “No one will ever touch you like that again,” he said firmly, something so cold and furious in his tone that all Nesta could do was nod, blinking rapidly.

As quick as it came, though, his rage disappeared, replaced by the same soft concern that he’d shown her for the past several hours.

“I’m going to hold you like this every day,” he said, pressing kisses across her head, her brow, her cheeks, her nose. “Until you forget what it’s like to be held any other way.”

The declaration hit straight to her core, the idea that he had this much affection for her. And even though she tried to pull away from the kisses he was trailing over her skin, the way he was becoming fixated on the tip of her ear and the sensitive skin behind it, she decided that she’d never get enough of it.

---

Azriel was one hell of a smug bastard when Cassian finally emerged from Nesta’s room, having seen her off to visit Gwyn. He’d lounged like a cat in her bed while she’d bathed and dressed, unable to help the way his blood heated at the knowledge that she trusted him enough to be that vulnerable in his presence, even if he didn’t see anything. But he would not let her think he was just another male who wanted her body, who only valued her for physical pleasures. He would love her, treasure her, even if she couldn’t fully wrap her head around it.

“Have a good sleepover?” Azriel asked, his shadows curling over the tips of his wings, likely chattering away in his ear.

“Have a good time in the Library?” Cassian shot back, grinning when his brother narrowed his eyes into slits, a warning.

He laughed, taking a long sip of the coffee that appeared on the table in front of him. He’d have to tread carefully in his teasing, he knew, lest his brother withdraw from him completely. But he couldn’t help the elation he felt at the prospect of Azriel having…a friend. A friend who wasn’t part of the Inner Circle, someone who, he’d hope, treated him how he deserved to be treated. As an equal.

Someone who, currently, had just walked into the dining room.

Azriel choked on his coffee.

“Nesta needs breakfast,” Gwyn said to him, grinning. “I hope we aren’t interrupting your brooding, shadowsinger.”

Cassian’s brows shot to his hairline, a shocked laugh bursting from his chest, his surprise momentarily outweighing the guilt at forgetting to ensure his mate ate properly. Beside her, Nesta fought a smile of her own.

“I hope you don’t mind I brought a friend,” she said quietly, though mischief was alight in her eyes, she too knowing perfectly well that something was brewing between Azriel and Gwyneth.

“Not at all,” Cassian said, rising to his feet. Holding out a hand he said, “we haven’t had a chance to meet properly.”

“Yes, the moron, I am familiar,” Gwyn said, which did draw a laugh out of his mate. Cassian’s mouth dropped open, trying to find words to answer her with, but the Priestess took pity on him and instead shook his hand politely, adding, “I’m glad you found your brain.”

“Aren’t we all,” Azriel said mildly, though his shadows had faded from their usual place around him, bringing him fully into the light. A rarity that Cassian himself had only seen on few occasions.

Cassian smiled good naturedly despite the heat that had risen to his cheeks. Nesta herself flushed and she ducked her head, something so unlike her that he thought about asking Feyre to paint it, if only because it was good natured. Shifting, he pulled out her chair, placing a kiss to her temple as she sat herself down at the table, where a full breakfast instantly appeared.

“I’m sorry, I must have forgotten to drag you into the dining room this morning,” he said, though he himself had yet to eat breakfast either.

Nesta shook her head. “I usually go without breakfast; it did no harm.”

“It’s true,” Gwyn sighed, seating herself beside Azriel, who couldn’t keep his eyes off her. “This time I’m putting my foot down because your cough still sounds like you’re on death’s door.”

Cassian couldn’t argue with that. Despite feeling and looking better, her cough lingered, and likely would for the next couple of days. If he didn’t have his eyes on her almost every second, the sound alone would have sent him into a panic. Nesta rolled her eyes at her friend but dutifully ate what the House laid out for her, more willing to yield to Gwyn’s commands than she ever had been to his or Azriel’s. Though, it went without saying that those circumstances did not exactly lend themselves to gentle suggestions, and the guilt from it still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“You are feeling better though, otherwise?” Azriel asked her, his eyes kind, the way they always were when he addressed Nesta these days.

Nesta nodded. “Just a cold,” she said, “you didn’t have to fuss.”

Gwyn levelled an exasperated expression at her from across the table as Cassian corrected,

“The flu, sweetheart. You had the flu.”

Nesta glared at him, even as he winked. One day, maybe, she’d let them fuss over her without protest.

“Well, now that you aren’t dying, we can get back to our research,” Gwyn said, drawing Nesta’s attention away from him.

“On the Valkyries?” Azriel asked.

Gwyn hummed in affirmation. “They did a lot of things that work well for Nesta’s purposes, and mine. I think we’re coming along nicely.”

Nesta’s lips twitched in an almost smile and Cassian indulged himself in sliding his hand along the table to lace their fingers together. Her eyes flicked to his, surprise and curiosity within them, and he smiled softly, perhaps a silent reassurance that his affection for her was not limited to when it was just the two of them. Neither Gwyn nor Azriel commented on it, both knowing Nesta enough not to push her too hard. She was tense for a minute, but Cassian was patient, brushing his thumb along the smooth skin of her hand until she eased, accepting this form of physical affection.

“By serving your purposes do you mean they’re easy, Berdara?” Azriel asked, and Cassian watched, fascinated, as the Priestess rose to meet his brother’s teasing, undeterred by the intimidation that usually accompanied him.

“I’d like to see you try them, shadowsinger. You could use some deep breathing.”

“Is that a challenge?”

Gwyn grinned. “Only if you think your ancient bones can handle it.”

And as Azriel grinned back, in pure male confidence, Cassian lifted Nesta’s hand to brush a kiss to her knuckles, knowing with full certainty that they, at least, would be endlessly entertained by whatever it was the Priestess had in store for the Spy Master. By the way she smirked at him, he knew his mate agreed.

---

Nesta couldn’t get rid of Cassian even if she wanted to.

While he’d relented after breakfast, freeing her to spend time with Gwyn in the Library and doing her stretches, he’d found her again in the evening, tucked away in one of the quieter rooms of the House, tapping absentmindedly at the keys of a piano that was probably older than her mate was. He managed to startle her, sliding his arms around her waist and tucking his chin over her shoulder, and he laughed when she scowled.

“I never thought I’d be able to sneak up on you,” he said. “What’s got you fixated?”

Nesta hummed, keenly aware of his hands on her, the scent of him. “Nothing,” she said. “Nothing important, at least.”

“It’s important to me,” he said quietly, placing a kiss on the juncture of her shoulder and neck. “Do you play?”

Nesta looked down at the keys, most covered in a fine layer of dust. It was the one part of herself she hadn’t shared with these people, her love of music. It was something that had been solely hers for so long, the passion she had for it, that she didn’t know if she could properly convey what it meant to her.

“Not well,” she finally said. “I…dance.”

“You dance?” Cassian said, genuine curiosity in his voice. “How long were you going to keep that to yourself?”

Nesta shrugged. “I didn’t, I guess. Not really. It’s why I went to all those taverns your family would call seedy. They had the best music. I would dance there for hours.”

Cassian was quiet for several seconds and Nesta held her breath, not sure if they were ready to discuss her life before the House. The last time had been…less than civil.

“Does it hurt, to dance?” He asked, and Nesta blinked, surprised at the direction he took.

“It does, after a while,” Nesta said. “But so do most things. It’s worth it when it’s all you have.”

She heard him take a breath before his hands gripped her waist more firmly, turning her to face him. His eyes were still soft, but serious, inquisitive.

“Do you still feel like it’s all you have?” He asked, thumbs brushing her hip bones through the fabric of the dress she wore.

Nesta let out a soft sigh. “It’s what I have that’s always sure,” she said. “I will always love dancing. Dancing can’t hurt me or leave me or hate me. It will always be there, even when I hurt too much to do it properly.”

Cassian hummed in contemplation. She was surprised at the lack of anger, of frustration in his eyes at the idea that she wasn’t as sure about him. But he’d only told her he loved her just last night. There was so much else to sort through. There were a million ways she could destroy this.

“Would you dance now?” He asked, voice almost tentative, “with me?”

Nesta’s heart skipped a beat. “You know how to dance?” She blurted, unable to voice the other thoughts running through her head.

Cassian furrowed his brows. “I’m 500 years old, Nes. Of course, I know how to dance.”

Nesta’s lips twitched, and her amusement must have shown on her face because he pinched her side, just lightly.

“Well?” He asked again, voice barely above a whisper.

“We don’t have music,” she said quietly, though even as she said the words she stepped closer, more properly into his space.

“Something tells me you won’t need it,” he replied, and Nesta didn’t protest when he moved one hand off her waist to lace through hers.

This time, she let a small smile grace her lips as he took a step backwards and slowly, quietly, led them in an easy sequence around the tiny room. He was right, she didn’t need music to dance, it was in her head as soon as her feet moved. It always was. She let him dictate the speed, the steps, even when she was just as easily swept away in the silence as she was in any crowded tavern, so much so that she felt as though she was floating, far away from the endless number of monsters in her closet.

When he spun her, she laughed, a tiny, breathy thing that barely qualified as such, but it was enough that he did it again and again until she was breathless, coming to a stop in his grasp as if she was always meant to land there. There was something too close to awe in his eyes, enough that she ducked her head, undeserving of his admiration. The hand at her waist circled around her back, pulling her closer, flush against his chest, and his other unlaced from hers, moving to cup her jaw to tilt her head back up to look at him.

“You’ve been doing that lately,” he said, “shying away. You never used to.”

Nesta’s breathing came in soft huffs, but there was no pain to slow her. Placing her hand on his chest to steady herself, she said, “perhaps I should have.”

“No,” he said, “you shouldn’t’ve. You shouldn’t now, either. I like your boldness, your confidence. I’m only sorry we took it from you.”

Nesta shook her head. “Not you,” she replied quietly. “It wasn’t you.”

His thumb brushed over her cheekbone, and not for the first time did she marvel at the size of his hand, large enough to firmly grip her jaw yet also stroke the entirety of her cheeks, her nose.

“I didn’t help,” he protested quietly.

“But you’ll never do that again,” Nesta finished quietly for him, his millionth apology clear on his lips. “I know, Cassian.”

His eyes fluttered closed at the sound of his name and it sparked something bolder in her, something daring. Light on her feet, she pushed herself up, enough that she could lightly brush her lips over his and relish in his sharp intake of breath that followed. She hovered, just for a moment, murmuring,

“You said the next time I wanted to kiss you, to just do it.”

His eyes fluttered open slowly, his gaze warm and consuming, so intense that she couldn’t look away.

“So do it properly,” he replied, his voice lower than she’d ever heard it.

Despite her nerves, Nesta didn’t balk, sliding her hands up to his neck, fingers catching in his curls. Cassian’s hand slid from her jaw into her own hair, just like he’d done that day in the library. Except this time, it was Nesta leaning forward, crashing her lips into his, and it was him who could do nothing but hold on for dear life.

Chapter Text

Nesta was fairly certain she had died and this was a weird pretense of heaven before she was deposited into hell where she belonged. Somehow, she ended up sitting on the piano, supporting herself with one arm as Cassian leaned into her, standing in between her legs. She had thoroughly dominated their kiss for all of five seconds before he had scooped her up, depositing her there as if she weighed nothing. For a moment, she feared the old instrument wouldn’t hold, but then his lips were trailing up her neck and every thought about the possibility of it collapsing under her dissolved.

 He wasn’t quite close enough for her to feel his arousal, but she could smell it, she could taste it, and it was intoxicating. She couldn’t tell when one kiss ended and another began, only that the hand that cupped her face was warm and the only reason she hadn’t fallen backwards onto the wood was because of the placement of his other on her hip, his thumb trailing back and forth over the jut of the bone.

She let out a soft, preening sound as his teeth tugged on her bottom lip before he was trailing his mouth back down along her jaw, finding that spot behind her ear that had her back arching, a gasp escaping from her chest.

“You like that don’t you, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low, rumbling from his chest.

Nesta could do nothing but tilt her head to the side, a silent invitation for him to continue, and he laughed, almost to himself, before his teeth latched on to the skin there, leaving what would surely be a deep red mark on her fair skin. When he was satisfied with his work he pulled back, just enough to observe it, his pupils blown wide. She shivered when he brushed his thumb over the bruised skin, but before she could wipe the resulting smirk off his face he was leaning back in, brushing his nose up her neck as he left a trail of biting kisses back up towards her lips.

“Mine,” he murmured softly, brushing another kiss to her mouth, the cockiness that dominated the last few minutes dissolving into something softer, more intimate as he recalled the words, she’d said to him the night before.

“From the first,” she affirmed, breathless.

Cassian grinned, cupping her face in his hands before he was kissing her again, gentler this time though just as thorough. Her eyes fluttered, and she slid a hand through his hair, her heart flipping at the satisfied groan that rumbled from him as she tugged lightly on the strands.

“You like that don’t you, sweetheart,” she repeated back to him, a feline smirk pulling at her lips as she tugged again, harder.

His eyes flashed, and suddenly both hands were on her hips, pulling her flush against his arousal, drawing a sound from both of them. He was hard, probably painfully so, but to her surprise, he made no move to do anything more than simply hold her there, his hands never straying from their position or pulling at her clothes, despite the way his breaths came heavier.

Instead, he was content to continue placing kisses to her parted lips, eventually moving up to kiss her brow before pressing their foreheads together, the only sound in the room their heavy breathing. When he only continued to stare at her for several seconds, she grew nervous, wondering if she’d done something wrong, so accustomed to her lovers not wasting a second on small, romantic interludes. She could still feel his evident arousal against her, but he hadn’t made any effort to relieve himself of it.

“I love you,” he said suddenly, and her eyes flicked up to lock with his. The heat in his gaze had eased into something richer, something warmer, something she didn’t quite understand.

“Did you want me to…” she began, rocking her hips just enough for him to get the message.

His hips pressed back, perhaps on their own accord, but aside from the pleased grunt that resulted from it, he remained still.

“We have time,” he said, brushing his hands from her hair to her cheeks. “We don’t have to rush.”

Nesta’s brows shot up in surprise before furrowing, anxiety spiking in her chest at the idea that he didn’t want to continue with her. Cassian’s thumb pressed into the creases on her forehead, smoothing them.

“Get rid of that thought right this second,” he said. “I’d like nothing more than to ravish you right here on this piano.”

“Then why don’t you?” She asked, settling her hands on his chest.

“Well first, because I don’t think the old thing could take it. But more importantly because I want to treasure you,” he replied. “I want to take my time. And I don’t want anyone else within a ten-mile radius when I do.”

Nesta flushed at the implication. “But you’ll be…unsatisfied,” she protested, unable to shake the odd sensation of guilt that she was denying him something.

"Nesta, I have never been more satisfied in my life than I am in this moment,” Cassian said seriously, running his hands up and down her waist in a comforting manner. “My satisfaction isn’t contingent on whether or not I finish.”

She didn’t have words to respond to him, mouth opening and shutting several times in a way that was comical. But he didn’t laugh at her. Instead he kissed her gently, long enough to get the tension to ease from her again before he said, “I want this to be special. Hasn’t anyone ever made this special for you?”

Nesta shook her head, unsure what that even meant, really, unless he was intending to pull something from one of her books. Cassian grinned.

“I’m honored to be the first, then.”

He kissed her again, the heat that dominated the last few minutes easing now calmer, perhaps more intimate. It was so overwhelming to her that the only thing she could think to say when they parted was,

“Who knew you were such a sap.”

Cassian laughed.

“Your sap.”

Yes, she thought with no small amount of wonder, hers.

---

The High Lord of Day was not what Nesta expected him to be. Feyre had warned her, repeatedly, of the flirting, of the innuendos and the molten looks Helion Spellcleaver was renown to give any being that breathed. But sitting across from him now, the mask between them, there was none of the hyper-sexuality or playfulness. Instead, there was the scholar, the serious, inquisitive master of warding who stared at her with nothing but the intrigue one might view a new research subject.

“You can touch this without consequence?” Helion asked her, his chair placed a good foot from the table that Nesta was currently resting her elbows on.

Nesta shrugged. “It did what I asked it to, that was it.”

Behind her, Cassian shifted. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the High Lord since his arrival, as if he was going to intervene the moment, he looked at her for too long. It almost made her scoff at the prospect, arrogant Illyrian that he was. It wasn’t like they couldn’t smell him all over her, with the way he’d taken to holding her tightly all through the night. It was something she’d never experienced before, and it was still awkward, but there was no point in hiding it. There was no scenario in which Cassian was going to be able to reign himself in, anyway. A mate thing, apparently.

Behind Helion, Feyre and Rhys stood in an equally anxious way, deeply unnerved by the perceived lack of care Nesta treated the mask. But it wasn’t disregard for its power that led her to move around so comfortably. It was the familiarity, the connection she felt. It was like the Trove were a part of her, something she owned all her life. Even though she knew, wanted even, to be afraid of the items, she couldn’t. They called to her, pulled her in and threatened to consume her completely, if she wasn’t careful.

Helion let out a small sigh, as if he was overwhelmed by the facts presented to him. “Well, the only thing for it I suppose is to use your blood to ward them. It would mean they would be linked to you, that you would control who can and cannot access them. If you were able to break Rhysand’s wards so easily, then the only person who can protect them may very well be you, my dear.”

Nesta blinked, unfazed by the prospect, but shifted her eyes to her brother-in-law. In a tone that was perhaps too deadpan for propriety she said,

“You really want the fate of your sacred items linked to me?”

Rhysand shifted, the expression on his face indicating that he expected the question but was not quite prepared to answer it.

“Well, not ideally,” he said, earning a glare from Feyre. “But not because I don’t trust you.”

“You think I’m not strong enough to handle it,” Nesta replied, crossing her arms.

“Considering she wielded the object, I don’t think that’s a concern,” Helion added, and Rhys looked slightly miffed at the interruption before he continued,

“It’s that you’re the only one who can do it,” he finished. “I want to offer you a choice, but there isn’t an alternative.”

“The alternative is to risk losing it,” Nesta said matter-of-factly, a mirthless laugh on the tip of her tongue at the absurdity of his statement. “Choice was never a conversation to have. It never has been when it comes to me.”

There was a tense silence in the air, the weight of the past few months following that botched intervention hanging heavy over their heads. All except for Helion, who, while aware of the tension, was not privy enough to weigh in.

“You will be safe,” the Day Lord said, though his eyes flicked up to Cassian as he did so. “The wards, at least, are not too strenuous. It won’t require too much of your energy.”

She wondered if they’d told him about everything that was wrong with her, about the impact her power had. He hadn’t mentioned it, and it occurred to her that it may be another thing they had to keep secret from everyone else. A liability that threatened Court security. If it was well known that the Cauldron-born witch was susceptible to the weakness of her own body, there was no telling who would try and take advantage of it. A bitter taste settled in her mouth.

“What about when we obtain the other items of the Trove?” Cassian asked, and she felt his fingers brush her back as he gripped the back of her chair. “That will require more of her strength.”

“Not much, if they’re all in the same place,” Helion said. “Though I’m not sure if it is wise to keep them that way. If someone were to get them both and find the crown, the consequences may be undesirable.”

“We may not have another choice, if Nesta is the only person who can ward them. She could ward the entire house, but even then, they’d be close together.”

Helion seemed to consider the option for a moment, furrowing his brows. “Most fae can ward multiple places, Rhysand, I don’t doubt Nesta could do the same.”

Nesta watched the trepidation spread over Feyre’s face first, followed by her mate’s. Cassian didn’t say anything, though his hand subtly brushed up and down the part of her spine above the back of the chair. They didn’t think she could handle it, the magic required to do this, and it infuriated something in her. It only reinforced that they knew how weak she truly was, how there was no ability for her to pretend she wasn’t. Still, something stubborn within her fought to keep that image anyway.  

“I’m not concerned,” she said, perfectly reserved just as her mother taught her. “Tell me how to do it.”

There must have been something in her tone that unnerved them, that warranted no objection, for both Feyre and Rhysand nodded their consent, though their skepticism was clear. And though Cassian’s touch was infinitely soothing to her, she deliberately ignored it, not wanting to face his concern, his reservations about what she could and couldn’t do with her own abilities.

Helion smiled, as if the prospect of her willingness excited him. She understood, as a scholar, the drive to discover new things, even if there was a risk. So she merely offered him an expression of acceptance, of determination, as he cleared his throat and leaned forward.

“Then let’s begin,” he said. Turning to face the other room’s occupants, he added, “if we could have the room, please.”

Nesta didn’t meet any of their eyes as they filed out, though she could feel the reluctance as they departed. When she was at last alone with the High Lord, she let out a breath and offered him her hand, assuming he would draw the blood from there.

“Do what you have to,” she said, not an ounce of emotion in her tone. It was the mentality she always went into when her power was used like this. A full disconnection from the weight of what it meant for who she was, what she’d become. It was easier not to feel at all than to fully lean into what her power could do.

Helion cocked his head, and there it was. The first signs of concern.

“We can take it slow, Nesta,” he said. “These things aren’t meant to be easy. Not many fae can blood ward at all, let alone do it well.”

“Then I expect you to teach me properly,” she replied. “Or else we’ll all suffer for it.”

Helion pursed his lips, contemplative for a moment, before he nodded, drawing a small blade from his pocket.

“We best get started.”

---

Cassian sat in front of the fireplace, patience wearing thin at how long it was taking for Helion to show Nesta how to blood ward the mask. Rationally, he knew these things took time and that the act itself was not something to easily achieve, but the knowledge that her blood had to be spilled to do it, the fact that he didn’t have eyes on her, was enough to have him antsy, to say the very least.

“Dare I ask how long you’ve been in bed with my sister?” Feyre asked dryly from her place on the couch, feet propped in Rhys’ lap, hands resting on the swell of her stomach.

Cassian snapped his gaze to her and narrowed his eyes. “Approximately two nights, thank you very much. And bold of you to assume anything is happening but sleep.”

Feyre scoffed, settling back against the pillows as Rhys dug his thumbs into the arches of her feet. “Does Nesta know you just want to sleep?”

Crossing his arms, he assessed his High Lady carefully, anger and offense swelling in his chest. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

Feyre didn’t reply right away, her brows furrowing as her mate worked out the tension in her muscles. Cassian tucked his wings in tightly. 

“I mean, Nesta has never been told that she would be allowed to love someone without the expectation of sex. She was born and raised to do one thing and one thing only, which means she is accustomed to only expecting males to want that one thing. I should have seen it earlier, why she was sleeping around so much, but it makes sense if she thought it was the only thing, she was good for.”

“That’s not entirely it,” Cassian replied, anger easing into hesitance as to how much he wanted to delve into this conversation when Nesta herself wasn’t present. But it was important for Feyre to know what it was that drove her in those horrible months before the House if they were ever going to improve.

“She wanted to feel used, dirty. It was the only way she could live with herself. She didn’t stop whoever from taking her home and doing whatever they wanted because she thought she deserved it. And we called her a whore for it.”

Rhys stopped his motions then, something between shock and pain fluttering over his face as he settled his gaze on Cassian. His lips pursed until they were white, brows furrowed. In a quiet voice that was so unlike him, he asked,

“Did they hurt her?”

Cassian shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “I’m certain they did, but she’s never said.”

Rhys nodded slowly, absentmindedly running his hand up and down Feyre’s shins, seeming to go distant for a few moments, caught up in memories they all knew were things he’d never share with anyone but his mate. Feyre sat up enough to reach for his hand, squeezing tightly, her own sorrow evident in her eyes.

“So, to answer your question, Feyre, yes, Nesta knows I just want to sleep because I’m not going to do anything else until she understands that I’m not using her for a quick roll in the sheets.”

Feyre grimaced, looking apologetic. “I didn’t think you were, Cass,” she said gently. “There’s just so much we didn’t know and I’m afraid of hurting her again because of it.”

“If you ask her, she’ll tell you,” Cassian said, sinking down onto the couch across from them. “She’ll take her time, but she’ll tell you. You just have to get past her bristly exterior to see that.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Feyre said, though there was hope in her eyes. “Elain never got anything out of her, but then I don’t think she was trying. We didn’t really ever ask with Nesta, we just let her do things on her own.”

“Sounds like Azriel,” Rhys commented, checking back in to the conversation though there was still that heartbreaking sadness in his eyes. “No wonder they get along.”

Cassian snorted, pinching his brow. “Clearly, we’ve nailed it on both fronts. Our brother is the broodiest male alive and Nesta is pulling herself out of a pit that we spent a good amount of time throwing dirt in.”

“We’re fixing it,” Feyre said, firmly. “Nesta knows that. If those males hurt her, I want them dead.”

Cassian couldn’t argue with that. By the determination swirling in his brother’s eyes, he had a feeling they were already concocting some kind of plan. After a beat, Feyre added,

“Azriel, on the other hand, may require a different kind of intervention to get him to smile more often.”

A small smirk tugged at Cassian’s lips and amusement briefly returned to Rhys’ gaze as they recalled their challenge at the House of Wind. By the way Feyre’s eyes glinted, she was fully aware of it.

“I think we might get lucky there,” Cassian said, “Mother willing.”

A less unpleasant silence filled the room then, the three of them content to wait for whatever it was that Helion was teaching Nesta to take place. Cassian took the time to try and calm his mind, running through his personal list of things he would, at some point or another, show Nesta. They had time now, and he was going to use it, even if she looked unimpressed the entire time.

“Will it strain her? The warding?” Feyre asked after another twenty minutes had passed without word.

“It shouldn’t,” Rhys replied. “It’s not overtly taxing. But then, I’ve never known a fae with her condition. She asserted that she was up to the task, though, so I trust her. I only wish we didn’t have to put it all on her.”

“Elain still feels guilty about it,” Feyre murmured, a frown tugging on her lips.

“It’s not her fault,” Cassian said, offering her a small smile. “But it may serve us better not to overstress choice to Nesta. She knows we took it from her, and she is still hurt by it. To be overzealous with giving her choices now may come off as ingenuine. Just treat her the way you treat everyone else, rather than try and make up for everything. I’ve found it works better.”

Rhys hummed, thoughtful. “When did you become the intelligent one?”

Feyre laughed and nudged her mate with her foot. “He’s always been the intelligent one, you’re just too prideful to admit it.”

Cassian grinned, making no effort to say otherwise, and the warm feeling he had at watching the pair of them tease each other only grew when the door finally opened from down the hall and Nesta appeared in the doorway, thankfully, in one piece.

“Is it done?” Rhys asked, eyes landing on Helion who appeared a second later.

“It is,” the High Lord replied. “First try, and everything.”

Rhys’ brows shot up, impressed, but Nesta’s expression remained schooled into neutrality, as if she hadn’t just accomplished another startling magical achievement.

“They should hold so long as she breathes,” Helion said. “Hopefully that is enough.”

Cassian’s heart clenched in worry at the thought, even as Nesta sat herself beside him, stable and strong.

“It will be,” Rhys asserted. “No one will touch her.”

Nesta’s brows furrowed at the declaration in a way that was not lost on Cassian or Feyre, who offered her sister a small, reassuring smile. She seemed to ponder a response for a moment, uncertain how to address that kind of assertion from Rhys. Cassian couldn’t say he was surprised when she said instead,

“The second item of the Trove, do we know where it is?”

“Only vaguely,” Rhys answered. “Amren has been consulting every text she can find.”

Nesta nodded, contemplative, and Cassian wondered what was truly going on in that mind of hers, what she was planning. When she was quiet for just a beat too long, Cassian laced his fingers with hers, squeezing gently, becoming acutely aware of the bandage that was wrapped around her palm, perhaps the only indication of her condition: the longer amount of time it took for her heal. He wondered if Helion commented on it.

It took her a few seconds before she responded to his touch, flicking her eyes up to his, that silver power still swirling within them. Leaning forward, he brushed a soft kiss to her temple, one that she unexpectedly leaned into, despite the company.

“I promised Gwyn I’d attend her service tonight,” she said to him quietly. “We should go.”

Cassian nodded, smiling slightly at the soft murmur she’d started to use when she wanted to speak just to him. It was a new development, something that had only started over the last day, but it was already his favorite thing. She’d done it at breakfast, making a snarky comment about Azriel’s latest visit to the Library, and she’d done it again before they arrived at the River House, a warning not to be too overprotective of her in front of Helion. It was a departure from her strong confidence, her stoicism, and was instead something softer, reserved for those who knew her most intimately. Cassian was determined to draw it out of her as often as possible.

“Come on, then,” he said, rising to his feet. “I trust we’re done for the day?”

Rhys nodded, lips twitching upwards at the way Nesta followed him, hand still laced with his. “We’re grateful for your help,” he said to her, voice gentle, still shaken by the revelations Cassian had told him in the moments prior. “I know it isn’t ideal, after everything.”

Nesta looked nonplussed as she answered, “it is what it is, no need to dwell on it further.”

Feyre got up to bid her goodbye, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek and walking them as far as the doorway. As Cassian stepped outside, she paused, holding her sister at the door.

---

“Are you happy?” Feyre asked Nesta softly, lifting her sister’s hand and undoing the bandage, observing the slowly healing cut in her palm. “With him, I mean.”

Nesta watched as Feyre’s magic flowed into her palm, sealing the wound closed. She wanted to protest, to remind Feyre that she didn’t need to waste energy on her, but the act was done before she could form the thought. Feyre waited patiently for her reply, offering her a small smile.

“It’s been barely over a day,” she murmured, “he’ll tire of me eventually, I’m sure.”

Feyre cocked her head. “I don’t think he will,” she said. “He loves you, Nes. Is that so hard to believe?”

Nesta shifted, turning her head to assess her mate, who had dutifully made his way down the path, to give them privacy. Though, by the way his head was just slightly tilted, she had a feeling he could feel her eyes on him.

“He’s my mate,” she said plainly, fingers flexing from where they were gripped in her sister’s hands and meeting her gaze. “Is he not obligated to?”

“I know he is,” Feyre said. “But no, he isn’t obligated. If the bond isn’t something either of you desire, you do not have to act on it. I didn’t love Rhys because he was my mate, he had to earn it. It took time and trust and only then did the bond come into play. For what it’s worth, it’s been obvious that he’s loved you from the start. He was just a moron about it, but that’s males for you.”

Nesta didn’t reply right away, contemplating her words against those that Cassian had told her that night he declared his feelings. She wished it wasn’t so hard for her to believe, that he loved her, but how could he, when she was like this?

“Hey,” Feyre said, squeezing her hands. “Answer my question. Does he make you happy?”

Nesta turned her eyes back to him, taking in a long breath.

“Yes,” she said finally. “He makes me happy.”

“Good,” Feyre replied, her smile blinding. “Let him make you happy, Nes. You deserve it.”

Cassian turned then, looking at Nesta expectantly with a small smile of his own, as if he knew exactly what was running through her head. Keeping her eyes on him, on the way the sun brought out the color in his wings, the bronze of his skin, she said to Feyre,

“I’ll try.”

Chapter Text

It was cold, dark. Voices whispered to her, strange voices, evil ones.

She walked on a stone path, feet bare, her skin red from the frigid air.

She was underground, but where? She didn’t know, couldn’t see, couldn’t comprehend anything except the unique sense of other calling her, beckoning her.

“Find me, Nesta.”

All around her, she could feel the power of the inhabitants here, the ancient, dreadful feeling of those much bigger, much stronger than her simply waiting for the moment they could strike. All along the walls, she could feel sorrow, thick and suffocating, cries of agony and rage.

Where was she? Why did she feel like she knew this place?

“Find me, I’m here.”

Music, beautiful and exhilarating swept through her like a gust of wind, swirling around her, intoxicating her senses. It guided her forward, through the endless dark hallways, around corners and in circles until she came upon a circular room, wide and spacious, stone walls and ceilings the only thing to greet her, save for the pedestal in the middle.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Nesta Archeron.”

It was beautiful, the Harp. Beautiful and tempting. She wanted to touch it. Wanted to claim it. The music swelled around her, beautiful in its sound, deafening out everything else, the agony, the anger, the grief. It was a room full of symphonies, playing just for her.

“Come and find me.”

Nesta blinked, and suddenly saw the Harp so clearly, so distinctly, the gold detail of it, the strings.

“Come and find me.”

Suddenly, the image shifted, and she saw herself, donning that mask, her fingers plucking at the last string, the world fracturing and reforming before her eyes. A reflection of herself reached out a hand, beckoning.

“Come and find me.”

The Cauldron appeared before her, and she found herself back inside of it, ripping that power from it as if it had been hers all along. She felt the agony of being ripped apart, the fear. The images flashed faster now, the Cauldron, the Mask, the Harp, and something else, something shadowed. The music faded. She saw blood, coating everything, flooding her senses until she could taste it. Somebody screamed, shrill and horrified.

“I will have you, Nesta. You’re mine.”

That reflection of her appeared again and smiled, evilly, her fingers teasing over each of the strings, twenty-six, her mind supplied, though she didn’t know when she’d counted them. Her long fingers plucked one, then the other, and suddenly Nesta was falling, falling, and falling-

Nesta sat up with a gasp, the sheets pooling around her waist as she desperately tried to catch her breath. Her skin burned, her power clawing up her throat until she was pulling at it, unable to intake enough air, to breathe-

“Nesta, what is it? What’s happened?”

His voice was frantic, startled, and suddenly his hands were on her, gripping her shoulder. It hurt, but she was too overwhelmed to cry out.

“Sweetheart, talk to me, what happened?”

Nesta’s chest heaved, but slowly her mind caught up to her, let her recognize the room she was in – her room – and the person who was beside her. Turning her head, she met Cassian’s wide, concerned eyes, the siphon on his hand flaring, casting a red light over his skin. His chest was bare, she realized, the blankets pulled back enough to reveal the lounge pants he wore to sleep in.

It came back to her slowly, the sleeping arrangement they’d come to over the last two weeks, how they’d gradually become more comfortable sleeping the way they usually did, when alone: a thin silk chemise for her, and lounge pants for him. It had been as close to physical intimacy as they’d achieved, and it was comfortable, natural even. But she didn’t remember going to sleep, didn’t remember anything about how they got here.

“Nesta, my love,” he said again, his hand gripping her cheek. “Can you hear me?”

His touch to her face jolted her fully back to reality and she inhaled sharply, lifting her hand to rest of his.

“The second item of the Trove,” she said, voice cracking. Slumping forward, she let him rest their foreheads together as she caught her breath.

“What about it, sweetheart?” Cassian asked, brushing his other hand through her hair.

“I saw it. I think I know where it is.”

---

The clock in the House’s library struck three – the witching hour – or so she’d read in her picture books as a girl. Rhysand sat across from her in an armchair, balancing his elbows on his knees, while Feyre sat to her right, clad in nothing but a long robe and the pajamas she wore underneath, clutching her hand. The High Lord himself was in the softest clothing she’d ever seen him wear, like what Cassian wore to bed before she’d insisted, he sleep more comfortably. He stood behind her now, a hand on her shoulder, thumb digging in at the base of her neck, knowing it soothed her.

“The Harp is said to serve as a portal of sorts, each string opening a different doorway. You saw it in a dream?”

Nesta nodded, though hadn’t said a word since Cassian called them, much to everyone’s increasing concern. She couldn’t think of anything to say, still seeing those images flash through her mind.

“Your skin is still too warm,” Feyre murmured, brushing her thumb along the back of her palm, a frown on her face. Nesta traced the movement with her eyes but didn’t off her a reply.

“Did you recognize the place where you saw the Harp?” Rhys followed up, his own concern plain in his eyes.

“No,” Nesta said quietly, appreciating his ability to remain focused on the primary issue at hand.

“Can I see?” He asked, and Nesta hesitated, their carefully constructed truce not quite convincing her to agree to something so readily.

Cassian’s hand squeezed her shoulder, sensing her trepidation, but Rhys was patient, taking care to keep his expression open.

“Just the dream,” he said. “I’ll stop as soon as you say. I promise.”

Nesta evaluated his expression, weighing her reluctance against the importance of the moment. The thought of anyone inside her head, of all places, was not exactly enticing. Still, if it was her family’s safety on the line, and with Feyre’s condition…

“Fine.” She said, holding out a hand for him to take.

“Are you sure?” Rhys asked. “It’s your choice, Nesta.”

“Just do it.”

Rhys shifted his gaze to Feyre’s for a moment before flicking up to Cassian’s. She wondered why he bothered, as if they had any say in the matter. Letting out a breath, he accepted, his hand shockingly cool against hers, though she just assumed hers was still boiling. It was quick, she barely felt it in the end, just a soft, dark shadow lilting over her mind. Less than a second, really. Though, when she felt his presence leave, blinking to clear her head, the mood in the room had shifted dramatically.

Rhys looked…shaken, almost. As if he was still trying to reign in his emotions while appearing composed. Feyre’s hand was squeezing hers, tightly, and though she didn’t hold the same amount of shock on her face, her eyes were switching quickly between the pair of them.

“The Prison,” Rhys said, slowly. “The Harp is in the Prison.”

“You’re sure?” Feyre asked.

Rhys nodded, closing his eyes for a moment. Nesta wondered if he felt her pain again, if it was as draining as it was the last time. But the air in the room was frigid, so much colder than it had been, enough that she shivered. Had she done something?

“Let me get you a sweater,” Cassian murmured from behind her, but she shook her head, pushing herself off the couch, wanting to be free of whatever tension this was.

“I’ll get it,” she said quietly.

But just as she stepped out of the library, she heard Cassian’s voice, soft and concerned.

“What did you see, Rhys?”

She paused, listening.

“I…the Cauldron,” the High Lord replied, his voice so much shakier than it had been when she was there. “I saw what happened to her in the Cauldron.”

---

“When are we going to the Prison?” Nesta asked Cassian the next morning at the breakfast table.

Feyre and Rhys hadn’t stayed long after Rhys looked into her mind, just enough to assert that they needed to go, and soon. She’d been on edge ever since.

“You don’t have to go, sweetheart, if you don’t want to.” Cassian replied, something exhausted in his expression, despite having gone back to bed with her.

“You don’t trust me after last time,” Nesta surmised, taking a long sip of her tea.

“What?” Cassian asked, suddenly more alert. “No, why would you think that?”

Nesta furrowed her brows. “Because I went off plan and almost got everyone killed?”

Cassian looked at her like she was insane for just a second too long that she scowled at him.

“Nesta, the plan disappeared when those Autumn soldiers shot down Azriel. You had nothing to do with that.”

“No, but I went to find you,” she said. “That was off plan.”

“You made a rational choice,” Cassian said. “I would have done the same. But that isn’t why I said you didn’t have to go. You were nearly killed last time, and not because of you going off plan. You were different afterwards, shaken. And after the blood warding, I just don’t want to push you too far.”

“You don’t think I can handle it,” Nesta amended, contemplating his words.

“No, not that either,” Cassian shot back, exasperated. “I just worry about you. I love you, Nesta, it makes me worry for you. I know how much that Cauldron hurt you, and I don’t want you having to do anything related to it if you don’t want to.”

“Rhys knows too,” Nesta said, taking another sip. “Right?”

Cassian pursed his lips but nodded, as if the knowledge that she’d heard Rhys last night was unsurprising to him.  

“Did he show you?”

“No,” Cassian said. “He didn’t show Feyre either. He insisted on it. But I don’t need to see to know, sweetheart. I don’t need to see it to be certain that I never want it to touch you again.”

Nesta didn’t know what she expected him to say, but his firm protectiveness had yet not to surprise her. She was waiting for it to wear off, for him to stop the act. But he hadn’t yet.

“Still,” Nesta said, “I seem to be the only person who can use the Trove items without some kind of permanent damage. I won’t have you doing it if that’s true.”

A small, pleased smile tugged at his lips. “Worried for my safety, Nes?”

“You wish.”

Cassian laughed, softly, before pushing up out of his chair, circling around the table to invade her space, his hands finding her face to tilt it up. His kisses were gentle, affectionate, and filled Nesta with a kind of warmth she didn’t quite know what to do with.

“I mean it, though,” he said, stroking her cheeks. “Rhys and I will go. He can handle it.”

But Nesta thought back to that dream, to the voices calling her. There was something about it, something important, that she knew deep down she couldn’t refuse, even if she wanted to.

“No,” she said firmly. “I’m going with you.”

---

When Nesta asserted that she was going with Cassian, she assumed that meant she’d be replacing Rhys, not joining them both. But apparently, he had been firm in his insistence that he would be coming along, even with the overhanging worry about risking his safety when his child was on the way. Cassian seemed fully on board with the plan, even though Nesta thought it was unnecessary.

“Is Feyre not worried for you?” She asked as they stood at the entry way of the Prison, unenthused about having two males who were accustomed to being in charge with her on this task.

“She insisted I come, too,” Rhys said, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Something about skinning me alive if her sister didn’t come out in one piece this time. I’m inclined to agree.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “I came out in one-piece last time.”

“Debatable,” both Cassian and Rhys said at once, neither one of their expressions brokering an argument.

“Whatever,” she snapped. “Let’s get this over with.”

Rhys led the way, filling the silence with a vague history of the Prison, though any teasing had faded as soon as they stepped over the threshold. Cassian gripped her hand like a lifeline, his siphons flashing softly in the darkness, reacting to the power of the beings trapped inside. So, this was the place that had held Amren. Nesta understood why she refused to return.

The air was cold, just like the dream, and she could feel the agony, the rage and despair, pushing and pulling at that power locked deep within her. Every once and awhile, she’d get swept away in it, in the feeling of letting it go, of destroying these walls and burning until the pain went away. It was Cassian squeezing her hand, sending just enough of his power through her skin that she’d be brought back to reality. She’d turn her head, expecting to find him staring at her, but his gaze was firmly fixed on the path ahead, alert of everything in his surroundings.

Rhys stopped as the path divided ahead, and turned his head back to assess Nesta.

“I was able to follow your dream to this point. Do you have any inclinations?”

Nesta blinked, assessing the paths in front of her. She had been so consumed she hadn’t even realized how far they’d walked. She thought back to her dream but didn’t remember the specific paths she took when she was wandering. Tentatively, she took a few steps forward, releasing Cassian’s hand. She listened, felt for whatever it was calling to her. It took a few moments, silence heavy between the three of them, before she heard it.

Nesta…

Turning her head, she followed that voice, down one of the halls.

Nesta…

Vaguely, she heard the footsteps of the two males behind her, Cassian’s uncomfortable murmuring to his brother about letting her lead the way.

In here, In here…

Abruptly, she stopped, and set her gaze on the blank wall ahead of her.

“Nesta?” Rhys asked quietly. “Do you hear something?”

But Nesta wasn’t listening to him, instead following that voice, that pull. Raising a hand, she brushed over the stone, a silent command, and was met with nothing but air. She took a step forward, again and again, leaving them behind.

“Rhys don’t let her-”

But then it was quiet, a dead, perfectly still silence. Looking back, she realized that the wall was solid and that, notably, neither the High Lord nor her mate had gone through with her.

There you are.

Nesta turned forward, taking in the large room in front of her, the pedestal in the middle. There it was, the Harp, somehow shimmering despite the lack of light. It was beautiful, and she heard it, that music that pulled her along in her dreams.

“Nesta??”

Nesta could hear Cassian yelling for her, could hear Rhys’ increasing frustration at not being able to get through the walls. She’d approached the pedestal before she even realized it, her fingers reaching out to touch the frame.

Hello, Nesta.

The Harp weighed nothing in her hands, but as soon as she touched it, she was blinded, a white, golden light overwhelming her until she could hear it:

Screams, fae screams, pounding on stone, begging to be freed, to be let out.

A trap, a voice said, our people were too blind to see it.

The world exploded around her, and she could see nothing but stars and darkness and the agonized faces of those fae, desperate to save their children, just their children –

The world stopped. And suddenly, she saw the white great hall, six thrones, and the fae crone in the center-- Briallyn. Their eyes met.

“You have the Harp.”

Fear plunged into Nesta’s heart and she backed up, tried to free herself, but she was trapped, frozen in this place.

“My spies have told me who your friends are. The half-breed and the broken Illyrian. Such lovely girls.”

Nesta’s rage welled up inside her before she could help it, before she could even think about it.

“You touch them, and I’ll burn you to ash before you so much as blink.”

Briallyn laughed, a horrid, croaky thing that had her breath stuttering in her chest. “Such bonds are foolish. As foolish as you still holding on to the Harp, which sings answers to all my questions. I know where you are, Nesta Archeron.”

Nesta jerked, and suddenly power was welling up within her, transporting her back, falling and falling and falling until she collided into the stone floor. She tried to move, tried to release the object that held her captive but it wouldn’t budge.

“Let me go,” she snapped, hearing the way that both males on the other side of that wall called for her, increasingly desperate.

I do not appreciate your tone.

Nesta tugged on the strings, scrapping her nail across the fiber. She was met with a hiss.

Shall I open a door for you then? Release that which is caught?

“Yes, damn you, yes!”

It has been a long while, sister, since I played. I shall need time to remember the right combinations.

Nesta let out a growl of frustrated rage, hating how this thing spoke as if they were kin. She knew she couldn’t deny it, but the rage plagued her, nonetheless.

The small strings are for games – light movement and leaping – but the longer, the final ones… Such deep wonders and horrors we could strum into being. Such great and monstrous magic I wrought with my last minstrel. Shall I show you?’

“No,” Nesta cried, gasping for air. “No, just free me. Let me go back to them.”

As you wish. Pluck the first string then.

Nesta didn’t hesitate. And one moment, she was on one side of the wall, and the other, she was crashing into the arms of someone – of him – hearing his grunt of surprise as he was forced to yield a step backwards to support her.

“Nesta??” Cassian said frantically, pushing her back far enough that he could see her face. “Nesta talk to me, what happened??”

Nesta looked around, and realized, with a jolt, that Rhys’ magic had filled the space, an attempt to get through.

“I... I’m fine,” she said, though her body throbbed in agony at the amount of power that just passed through it. Her knees trembled as she regained her footing.

“What did you see?” Rhys asked her, looking down at the Harp in her hands.

“A memory,” she said. “Of this place. But I also saw Briallyn, she saw me. She knows where we are. We have to go.”

Rhys assessed her face closely, his own hand at some point having come to grip her shoulder, though she didn’t know when. He could probably feel the heat through her clothing, and she was surprised at his lack of reaction to it. Cassian was the only person who had ever been able to touch her without jerking back at the way her skin felt.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Okay, let’s go.”

Nesta shuddered, her fingers flexing over the metal frame of the Harp, which had gone silent. Cassian found her hand again as they turned to leave, and she gripped it as hard as she could as they began on their path. But they’d only made it a few steps before Rhys froze, dread settling over them faster than she could blink.

“Fuck,” Cassian breathed beside her, and as she looked over the High Lord’s shoulder, she saw the door of a cell wide open.

“Lanthys,” Rhys said, and Nesta remembered vaguely, the conversation they’d had on their way in, when he and Cassian had recounted how the being was caught, the horror it could unleash.

“Rhys, get Nesta out of here,” Cassian snapped.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rhys shot back, power swelling around him.

“You have a son on the way, don’t be stupid,” Cassian ordered. “Take Nesta and get back to the River House. Now.”

That seemed to shake Rhys for a moment, a moment that was a beat too long. Before Nesta could blink, power had overwhelmed every crevice of the room. So strong that she could scarcely breathe. One second, she was standing beside Cassian, and the next she hit the wall, everything going dark.

When she next opened her eyes, she could see Cassian lying in front of her, still as stone, his blade beside him. Absentmindedly, she could hear Rhys and the beast still fighting, the High Lord hell bent on returning it back to its cell.

But Cassian wasn’t moving. He wasn’t moving.

Rage unlike Nesta had ever felt swelled up inside of her.

Before she could comprehend it, she was on her feet, her hands circling around the hilt of his blade. Her power consumed it, enveloping it until it glowed, bright, until it burned. Turning her gaze on the being in front of her, back turned in its attempt to face the High Lord, she felt that inner part of her, that same otherness she’d unleashed when she’d found the mask. She let it take her.

The blade pierced the back of Lanthys’ body easier than a knife carving butter.

Lanthys howled, screaming in agony, and Nesta watched the way the blade, enveloped in her power, still glowed fervently. She watched as he transformed into a thin, naked man with blonde hair. As she withdrew the blade he fell to his knees, coughing as he lifted he head to assess her.

“That is not Narben.” He hissed, and she cocked her head, relishing a bit too much in the way he shrank back, afraid of what had once been a standard Illyrian blade.

“Which death-god are you?” He asked, but she merely flipped Cassian’s blade in her hand, the heaviness of it straining her body despite the way her power relished in it.

“Get in your cell,” she demanded, and, to her shock, he obeyed, moving towards the place he’d come from.

“Nesta,” Rhys called carefully, but she ignored him, focused on her prey.

“What is that blade?” He asked, and she glanced down at it, an eyebrow raised.

“A regular one,” she said flatly. “Does it scare you?”

Lanthys cackled, eyes flashing. “I rode in the Wild Hunt before you were even a scrap of existence, witch from Oorid. I summoned the hounds and the world cowered at their baying. I galloped at the head of the Hunt, and fae and beast bowed before us. Such a small weapon does not frighten me.”

But Nesta stepped forward, her flames licking out past her and towards his feet. He jerked backwards. “Which death-god are you?” he asked again, “Who are you beneath that flesh?”

“You know who,” she answered, a slow grin spreading across her face.

Lanthys looked to Rhys, eyes wide, as if he refused to believe it.

“It’s not possible.”

But Rhys said nothing, having moved to his brother’s side, coaxing him awake while refusing to take his eyes off the way Nesta advanced, as if poised to pull her back if things got too dangerous. Something inside of her almost laughed at his concern.  

“We heard about you down here. You are the one the sea and the wind and the earth whispered of. Nesta. You took from the Cauldron itself.”

Nesta cocked her head, backing him into the cell.

“You don’t even know what you could do, who you could be. What we could be together.”

The images Lanthys conjured entered her mind – ruling over the world as his queen, the three objects of the Dead Trove at their feet – a fourth, hidden out of view. The lust he felt for her, the possessiveness. She saw the way the crown gleamed on his head, and blinked, the vision disappearing as quickly as it came. Disgust settled in the pit of her stomach.

“Get back in your cell and close the door,” she said again.

“I will just escape. I will escape and find you, Nesta, and we will rule together.”

Nesta wasn’t really sure what happened next. The feeling that this being, this male being, feeling as though he could claim her filled her with a bitter sense of rage, the threat he imposed upon her family giving her an overwhelming need to rid the world of him. One second, he was smirking widely at her, the next his head was detaching from his body, black blood coating the walls as he went.

At once, everything went quiet, and the blade she was holding suddenly felt so heavy in her hands that she let it drop, the clattering jolting the world back into focus.

“Nesta,” Rhys called again, and she turned her head, taking in the shock, the disbelief that covered his face. He had Cassian’s arm thrown around his shoulders, supporting his brother’s weight, and Nesta watched her mate’s eyes flutter as they fought to remain open, blood trailing down from his hair line. Fear gripped her in a way she’d never felt.

“Don’t look so horrified,” Cassian said, though the glare Rhys shot him said enough. Lifting a hand, Cassian cupped her cheek, undeterred by the way it practically boiled.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?”

A loud clang sounded from down the hall- Briallyn’s enslaved Autumn Court soldiers.

“We have to go,” she said. “We have to go.”

She moved then, reaching up wrap her hand around Cassian’s back, brushing her fingers along Rhys’ sleeve to ensure he went with them. He hissed at the contact. But there was no time. She plucked three strings on the Harp, and they collapsed in a heap in the front of the River House.

---

Nesta had been sitting beside Feyre on the couch for over an hour now, banned from the bedroom where Madja was working on Cassian. He would be fine, everyone assured her, but he’d collapsed into the grass as soon as they arrived and didn’t get back up. Rhys, for his part, was relatively unscathed, save for a healing cut on his cheek. Everyone had been treating Nesta like she was about to explode at any moment, so she’d resigned herself to this spot, where she was increasingly feeling the weight of her exhaustion.

“We should get you your tonics,” Feyre said, nervously rubbing the swell of her stomach. Nesta tilted her head.

“Has he started kicking yet?”

Feyre’s brows rose, though her eyes indicated her lack of amusement at her changing the subject.

“Just a little,” she replied. “Apparently it takes longer in Fae.”

Nesta hummed. “Are you nervous?”

“Yes,” Feyre replied. “I don’t want to end up like mother.”

Nesta snorted, leaning her head back against the couch and closing her eyes. “You couldn’t if you tried.”

Feyre’s hand slipped into hers then, lacing their fingers together. “She didn’t care at all, did she? About this.”

“This?”

“You.”

Nesta blinked, lifting her head back to assess her youngest sister. No one had ever said such a thing before. It had always been ‘this is how she shows her love, Nesta’ or ‘she just wants what’s best for you.’ Maybe even ‘she doesn’t know how to be any other way.’ But never had anyone flat out said that she didn’t care at all.

“She cared about making sure I lived up to my potential,” Nesta said. “She spared no expense.”

“That isn’t what I said,” Feyre replied. “Tamlin showered me in every kind of riches imaginable, and it did nothing to help the pain.”

Nesta contemplated Feyre’s words, something inside her still unwilling to admit the truth. Feyre squeezed her hand.

“I love you,” Feyre said then, the declaration hitting Nesta like a blow. “You do know that don’t you? I love you, Nesta. I never want you to feel like I’m using you for your abilities or because you offer something to this Court. I don’t want anyone here to make you feel like she did.”

Nesta’s throat tightened, and she squeezed her sister’s hand back tightly, the only thing she could get herself to do without losing her composure.

“You finding the Dead Trove takes a toll on you, I know that. If you don’t want to do it, please promise me that you won’t. We’ll make do, Nes, we always will.”

Nesta pursed her lips but shook her head.

“I love you too,” she said softly after some time. “Do you know that?”

Feyre hummed in affirmation, offering her a soft smile. That was enough, for now. Settling deeper against the couch, she let her eyes close.

Elain came in not long after, calling for Nesta firmly enough that she was woken from whatever doze she was slowly falling into. She forced herself to focus.

“Rhys said you were knocked unconscious. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Feyre sat up properly, looking at her with wide eyes.

“Oh,” Nesta said, blinking. “I guess I forgot.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.

By the time her sisters had settled themselves down, there was an icepack on the back of her head, a blanket draped over her lap, and both tonics down her throat. Feyre hadn’t left her side on the couch, casually sketching in one of her many notebooks, while Elain had deposited a book in her lap, urging her to find something to do while Madja finished with Cassian.

But all she really wanted to do was sleep. She wanted to go to where she knew he was and sleep beside him as she’d been doing for the last two weeks. But Elain had confined her to this couch, legs propped up beside Feyre’s, and was firmly playing the role of healer from her position in an armchair across from them, sipping her tea.

The drowsiness from Madja’s tonics set in quickly, and her head felt increasingly heavy. As hard as she fought it, her eyes drooped, and when her head slumped to the side, against Feyre’s shoulder, she didn’t have it in her to lift it back up again.

Feyre stilled beside her, for a moment, and Nesta realized through her exhaustion that this had never happened before, even remotely. She almost made to get up, to re-establish those old boundaries, but Feyre eased back into the cushions, adjusting her shoulder to make the angle more comfortable. As her eyes closed, she felt Feyre’s head against her own, her voice, soft and soothing in her mind.

Sleep well, Nes.

---

When Rhys felt secure enough to leave Cassian to Madja’s care, he immediately went in search of his mate. Anytime someone in his family was injured, fear always gripped him intensely until he was certain they’d pull through. But since the war, that feeling had amplified tenfold. The moment Cassian hit the grass, he’d been in a panic, barking commands and begging every god he could think of to make sure he lived, even though the old healer had assured him again and again that his wounds were far from fatal.

And it wasn’t just Cassian who held his worry. Nesta had taken a hit too and had done something he’d never witnessed before. With everything Cassian had told him about her health, he’d been ready for her to drop dead at any second. And so, when he felt her presence next to Feyre’s, he went in search of them, to lay eyes on both to assure himself that no one else would be bed ridden tonight.

But as he stepped foot in the living room, he froze, his brows going up into his hairline.

Feyre looked up from her sketch book and smiled, lifting a finger to her lips.

Nesta was curled up beside her, a blanket brought up over her shoulders. Her hair had been freed from the braid it was in when they’d gone to the Prison, and her head was tucked into Feyre’s neck, deeply asleep.

Well, this is different. He said to her through their minds, a smile tugging at his lips at how soft the scene was.

I know. Feyre replied, an equal smile of her own spreading across her face. I think I could get used to it.

Elain, too, had dozed off in her chair, what had been Nesta’s book open in her lap. It was probably the most peaceful he had ever seen the sisters all together.

“Do you want me to take her up to bed?” He asked Feyre aloud, knowing the importance of proper sleep for Nesta and the discomfort Feyre tended to feel at being stuck sitting somewhere for too long.

“No,” Feyre said, voice gentle. “She’s comfortable. Let her sleep. I’m okay. Better than.”

Warmth filled Rhys’ chest and he moved closer, pressing a gentle kiss to Feyre’s forehead and nose before capturing her lips. She grinned into it, shooing him away when he couldn’t help the additional kisses he bestowed on her face.

Go on, I’m sure you have things to do. You can take her up to Cassian in a bit.

Rhys grinned, winking at his mate before turning back into the hall, intent on ensuring the wards he’d put around the Harp remained steady and to check in with Azriel, who’d been scouting since this morning. As he stood in the doorway, he paused, casting one last look at the sisters before going on his way.

It was amazing, he thought to himself, what a little bit of genuine care could do to a person. He only wished Nesta had received it sooner.

Chapter Text

When Nesta next woke, she new instantly that she was in the arms of her mate. Cassian’s entire existence had enveloped her fully, and she could feel the weight of his arm around her waist, the rise and fall of his chest under her ear. For a while after her eyes opened, she simply relished in his presence, the knowledge that he was safe and breathing.

It was only a few minutes before he indicated that he was awake, his hand stroking up and down her back lazily, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he realized she was in his arms. Slowly, she lifted her head to assess him, something deep in her soul settling when she met his gaze, soft and still a little sleepy.

“There she is,” he said quietly. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

Nesta didn’t answer right away, instead fixated on the small cut she could see on his forehead. Pushing herself up onto her elbow, she lifted a hand, brushing his hair out of the way so she could see it better. It was well on its way to healing, only a thin line now compared to what it had been before, but the sight of him unmoving on the ground still gripped her with anxiety, and before she could find anything to say she tilted her head down to kiss him soundly.

If he was surprised by the gesture, he didn’t show it, instead humming in a way that was deeply content, his hand sliding up her back to tangle in the ends of her hair, which her sisters must have undone for her. She kissed him for longer than she usually would let herself, grounded by the eager way he met her stroke for stroke, sighing when he gripped the back of her head to hold her steady.

“You scared me to death,” she murmured against his lips, finally pulling away to rest back down on his chest.

Cassian smiled, running his hand through her hair. “I wasn’t going anywhere,” he said. “I’ve had much worse, Nes.”

Nesta didn’t feel convinced, but let herself nestle back into his embrace, letting out a long sigh.

“Rhys showed me what you did,” Cassian said. “You’re a force to be reckoned with, my love. I’m honored you’re so protective of me.”

Nesta huffed, narrowing her eyes, and he laughed, a beautiful sound that reassured her that he was okay, that he was here with her.

“Don’t hurt too much?” He asked her then, shifting down so they could be face to face. “Rhys said Feyre and Elain mother henned you until you fell asleep. He carried you up a few hours ago.”

Blinking, Nesta tried to remember being moved. It was still awkward, no matter how well their truce was going, and the thought of her brother-in-law carrying her up to share a bed with her mate made her cheeks heat. Cassian grinned at her, as if he was endlessly amused by it.

“I’m okay,” she said after a moment, closing her eyes when he pressed his lips to her brow. “Ready to be back in the House.”

Cassian’s smile softened, just a bit.

“Do you feel safe there? At the House?”

“The House and I are friends,” Nesta said. “I feel safe knowing that.”

“I want to find a way to allow you to come and go as you please from there,” Cassian replied. “I want you to have your freedom back.”

Nesta blinked, shocked at the abrupt assertion. She’d honestly given up on any notions that she’d be leaving, the sting of the restriction soothed just enough by the House’s generosity that she didn’t go out of her mind.

“You look surprised,” he said, brushing hair out of her face. “I promised you things would be better, right?”

Nesta nodded. “I assumed they were,” she murmured.

“Not until you feel you have full control over your life,” Cassian said. “Until you feel fully safe.”

“I feel safe with you,” she offered, and he placed a long kiss to her forehead, as if the words deeply moved him.

“I’ll always keep you safe, Nes,” he whispered. “Always.”

---

The next week went by slowly, peacefully.

Cassian healed quickly, just as he said he would, and though Nesta was more than a little wiped out by the events at the Prison, she had yet to face any of the pain alone. Whether it be his touch, coaxing her into sleep if she was too restless to settle or Feyre keeping her company when she didn’t feel up to getting out of bed, it was a strange, and surprisingly pleasant, shift from what she was used to.

“I’m so glad this bedroom finally looks like something you’d actually live in and not a just a dreary box,” Gwyn commented, drawing Nesta’s attention to meet the Priestess’ eyes in the mirror, watching her as she worked the strands of her hair into a long braid.

Beside her, on the small couch that now resided in the corner of the room, Emerie laughed.

“The bigger bed is certainly an improvement, I imagine.”

Nesta’s cheeks heated, even as Gwyn smiled softly at her. “It seems he got his act together rather quickly. I may even like him one day.”

Nesta snorted. “You may be the only person who he hasn’t eventually won over.”

Gwyn shrugged. “You can’t blame me for being protective of my friends. Up or down?”

“Up, please,” Nesta replied, still uncomfortable with the way people would just do these things for her. There wasn’t a particular reason for Gwyn to be doing her hair, other than the fact that she wanted to, and that Nesta hadn’t felt like putting it up herself. Feyre was best at it, Nesta had taught her how to braid herself when they were children, but Gwyn added her own charm to whatever design she ended up with.

“I’ll braid your hair next time,” Emerie said. “If Cassian sees you with traditional Illyrian braids in your hair he might die.”

Gwyn laughed. “He likes her hair down best. Haven’t you noticed?”

“Well, you do have lovely hair, Nes,” Emerie said. “But my point stands.”

“If it will make the lot of you happy, then by all means,” Nesta said, though she couldn’t deny that she thought Illyrian braids were a thing of beauty. Complex and intricate, with different types of plaits for different occasions. She’d be honored to wear them.

When Gwyn was finally satisfied, they moved out onto a small balcony, large enough that they could do their stretches and exercises, but still private.

“I’ve started getting some of the Priestesses to take up these techniques,” Gwyn said, settling down on her mat. “The mind stilling is a favorite.”

“I have yet to achieve it,” Nesta said. “Though I didn’t have much confidence to begin with.”

“That might be your problem,” Emerie said. “You always think too low of yourself. We believe you can do it, now you need to.”

Nesta hummed, contemplatively, but didn’t say anything further. They usually spent a good half hour or so practicing the Valkyrie meditation techniques, and Gwyn and Emerie had already started. But when Nesta closed her eyes, all she could see was her power churning inside her, the cries of those people trapped in the Prison walls calling out to her. In the end, she just took the opportunity to sit quietly, keeping her breaths long and even, even if her mind wouldn’t quiet. It was at least a little relaxing.

As they eventually moved into stretches, Nesta realized that she did them easier now, with less resistance. Her flexibility had improved, even if she’d be sore after, but she wasn’t as exhausted by the regiment as she had been when they started. Even if the nerves along her spine burned, it was no where near the agony of her entire body fighting against her.

Everything the Valkyries seemed to practice was about mindfulness, being aware of one’s own body and thus being in full control of it. It was about willing themselves to be strong against even the harshest of storms, all because of the inner control they had. Nesta didn’t quite think it was possible to ever have control over her body, traitorous as it was, but she liked the principles, and wanted to embrace them as much as she could, and the research on the warriors they did in the Library afterwards only solidified that.

By the time their session was up, she’d made some progress, her mind quieting even if it hadn’t gone completely silent. Her legs ached, though not entirely unpleasantly, as she finished stretching them out, and the three of them made their way out into the hall towards the Library when she heard Cassian touch down on the main balcony, back from a morning trip to Illyria. Nesta turned her head at the sound, pausing in her step.

“Go on,” Gwyn said with a grin. “Emerie and I will continue our research; you go be disgustingly in love while you can.”

Nesta wanted to protest, but it was Emerie who cut her off, saying, “we see you multiple times a week, Nes. Go. We won’t be offended.”

Nesta still hesitated, offering them a small, grateful smile, and Gwyn beamed at her, waving goodbye as she pulled Emerie away, down the halls. Once they were gone, she made her way through the House to the balcony, where she found her mate, wings outstretched to bask in the sun.

“Aren’t you usually with Gwyn in the Library by now?” He asked her as she stepped out to join him, reaching out his arms to wrap around her waist.

“It seems I’ve been banned and ordered to do other things instead.”

Cassian grinned. “Other things? How generous of them.”

Nesta rolled her eyes but didn’t stop him from placing a gentle kiss to her lips, one hand coming up to cup her face.

“You still look a little tired,” he said, tracing his thumb under her eye.

“I’m alright,” Nesta assured, leaning into his touch. “Just a little sore, but not too horribly.”

Cassian hummed, satisfied with her answer, before he seemed to think about something for several seconds, eyes tracing the braid Gwyn put in her hair.

“Well, since you’re apparently free, if you’re up for it, there’s somewhere I think that could help,” he said, something quiet and almost nervous about his voice.

“Where?” Nesta asked, settling her hands on his chest in a way that felt so natural by this point she hardly even realized she did it.

“Somewhere a little ways away from Velaris,” Cassian replied. “A short flight.”

Nesta tilted her head, pondering the offer. She wouldn’t mind getting away, even if it was just for a few hours. Something must have shown her interest in her eyes, for a grin tugged on his lips.

“So, will you come with me?” He asked again.

Something in Nesta’s chest warmed, her curiosity piqued by whatever this place was he wanted to show her.

“If you insist,” she said, and let herself smile fully as he grinned, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her to his chest.

---

It was a short flight from the House, but it went far beyond Velaris, so much so that she couldn’t see the city lights anymore by the time they touched down in the forest below. The cold air was deeply soothing to her, the soft early evening glow coaxing her into such a feeling of peace that she nearly fell asleep in his arms as he flew over the tall pines and foothills. It was his lips at her ear, murmuring sweet nothings into it that coaxed her back into consciousness as he landed on the soft grass in a small clearing.

“It’s just a small walk through those trees,” he said. “Would you like me to keep carrying you?”

Nesta thought about it, how comfortable she was in his arms. It sounded nice, if she was honest, but she didn’t want to lean too far into this weakness, to letting him do things for her. Her mother would riot in her grave. But Cassian merely laughed, a low and rich sound, and was tucking her head back into his shoulder.

“You think too much, sweetheart,” he said. “Just close your eyes, we’ll be there soon.”

Nesta hummed, tempted to protest, but was far too soothed by his touch that she couldn’t voice the words. Cassian’s steps were even, smooth enough that she didn’t jostle. She hadn’t been coddled like this since she was a child, letting someone carry her just because she wanted them to. It felt nice, even if those voices in her head were criticizing her for it.

“Alright, open your eyes, my love.”

Nesta lifted her head, unsure how much time had passed since he’d started walking, and took in the sight before her.

It was a beach, a small pond filled by the tiniest of waterfalls coming from the rocks above. The water was crystal clear, and she could see the bottom even far out in the center. The sound of the water falling from above was soft enough not to be jarring, but constant enough to offer a soothing ambience. The sand was soft beneath her feet as he set her down, and as she turned her head she took in a fairly well-sized bungalow, a bit basic in its design but sturdy and cozy looking, warm lights gleaming from within.

“What is this?” She asked, a bit taken aback by how peaceful this place was, how quiet.

“I found it about two centuries ago,” Cassian said. “I was pissed at Rhys for something or other, and I took a flight outside of the city. I came back later and built the shelter for anyone who needed some time away. The water is cool, it comes from the water systems that run through the mountains. I figured, since you can see through it clearly and it’s larger, it might be easier for you to relax in. If you want to. If not, there are blankets inside and it’s just a quiet place to rest. I’ve already stocked it with anything you might need.”

Nesta’s words failed her, overwhelmed at the thought he put into it. She took in the space for several seconds, shock on her face, and Cassian’s hands settled on her waist, placing a kiss to her hair from his place behind her.

“What do you think?” He asked quietly, the smallest ounce of nervousness in his tone.

“It’s lovely,” Nesta replied just as softly. “You didn’t have to go out of your way like this.”

“I wanted to,” he answered, as if he was already expecting her answer. “I would have brought you here at some point or another regardless of the circumstances.”

Nesta leaned back into his chest, letting herself bask in the affection she felt for him that suddenly overwhelmed her. He held her steady, arms circling around her waist.

“Will you get in with me?” She asked, tilting her head to assess him. Cassian smiled.

“Of course, I don’t actually have any proof that you can swim.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes, and he laughed, placing a firm kiss to her temple before he released her, padding over to the small structure, saying something about retrieving towels. But Nesta wasn’t entirely listening, instead fixated on the tempting way the water called to her.

She’d never been so comfortable around a body of water, especially after the Cauldron. But there was something about this place that was safe. As if the land around her sensed her fears and tried to soothe her.

With slow fingers, she reached behind her to begin undoing the buttons of the dress she wore, sliding the fabric down her shoulders until it pooled at her feet, leaving her in nothing but the small, thin shift that only went so far as mid-thigh. The air was warm enough that she didn’t shiver, though it was likely more a result of her own body already being so hot. Lifting a hand, she pulled out the pin holding her hair in place, letting it fall around her shoulders, the tension in her neck easing.

She heard Cassian emerge from the bungalow, his easy steps halting in the sand when his eyes landed on her. Turning her head, she assessed how they had darkened, the way they trailed up her legs to rest on her face. Her shift wasn’t too different from the nightgowns she normally wore to bed, but it was shorter and thinner, perhaps something that was jarring to him. For several seconds he just stared at her, as if she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Are you coming?” She asked, moving forward enough so the water lapped at her toes.

He jolted, just slightly, before he was setting his bundle of blankets and towels down and tugging his shirt over his head. It was her turn to fixate on the way he didn’t hesitate before unlacing his pants, leaving him in nothing but his underwear. The smirk he offered her was not as wide as it might have been, in another circumstance, but instead still held something deeply affectionate, intimate.

Nesta took a few steps forward into the water, gauging her reaction to it. When it reached above her knees, she let out a breath, digging her toes into the soft sand below her. It felt amazing, even if thoughts of the Cauldron lingered. She heard Cassian enter the water behind her, his movements surer, before he was in front of her, gripping her hands.

“Alright?” He asked, his voice so quiet it was almost a murmur, as if speaking would disrupt the peaceful moment that existed between them.

Nesta nodded, and held on to his fingers as he walked backwards, eventually easing back into the water to allow it to reach above his shoulders. The cool sensation of it eased the heat coursing through her veins, the soreness that lingered in her body after the events of the last two days. Taking a moment to assure herself, she watched his face carefully before she let him tug her gently down with him, until the water was up to her shoulders.

Slowly, he pulled them out towards the center, until she could no longer touch the bottom. But before she started to tread water, he shifted them, turning her around and guiding her head to rest back on her shoulder. His hands moved down, urging her body upwards, to float.

“Relax,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

Perhaps it was something in his voice or the environment around her that had her obeying without protest, closing her eyes as she let him pull her around, the firm stability of his chest keeping her from dipping too far under the water.

For what could have been minutes or hours she floated, breathing soft and even, the tension in her body slowly melting away. Cassian remained quiet, content to move in slow circles, his height affording him the ability to touch the bottom. And though Nesta would have thought that she’d never be able to relax in any water after the Cauldron, she found herself drifting.

Eventually, she felt him hit something solid, and opened her eyes enough to recognize that he was leaning against the stone perimeter, seated on one of the few rocks that existed below the water. He let out a soft sigh as he settled, his own tension ebbing away. Aside from the kiss he placed to her temple, he still kept silent, letting her bask in the comfort of the world around her.

But Nesta was suddenly feeling more awake, more aware of the male who held her. Affection had swelled in her chest so quickly that it overwhelmed her, until she was suddenly so sure, so confident.

“Cassian,” she said quietly, and his chest vibrated in the hum he offered in response.

“I love you.”

Cassian stilled beneath her, and she watched the emotion flash over his face from her position against his shoulder. It hurt, just slightly, at the surprise she saw there, perhaps his own doubt that she’d ever say the words back. But she had never been more certain of anything, not after the last few weeks of his care, his determination to prove to her what it meant to be loved in a way that wasn’t contingent purely on what she could offer him.

“I love you, too, Nes,” he replied after a moment, his voice nearly hoarse with the emotion she could suddenly feel through their bond, the one that she’d tried not to pay too much attention to while she was still navigating how she felt.

She shifted, then, turning so she could face him, pushing herself forward enough that he got the hint, his hands gripping her waist as he pulled her onto his lap, the movement easy as breathing in the water. The stone was cool against her knees as she settled them on either side of him, and when she dipped her chin to meet his lips, his grip tightened, just enough to hold her firmly against him.

She kissed him for ages, relishing in the cool sensation of his lips, contrasted by the warmth of his mouth as he yielded to her, letting her have full control of what happened next. The content sound that rumbled out of him heated something deep in her core, and she decided then and there that she wanted him, and she wanted him now. She kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him, until she was breathless, hands tangled in his hair, drops of water sliding over her fingers from the ends of his curls.

“Mine,” she murmured softly when they finally parted, echoing his words back to him.

Cassian’s entire body shuddered, one hand sliding up her back, the action sending one of the straps of her shift to slide down over her shoulder.

“Always,” he answered, before he was kissing her again, his grip firmer than it had been, and before she could comprehend it, she was drifting again, lost in the sensation of his lips on hers.

This time, when he pulled away from her, he lifted a hand, running his thumb over her collarbone, tracing the skin revealed to him as the strap of her shift fell further down her arm. Dipping his head, he placed kisses there, on every inch of her chest that he could reach, the tops of her breasts. His other hand moved then, pulling the other strap down her other shoulder, his fingers trembling against her skin. And though the rest of the fabric had yet to fall down her waist and reveal her fully to him, she shivered, tilting her head back to revel in the feeling.

He took the opportunity, lavishing kisses up her neck that quickly turned into something more ravenous, his teeth tugging on the skin until she was gasping, her hips rocking down into his, where she could feel the evidence of his arousal against her.

“Cassian,” she breathed, and he lifted his head immediately, pupils blown wide as he assessed her expression, the slightest evidence of concern in his face, as if he’d accidentally hurt her. Nesta lifted her hands to his cheeks, thumbs brushing over the smooth skin, before she leaned forward to kiss him once, deeply.

“Take me inside,” she said against his lips.

“Are you sure?” he asked in response, though his hands had already travelled down over her hips and had taken to sliding up and down her thighs.

His care was endearing to her, softening the moment, and she kissed him again, sweeter. Rolling her hips into him, she smirked against his lips at the primal sound that came out of him, the way his fingers suddenly dug into her legs.

“Yes,” she said. “Take me to bed.”

---

Cassian hadn’t hesitated after that, lifting her with ease all while continuing to pepper kisses along her collarbones, the base of her throat. It was as if something had snapped when she affirmed her consent and it was all he could do not to ravish her right there, in the water (though she couldn’t say she’d have minded). Her mind was so occupied by him that she didn’t even remember the clothing they’d left strewn along the beach, nor the blankets he’d brought out. Instead, she’d simply kissed him again as he began the trek towards the bungalow, letting out the softest of sighs when his grip on the backs of her thighs tightened, securing them around his hips.

Inside was even cozier than she’d expected. It was tiny, by Illyrian standards, with only a few feet between each wall when Cassian’s wings stretched out fully. A small bathroom was off to the left, but the rest of the space was essentially one large bed, a pile of furs and soft blankets, with warmly lit lanterns hanging overhead. It was beautiful, perfectly simple, and when Cassian set her down on top of the covers, she told him so, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Just for you, sweetheart,” he said, taking the moment to lock the door, though she wasn’t particularly worried about anyone stumbling upon them. He turned back to her slowly, sinking down to his knees as he approached the end of the bed, which wasn’t much taller than the floor itself.

Nesta’s cheeks heated as his hand slid up her calf, pressing kisses to the skin there, before he pushed himself forward, settling overtop of her with a kind of gentleness that many would find unexpected from him. With one hand, he cupped her cheek, while the other supported his weight above her head, and he kissed her again, softly this time, yet still as intimate. She reached up to tangle her fingers into his hair, pulling him down until he rested in the cradle of her hips, the groan that tumbled past his lips making her grin.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he said to her, sliding to sit back on his knees, her legs comfortable on each side of his own.

Nesta shivered as his hands trailed her waist, stopping at her hipbones and bunching up in the fabric of her shift.

“You are so beautiful, my love,” he added then, the look in his face so intense that she almost averted her gaze under the weight of it.

She didn’t know what to do with his words, not when he’d made it clear he wanted more from her than just sex. Normally, when someone called her beautiful, it was in the middle of ripping her clothes off, a throw away statement that meant little when the end goal was apparent. But Cassian didn’t press her for a reply, instead content to look at her for several long seconds, as if cataloguing every detail, before his fingers tightened in her shift.

“Can I see you?” He asked, and surprise must have shown on her face at the question for something akin to pain flickered in his eyes, though not for himself.

Silently, Nesta nodded, entirely sure that this was what she wanted, with him.

His touch was gentle, running up her waist and down once more, pulling her shift with him until it was all bunched around her hips. Her body was warm, but not in a painful way, and so she didn’t shiver, even as she flushed deeply under his gaze. Cassian breathed out through his nose, murmuring something in Illyrian that she couldn’t decipher.

“Can I touch you?”

Nesta nodded again, but he didn’t move, only lifting one of her hands to kiss the back of it.

“I want to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

She blinked, surprised at how serious his expression was behind the affection he held for her. He wanted her verbal answer before he did anything other than look, as if he hadn’t held her soul in his hands ever since that battlefield.

“Yes,” she said quietly, “please.”

It was then that his smile finally took on something more cocky, more satisfied, but before she could call him out on it, his hand cupped one of her breasts, squeezing gently, and her head was falling back against the pillows, a breath releasing from her chest.

“Not too sensitive?” He asked, thumb brushing over her nipple gently. “If you’re still sore, we don’t have to do anything beyond this.”

Nesta shook her head, knowing he was likely more concerned about his touch burning her than anything else, even his own arousal. But their swim had eased her tension away, at least for the moment, and the feeling of his hands on her was perhaps the most comforting thing in the world.  

“I feel fine,” she said. “Touch me, Cassian.”

Her words seemed to snap what was left of his restraint, for he was leaning forward without hesitation, pressing kisses to her other breast as his fingers squeezed and caressed the one they held. When he took her other nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the bud, she cried out, her back arching at the sensation. He took that as his cue to switch to the other, lavishing it with the same attention while his hand replaced where his mouth previously had been. All the while, he mumbled sweet nothings in Illyrian, as if talking to himself.

“Gods, I love you,” he said when he eventually pulled back, pressing kisses back up her neck until he met her lips again. “My gorgeous mate.”

Something tugged on her, deep in her chest, and in that moment Nesta had never felt so whole, so cherished. Unable to voice the feeling or even know what to do with it, she kissed him deeper, running her hands down his back, arching her own in protest when he pulled away from her, working his way back down her body in slow, tantalizing kisses down her chest, over her stomach, until he reached where the fabric of her shift remained bunched up. With gentle hands, he pulled it down over her hips, taking her underwear with it, until she was fully bare before him. Her desire filled the room then, so much so that his nostrils flared, and before she could so much as breathe, his lips were trailing her upper thigh, and he inhaled deeply, as if to savor the scent.

“Stay still for me,” he murmured, and his eyes flashed with something mischievous as he nuzzled the crook of her thigh with his nose before licking a long, straight line up the center of her with the flat of his tongue.

“Gods,” Nesta gasped, hips bucking in response, and he laughed, a low, sensuous sound that did all kinds of things to her.

“Not very good at following instructions, are we, Nes?” He asked, and she glared down at him, even as he draped a heavy arm across her stomach.

“Stay still, sweetheart. Until I’ve had my fill.”

And have his fill, he did. Cassian lapped at her like a man starved, switching between sliding his tongue through her folds or sucking on her clit, as if he couldn’t decide which he liked best. She felt embarrassed at how wet she knew she was, not in the least when he groaned loudly at her taste. She could finish just like this, she thought to herself, and he would barely have to do anything.

But Cassian had always been a man of action, and before she could even wrap her head around how close she’d already gotten, he was pressing two fingers into her, working her in steady strokes until she was pushing her hips up against his arm, hands coming down to tug at his hair.

“Cassian,” she gasped, “Cassian, Cass-”

Her climax barreled into her harder than it ever had before, and for a moment, Nesta’s world went white. When she came to, her legs were trembling around Cassian’s head, whose eyes were watching her intently, the hazel color of them bright against the lantern light. He was lapping at her gently, and it was then that she realized the bottom half of his face was covered in her. She blushed deeply.

“That’s my good girl. You’re so beautiful like this, Nes,” he said softly, turning his head to press a kiss to her hipbone as she came down from her high. Upon seeing the flush that covered her skin, he asked, “you like it when I praise you, sweetheart?”

She narrowed her eyes at him again but was still catching her breath and couldn’t find her words. He laughed, licking his lips, and offered her another one of his signature grins, before he simply commanded, “Another.”

His fingers were inside of her before she could voice her surprise at his order. But something had sparked in him, something molten, and his eyes didn’t leave her face for a second as he added a third, pressing his thumb into her clit until she moaned so loudly she was grateful they’d come all this way. Suddenly, the words he’d said in the piano room made sense.

“That’s it,” he hummed, dipping his head just enough to press the tip of his tongue in place of his thumb. He laughed as he teased her with it, but his eyes never left hers, a silent demand that she watch him bring her over the edge again, watch what he did to her.

It only took a brush of his teeth against the sensitive nerves to send her shattering again, and this time he took his time bringing her down to reality, pressing gentle kisses to her thighs, her stomach. When she released his hair to brush his cheek with her hand, he kissed that too, until she pulled lightly with the other, a silent request for him to kiss her properly.

She could taste herself on his lips, something she’d once found slightly off putting but was somehow intoxicated by it now that she was with him. But Cassian didn’t take her right away, as she expected him to.

“Alright?” He asked her instead, taking the time to pause and simply brush their noses, an action so soft that her chest ached.

Nesta nodded, increasingly desperate to feel him. Shifting her leg up over his hip, her foot caught at the fabric of his underwear, and pushed impatiently.

“Needy,” he said, but he pushed them down quickly, the hard length of him suddenly pressing against her, drawing a sound from each of them.

He slowed again, placing kisses to her brows, her cheeks. Lifting a hand to cup her face, he said,

“I love you, Nesta.”

Nesta shuddered, closing her eyes, but she nestled into his palm, whispering,

“I love you, too.”

She felt him shift then, his hand slipping down to grip himself, before she felt the head of him brushing against her entrance.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he said. “If you start to hurt, promise to tell me.”

“I don’t hurt,” she said, pressing a kiss to his palm. “I promise, I don’t hurt. I don’t-”

Whatever nonsense she’d started babbling cut off into a high pitched sound as he slid inside her, and suddenly her hands were gripping his shoulders, nails biting into the skin. She hadn’t even looked at him properly and could tell he was large, thick. How he’d even fit, she didn’t know.

“Fuck, Nesta,” Cassian gritted out, his hips rocking slowly, easing into her and back out until the movement became smooth, the burn as she stretched for him easing into something much deeper.

When he was finally seated fully, he buried his face into her neck, murmuring a jumble of words that sounded almost like a prayer.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he finally said coherently, lips against her skin, hips moving slowly, deeply. “So fucking perfect for me, sweetheart. How did I get so lucky?”

But Nesta couldn’t form any words, her mind completely blank save for him and the way he felt inside of her. She barely knew where one moment ended and another began, gripping onto him tightly as he moved. Never had she felt so complete, so right, as she did in this moment. She could hear him saying her name, a chant, his pace picking up until she was pushed up the mattress with him each time he rocked forward. Turning her head, she drew him back into a bruising kiss, keeping one hand tangled in his hair while the other gripped at his back.

When he touched her again, his hand slipping between their stomachs, she let out something more akin to a scream, and in her pleasure her hand slipped its hold, catching on the low expanse of his wing. The sound that came out of Cassian was nothing short of primal, and suddenly he was thrusting into her in a way that was both exactly what she needed and overwhelming at the same time. She was quickly reaching what would be her third orgasm of the evening, and she ran her fingers along the inner membrane again, just to see what would happen.

“Nesta,” Cassian gasped, his hips stuttering as his release overtook him, his hand pressing in just the right way to send her over the edge with hm. His entire body trembled, and his chest heaved, but he didn’t let himself fall on top of her, instead holding himself steady, even as she felt the way his arm trembled.

“Are you alright?” he asked her between panting breaths, his hand finding her cheek again and stroking under her eyes.

Nesta’s eyes fluttered, and when she managed to keep them open, she found his staring down at her, waiting for an answer.

“I’m perfect,” she breathed, and it was true. There was not an ounce of tension in her body. And despite the warmth that they’d generated, it was not painful. For once, her mind and body were peacefully quiet. Languid, even.

“I love you,” she said again, wanting to tell him as many times as she could before this moment passed, and her soul eased into perfect tranquility when he kissed her, so gently it nearly brought tears to her eyes.

“I love you, sweetheart. So much.”

He pulled out slowly, taking care not to jostle her, before he settled at her side, dropping his arm over her waist, and pulling her close to his chest as they caught their breaths.

“What were you saying?” She asked after a few moments, tilting her head up to assess his face. “Earlier, in Illyrian.”

Cassian shifted to meet her gaze and he lifted a hand, brushing it over the back of her head as he pressed a kiss to her brow.

“I was thanking the Mother,” he said. “For giving me you.”  

That thing tugged in her chest again, and Nesta decided that she never wanted to be parted from him again, that he was hers and hers alone. But she was also his, unequivocally and irrevocably his. She was his, and he loved her. And, despite everything, despite all the self-hatred and doubt, Nesta was content to let him.

Chapter Text

In 500 years, Cassian never slept so well. After they’d finished, Nesta had sensed that he was still worked up, that he could make love to her for hours and hours and still not be satisfied, but she was tired, rightfully so, and Cassian insisted they sleep instead. It was no bother to him how often or little they had sex, so long as she stayed in his arms and let him cherish her the way she deserved. Besides, Nesta said she loved him. She loved him. And there was nothing, nothing¸ that could take away the joy he felt at such a notion.

And so, he had simply wrapped her in his arms, his wings, and watched, fascinated, as Nesta fell asleep in mere seconds, perfectly at ease. No nightmares plagued her throughout the night, a first in their time together, and the warm contentment that enveloped the entire space lulled him to sleep shortly after. And Gods, he could have died right then and been perfectly satisfied.

Nesta, on the other hand, seemed to disagree.

It was the sensation of her lips on his skin that slowly brought him out of the darkness of sleep. They trailed along his chest, over his heart, light enough that it didn’t wake him entirely, instead leaving him in the strange but comfortable limbo just before consciousness. Her hands were warm from their place on his stomach, and the unmistakable feeling of arousal shot down his core as her lips trailed lower, lower, until his pleasure was so acute that his eyes opened, his hand automatically moving to thread through her hair.

“Nes,” he murmured, his mind catching up to his body, and in response she merely took the length of him completely into her mouth. His head fell back farther against the pillows, a low groan rumbling out of his chest, the last dregs of sleep fading away into something far more exhilarating.  

“For the sake of the Mother, Nes.”

She gripped the base of him with one hand, the part she couldn’t fit into her mouth, while the other splayed over his stomach, nails lightly scratching over the skin. Her head moved slowly, almost lazily, like a cat taking her time with her meal. She hummed as his hips bucked upwards on their own accord, and his grip in her hair tightened, though not enough to hurt.

Never in his life had he experienced something quite as exquisite as this. She worked him in ways no one else ever had. He usually found himself less interested in this sort of thing, more of a pleaser than everything else (much to Rhys and Azriel’s endless teasing), but with Nesta, he didn’t think he’d ever get enough of this, of her mouth on him. Before he could help it, he was rocking up into her mouth to match her movements, the hand not in her hair clutching the sheets.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he breathed, and she huffed a soft laugh through her nose. Daring a glance downwards, he caught her eyes already watching him, delighted by the way she’d clearly rendered him into blissed-out uselessness.  

He was quickly reaching his peak, so fast it was almost embarrassing. When he hit the back of her throat, the sound that came from him echoed off the walls, and he was tugging on her hair gently, but assertively.  

“Come up here,” he ordered gruffly, hand sliding down to grip the back of her neck as he guided her back up his body until she was resting over his chest. And though she grinned at him like a queen, she didn’t get the chance to retort before he was kissing her deeply, relishing in the taste of her, his hands sliding down to grip her hips, her ass, to grind her against him.  

For the briefest of moments, he was in control, guiding her movements until they were both panting, the sounds coming out of her mouth nothing short of melodic. But he had no choice than to fully yield to her when she sat up and reached down to grip him, sliding herself down until he was fully seated within her. She looked radiant in the morning light, hair tumbling over her shoulders in slightly messy curls, head tipped back as she slowly started to move, torturous, teasing witch that she was.

“You are so fucking gorgeous,” he said, watching her through half-lidded eyes as she rolled her hips, and she grinned, entirely too satisfied with how unraveled she’d made him, eyes closing as she relished in the feeling of him.

Determined to get back at her, he shifted his hand enough to press his thumb to the apex of her thighs, delighting in the gasp that tumbled out of her. Her movements became faster then, more urgent, and with the treatment she’d given him earlier, he didn’t last much longer. With a shaky gasp, he was tipping over the edge, bringing her over with him in matter of a few firm strokes.

She laughed then, head still tilted back, panting softly, and Cassian swore he’d died, and this was his reward. Reaching up, he tugged her down to him so he could kiss her again, groaning when she pulled herself off him, shifting until they were nose to nose, her arm and leg draped over him lazily.

“You spoil me,” he murmured against her lips, knuckles running over the knobs of her spine. “Any reason?”

Nesta hummed, stretching out. “Just because I was too tired to continue last night doesn’t mean that I was done with you.”

Cassian grinned, pulling her tighter against him, relishing in the warmth of her skin.

“I should take you here more often, if this is what I get in return.”

Nesta’s smile softened a bit at that, and he held her gaze, admiring the soft swirls of power that swirled within her eyes, as they always did after he brought her to climax. It was, by far, his favorite discovery.

“I would like that,” she said quietly, as if unsure, and he kissed her, gently.

“This place is yours then,” he asserted, brushing their noses.

“Ours,” she corrected, lifting a hand to run along his jaw, the stubble there. “I don’t want to be here without you.”

The affection that overtook him at her words had his throat tightening, tears threatening to prick at his eyes. She seemed to sense it, the emotions overwhelming him, and nestled closer, pressing a soft kiss to his throat. For several seconds, they relished in each other silently, basking in the soft glow of the morning while they could.

“What happens now?” Nesta asked after a while, and Cassian dipped his chin to meet her gaze again.

“Whatever you wish, my love,” he said. “I’m in no rush to go back to Velaris if you aren’t. Rhys will live without me.”

In truth, he’d already told his brother not to expect him for several days, regardless of whether they stayed here the entire time or not. Rhys had been more than happy to oblige, far too smug about the entire thing to deny him.

Nesta smiled slightly, but he could tell that wasn’t what she meant. “I meant the bond. Don’t we have to get married now? Start trying for children?”

Cassian blinked, reminded abruptly of how exactly his mate was brought up in this world. As much as he made it clear to her that he loved her above any bond, any duty, it made perfect sense for her to assume the logical next step was to settle in as his wife. Lifting a hand, he brushed over her cheek gently.

“Not if you don’t want to,” he said. “I’m more than content to just be with you for as long as you like. If you want to be married, or have the bond blessed, I’ll be honored to do that with you. If you don’t, I’m just as blessed to simply be yours. And as for children, that’s entirely up to you. If you don’t want them, then we won’t have them. It’s your body, sweetheart.”

Nesta blinked, as if she couldn’t understand his words, and his heart panged in sadness for her, just for a moment.

“You don’t want children?” She asked, as if the notion was confusing to her.

“Do you?” He asked back, wondering if anyone had ever asked her that question.

“I…” she started, but stopped, as if unsure of the answer herself. “I’ve never thought of not having them. It was just expected.”

“That doesn’t mean you want them, Nes,” he said. “Expectation and desire are two different things. You are not expected to provide me children, not now or ever. I only want to have a child with you if you want to have a child with me, not because you are obligated.”

Nesta hummed, almost contemplatively. “I’ve never thought about it,” she replied quietly, as if deeply perplexed by the notion.

“Take your time,” he said, pressing a kiss to her head. “You don’t need to know right now. We have centuries, sweetheart. And for most fae, it takes that long to conceive anyway.”

She nodded slowly, as if intensely processing his words. He couldn’t help but find her expression adorable, despite the concern tugging at his chest for her lack of awareness of her new world. Hadn’t anyone told her these things?

“And the bond?” She asked, meeting his eyes again slowly, almost shyly.

“To accept it, the female usually offers the male food. It can be done in a formal ceremony or just between the two of them. But you don’t have to do that now, either. Not offering me something doesn’t mean I’m not your mate. More importantly, it won’t change how I feel about you. And if you’d rather be married, Nesta, then I’ll be honored to call you my wife. If you don’t want any titles at all, I’ll be perfectly content so long as you keep me around.”

She blushed then, and he grinned, kissing her cheeks.

“I love you,” he asserted. “And I won’t stop loving you if you aren’t ready to deal with all the formalities. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind just enjoying being with you like this for a while. We have time, even if our family likes to tease us. Which, they will. Say the word though, and I’ll shut them up.”

“They won’t give you a hard time?” She asked, propping her cheek on her elbow. “For being with me properly?”

“Feyre and Elain might kill me if I was anything other than with you properly. Azriel too, and Gwyn and Emerie. Rhys is far too romantic to object, so I’m guessing it’s Mor and Amren you’re actually worried about.”

Nesta shrugged. “Morrigan has been in Vallahan. I don’t want to upset her when she returns.”

Cassian reached up to brush his knuckles over her cheekbone.

“You don’t have to worry about Mor,” he said. “We have a lot of history, but she does not love me in the same way you do, and I don’t love her that way either. She’s used to having me serve as her buffer, but in truth it did more harm than good, I think. At the time, I was enamored with her affection, but it hurt Azriel. More than we probably realize. He didn’t deserve that, and you didn’t deserve being brushed aside because I was afraid of what would happen if I stopped. Mor will not hold it against me or you for wanting something better. And with whatever is happening between Az and Gwyn, I don’t think she’ll require my services any longer anyway.”

Nesta contemplated his words, tracing her fingers over the swirls of ink around his collarbones.

“Did it hurt?” She asked quietly, “to be nothing more than a buffer?”

Cassian blinked, surprised by the question.

“I’m just an Illyrian bastard,” he answered, “that’s all I would ever be to her.”

“And why is that?” Nesta asked. “I thought Rhysand supported equal rights among fae.”

Cassian shrugged, letting his fingers tangle in the ends of her hair.

“That doesn’t mean old habits don’t die hard, sweetheart. It takes a while to change these kinds of things. Mor means well, but even Rhys still inherently has his biases. They’re trying, it just takes time.”

Nesta let out a breath, her expression indicating her disagreement, but she didn’t say anything, instead easing back down into his arms to rest her head on his chest. Her skin was, for once, a normal temperature, and Cassian pulled one of the thinner sheets up over her shoulders to keep her warm, rubbing his hand along her back and shoulders.

“You’re not just an Illyrian bastard,” she said quietly, after several long seconds of silence.

Cassian placed a kiss to her hair, smiling slightly.  “Thanks, Nes.”

Nesta placed a single kiss over his heart in answer.

---

When Cassian and Nesta returned to the House of Wind, two days later, Cassian was growing suspicious of the lack of contact he’d had with either of his brothers. Rhys, he could understand, the romantic sap probably spending all his time with his own mate, but Azriel usually checked in every day, using those little letters of his that would dissolve into thin air. Perhaps they’d collaborated, agreed to give he and Nesta this time. Time which they’d largely spent in bed, learning every inch of each other.

Or, perhaps, something far more interesting was at play.

“Are you calling me boring, shadowsinger?”

Nesta halted mid step as they made their way through the hall towards the dining room. Cassian nearly ran into her, catching himself with his hands on her shoulders, but his attention was equally captured by the two voices they could hear.

“I don’t know, Berdara, these little books seem pretty tame to me.”

“And I suppose you think you could do better than what’s in these little books?”

“Gwyneth,” Azriel purred, something so intimate in his tone that Cassian felt Nesta flush. “I know I could do better.”

There was a beat of silence far too long, and Nesta slowly turned wide eyes to him, shock and amusement within them. Cassian grinned. Azriel’s shadows alerted him whenever anyone entered a space he was occupying. There was no way he would be this open about whatever the hell was happening in there if he knew the pair of them stood in the hall. Which meant, the Priestess well and truly had the shadowsinger in the palm of her hand.

“I suppose you’ll have to prove it then, won’t you?”

Azriel’s laugh was low, and the sound of his chair scraping against the floor echoed off the walls of the House.

“If you insist, Priestess.”

Nesta’s hand came up to cover her mouth, and it was only a second before he realized she was trying not to laugh. It was a sight so delightfully rare that he almost blew their cover with his own. But, as miraculous as this moment was, the silence in the dining room was too suspicious. Not in the least when Gwyn let out a gasp, only to be followed by Az, who said in a groan,

“Cauldron, Gwyn.”

At once, Nesta shoved Cassian backwards, and as quietly as he could manage, he obliged, retracing their steps until they were back on the balcony and in the air. He opted to touch down by the Rainbow, taking the opportunity to spend more time with his mate. He set Nesta down gently, and they stared at each other for several seconds before she tilted her head back and burst out laughing.

And Nesta Archeron laughing, Cassian decided, was the most breathtaking sight any male could ever hope to see.

“It seems someone took advantage of our impromptu vacation,” he said, unable to stop grinning at the sight of his mate, who’d been through so much misery and pain, nearly doubled over as she fought to stifle her giggles.

“Perhaps we should go back, give them an extra day,” Nesta said as she composed herself. “Emerie is going to love this.”

Cassian slid his arms around her waist, relishing in the light in her eyes, the smile that still graced her lips. “You know, he didn’t know we were there. He never would have let that happen if he did.”

“I know,” Nesta said, and of course, she did. She was too perceptive for her own good. “Gwyn has him wrapped around her finger.”

“I think Gwyn is likely wrapped around Azriel at the moment.”

Nesta scoffed and slapped his chest gently.

“Did you know?” Cassian asked, “that they’d started something?”

Nesta shook her head. “I suspected, but Gwyn never said. Though, there have been several times as of late that she’s come in looking flustered. It makes me wonder.”

Suddenly, a realization dawned on him, and he grinned slowly.

“What?” Nesta asked, narrowing her eyes.

“I bet Rhys that I’d find out what was happening with Azriel before him, and I just did.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, but there was fondness in her gaze. “I should have known you’d bet on it.”

“Actually, the bet was to see which one of us could get the answer from you first. Rhys is convinced you’ll be best friends one day, you know.”

“Oh, does he?” Nesta said. “Then you can tell him he owes me a book review before he can call us friends.”

Cassian cocked an eyebrow at her, but she said no more, instead letting her smile turn more into a smirk, her amusement clear. It was too beautiful a sight for him to ask more questions, and instead leaned in to kiss her, a soft, content brushing of lips that she sighed into, her hands sliding up his chest and around his neck, to tug on the ends of his hair. In that moment, going back to their little bungalow didn’t sound too bad. By the way Nesta’s teeth tugged on his bottom lip, she clearly agreed.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling her flush against his chest. “The House is occupied right now. Keep doing that and we’ll have to resort to finding a place far less comfortable.”

Nesta huffed a laugh. “Insatiable brute,” she said, pulling away. “We’ll let Azriel have his fun, he needs it.”

So do you, Cassian nearly said, but Nesta was already walking towards the Rainbow, her curiosity piqued by the shops. He wondered if she’d ever actually taken the time to look at them. Catching up with her, he settled easily by her side, content to meander the streets until they deemed it safe enough to try to return to the House.

Nesta walked for several blocks until she paused in front of a blacksmith, watching as she hammered out a new blade. Cocking her head, she said,

“That reminds me. You haven’t had your sword with you this entire time. Did I break it?”

Cassian blinked, having completely forgotten about anything that happened prior to that moment in the water, when Nesta said she loved him. Suddenly, he felt a bit sheepish.

“Not exactly,” he said. “We haven’t figured out what exactly you did to it, but it’s no longer a simple Illyrian blade. I think you made it into something else entirely.”

Nesta’s brows rose, and the first signs of trepidation shone in her eyes. “You should’ve said,” she replied slowly.

“I meant to,” Cassian said. “But if I’m honest, I didn’t touch it for several days after the Prison, and when I did it took Rhys several more days to figure out what happened to it, and we still don’t know for sure. Besides, I was a bit preoccupied with more important things.”

Nesta gave him an unimpressed look, but her cheeks flushed just enough to assure him that she wasn’t angry.

“Still,” she said. “If I’m making strange weapons, I’d like to know about it.”

Cassian nodded, sliding an arm around her waist. “You will, sweetheart, I promise. I just happened to be distracted, with you being as tempting as you are, that I forgot about it.”

He grinned as the blush on her cheeks deepened, and something warmed in his chest at the firm glare she gave him, something so much like the old Nesta that he almost wept.

“Your compliments won’t get you as far as you think, bat.”

Cassian laughed, squeezing her hip. “Perhaps not. But I have a few other talents that might.”

Nesta’s eyes darkened, the softest swirls of power within them at the prospect of his words. It shouldn’t have turned him on as much as it did, to know that whatever power lurked inside her was just as interested as she was, but it was something he’d never tire of.

“Perhaps,” Nesta repeated, and continued her way down the street.

---

In the end, they settled on dinner at the River House in lieu of risking a too early return. Feyre had been delighted to see them, her stomach growing larger by the day, while Rhys simply met them with a small smile, something far more amused in his eyes, to Nesta’s chagrin. Cassian had warned her that they’d be able to scent the difference, would likely know exactly what they’d been doing in that bungalow, but he’d also promised they’d be polite about it, for her sake.

Cassian clearly didn’t know Feyre as well as he thought he did.

She’d been quick to loop her arm through Nesta’s, guiding her through the halls before they settled in the back garden, meeting Elain who was finishing up some work of her own as the sun began to set.

“You look refreshed,” Feyre said with a grin. “Was it good?”

“Was what good?” Nesta asked mildly, taking a sip of the lemonade that appeared beside them.

“You know,” Feyre said, raising her eyebrows. “Him.”

Nesta couldn’t help the smirk that tugged on her lips.

“Feyre,” Elain pleaded. “Don’t meddle in things that aren’t your business.”

“Oh please” Feyre replied. “We both know you’re just as curious.”

Elain’s blush spread quickly over her cheeks, and Nesta cocked her head.

“And why are the two of you so interested in the abilities of my mate?”

“Well…well it’s just that he is handsome,” Elain stuttered out. “We couldn’t help but be curious.”

“Elain’s being modest,” Feyre said. “I love Rhys, but you’d have to be blind not to want to know how our General, shall I say, performs. He’s kind of a walking god, Nes.”

Nesta couldn’t help the snort that came out of her nose, a sound that had once resulted in firm chastisement from her mother or grandmother. But both Feyre and Elain were looking at her expectantly, curiosity and pleading in their eyes.

Nesta took a long sip of her lemonade.

“Let’s just say tales of Cassian’s talents have not been exaggerated.”

Feyre grinned impossibly wider, giggling like a schoolgirl. And while Elain was more modest about it, she could see the tiny smile pulling at her lips too.

Before Nesta could help it, she smiled back.

---

Cassian was entirely too smug as he sat with Rhys in his study, Mor sitting across from him. Ever since he discovered what was going on between Azriel and Gwyn, there was little that could happen to sway his mood any other direction.

“I take it your little vacation was beneficial?” Rhys asked with a smirk.

“Oh please,” Cassian said. “As if I would give you the satisfaction of details.”

Rhys scoffed but relented.

“Besides,” Cassian continued, “I have something far more important to discuss.”

“Don’t tell me Nesta wants to get pregnant already,” Mor said. “I can’t handle two pregnant Archerons.”

Something eased in Cassian’s chest at the lack of harsh remark that came from the blonde. Her eyes had been kind when they entered, and though she didn’t speak to Nesta, that tension that usually hung in the air was…less.

“No,” Cassian answered. “No children for a while. It’s more interesting, Rhysie lost a bet.”

Rhys’ brows raised, but the realization dawned on him quickly.

“I feel as though I was at an unfair disadvantage, seeing as I don’t have the opportunity of pillowtalk with Nesta.”

Cassian grinned at him, even as Mor perked up.

“What bet?” She said. “And why wasn’t I included?”

“Azriel and one of Nesta’s friends, the Priestess from Sangravah. Rhys was foolish enough to bet that he could figure out what was going on before I could. As of this afternoon, he was wrong.”

“You can’t just leave it at that,” Mor cried. “What about Azriel and this Priestess?”

“Let’s just say there’s a reason for our impromptu visit.”

Mor’s eyes widened, but a smile tugged on her lips, a genuine sort of happiness at the idea of Azriel finding someone to give him what he deserved. It was a widely shared sentiment.

“Oh, and Rhys,” Cassian said, pushing to his feet to go and speed dinner preparations along, “Nesta says you owe her a book review before you can call her your friend.”

Rhys’ eyes narrowed, indicating that his brother and mate clearly had a conversation about whatever that meant before. Perhaps that would be the next thing he got out of her.

Treading down the hallway, he heard footsteps behind him and the familiar sensation of Mor’s arm looping through his, a silent request. He obliged, pausing as soon as he could see the three sisters out one of the large back windows, chatting peacefully.

“We haven’t talked much, since Nesta went up to the House,” Mor said quietly. “I hope it hasn’t been too strenuous on you.”

“It’s been more strenuous on her,” Cassian replied. “I’m only sorry we didn’t get our heads out of our assess sooner.”

Mor hummed, contemplatively. “She was cruel, barbed, it wasn’t easy.”

“I know,” Cassian said. “But there was more to it than that, and you know it.”

“I do,” Mor said. “And I do feel for her, I can’t imagine what it must be like. But my worry is always for you first, for us. I guess I just don’t want to lose you.”

“I’m not yours to lose,” Cassian commented. “Not in that way, not anymore. But as your best friend, you’ll never have to worry about that. You know I love you Mor, I would never stop being your family. Besides, I think we both know that, with recent developments, you may not require me anymore anyway.”

Mor was quiet for several seconds, watching as Feyre tipped her head back to laugh loudly at something Nesta said.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “For all of it.”

Cassian offered her smile. “I forgive you. So long as you live the way you want, the way you haven’t been. And so long as we apologize to Azriel, too.”

Mor nodded, offering him a small smile of her own. “Preferably after he finishes what ever he’s doing up there.”

It was Cassian’s turn to laugh. “I’m certainly not going to disturb him now. Gwyneth Berdara might kill me.”

Mor’s smile grew, and he felt her ease, just slightly.

“Are you happy?” She finally asked, turning her brown eyes up to his.

Cassian nodded. “With Nesta? Yes. More than I ever thought I would be, with anyone.”

Mor nodded, seeming to come to her own decision.

 “I promise to be kinder to her,” she said. “To give her a chance.”

“Thank you,” he answered, and that was enough.

---

And the following morning, when he woke next to Nesta only to find her sitting up in bed, reading a letter that was several pages in length, written in what was distinctly Rhys’ handwriting, he felt entirely at peace.

Chapter Text

Being Nesta Archeron’s mate was something Cassian prided himself on being good at. Even if it had only been a few weeks since she’d learned of the bond, since he’d begged her to believe him when he said he’d loved her regardless of whether it existed or not, he felt as though he was quickly learning the ins and outs of what made her who she was, what she needed but didn’t ask for, what she liked best and what she hated.

But even if he knew how she liked her tea and how many pillows she usually slept with, there was little to prepare him for the full impact of her condition, how all consuming it was. He’d known, of course, that the episodes she’d experience were intense and unrelenting, that it could take days afterwards for her to return to what she considered to be her “normal self.” But he hadn’t known about the stiffness she experienced when she woke up every morning, the way she preplanned how much energy she’d spend on her activities for the day, or how sometimes her appetite would be completely nonexistent, even if the traumas in her mind were quiet.

He didn’t know about the way her mind would be foggy, how sometimes, despite her frustratingly brilliant mind, there’d be days where she needed longer to process things he’d say to her, where she’d forget words of her own or what she was doing. The impact her condition had on the mind was startling to watch, not in the least when he could see her irritation with it, her embarrassment, but he could do nothing to help her. It was a struggle everyone was dealing with, who was close to her, learning how to help without making it worse or making her feel helpless. Feyre and Elain adapted quickly, though relations between the three sisters had never been perfect, but for those of them who’d always been fae, the learning curve was steep.

Out of all of them, Rhys seemed to be best at knowing what Nesta was trying to say when she couldn’t organize her thoughts properly or how to repeat what he was saying when she didn’t immediately comprehend it the first time. Cassian attributed it to his daemati abilities, but in truth he knew his brother had the inherent trait of patience, of adaptability, of never judging a person he cared about based on something physical. After the mysterious book review – which Nesta still hadn’t let him read – the pair had been slowly figuring out what peace looked like between them, mainly through whatever reading Rhys had been required to do to earn her friendship and sharing tea over the past three days they’d all spent together as a family, planning a mission to Illyria to evaluate the latest disturbances.

As for Azriel, the bastard, Nesta had insisted they wait before inquiring what exactly they’d walked in on the other day. Far more patient, his mate, but even though Cassian complained, she asserted that she would find out, at the right time. Besides, there was something humorous about watching Azriel and Gwyn interact with each other and the rest of the House as if they weren’t allegedly doing scandalous activities when no one else was here. Every once in a while, he’d catch Azriel’s eyes following the Priestess, or vice versa, but over the past three days since he and Nesta returned from their impromptu getaway, the pair had been nothing but platonic in front of prying eyes.

Instead, Cassian spent most of his time learning from them when it came to these kinds of lifelong ailments. Watching how often Azriel flexed his hands or spending an afternoon with Gwyn learning the ins and outs of the salve she made for his housemates. He asked questions, mainly to assure himself that Nesta’s condition wasn’t fatal, and both had appeased him, even if Azriel was reluctant about acknowledging that he’d dealt with his own chronic pains largely in secret for the last five centuries.

But even with all the effort he put in, all the learning he’d spent the last few days doing, Nesta’s first all-consuming episode still caught him off guard.

“Nesta, are you listening?”

Nesta’s head lifted from where she’d been staring at some scroll Amren presented her on the Trove, to meet Feyre’s gaze across the table. Cassian could see the lack of realization in her eyes, revealing that she hadn’t heard or recognized her sister’s words. His chest tightened.

But before she could open her mouth to apologize, to admit her weakness, Rhys was already talking. His words were slower, and he held her eyes.

“Cassian’s sword, from the Prison. Do you remember doing anything specific to it?”

Nesta blinked, and he resisted the urge to rest a hand on her shoulder.

“No,” she said after a moment. “I just picked it up.”

Amren, who stood at the other end, hummed thoughtfully. “Whatever power you tapped into, girl, seems to have remade the thing entirely. Perhaps you took more from the Cauldron than first thought.”

Nesta didn’t reply, but her discomfort was evident at being linked to the object. This time, Cassian did touch her, settling behind her to rest his hands on her shoulders. He could feel the tension in the muscles there, so intense he almost hissed.

“Either way, we have a magical sword in our possession. I’m interested to see if you can make more.”

“More?” Nesta asked, and he tugged on the bond, just enough to send his own affection to her.

Rhys nodded. “More weapons. If you picked up a weapon every time Cassian got his ass handed to him, we may have our own arsenal.”

Cassian narrowed his eyes at his brother, even as Feyre and Azriel let out a laugh. Nesta flicked her eyes up to him and said in that quiet little murmur of hers,

“I’m sorry I ruined your sword.”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss her head. “You didn’t,” he replied, just as softly. “You upgraded it, sweetheart. Now I can be even more intimidating on the battlefield.”

“That’s only if she lets you use it,” Azriel commented. “She could keep it to threaten you with the next time you’re an idiot.”

As the room devolved into more laughter, Cassian felt the way her shoulders hunched up, just a little. It was the noise, he’d learned, that would start to irritate her first. Squeezing gently, he dug his thumb into the base of her neck, in hopes to ease her.

“He may have to, if the reports from Illyria hold weight,” Rhys said. “If it’s not the same unrest it usually is, it very well could be Briallyn making a move for our own men.”

“But why?” Feyre asked. “Aren’t the Autumn Court soldiers enough?”

“It would give her an in,” Azriel said. “Having a foothold in Illyria grants her closer access to us. She likely knows that Cassian will be the first to respond to any incident, leaving an opening.”

“An opening for what? The Trove?” Feyre followed up.

“For me,” Nesta said quietly. And a wave of fierce protectiveness fell over him at the thought. “She wants revenge for…” she paused, searching for her words. Feyre’s brows furrowed in concern, even as Rhys and Azriel’s expressions didn’t change. “For what happened,” she eventually settled, and Cassian pulled back from her to get a cup of tea, intent on mixing her tonics into it.

“Then why isn’t she also targeting Elain?”

“Elain isn’t the one hunting the Trove,” Rhys answered. With a wave of a hand, tea appeared for the rest of them as Cassian sat down a cup for Nesta, and he wondered if it was an effort to make her feel less scrutinized.

“But we still don’t know for sure that is what’s happening in Illyria,” he added. “Small factions have gone off in the past to discuss various disagreements. It wouldn’t be unheard of.”

“Usually, I hear of it,” Azriel said. “All I’ve gotten from my networks is confusion.”

“If it’s politically motivated, the males will still do their daily duties. They usually only meet at night and return the next morning,” Cassian offered, watching the subtle tremble of Nesta’s hands as she lifted her cup.

“Unless they’re getting bolder,” Amren said. “They could be planning a strike.”

Cassian shook his head. He knew his people, knew what the patterns looked like before a strike. This wasn’t that. This was different.

“We won’t know until we see for ourselves,” he said. “Rhys, Azriel, and I will go tomorrow, to talk to Devlon. We’ll get an answer.”

Azriel nodded, always stoically moody about going to Illyria, even on a good day.

“Until then,” Rhys said, and Cassian realized his eyes also followed Nesta’s movements. It was such a subtle tremor, but it was there. “We should all get as much rest as we can.”

---

They’d been going on twelve hours now.

Twelve hours of trying desperately to soothe Nesta’s pain, to regulate the temperature of her body, but nothing was working. The tonics, while taking a little edge off, hadn’t relieved her of the tremors, the way her muscles were wound tighter than any coil, her inability to keep any food or drink in her stomach. Cassian had spent most of the rest of the day and night holding her hair as she threw up everything in her system or running the softest cloth he could find over her skin.

He’d thought he’d seen the worst of it, when he’d found her that day in the bathroom, or when she’d been ill, but apparently those had all been within the realm of what she considered standard. Apparently, he’d never seen what the worst of it looked like, despite the gut-wrenching moments he’d sat through before. The truth crashed down on him brutally, that even with all the effort he’d put in to be as prepared as possible, he’d had no idea what his mate went through when the worst of her ailments came out to wreak havoc.

Even his touch hurt her, so much so that he’d resorted to sitting on the floor beside the bed, only holding the tips of her fingers, as she sweated through the sheets. Nesta had assured him, over and over, that she knew how to handle it, that she would be fine, but watching tears roll down her cheeks and hearing the soft whimpers she’d occasionally let slip from her lips did little to ease his concern. In all his life, he’d never felt so helpless. She’d gone to bed not long after their meeting, when the light and noise grew too uncomfortable, but it wasn’t until later in the evening that she’d woken him by practically falling out of the bed to make it to the bathroom. At the time, he’d thought himself ready to help, that they’d be back in bed in a matter of an hour or so. He’d been wrong.

To make matters worse, the time to go to Illyria had come, and the sun was already peaking up over the horizon.

It had been about an hour since they’d settled Nesta back into bed after trying for the third time to find relief in the bath, and she wore nothing but the sheets that remained bunched around her waist. He was thankful, at least, that his first experience with this was after they’d learned every inch of each other, that she didn’t feel the need to be clad in extra fabric for the sake of propriety. Because this went beyond any notions of such a thing. This was pain, real and all consuming, and everything else mattered little in comparison to her desire to find relief.

He’d known it wasn’t pretty before, but he never understood it properly until now. Until she’d practically sobbed into his arm as he held her steady in the bath that was cold as ice, her terror battling her pain at being in the enclosed space. Until they spent time afterwards on the floor, letting her rest on the tiles, too miserable to move. Had he been able to touch her more deliberately, he’d have taken her up into the sky, to cool her that way, but his skin was just too warm, and everything hurt too much.

And even though his departure for Illyria was looming, he’d only been able to put on the basics of his leathers before he was back at her side, unable to tear himself away from her for too long, even if she insisted, he could. For hours now, she couldn’t move, couldn’t be touched, but all he’d wanted to do was hold her until the pain went away, to make it go away. Instead, he just had to watch. It was maddening and heartbreaking at the same time, in the worst way.

Nesta’s breathing had slowed, the first sign of any kind of settling from the past few hours, and she had her face buried into the pillow, her hair half haphazardly pulled away from her neck. He’d learned that putting it up caused too much tension on her neck, but leaving it down did little to soothe the fire in her veins. They’d had to settle for somewhere in between. Suddenly, the days he would find her in her apartment with her hair half out of its updo made more sense.

He didn’t know how many tonics he could give her, but it had taken three over the course of the last day to get her to this point of relative stillness. But even now, her discomfort was so acute he could feel it in his own chest, the bond yanking at him, warning him that his mate was in distress. If only he could tell the Mother that, while he was more than aware, there was little he could do to fix it.

“I wish I could take this from you,” he murmured, brushing the pads of his fingers over her own. “I wish it was me instead.”

Nesta shifted, just slightly, enough that he could see one of her eyes, the corner of her mouth. Her fingers flexed lightly against his own.

“I would never let you,” she whispered back, her voice far too quiet and weak for what he’d long associated her with.

It was a good sign, though. She’d been incoherent since he’d put her to bed, unable to put the energy into forming words. She hadn’t even said goodbye to their family, merely standing at his side as they departed. At the worst of it, he hadn’t even been sure she’d comprehended anything he said.

“What did I miss?” he asked. “What can I do, to prevent this?”

Nesta’s lips quirked, just slightly, and her hand lifted, fingers catching on the stubble of his cheek. He couldn’t resist the urge to turn his head, to press his lips to the tips of them.

“Nothing,” she said. “Sometimes, it just is.”

Cassian shook his head. To him, that sounded like a load of utter bullshit. There had to be something, in this all-powerful world they lived in, there had to be something that made sure this never happened again. A tonic, a spell, anything.

Suddenly, a soft, tentative presence brushed his mind, and he felt the pressure of the rising sun on his back so fiercely it nearly burned.

I know it’s bad, Rhys said. But we have to go, Cassian. If the unrest in Illyria has something to do with Briallyn, we have to know.

Cassian watched the way Nesta closed her eyes again, content to let him hold her hand, even just slightly. She’d warned him that sometimes all they could do was let her body tire itself out, let her sleep it off. He wished they’d achieved that before now.

I can’t leave her like this, Cassian asserted back to his brother. I can’t, Rhys.

I know, Rhys said, and he could hear the empathy in his voice, though it did little to ease his frustrations. I know exactly what you’re feeling. But we have a duty to the Court. The Illyrians need you.

“Go on,” Nesta murmured, as if she’d been included in the conversation. “You have a job to do.”

Don’t you dare use her to convince me, he growled at his brother, rage simmering in his chest so quickly his own blood boiled.

But Rhys was quick to push back, asserting, Cassian, I would never do that. We discussed the final details of the mission yesterday, remember? Nesta’s mind is stronger than you think, even like this. Don’t belittle that by assuming I did something.

Cassian closed his eyes and let out a breath. He was right, they had gone over the plans in meticulous detail for this trip for well over two hours. Nesta’s fingers shifted, grasping his more deliberately.   

“Cass,” Nesta whispered, and he opened his eyes again to assess her. “Go.”

“I can’t,” he whispered back. “I can’t let you suffer alone, sweetheart, I promised you.”

 She let out a soft sound of acknowledgement. “I’m not alone,” she eventually said.

Cassian wanted to tell her that, even if the House was some kind of magical being, it wasn’t the same as having him here, of having anyone here. With Feyre’s due date looming, she rarely left the River House, and Elain and Nesta, well…they’d had yet to be alone together since this all began. It was always with Feyre, or with him.

I’ll have you back by sundown, Rhys said. I promise, brother. Nesta is safe in Velaris.

“Gwyn said she’d be here this morning,” Nesta reminded him, and he tried to remember the conversation where that had been established. But ever since Nesta had stopped functioning on her own, nothing else mattered.

For several seconds, Cassian deliberated. It was so immensely frustrating, having to choose. Of course, he was loyal to his Court and his people. Their safety meant everything to him. But he was also loyal to his mate. The female he loved. And she’d suffered in silence for so long, he couldn’t bear the thought of her doing it again.

“You should at least let me get Madja first,” he said to her, lifting a hand to gently move strands of hair off her forehead. “Maybe she can give you something stronger.”

But Nesta shook her head just slightly. “Sometimes, all you can do is sleep,” she mumbled. “Let me.”

Cassian’s brows furrowed, entirely dissatisfied with that answer. But before he could push her, there was a soft knock on the door, and Gwyn peaked her head in. Meeting her gaze, they exchanged enough information that she moved back into the hall, waiting for him.

“Maybe…” he started, trying desperately to find something light to push him forward, to make his body move, despite the way his throat was quickly becoming tight. Brushing his thumb lightly over her hairline, he said, “maybe you can convince Gwyn to tell you what’s going on with Azriel, yeah? And you can report back to me later.”

It took her a moment, but a smirk spread across her lips, and she opened her eyes again to show the small amount of mischief swirling within them, despite the pain.

“Only if you go,” she said, and Cassian let out a heaving sigh.

“Alright,” he said, though the words tasted like ash. “Alright, sweetheart, but I’ll be back by sundown, okay? Or else you can have Rhys’ head.”

She let out a single, soft huff, indicating her acceptance, and he leaned back, placing another kiss on her fingers before drawing the sheet up her torso. Rising to his feet, he donned the rest of his leathers before he opened the door, meeting Gwyn in the hall.

She looked as though she’d just woken, even if she was dressed, and he wondered, briefly, if she’d actually left the House at all last night to return to the Library.

“I have some salves that are stronger than what she usually uses,” Gwyn said to him. “I’ll get her to sleep and once she wakes, we’ll figure something out in ways of food. She’ll be alright, General.”

Cassian shifted, still hesitant. “She values her privacy, she doesn’t like to be seen like this,” he said, and though Gwyn gave him a look that was just shy of exasperated, she replied,

“I know. This isn’t the first time I’ve helped my friend when she’s in need. We’ll be fine until you get back.”

“Alright,” he relented, rubbing the back of his neck. “But make sure she knows I’ll be back tonight. Please?”

Gwyn smiled, all too knowingly. “Of course,” she said, before she pushed him aside and made her way into the room. Cassian watched the easy way she approached the bed, her soft voice lilting through the air as she spoke to his mate. He stared until Rhys pressed in his mind again, a reminder, and he forced himself to move towards the balcony, where he wasn’t surprised to find the High Lord already waiting.

His brother didn’t comment on the fact that he almost certainly looked exhausted, but instead merely offered him a sympathetic smile.

Cassian didn’t return it as they shot off into the sky.

---

Nesta was well and truly miserable, in a way she hadn’t been since this all started. These massive episodes only came every once and a while, but when they did, it was overwhelming, suffocating, and with the added pressure of the Cauldron’s curse it was all she could do not to beg someone to simply end it.

What was worse, was that she could feel Cassian’s devastation in this new bond, his frustration. She’d never mention it, of course, but it weighed heavily on her, that she couldn’t ease it. It was, after all, her own fault. But she was content with knowing she successfully got him to yield, to go do his duty, and as she heard the door shut behind her, she closed her eyes, body teetering on the edge of exhaustion and agony.

The fresh, beautiful scent of Gwyneth Berdara filled the room as her friend replaced her mate, and it was her cool hand that had her eyes fluttering back open to assess the Priestess.

“Hey,” Gwyn said softly, a small smile on her face. “I have some stronger stuff that may help. Will it hurt too much if I put it on for you?”

Nesta shook her head, determined to withstand any discomfort if it yielded relief afterwards. Gwyn settled herself behind her on the bed, pulling the sheet just enough to have access to the network of knots and tension over her shoulders and neck.

“He said he’d be back by sundown,” Gwyn commented, her hands cool and smooth on her skin. “Made me promise to tell you. Like a sad dog, your mate.”

Nesta hummed, the minty scent of whatever she was putting on her back filling her nose.

“You’re here early,” she croaked, cringing at the hoarseness of her voice.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Gwyn replied, smoothing out Nesta’s hair on the pillow. “Azriel told me you were in a bad way, so I figured I’d come early.”

“When did you see Azriel?” Nesta asked, more than willing to use all her energy, if it meant getting the truth, she and Cassian had been desperate for.

“Oh,” Gwyn said, in a slightly surprised tone. “Just…this morning, I was getting air out on the terrace.”

“Gwyn,” Nesta said, and the Priestess froze in her movements. “I may be ill, but you are a terrible liar. Your voice goes up an entire octave.”

She could practically feel the way her friend’s skin flushed, and she only wished she could move properly, to see it on her face.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she murmured, settling into the pillows some more as the sensation of the salves offered some desperately needed relief.

Gwyn was quiet for a few moments, still seated on the mattress beside her. She was quiet for so long that Nesta was just starting to doze, until she whispered,

“We’ve been spending some time together. Just taking it slow. He’s been…sweet, and kind. Much gentler than his reputation suggests.”

Nesta hummed in agreement, well aware of the soft care Azriel offered the people he loved. Just yesterday, his shadows had been swirling along the back of her neck and over her arms, concerned about her wellbeing. She’d survived most of the meeting with their family by watching the way they’d go back and forth between him and her, likely murmuring about her condition. They did the same with Feyre.

“I think…” Gwyn said, but stopped, fiddling with the sheet she’d draped back over Nesta’s shoulder. “I think I might love him. But I’m only telling you this because you’re sick and there’s no way you’ll remember when you wake up.”

If Nesta could laugh, she would have cackled. Instead, she lifted a heavy arm, reaching back until Gwyn clasped her hand with her own, squeezing gently.

If that’s what she needed to tell herself, Nesta would happily oblige.

---

Twelve missing. There were twelve Illyrian soldiers missing. They’d all been present the last time Cassian had been to Windhaven, and none of them gave any inclination about anything being amiss. But as he and Rhys arrived, they were met with angry families, with Devlon, asking what they had done to them. Where they had sent them. It made Cassian sick, to know that this is what their relationship had come to.

“I’m fearing the worst,” Rhys said, eyes distant as he scanned for the minds of the men they lost. “We couldn’t bring back Eris’ soldiers, I can’t say I have hope for our own.”

“We need to prepare to take out that crone,” Amren commented beside him. “Nesta could probably do it in one blow, if she had the energy.”

“We can’t put it all on Nesta,” Rhys pushed, and Cassian raised a brow at his defense. “She’s already found two items of the Trove for us, and she’s healing. We pushed her too far already; I fear the consequences if we do so again.”

“It’s not like we haven’t seen the worst of what the girl resorts to,” Amren replied.

“That’s not what I meant,” Rhys said. “I don’t want to force her to exert herself if she doesn’t want to, or if she shouldn’t. There’s no reason for us not to try and take some of the pressure off. We still don’t know if the Cauldron will continue to make her condition worse, or if it will stay this way.”

The idea that Nesta could get any worse than how he’d left her this morning left Cassian frozen to his core. How much worse could it get before they had to start fearing the worst?

“She is suffering this morning, then?” Amren asked, and Cassian furrowed his brows at her increased interest. And, more frankly, her lack of criticism.

“She is,” Cassian commented coolly. “Though I’m surprised you care.”

“It was never that I didn’t care,” Amren snapped. “I’m just not used to such…weaknesses. It’s not as if Nesta isn’t already known to be-”

A growl rumbled out of Cassian’s chest, earning an unimpressed look from the Second.

“I think the only thing we know for certain is that Nesta is anything but weak,” Rhys said. “What Amren means to say is that she’s spent some time learning what it means to not be an all-powerful ancient being and is trying to connect more to us mere peasants.”

“I’m surprised you’ve found the time,” Cassian said. “Between your research and your impromptu trips to Adriata to lounge in a certain Prince’s bed.”

Amren growled at him this time, but he only grinned back. He’d long been subject to Amren’s harsh words, but now that he was well within his rights to protect his mate, he wouldn’t stop himself from resorting to a few of his own.

She is trying, brother, Rhys said into his mind. She knows to be on her best behavior.

“You’ve also spent a good amount of time lazing around in someone’s bed yourself, bastard prince.”

Rhys scoffed, but amusement tugged on his lips. His brother always was entertained by cat fights.

“There isn’t much lazing in our bed, thank you very much. If that’s all you’re doing with Varian, you might want to consider looking elsewhere.”

“And that’s enough for me,” Rhys said. “You two work out whatever this is, I’m going to find Azriel, where he won’t torment me with graphic imagery.”

“As if we aren’t all subject to your own promiscuity, boy,” Amren snapped, grinning at him as he walked away.

Cassian sighed, wishing they’d pressed Azriel for answers already about what was going on with Gwyneth Berdara. Rhys wouldn’t be able to pull the escape card so easily if their promiscuity was public.

“You keep her satisfied, do you?” Amren suddenly asked, returning his thoughts to the present.

Turning his head, he evaluated the female carefully. “I have my talents,” he replied. “But I care more about keeping her happy than merely satisfied. She deserves that.”

“Well, isn’t she lucky. Though I haven’t seen anyone succeed at making Nesta Archeron happy.”

“Probably because you’ve never tried,” Cassian said. “It is a breathtaking sight, I assure you.”

Amren hummed skeptically. “You fae and your mates will do nothing but drive me up a wall. The bonds are nothing but good for getting each other killed.”

“You are fae too now, oh tiny ancient one. You may as well take notes.”

Amren scoffed. “My current methods are sufficient, thank you. How you intend to meet Nesta’s high standards, on the other hand, remains to be seen. I wonder how long it will be before she finds someone in a tavern to replace you.”

“Your lack of knowledge about her speaks volumes,” Cassian said. “We have all failed Nesta in one way or another, but you, Amren, have failed her on another level entirely. You were the one person she felt safe enough around to speak with, and you dropped her as soon as she hit a wall with her magic. There’s more to life than power, I thought the entire point of you coming to this world was to experience that.”

“Nesta made her choices, I made mine. I don’t know why I should suddenly pity her just because the rest of you do.”

“Nesta did things that hurt this family, but not because she is a bad person. She is hurting and traumatized in ways we ignored. Our self-righteousness did little to help fix things, and we get nowhere if we refuse to be humble and forgive each other. If you won’t forgive Nesta until she impales herself at your feet, I’m sorry to say you’ll be cold and bitter for a long while.”

Amren was quiet for a moment, contemplating.

“Nesta has not come to me,” she said. “If she wants to mend things, I am not opposed. But she has not made an effort.”

Cassian’s blood boiled, and it took every ounce of his composure not to scream. “Nesta is in a House she can’t leave and, as of this morning, bedridden. You, on the other hand, are perfectly capable of going to her yourself. If I told her you were waiting for her to come to you, she would. But I won’t because she doesn’t need to always be the person coming to us, especially just to hear our displeasure. If you care at all, you can go to her. But if you go just to tell her that you view her as weak and useless, I don’t care what position you hold in this Court, Amren, I will have justice.”

“Fine,” she said after another tense moment of silence, but added nothing further. Cassian didn’t particularly care, and began to follow after Rhys, to see if Azriel had found anything, to get his mind off the rage burning him. Before he got too far, Amren called,

“I will come to your mate. When she is well. Despite what you may believe, General, I do not wish her to spend her life suffering. A witch of her caliber should not be confined to such a fate.”

On that, Cassian couldn’t disagree.

---

It had taken several hours for Rhys to convince Devlon they weren’t at fault for the men’s disappearance, and Azriel was still out scouting when the sun was beginning to set. But his brother had been true to his word, and with the promise that they would get to the bottom of things he winnowed them back to Velaris just as the last dregs of light slipped behind the mountains.

Both of them landed on the balcony of the House of Wind exhausted, and Cassian was surprised to find lights on inside. His heart warmed as they entered the large double doors to find Nesta comfortable on the couch, Gwyn beside her. Her hair was in a loose braid over her shoulder, and she was wrapped in a warm sweater that had been pulled on over one of her long silk nightgowns. She was breathtakingly beautiful, so much so that he paused, causing Rhys to run into him.  

Nesta looked up at their entrance and rose to greet them, ever the polite host, even if this wasn’t exactly her home. Cassian offered her a tired smile, aware of the privilege she was offering to let both him and Rhys see her so dressed down.

“I expected you later,” she said, and though exhaustion was apparent in her own voice, she sounded like herself, soothing the part of him that had been sick with worry all day.

Cassian held out an arm, pulling her in enough to press a kiss to her hair. Her skin was still warmer than what most considered normal, but she didn’t show any pain in her face. But he could feel the residual soreness in his chest, the depleted energy.

“Azriel will be gone for a while, I’m afraid,” Rhys said, smiling politely at Gwyn. “But I did promise this one I’d get him back before sundown.”  

Cassian didn’t miss the way something close to amusement flickered in Nesta’s eyes, and despite the heaviness weighing on him, it made a tiny smile tug at his lips. Clearly, she’d taken up his suggestion from this morning. The Priestess offered Rhys a kind smile of her own and turned to give Nesta a kiss on the cheek. Without fanfare, she took her leave, returning to the Library, aware that the conversation that followed was likely something bound to the confines of the Inner Circle.

“Is it that bad?” Nesta asked after she left, shifting as they moved towards the dining room, where the House was keeping dinner warm. Clearly, she hadn’t worked up the appetite to eat yet.

“We still aren’t sure,” Cassian answered. “But I do think something worse is at play, like we feared. Twelve of my soldiers are missing, none of whom I would ever question. I’m afraid something like what’s happening in Autumn is happening in Windhaven.”

Nesta’s lips pursed, and she stood with her arms loosely hugging each other as he and Rhys sat at the table. She watched them for a few moments, content to let the House serve them a late dinner, before she joined. More tension eased from his chest as she picked at some fruit, even if he and Rhys tucked into a full meal.

“I suppose we should have another conversation with Eris Vanserra. See if he’s learned anything of note about his own soldiers.”

Cassian cocked his head at his brother. “Don’t tell me you’re about to invite him to Velaris.”

“Of course not,” Rhys said. “But a visit to the Court of Nightmares may be in order.” Turning to assess Nesta, he asked,

“I don’t suppose you’ve had any other strange dreams about the Trove.”

Nesta shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Though I do wonder how you plan on convincing Vanserra to come to your aid. I thought you were something of adversaries. You’ll need something to coax him.”

“That’s certainly a word for it,” Cassian muttered, and Rhys smiled ruefully.

“Are you offering to charm him for us, sister?”

Cassian’s head snapped to assess his mate. The thought of Nesta doing anything related to Eris Vanserra made him sick and furious at the same time. As if she could sense it, she flicked him a warning look.

“I was known for certain talents, before,” she said. “It may be useful to you, if Autumn Court boys know how to dance.”

Cassian narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t think I want you dancing with Eris of all males,” he said.

Nesta cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t believe it is up to you.”

Rhys let out a soft laugh.

I don’t know why you even tried, brother. She’s an Archeron.

“I suppose I could send an invite, and we’ll see what happens. Of course, he’ll likely be able to recognize the bond between the two of you, but Eris has never been one for tradition. If you can charm him, even for a moment, it may be to our advantage.”

Cassian let out a long sigh, but the pair of smirks his mate and brother shared eased his irritation, only because it was such a new development. Changing the subject, he asked,

“So, sweetheart, did you obtain the coveted information we seek?”

A true smile tugged on her lips then, and the bond warmed him from the tips of his ears to his feet.

“They’re taking it slow,” she said. “But, more often than not, I’d wager we have an extra housemate down the hall.”

Across the table, Rhys grinned, as if he was both overjoyed at the gossip and at being included in the conversation.

“You should tell her they don’t have to hide it from us,” Cassian said. “We won’t tease if they aren’t comfortable.”

“I won’t tease lovely Gwyneth,” Rhys countered. “But Azriel is fair game.”

Nesta smirked, but it was clear she wasn’t up for long conversation, even if she was much better than before, so they wrapped up their impromptu meal quickly, everyone intent on getting some rest. Cassian had been prepared to escort Rhys outside, to let Nesta go back to bed in peace, but his brother stopped to place a kiss on her cheek, giving her a proper goodbye rather than what had historically been wordless partings. Her surprise was still a bit evident, but she offered him a tiny smile before he departed, anxious to get back to his own mate.

There was something deeply satisfying about the way the energy shifted once he and Nesta were alone, the comfort and contentment they’d created in their time together. Approaching her as the House dimmed the lights, he cupped her face, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“I’m still sorry to have left you,” he said, brushing his nose along her hairline as she rested her hands on his forearms.

“You have a duty, Cassian,” she said. “I’ve managed by myself for a long time. I’ll be fine when your responsibility pulls you away.”

“I don’t want you to have to manage by yourself,” he replied. “You’ve done it too much already.”

“No one has ever mother henned me quite as you,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve survived, haven’t I?”

Cassian let out a breath, resting their foreheads together. “You have,” he relented. “But that doesn’t mean someone shouldn’t have cared for you.”

“You care for me now,” she murmured. “That’s enough for me. Besides, I’m not exactly someone who welcomes other people’s care.”

He kissed her softly then, relieved that he finally could. “Don’t say that. Did Gwyn’s salves help? Did you eat?”

“I was only up for about an hour before you arrived,” she said. “I’m not that hungry.”

“I hated seeing you like that,” he admitted, though he knew it likely wasn’t the best thing to say. “I hadn’t realized it was so…”

“Awful?” She supplied, and he shook his head, drawing her close.

“I knew it was awful,” he said. “I just think I wasn’t prepared to actually see it, the whole thing. I wasn’t lying when I said I wished I could take it from you.”

“And I wasn’t lying when I said I’d never let you. It always fades, in the end, even if it feels like it won’t. Better for me to bear it than you, who has actual importance.”

Not for the first time, he was amazed both by his mate’s resilience and her disregard for her own value.

“I’m not the one keeping two all-magical objects under wards,” he said. “Or wielding them, for that matter.”

“You still haven’t picked up your sword?” She asked. “I really did ruin it, didn’t I?”

Cassian laughed, shaking his head. “You didn’t ruin it. I told you, Nes, you upgraded it. I’m not sure I exactly need it for everyday activities anymore. I’ve started practicing with it in the mornings, its like learning a whole new weapon.”

“I’m sorry,” she said with a cringe.

“Don’t be,” he said. “Whenever I lift it, I just feel you. Makes me feel safer, seeing as you reacted so strongly when I got my ass kicked.”

Nesta scoffed, but it only drew out another chuckle from him.

“Let’s get you back to bed, my love,” he suggested, softly. “I can feel how tired you still are.”

“You haven’t told me about your day,” Nesta countered, settling her hands on his chest. “I can feel your exhaustion, too.”

Cassian let out a long sigh, running a hand up her back so he could hold her against him, her head settling on his shoulder.

“If my men are lost, the same way Eris’ soldiers were,” he said after a moment, “then it will be another instance in which I failed them. It’s my job to keep them safe.”

“It’s not your job to predict the future,” Nesta said. “There was no knowing that this would happen. And besides, if they were taken from their homes, there’s not much safer of a place for them to have been. It’s not your fault.”

Cassian pressed a kiss to her hair, closing his eyes.

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” he murmured. “I don’t know what I would do if Briallyn got her hands on you.”

Nesta shifted to look up at him, her eyes bright in the dim light.

“I do,” she said, and the corner of her lips tilted upwards. “You’d come get me.”

Pushing up onto her toes, she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

 “Of that, I have no doubt.”

Chapter Text

Nesta didn’t think she would ever get used to having a mate. Not in the least one as protective and possessive as Cassian.

From the moment Rhys announced Eris Vanserra would be coming to the Court of Nightmares, he had not taken his hands off her. Every chance he got, he was touching her, kissing her, claiming her. Despite the fact that she had no intentions of doing anything but charm the Autumn lordling, Cassian had been ravenous in a way that she hadn’t experienced, even in that bungalow where they’d spent hours and hours in bed. And, despite herself, she couldn’t say she was any better.

She let out a soft, content sigh, resting her cheek in her arms on the silk pillow, muscles relaxing as his lips trailed along her spine. The warmth of his hands was pleasant against her ribcage, her back, as they slid over her skin.

He hadn’t been overbearing in his behavior, hadn’t treated her like his property or killed the first male who looked at her, as she’d heard some mates do, but rather had worshipped her, had wanted the entire world to know that he was hers and she was his, that any harm to her must first go through him. He was devoted in a way she didn’t know how to comprehend, and in the times like this, when they were alone, he demonstrated it in the most exhilarating of ways.

“Cass,” she breathed as his hands dug into the muscles at the base of her spine, his movements slow and deliberate as he trailed kisses down the curve of her back until he was dangerously close to where she wanted him most.

She’d been lounging on top of the sheets when he found her, freshly bathed yet unbothered to dress, with how early it still was. Cassian had only come back from training a few minutes ago and had been enraptured by her ever since.

“Keep calling me that, and we’ll never leave this bed,” his low voice came quietly, full of promise.

Nesta’s lips quirked against their place against her arms, body humming with her desire for him. She didn’t always have the energy for rough lovemaking in the mornings, usually favoring a slow, easy start to her day, but he hadn’t seemed to mind, instead taking pleasure in how languid she could be, how easy it was to draw her up into his arms and take her slowly, deeply, unbothered by the rest of the world.

“We have things to do today,” she reminded, and in response his hands slid lower, until two fingers slid into her core, drawing a low, content sound from her throat.

“Eris Vanserra can wait a century, for all I care,” he commented, his hand moving almost lazily. “This is much more worthwhile.”

She let out a breathy laugh, even as her hips began to roll in time with his movements, creating the perfect sort of friction between her and the mattress. Cassian’s fingers curled as his other hand settled firmly on her hip, halting her. It was a delightful pressure, not too hard yet assertive, a silent demand she stayed still.

“Maybe I’ll just have to take you again, while we’re there. So, he knows whose mate he gets to dance with.”

“I doubt it will be a mystery,” she said, biting her lip to stifle a whimper as his lips followed his fingers, teasing. “Cassian, by the gods.”

He laughed, a dark sinful thing that had her dangling on the edge, her fingers digging into the pillow beneath them.

“You want to finish, Nes?” He teased as her back arched. “Then he only gets one dance. The rest are with me. Promise.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she breathed. “I have a job to do,”

But Cassian’s fingers slowed, flaring her frustration. “You don’t need more than one to charm him. Get him in a good mood and then I’ll put you in a better one. Unless you aren’t up to the challenge.”

“Insufferable,” she said, but whined as he began to withdraw them, clicking his tongue. “Fine you possessive brute, one dance.”

She could practically feel his grin, but it mattered little when he brought her back to the edge in mere moments, tumbling off it with trembling legs and a gasp. If she hadn’t been languid before, she certainly was now.

Cassian hummed, satisfied, and his hand smoothed up her back, brushing her hair off her neck. The mattress dipped as he settled next to her, resting on his side while his thumb worked the muscles at the base of her skull. Nesta turned so that she could see his face and narrowed her eyes.

“You’re insatiable,” she murmured, closing her eyes as she eased into his ministrations.

Cassian pressed a kiss to her forehead, dragging his hand back down to pull her more flush against him.

“Only for you, sweetheart.”

“If I promise only a single dance, then you have to promise to be on your best behavior,” she said, draping her leg across his hip and brushing her lips to his, fingers toying with the laces of his pants. “No growling or fighting or whatever else it is ravenous fae males do.”

Cassian laughed, endlessly amused by her observations of his kind, before he pulled her to rest on his chest, letting her feel the full length his arousal for her between their hips. Nesta grinned like a cat as she settled her legs on either side of him.

“I promise,” he said, leaning up to kiss her deeply. “But only because you’ll be coming back to my bed tonight, and no one else’s.”

---

Nesta wasn’t surprised when she saw the dresses Feyre laid out for her that evening, each much more revealing in their own way. Her sister’s eyes were almost nervous, as if she knew exactly what words were about to come out of Nesta’s mouth.

“I am not wearing these,” she said simply, brow furrowed. “I will fall out of them.”

“The Court of Nightmares is…very specific,” Feyre said, resting a hand on her stomach, her own flowing gown putting her bump on display. “It will be what everyone else is wearing. Even Elain will be in something similar.”

“She won’t be wearing something like that,” Nesta said, gesturing to one of the options on the bed in front of her. It looked like only a few strings of fabric, and nothing else.

Feyre sighed exasperatedly, and Nesta wished, for a moment, that she was as confident in her body as her youngest sister was. But even though she was perfectly content to bare herself to Cassian, to let him see the most vulnerable sides of her, she wasn’t quite thrilled at the prospect of wearing so little in front of a bunch of strangers. Not when her body was different from Feyre’s, her breasts larger, and her stature lankier. If she wasn’t constantly pulling fabric over her legs, she’d be worried about revealing more than tasteful cleavage to the Autumn prince.

Besides, if her skin heated, with little to cover it, then he may very well find out that something was wrong with her anyway. And if his touch was too cold or too hot in return, then the more likely he’d set something off. Her body was so damn sensitive with this power running through it that anything could go wrong. She’d always been picky about fabrics, even before the wall, and she’d long suffered through wearing things that were uncomfortable when there was nothing else. But when her job was so important, and they had the funds to spare…

“I didn’t think you’d be this apprehensive about it,” Feyre commented, settling into a chair, “with how often you went out before…”

Nesta quirked a brow, her lips pulling down into a frown. “What exactly do you think I wore to those taverns, Feyre? My nightgown?”

Feyre cringed, aware of the implications, before she said, “No, of course not. I just figured you’d become more…used to people seeing your body.”

“In private, perhaps,” Nesta said, just as the door opened and Rhysand entered, adjusting the cufflinks on his suit. As he took in the pair of them, he raised his eyebrows.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, and Nesta took in a deep breath, ready for the two of them to gang up on her.

“Nesta isn’t comfortable with any of these,” Feyre said, though there was a surprising lack of irritation in her voice. “They’re too revealing.”

“They are the fashion,” Rhys said thoughtfully, moving to run his hands over the fabric of the largest one that looked so heavy she wondered if she could even stand up in it, despite how much skin it revealed. Nesta tried her best to reign in her temper, in anticipation for the order she put it on.

“What would be better?” He asked, turning to her, genuine interest in his eyes.

“One I wouldn’t fall out of, to start,” she said. “I’ll be adjusting all of these all night. This may be the norm for your Court, but not for me. I won’t be…”

“Comfortable,” Rhys finished, with a nod. “None of us are ever truly comfortable in the Court of Nightmares. But not because of this. If you don’t find these acceptable, I might have some others that would be better.”

“Will that be alright?” Feyre asked. “With what Eris is expecting?”

“If Vanserra intends to come here with the expectation of taking my sister-in-law to bed, then he will be sorely disappointed. Nesta’s job is to charm him, to get him talking, not earn his hand in marriage. I don’t think that requires the same kind of outfit you wore on your first visit, Feyre, darling. As delightful as it was.”

Feyre smirked at him, and Nesta rolled her eyes, even less interested in being here for their flirtations than she was putting on one of those dresses.

“There is one,” Rhys said thoughtfully, almost to himself, “that might work. Stay here.”

In a blink, he was gone, leaving her to lament over what potential atrocities he might bring her. When he returned, he held yet another black garment in his hands, spreading it out on top of the others. It had long off the shoulder sleeves, detailed with near transparent silver lace, which shimmered in the light. It gave the illusion of a more revealing look, until one saw the fabric at the cuff, holding it all together. A deep v was still present in this one, but thinner than the others, with a skirt light and flowing enough for dancing. Which was, perhaps, the most important part of this. It was, admittedly, much more to her tastes.

“The fabric on this is soft, but thin enough to not be too warm. I figure the part you’re not telling us is that these others may irritate your skin, is that right?”

Nesta blinked, narrowing her eyes. She hadn’t felt his presence in her mind, and she wasn’t exactly keen on the idea that he was slipping in uninvited.

“My sister didn’t like scratchy fabrics,” Rhys said, softer. “But, back then, it wasn’t really a viable excuse to alter the dress code. I had this one made for her instead. I took an educated guess in that you may feel the same. Regardless, this one is a little more conservative.”

“I didn’t think of that,” Feyre said, with a frown. “You could have said.”

Nesta shrugged. “If they were all of the more revealing style, then it would have been uncomfortable either way.” Running a hand over the fabric of the new dress Rhys offered, she added, “this, however, will do.”

“Then it’s yours,” Rhys said, with a grin. “We’ll be waiting for you downstairs.”

It was so simple, that for several moments Nesta merely stared at him. But before she could thank him, could wrap her mind around how easily he accommodated her, he vanished, taking her sister with him.

---

Cassian’s eyes burned the entire night, from the moment he laid eyes on her in that dress. Rhys must have been trying to kill him, picking that gown that accentuated all her curves. She’d defaulted to his side, offering him one of her trademark stoic slay-my-enemies looks, but in her eyes, he could see just a hint of uncertainty, and he hoped the kiss he pressed to her cheek soothed her until he could get her alone.

But the moment they entered the Court of Nightmares, any hint of that nervousness was gone, and Nesta became almost another person entirely, so much more like the woman he’d met in the human lands. Eyes were drawn to her from the moment she stepped into the cavernous space, and stayed there, despite his brother and Feyre’s usual theatrics. While everyone bowed, murmuring over Feyre’s pregnancy, their attention still remained on his mate, who looked so unbothered by the entire thing it made his knees weak.

It wasn’t a surprise that she ensnared Eris right away. He gravitated toward her like she was the center of the universe, and despite everything that he was, the wonderment in his eyes wasn’t something Cassian could blame him for. Nesta Archeron was a vision, a goddess, and Cassian had already given himself entirely to her. He would follow her anywhere, no matter what dangers came along the way.

“Gods, she’s good,” Mor commented beside him, and he heard Rhys hum his agreement from his spot above them on his throne as Nesta engaged Eris in conversation, the intensity of her eyes visible over the rim of her wine glass, entirely focused on him.

Jealously churned in his gut, and he crossed his arms, siphons flaring. Azriel nudged him not so subtly.

“This is what mother built Nesta for,” Elain commented. “I think it’s second nature to her at this point.”

Any irritation he was feeling paused, and as Elain launched into a story about how Nesta had singlehandedly won the hand of a Duke at 14, pain took its place. Pain for what she’d endured to become this, what she’d hidden from everyone, what it had cost her. She didn’t like to be this way, he realized, and suddenly having her do this entire plan felt wrong. Casting a glance to Feyre, he found the same trepidation in her eyes.

“I was skeptical when she volunteered,” Rhys said. “But I can’t deny that it’s impressive. She’s had him from the moment he laid eyes on her.”

Cassian took a deep breath, settling himself. She’d volunteered, because it was a skill, she was sure of, something she knew she could do, even if, deep down, it wasn’t who she was. It wasn’t a wonder that she and Rhys were so similar. As Eris took her hand, leading her to the dance floor, Cassian couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit of guilt that they needed her to do this, the feeling competing with amazement at how flawlessly she executed her plan.

And as the room quieted, mesmerized by the High Lady’s sister, he couldn’t help but join them, and watch.

---

Eris Vanserra was nowhere near as complicated as everyone had made him out to be. It was simple with males, it always was, and she could feel the spike of his power against hers as he held her hand, leading her out to the center floor as the orchestra hummed the first notes of one of the waltzes she’d learned in preparation for tonight.

“I hope you don’t mind an audience,” Eris murmured to her, with a grin, and vaguely she registered that everyone had paused to watch as they began their dance, moving effortlessly through the steps.

“I never have,” she responded, holding his gaze even as the music carried her, guiding her through each moment, each twirl, easing whatever nerves she’d been feeling about that night.

“You and I are cut from the same cloth,” the Autumn Lordling commented, impressively keeping up with her though not as in tune with her movements as Cassian was. Even though her power hummed in response to the fire in Vanserra’s veins, it was nothing like the feeling of homecoming that washed over her when her mate touched her, when his magic flared to meet hers.

“We could make a formidable team,” he finished, settling his hand on his waist as they moved.

“Perhaps,” Nesta commented, almost uninterestingly, “though I’m not known to play well with others.”

“With the Lord of Bastards being an exception, is that right?”

It was meant to catch her off guard, to sniff out the depth of any ruse she may be able to pull on him, but Nesta merely offered him the smallest of satisfied smiles. “He has his merits,” she replied. “We are, as you say, cut from the same cloth.”

Eris hummed in disagreement. “You are too beautiful a creature for that to be true, my dear,” he said, and though the slight to her mate had her blood boiling, she offered him a smirk, allowing herself to be held closer.

“He wouldn’t disagree,” she relented. “Though, I have been known to be picky about my tastes.”

She could tell the music was ending, and though she hadn’t spared her mate a glance, she could feel his gaze, tantalizing against the back of her neck. One dance, she’d promised him, even if it was under the pleasurable duress of his ministrations, but she knew better than to test him, less he lose all pretense and oust Eris from the dance floor.

“I only hope I meet your standard,” Eris commented, dipping her backwards as the song concluded, an excess that she should have expected, if only because it would ruffle Cassian’s feathers.

“Time will tell,” she said, moving them smoothly off the floor. She had him, she knew that much, if the way he followed without complaint was any indication. The question was when to strike.

As they both regained their drinks, she took stock of the way her body felt. Dancing was exhilarating and joyous as it always was, but it tired her quickly. And though she’d been well prepared to spend all evening on her feet, she took time to relish in the break while she could.

“I am not so foolish as to expect to win your heart from your mate,” Eris commented, and she watched as his gaze met Cassian’s across the hall. “Though, I do lament over what we would have achieved together.”

“I am not limited in my abilities to conduct business with other males,” Nesta said. “Surely, that much is obvious to you by now.”

He huffed out a laugh, and as he did so, she observed him properly. Despite his easy demeanor, his shoulders were tense, his movements a little too practiced. It was nearly unnoticeable, a rehearsed way of holding himself to appear perfectly comfortable, almost like she was, when her pain was bad. A realization sparked in her mind. 

“And what business are you interested in, Lady Death?”

Nesta blinked, temporarily distracted by what she was seeing. “I hear you have a penchant for losing men,” she said.

“Perhaps,” Eris said. “I hear you have a penchant for finding magical objects.”

“Perhaps,” she echoed. “I wonder what I might achieve, putting them to use.”

“If my sources are to be believed, you’re missing one.”

Nesta felt her power rise within her at the mention of the Trove, prickling over her skin. She took a long sip of her wine.

“If my sources are to be believed, then obtaining it may be of mutual benefit. Though I fear others may desire it themselves.”

Eris hummed, and was silent for several moments, contemplative. Eventually, he said, “I may be persuaded to ensure they aren’t if my men are prioritized. I’m sure you already know the thing I desire most.”

“It’s been obvious from the start,” Nesta said, deciding to take the risk. “The reason is clear in the way you hold your shoulders.”

She watched with no small amount of satisfaction as surprise flitted across his face and he assessed her carefully. It confirmed what she needed to know – that he was in pain, and that his father was likely to blame, after hearing about the horrors that happened to Lucien. She doubted he’d be in his position if it had been something internal, but the pain was there, just like hers was.

“Was my performance on the dance floor unsatisfactory, my lady?”

“Not at all,” she replied, holding his gaze. “Just familiar.”

His lips pursed, just slightly, and his eyes moved over her body, likely trying to find her own tells. If only he knew that she’d long learned to hide them.

“Your cause is good,” she said. “Despite the tension between our families, I believe the endgame to be a preferrable one. As such, it would do you no favors to lose any more loyal men.”

“No,” he said slowly, “it certainly wouldn’t.”

She felt the shift in the air before she saw him, the warm scent of her mate falling over her in gentle waves. It instantly soothed her, even if both males were at odds with each other. When his hand settled at her back, she flicked her gaze upwards, to evaluate the fierceness in Cassian’s gaze.

“Think on it,” Nesta said with a slow smile. “And perhaps we can come to a stronger arrangement. I believe you to be a smart male, Eris Vanserra, do not disappoint me.”

Eris had no words for her, watching with no small amount of fascination as Nesta looped her arm through Cassian’s, allowing him to press a kiss to her temple, a public claim. It felt…good, to be identified this way, as his.

“If you’ll excuse us,” she finished. “I did promise my mate a dance before the night is over.”

Cassian’s smile was every bit as arrogant as the day she met him, and though she’d call him insufferable for it later, she couldn’t help but delight in it, just a little. She tugged him gently, making for the floor, but as they took their first step, Eris called,

“General,”

Cassian paused, turning his head to assess him, eyebrow raised, perhaps in warning. But Eris didn’t flinch, instead raising his glass, a silent toast,

“You are one lucky male.”

Chapter Text

It was no surprise to Cassian that Eris Vanserra agreed to their terms. He’d seen the way Nesta had his attention, he’d been entirely under her spell. He almost wondered if those Cauldron-born powers she had bewitched him almost as much as her beauty.

But the sharp, unyielding female who’d commanded the dance floor and had the entire Court of Nightmares at a loss for words was completely different to the one he saw now. The one who was pressed up against his chest, fast asleep. Her breaths came slowly and easily, her expression entirely serene. Every so often, her nose would twitch, crinkling just softly, and she would burrow deeper into his arms. It was, without a doubt, the most adorable thing Cassian had seen in his five centuries of life. He wondered what her enemies would think of her now, to see Lady Death so content.

Cassian tightened his arms around her, nestling his nose into her hair. Breathing in, he relished her scent, everything that was so unique to her that had intoxicated him from the moment they met. The sun had been up for far longer than it usually was when Cassian woke, but as tensions increased with Briallyn, and Feyre’s due date looming, the moments he could just hold his mate like this were becoming rarer. They hadn’t even formally accepted the bond yet, and he felt she was slipping from his fingers. The fear he had for her safety ate at him daily, not in the least when he could tell the pressure to find the last item of the Trove weighed on her.

Nesta let out a sigh, eyelashes fluttering, and he pulled himself from his thoughts to smile at her as she slowly reconnected with the land of the living. When her eyes met his, he took far too much pleasure in watching how long it took for her to fully wake. In a gentle movement, he nudged her with his nose, easing her head up until he could kiss her brow.

“What time is it?” She mumbled, nose crinkling as he peppered kisses over her face.

“The sun is up, that’s all I know,” he replied. “I was busy watching you sleep.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed, and he laughed.

“It’s not my fault you’re so adorable, sweetheart. Imagine what everyone would do if they knew you were such a cuddler.”

“Breathe a word of it and you’ll be sleeping alone, mate.”

Cassian’s heart stuttered, and suddenly he was warm from the top of his head to his toes. Lifting a hand, he cupped her cheek, kissing her softly. She responded slowly, sleepily, and he held her until he felt he’d fully conveyed what that title meant to him.

“I’ll take your secret to my grave, mate,” he breathed.

And, in a brief moment so special, so singular that he was perhaps the only person to experience it, Nesta smiled against his lips.

It was a moment that, begrudgingly, he had to let go of too soon as she pushed herself into a sitting position. He let his hand trail down her back as she went, watching as she reached up to rub at her shoulder, evaluating the stiffness that always lingered when she woke. It was a ritual she always preferred to do alone, taking the few moments to take stock of her body, but in the last few weeks she’d allowed him to watch, fully aware he observed every movement. She let out a soft groan, barely audible, as she stretched forward, staying still until she rallied her energy to push herself out of bed.

“Anything fun planned today?” He asked, content to remain in bed, bringing an arm to rest behind his head. He smirked as she assessed him, her eyes roving over his torso, where the sheets bunched around his hips. There was a hunger there, just for him, and the intensity of it often made him feel as nervous as a boy, despite the confidence he exuded.

“I’m supposed to meet Amren, to discuss the Trove.”

Cassian cocked an eyebrow, miffed this was the first time he was hearing about it. Sitting up, he watched his mate begin to run a comb through her hair.

“Just the two of you?”

Nesta scoffed, her fingers plaiting her hair seamlessly.

“I am capable.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, sweetheart,” he countered. “I just don’t want her to talk down to you.”

“Amren talks down to everyone,” Nesta said. “And, if you forgot, I tend to do the same.”

Cassian sighed, pushing out of bed to approach her, setting his hands on her waist.

“It’s not the same,” he said. “She shouldn’t speak to you as if you’re less capable just because…”

Nesta raised her eyebrows, indicating her exasperation at rehashing this conversation once again. It was a subject he hadn’t been able to let go of, and one she rarely liked to indulge.

“You don’t have to keep doing this,” she said. “I know you think I’m just as capable. You never let me forget. But not everyone will. Why do you think I never said anything?”

“You shouldn’t have had to never say anything,” he replied. “It shouldn’t have mattered.”

Nesta sighed, resting her hands on his chest. “It doesn’t change anything. It’s not like anyone else is having luck at finding the Trove. Amren has no choice but to accept me for what I am.”

She didn’t let him reply, pulling away to move into the bathroom, to finish getting dressed. He bit back the urge to press her, to ensure that she was treated fairly. It was something that Azriel had called him on, being overzealous in his defense after living most of his life unaware of the challenges  such a condition would bring. He couldn’t deny that he’d been in Amren’s shoes before, not factoring such a thing into his perceptions of someone’s abilities. They were either weak or strong, and that was it. And according to his brother, to suddenly pivot so sharply, to become Nesta’s biggest champion, may have the opposite effect that he wanted. It didn’t make it any easier, though, to let her navigate the judgement or lack of confidence alone.

Don’t waste your energy on it, she’d told him time and time again, but he couldn’t help but wonder how much lighter the weight on her shoulders would be if he did.

---

Nesta stared at Amren across the table, the Trove items between them. The Second watched her back, the two of them evaluating the best way to begin this conversation when animosity still tainted the air.

“Do you find the blood warding unsatisfactory?” Nesta asked finally, crossing her arms.

“No,” Amren replied. “Apparently you can do something. What I’m interested in is how well you can wield the Trove.”

Nesta cocked a brow. “Were the first two times not good enough?”

“Your life was in danger,” Amren said. “I want to know if you can wield them whenever you want. If you can, then we have an advantage against anyone who might challenge us.”

Nesta contemplated whether she wanted to tell the female before her that she’d rather not be the Night Court’s secret weapon, or first line of defense. But they’d rarely had peace since all this had started, and she wasn’t up to shattering it so soon.

“Very well,” Nesta said, and unceremoniously reached out a hand to lift the mask off the table.

It seemed to whisper to her, coaxing her to put it on, begging, even. But Nesta resisted its call. To put it on in a room in the middle of the River House didn’t seem like the best option. Amren hissed as she lifted it off the table, coiling back as if the mere energy of it repulsed her.

“Careful, girl,” she snapped. “We don’t want you destroying this house just because you’re careless. We have to be methodical in our approach.”

“The mask won’t destroy the house on its own,” Nesta replied flatly. “Not unless I ask it to raise some dead Velarians to tear it apart.”

Amren’s eyes narrowed, as if she was taking her words as a literal threat, and Nesta wondered if she truly thought so little of her as to worry that she’d ever do such a thing. She placed the mask back on the table without another word. But as she reached for the Harp, Amren redirected,

“What if you try to search for the crown instead? The other objects answered to you, so why wouldn't it do the same?”

Nesta pulled her hand back, settling it in her lap, the whispers from the golden object receding. “How do you propose I do that?”

“You could scry again,” Amren answered, crossing her arms. “Or do whatever it was that found you the Harp.”

“Briallyn knows when I use my power,” Nesta said. “I won’t take that risk while sitting in my sister’s house.”

“Afraid, girl?” Amren asked, cocking her head. “I suppose you should be.”

“Logical,” Nesta countered. “Why would you take that risk yourself?”

“I’m of the belief that Briallyn is already well aware of our location. If she wanted to attack, she would.”

Nesta sighed, evaluating the table in front of her. In theory, she could try, but something in her gut reared back at the idea. The longer she stared, though, the more drawn to the possibility she became, her power awakening within her. Until that voice rang out again.

Come, Nesta…

Let’s play together, hmm?

We’ve only just begun.

For several seconds, everything faded from her, instead zeroing in on those items on the table, the anxiety she felt about them. 

Don’t be shy, Lady Death. Think of what we could accomplish.

Take revenge on that female in front of you. Teach her the cost of giving up her power.

Nesta’s chest tightened, resisting the Trove’s pull. She could feel her heart beating against her rib cage, fast and hard, and her fingers tightened on the ends of her chair. Another voice echoed into the void, then, cruel and confident.

Coming to get me, Nesta? Make sure you bring that brute with you.

Fire flooded her veins, but the only thing she was aware of was those voices, the temptation to give in to all that anger and power. She could end it all in seconds, if she wanted to. And then she could have peace.

“Nesta,”

She ignored whoever was calling out, too caught up in the swell of her power within her, the pure exhilaration of it, the fear at the knowledge she had no ability to quiet it. She could hear the voice talking but didn’t care to listen, not when she teetered on the edge of chaos. It wouldn’t be the Trove that destroyed this house, it would be her.

A presence pushed against her mind, firm but not painful.

Your power doesn’t control you, Nesta. You control it.

Nesta blinked, and something squeezed hard at her hands.

It will bend to your will, if you demand it. Don’t be afraid.

She did demand it, she thought vaguely. She demanded it fiercely. She wouldn’t be the danger to this family, to her family, not when there was so much out there that threatened them. Calling out to that power, she attempted to wrangle it, to snuff it out. She willed it, insisted upon it, and didn't yield in her demands for it all to stop. 

And, to her shock, it worked.

It was like a prowling cat, slinking away into the darkness, where it would rest until it was time to catch its next prey. It growled deep in her chest, as if irritated yet bound to her will. All at once, she was back in the room with the Trove. But instead of the two objects, she was staring at Rhysand, who had taken Amren’s chair and pulled it in front of her. His eyes nearly glowed as the sensation of his power settled over her shoulders, and she glanced down to watch as his fingers squeezed around hers.

“There, see?” He asked. “It only goes as far as your will allows.”

Nesta met his gaze again in surprise. Sparing a glance around the room, she saw Amren leaning against one of the walls, eyes wide, but everything else looked to be intact. Her entire body felt like it was floating, and with tentative movements she flexed her hands. The High Lord squeezed back automatically.

“I told you not to wield those objects in here,” Amren hissed.

“She didn’t,” Rhysand said, making her brows furrow. “That was all her. Are you alright, Nesta?”

But Nesta didn’t rightly know. It had happened so quickly; she wasn’t even sure she’d accomplished anything.

“Your power filled the room,” he explained. “But you hadn’t decided what to do with it. It was overwhelming you.”

Her brows rose at his answer. She hadn’t meant to pull on that much, hadn't meant to put the house in danger. 

“I have the same problem,” he continued, as if they were having a casual conversation over a cup of tea, as if she wasn’t gripping onto his hands so tightly her knuckles were white. “I have to use my magic on little things throughout the day, so that when I call on it for something important it doesn’t overwhelm me all at once.”

“Oh,” Nesta said, a bit absentmindedly.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner,” he said, a bit apologetically. “It might make you feel less terrible after you use it, if it’s released a little bit at a time.”

“Well don’t have her practice that in here,” Amren said warily. “Her version of a little bit at a time might mean razing a forest.”

Nesta shot a glare to the Second, even as Rhys guided her out of her chair, his hands moving to hold her forearms as she got her bearings, as naturally as if he did so every day.

“Well, I didn’t, did I?” He said back to her. “Besides, I’m confident Nesta will take to it quicker than I did.”

Amren narrowed her eyes. “We still need to find the crown. The clock is ticking, Rhysand. Nesta’s training should prioritize that.”

“Nesta’s training will prioritize whatever she wishes it to,” he replied. “There is time, Amren.”

“Your mate will pop any day,” she countered, moving toward the doorway. “We’ll see if you think similarly when you have a babe to pick up after.”

She was gone in a flash, leaving Nesta with her brother-in-law in silence. Quietly, she said,

“She’s right. I should focus on finding the crown.”

Rhys guided her from the room, letting go of her arms once she made it clear she wouldn’t fall over. Sticking close to her side as they moved down the hall, he said,

“We know where the crown is. Briallyn isn’t so adept at hiding herself that we wouldn’t be able to find her. Besides, we should give Eris the chance to feel useful so he can try to hold it over our heads later. I want to see the look on his face when we tell him that Azriel was three steps ahead.”

Before she could help it, a quiet laugh slipped through her lips. Rhys grinned at her as he sat her in one of the armchairs in the living room, taking the other that was across from her for himself.

“Now,” he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Let’s see if the Cauldron gave you more practical magic.”

---

By the time Nesta returned to the House of Wind, she was able to summon teacups and boil water. Rhys’ alleged hunch had been correct, and Cassian could already see the weight that was lifted off her shoulders by relieving the pressure of that power that always loomed over her. And as he landed at the River House that evening, he intended to tell him so.

They were waiting for Azriel, who’d been scouting for their lost soldiers for several days now but hadn’t sent a single word. With so much at stake, he couldn’t help but be nervous for his brother’s safety, with the crown at large.

“I think you need a new profession,” he said by way of greeting as he entered the living room that evening. Rhys looked up from where he’d been feeling his child kick in Feyre’s stomach and grinned.

“I think I make a pretty good teacher, myself.”

“Teacher?” Feyre asked, holding Elain’s hand over the spot where her baby boy was contributing to the conversation. “I don’t think so. Your methods are horrible.”

Cassian laughed, sinking into a chair. “With you, maybe. I’m not sure what tactics you used with Nes but she’s currently in a battle of wills with the House. It keeps trying to conjure things for her and she’s trying to conjure them herself.”

Rhys raised a brow, genuinely fascinated. “Who’s winning?”

Cassian scoffed. “Who do you think?”

“You taught Nesta to conjure things?” Feyre asked. “Why?”

“I think Nesta’s power is like mine,” Rhys said. “She needs to use it on little things throughout the day, so it doesn’t overwhelm her. Ideally, it stabilizes it enough to decrease her pain.”

Feyre cocked her head. “I never thought about it like that.” Turning to Cassian, she asked, “is it working?”

“It’s too early for a definitive answer, but she seemed lighter. She’s deadlocked with the House right now otherwise I’m sure she’d come tell you herself.”

It warmed something in his chest, to see how pleased Rhys looked. His brother was a mother hen and wanted to help in every way he could, but for so long he’d been limited when it came to Nesta. Now, there was an opening.

“I think I would like to see Nesta in a battle with a House,” Elain commented. “Neither one of them will budge.”

A round of soft laughter filled the living room.

“Did she have any luck with Amren?” Cassian asked. “She didn’t say.”

Rhys sighed, leaning back against the cushions. “As much luck as anyone can. It was relatively peaceful, until Nesta’s power flared. I never thought I’d see Amren afraid of anything, but I think Nesta scares the shit out of her now that she doesn’t have her powers to fight back.”

Cassian couldn’t help the smirk that spread across his face, pride for his mate warming his chest.

“The Lord of Bloodshed and Lady Death,” Feyre commented. “Your mating ceremony might be the most morbid thing ever.”

“So you have decided to have one, then?” Elain followed up, excitement brimming in her eyes.

“We haven’t, but clearly you all have made your decisions.”

“Of course,” came another voice, Mor, who swept into the room. “Rhys and Feyre were horribly rude, to deny us. So now you have to one up them in the most ornate ceremony this city has ever seen. Besides, after the Court of Nightmares, I want to know how many fae drop dead at the sight of Nesta in a ceremony dress.”

“Well, you’ll have to ask her,” Cassian said, grinning at the thought despite himself. “We haven’t talked about it.”

“What?” Rhys asked. “How have you not talked about it?”

Cassian raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “We’ve had more important things to worry about, brother.”

“Maybe,” Feyre said. “But I don’t think any of us want to miss the chance to see you two happy, after everything.”

Cassian’s expression softened then; the underlying words clear. It was the chance to see Nesta happy, to give her the chance to have a good moment, a joyous one. To him at least, his happiness would always be fueled by that.

“When this business with the Trove is over, we can discuss mating ceremonies,” he relented.

“Fine, fine,” Rhys agreed, unabashedly the most excited for grand parties out of all of them. “But not a moment later.”

On that, Cassian wouldn’t fight him.

---

That night, a storm rolled in over Velaris, harsh and unforgiving. Rain pelted the windows relentlessly, so reminiscent of that night Cassian had almost run into Nesta out on the balcony. Only this time, he wasn’t sick with worry and heartbreak. Instead, he was perfectly happy, lounging on one of the couches in the House’s library, Nesta in his arms.

The silk of her nightgown was soft against his skin, her robe slipping off one shoulder. She was curled in his lap like a cat, head nestled on his shoulder, deeply invested in the latest book to hold her attention. He’d contented himself with pressing kisses to her hair, or her neck, or her bare shoulder, anywhere he could reach. He’d tried to read over her head, but was quickly distracted by everything that was her, and became much more interested in the potential to distract her from the words, just for a moment.

“You’re ridiculous,” she commented, but smiled as he put two fingers under her chin to kiss her softly.

“And you’re intoxicating,” he murmured back. “You can hardly blame me.”

She let out a low laugh, sending heat into his gut, and allowed his hand to splay along her jaw, holding her steady as he captured her lips again. And again, and again.

He’d almost succeeded at convincing her to close the book in her lap, one hand coaxing up her thigh while the other held her still, but then Nesta froze, tensing. She pulled back, brows furrowed, as a loud clap of thunder shook the room, bringing him out of the trance he’d fallen into.

“What is it?” he asked, frowning.

“Do you hear that?” She asked, pushing to her feet before he could answer.

He strained, but could faintly hear a high-pitched voice, one filled with tension.

“That sounds like Gwyn,” she said, pulling her robe properly closed before she was moving out into the hall.

He followed on her heels, and at once the Priestess’ voice was clearer. It was definitely Gwyn, and the reasons why she might sound so distraught had his chest tightening. Nesta pushed forward towards the large balcony, freezing in the doorway.

“Azriel, talk to me. What is it?”

Gwyneth Berdara sat on her knees in front of the shadowsinger, clad only in a nightgown. Already soaked through to the skin, she was cupping his face in her hands, desperately trying to hold his attention through the onslaught of rain. A sharp, metallic scent filled the air, and at once Cassian’s eyes zeroed in on the blood dripping onto the ground from a wound at his side, washing away as quickly as it came.

“Az,” Gwyn pleaded, and with sluggish movements his hands finally moved, one stabilizing himself on her waist while the other gripped her arm. He saw his brother's lips move, but couldn't hear him over the storm. Placing a hand on Nesta's shoulder, he quietly told her to stay, wanting to spare her from the weather, before he moved, skidding to a halt beside the Priestess, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he said. “Az talk to me, what happened?”

Azriel lifted his head slowly, and Cassian cringed at the laceration across his cheek. Having to fly through this weather likely hadn’t helped his condition.

“Briallyn,” he rasped, and he moved to grasp one of Gwyn’s hands on his cheek, lacing their fingers as if the movement was subconscious. Gwyn brushed her thumb under his eye, and he could feel some of the tension ease from his brother's shoulders. 

“What about her?” he asked, pressing a hand to the wound on his side. Azriel didn't answer right away, and Cassian could see the lack of focus in his gaze, even though it remained locked on the female in front of him.  Gently, he nudged him. "Az, stay focused. Tell me what happened." 

“She was…in Windhaven…”

Cassian’s brows shot into his hairline, just as Azriel pitched forward, eyes fluttering shut, wings drooping behind him. Gwyn caught him easily, a hand sliding into his hair to guide his face into her neck. With wide eyes, she met Cassian’s gaze.

“If she's in Windhaven, what about Emerie?”

Chapter Text

“Azriel, for the sake of the Mother stay still.”

“I’m fine, it’s just a scratch-”

“Azriel. You will let her patch you up.”

The shadowsinger froze, locking eyes with the Priestess who stood behind Nesta, arms crossed with a deep frown. For several seconds, they stared at each other, a silent battle of wills, and Cassian almost told lovely Gwyneth that it was a lost cause. But shockingly, it was Azriel who first averted his gaze, grumbling in agitation, letting Nesta proceed with wrapping bandages around his torso.

Cassian’s brows shot up to his hairline, and he turned his head to stare at Rhys, who was clad only in his pajamas, the ends of his hair still dripping with water. He’d burst in through the door only a few seconds after they’d moved Azriel to the living room, his concern outweighing his desire to dry himself. Rhys was staring right back, an equal amount of bewilderment on his face.

No one mother henned Azriel and got away with it. Not even Madja. He was, without a doubt, the worst patient in Velaris, if not the entire Night Court. But it seemed Gwyneth Berdara was perfectly equipped to keep him in line.

Cassian bit his cheek so hard he tasted metal, if only not to be the first one of them to laugh.

“There,” Nesta said, sitting back with a small sigh once she’d finished, reaching up to rub her shoulder in the way she always did when stressed. “Happy now?”

Azriel glared fiercely at her, likely feeling the opposite after being coddled by all of them. Had it been anyone else looking at his mate in such a way, Cassian would have beat his ass for it. Regardless, Cassian’s arm was around her waist as soon as she moved back towards him, his hand rubbing soothingly at her side.

“Give it a rest, Az, you fell out of the sky. You’re lucky we aren’t scraping you off the side of the mountain right now.”

Gwyn’s face paled, the thought horrifying, and Cassian only felt a little guilty about it. After all, he himself was still reeling at the sight of his brother bleeding all over the ground, only to lose consciousness entirely a moment later.

“You said Briallyn was in Windhaven?” Rhys asked, settling into a chair, finally drying himself off.

Azriel nodded. “She’s infiltrated my network. There’s fae walking around the camp entirely under her control. I didn’t realize she’d corrupted some of my spies until it was too late. They tried to stop me from getting back to you.”

“Have the other villagers realized?”

“No,” Azriel replied, and with no small amount of fascination, Cassian watched as his wing outstretched, almost subconsciously, beckoning Gwyn to perch herself on the arm of the couch beside him. He didn’t reach out to touch her, but the gesture held weight all the same. “In fact, everything is going on as normal. I don’t think the villagers are her target.”

“Of course not,” Nesta said, and Cassian frowned deeply, tightening his grip around her. “I’m her target.”

Rhys’ brows furrowed in concern, but no one could refute her.

“Which means,” Nesta continued, reaching up a hand to pinch her brow, as if suddenly dizzy, “that Emerie is probably in danger.”

Azriel nodded. “I’d meant to get to her, to bring her here before I returned. They stopped me before I could, I’m sorry.”

Gwyn frowned, even as Nesta shook her head, assuring him it wasn’t his fault.

“We’ll go first thing in the morning,” Rhys said. “Give everyone a chance to regroup. Az, I’m grounding you until you can sit up straight without wincing.”

Azriel opened his mouth, a rebuttal surely on the tip of his tongue, but Gwyn said, placing him under her sharp gaze once more,

“I’ll make sure he stays put.”

Cassian really couldn’t wrap his head around how she had this much power over him, but he was suddenly wishing she’d always been here. It would have saved them many an emergency trip to Madja when their brother had finally pushed himself too far.

“You should stay too,” Nesta said to Rhys. “Feyre is due any day.”

But Rhys shook his head. “She’ll be angrier at me if I don’t go, particularly because your safety is at risk. And, she may or may not be tired of my ‘overbearing behavior.’ Besides, if anything happens tomorrow, I’m just a winnow away.”

Nesta sighed, exasperated, and Cassian wondered how long her stubbornness would hold out before she let people worry over her. But before he could tease her for it, a proper wince settled across her features and she swayed, so suddenly that he reached out to catch her arm, just as Rhys pushed to his feet. For several tense seconds, she didn’t say anything, her hand gripping his forearm so tightly her knuckles were white.

“Sweetheart,” Cassian pressed, brows knitted together, his heart in his throat.

“I can feel her,” Nesta finally said, her teeth gritted. “She’s taunting me, with the crown.”

She shuddered again, eyes squeezed shut, and the temperature in the room plummeted as she fought to maintain a leash over that power within her. Rhys was at her side in a seamless movement, clasping her other hand in both of his. Cassian could only watch as his brother asserted,

“It doesn’t control you, Nesta, you control it. Command it to stop.”

Cassian tightened his grip on her, sending all the love and warmth he could muster down that bond they’d only just started exploring. This time, instead of having to convince Lady Death to give him her attention, she responded instantly, the depths of her power meeting his own. When Nesta opened her eyes, that light swirled within them, that sense of otherness that would make her unrecognizable to most people. But he could always see her, his Nesta.

After a moment, she let out a long breath, the energy in the room returning to normal, the power within her settling. He felt her exhaustion crash over her in a wave through the bond, but she remained steady on her feet. Nevertheless, it was even more reason they wait until tomorrow to go to Windhaven.

“Good,” Rhys said encouragingly, and Cassian was thankful, in that moment, that there was a silver lining to the centuries they’d spent helping him control his own power. That the same tactics worked for her. “It gets easier with time,” he said, “and the more often you use your magic on smaller things.”

“I’m afraid I’m not up for conjuring any teapots at the moment,” Nesta murmured, and Cassian eased her down onto the couch.

“No, I think it’s best you get some sleep while you can,” Rhys said. “If we face Briallyn tomorrow, you’ll need your strength. Besides, I know better than to believe I can convince both you and Azriel to sit this one out. No matter how powerful Ms. Berdara may be.”

Cassian offered the Priestess as soft smile as she flushed under his praise but knew that she and his brother were likely in equal agreement that they’d feel better if both Azriel and Nesta stayed out of harm’s way. But he could feel Nesta’s resolve through the bond, her determination, and knew it was a fruitless endeavor. He just prayed to the Mother that they’d get through the consequences.

---

Nesta was already dizzy when they arrived in Windhaven the next morning. She hadn’t slept much, not when she could feel the power of the Trove taunting her. Ever since they’d brought Azriel inside, she’d felt the weight of it. It called to her, beckoning her, and every time she closed her eyes she could see the crown, perched on the old crone’s head.

Come now, Nesta, I know how highly you value your friends, your Illyrian brute. You know the price to save them.

She did. Gods, she did. And they would never forgive her for it.

“Nes,”

Nesta blinked, flicking her eyes up to Cassian, who had raised a hand to her cheek. He stared down at her, brows furrowed, and she felt the cool wind of Illyria stinging her cheeks. She hated how well he could read her, how he knew exactly what she was thinking. She also hated how she couldn’t help the way she leaned into his touch as his thumb brushed across her cheekbone.

“Are you with me, sweetheart?” He asked softly, and she looked around at the camp. At first glance, everything was normal. But she could feel Briallyn lurking there. The longer she looked, the longer she wondered how many lives had been ruined because of what the queen wanted. Because of the curse the Cauldron placed on her.

“Nesta,” Cassian called again, and she forced herself to focus on him, on the shine in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” she said. He didn’t look the slightest bit convinced, and instead raised his other hand to cup her cheek.

“Is she still calling to you?” He asked, wings outstretching to wrap around her, as if to let her speak privately. “Are you hurting?”

Nesta shook her head slowly, not wanting to worry him when so much was at stake. “Just stressed,” she replied. “It always makes things inflamed.”

Cassian hummed, a frown tugging at his lips. “Promise to stay close to me?”

Nesta sighed, setting her hands on his chest. “I don’t need you to protect me.”

“I know,” he replied. “It’s so you can protect me, obviously.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but he merely smiled. Kissing her softly, he finally released her, and it was then she heard Rhys approach them. She watched as he waved a hand, and the sword she’d used that day in the Prison appeared in his hands. He winced, almost as if the power was too much.

“Figured this might be useful,” he said, holding it out to Nesta. “Be careful, it’s heavy.”

Nesta cocked an eyebrow, reaching out to take the blade. “Keeping this hostage from me?”

“Not at all,” Rhys said. “Just…none of us seem to be able to wield it, except for Cassian.”

The metal was light as a feather in her hands, and she observed the steel closely. Nothing about it looked out of the ordinary, there were even the knicks left over from years of protecting its wielder.

“You hold it as if you’ve been wielding swords all your life,” Cassian commented. “Is it not too heavy?”

Nesta shook her head, fascinated, the power she’d embedded in the blade humming against her fingertips. Meeting the eyes of her mate, she handed him the hilt.

“I’m not a warrior,” she said. “It’s for you.”

Cassian took it easily from her, but even he was unable to hide the initial surprise at the power he felt once he touched it.

“Maybe not in the traditional sense,” Rhys said. “But I think you might be one of the most tenacious warriors I’ve ever met, Nesta Archeron.”

Nesta frowned, unsure how she felt about that implication.

“I told you,” Cassian said to him. “She could lead armies if she wanted to. Then we’d all be bowing down to her.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Rhys replied, a small, fascinated smile on her face, and Nesta decided she didn't ever want to prove that theory right. 

---

Nesta knew right away that, to do what needed to be done, she needed to be separated from Cassian. Which meant coming up with a good enough reason to be alone.

“I need to check on Emerie, why don’t you go count your men? You need to know how many you’re missing.”

“I shouldn’t leave you alone,” Cassian fought back, crossing his arms.

“You aren’t,” Nesta said. “Emerie and I can fend for ourselves.”

“I don’t doubt it, Nes, but there’s too much at stake. Let me go to Emerie’s with you.”

Nesta sighed, trying her best to stay calm, to not reveal her plans. “Your men need you,” she countered. “Rhys is scanning the minds of everyone here; he’ll need help making sure the corrupted are separated and taken somewhere where they can’t hurt anyone.”

“Let me at least walk you,” Cassian said. “I won’t let you go by yourself, you won't convince me, sweetheart.”

“Fine,” Nesta relented. “Just to the door. Then you have a duty to do.”

He held her close as they moved throughout the streets, a distinct claim as her mate that under any other circumstances would make her feel a certain way. A good way. But now, she feared that everyone who observed them was corrupted, that they now knew who was most important to her, who to target first. Which made her mission all the more important. 

When Emerie’s shop came into view, the air was so thick with tension she could barely take a full breath. She didn’t know if Cassian could feel it too, but she knew Briallyn was waiting for her moment to strike. And Nesta was going to give it to her, but only when she was sure everyone else was safe. Cassian squeezed her hand tightly as she made to pull away, as if refusing to let her go.

“Please don’t leave the shop,” he stressed. “I’ll come for you when we’re finished. Stay with Emerie, and if something happens, call out to Rhys. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Nesta said. “I’ll stay with Emerie.”

Cassian nodded slowly, assessing every inch of her face. Lifting a hand, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and leaned in to kiss her forehead.

“I love you,” he said to her. “You know that, right?”

Nesta nodded, lifting her head to brush their noses. “I love you, too,” she replied quietly, swallowing the emotion she was feeling. “Now go.”

Cassian sighed, holding her face for a moment, before he moved away. She watched him go, taking in every detail, before she moved towards the door of Emerie’s shop. Before she could raise her hand to knock, she felt the energy surrounding the space, the hair on the back of her neck raising. Sucking in a long breath, she pushed through, finding the lights dimmed, the entire space in disarray.

Nesta knew what had happened here before she even heard her friend breathe her name.

Turning her head, she took in the sight of Emerie, standing in the corner, eyes wide, tears in them. In her hands was an Illyrian blade, like the kind Cassian kept strapped to his thigh, only it was pointed towards her own chest. Fear gripped Nesta’s heart, and she took a step forward, only to freeze as the movement caused Emerie to move the knife closer.

“There you are, I was wondering if you got the message.”

“It wasn’t that difficult to understand,” Nesta replied, turning her head as Briallyn came out from the back room, the crown on her head.

“I’ve had your lovely friend here in this position for quite a while now, she must be getting tired.”

Nesta turned her eyes back to Emerie, her breath catching in her throat. “I’m so sorry, Em,” she choked, even as the Illyrian female shook her head fiercely.

"Don't you dare give her anything, Nesta."

“And what do you want?” She asked.

“You know what I want,” Briallyn snapped. “I want revenge for what you took from the Cauldron. It should have been you who suffered like this. You know exactly what you did, and you know it wasn’t something you deserved. You didn’t earn that power, you stole it.”

“I didn’t ask for it,” Nesta shot back. “Lest you forget, I didn’t go into the Cauldron by choice.”

“I don’t care if you did or didn’t,” Briallyn said. “When you go in again you won’t be coming out.”

“Nesta don’t,” Emerie cried, only to cut off in a gasp as the knife dug into her leathers. Tears streamed down her fiend's face in constant rivers, smearing blood that remained on her cheek from a healing gash above her eyebrow. Two Illyrian soldiers came from behind Briallyn then, moving towards Emerie with nothing but a promised death in their eyes. 

“Stop,” Nesta said sharply. “Stop it. How many Illyrians do you have under your control?”

“Enough to destroy everything that brute of yours has worked to build,” Briallyn replied, lifting a hand to stop the two males from reaching her friend. “Perhaps I should hold him under my control and put him in the Cauldron instead. I wonder what it would do to a fae of his ability.”

Rage welled up so quickly in Nesta’s chest that her power heated her veins, the entire room. A cruel, slow smile spread across the crone’s face.

“There it is,” she crooned. “That power that should be mine. I’ll make you a bargain, Nesta Archeron. Give yourself to me, and I will release your friend here, and I’ll let your General live to see another sunrise.”

Nesta’s power called out to the crown on Briallyn’s head, as if she could summon it, if she wished. Her fingers twitched, as if ready to do just that, until Emerie cried out. Turning, she tried to reign in her horror at the sight of one of those brutes wrapping their hand around Emerie's throat. 

“Enough,” Briallyn hissed. “The crown is mine. Just like the rest of the Trove will be when you obtain it for me.”

Nesta tilted her head, contemplating her options.

“A bargain,” she said slowly. “You will let all the Illyrians and Autumn Court soldiers go. You will free them from the crown’s corruption. If you do, then I will go with you.”

“You think I would give up my entire army so easily? I’m no fool.”

“The Illyrians then,” Nesta said. “Only then will I go with you.”

“I could just kill your friend here,” Briallyn said. “Then take you anyway.”

“You do that, and I’ll rip you apart,” Nesta hissed, and flames appeared at her fingertips. “But if you accept my terms, I’ll go with you willingly.”  

“Please, Nes,” Emerie rasped, her hands trembling from where they still clutched the hilt of her blade. “Don’t do this.”

Briallyn stared at her for several seconds, but Nesta held firm. She wouldn’t be the reason Windhaven was destroyed, not when Cassian had worked so hard to protect his people. She wouldn’t be the reason Emerie or any Illyrian suffered.

“The Illyrians,” the crone said. “I agree to your terms.”

Nesta hissed as ink bloomed around her wrist, like a manacle. “It’s a bargain.”

Briallyn held out a hand, expectant, but Nesta asserted,

“Let them go first.”

She didn’t move an inch until the blade Emerie was holding fell to the floor, the male in front of her stumbling back, eyes wide. When she was certain there was no threat to her friend, she stepped closer to the queen. Assessing Emerie one last time, she said,

“Tell Cassian I’m sorry.”

And without waiting for her to reply, she reached out to take Briallyn’s hand, disappearing instantly in a cold, harsh winnow.

Chapter Text

“Eat or Bed?” Cassian asked, his eyes far too perceptive as he observed her.

“Bed,” Nesta replied, the relief at being offered the escape so powerful it made her throat tight. She left without a word, desperate and agonized, and as soon as she shut and locked the door of her room behind her, she pushed forwards to the bathroom, falling to her knees and releasing every ounce of contents from her stomach into the toilet.

Everything hurt so badly it was blinding. She didn’t know what was wrong, what had changed, but ever since her power had exploded out of her on that battlefield, her ears hadn’t stopped ringing, and her skin burned to the touch, aching so deeply that it hurt to move. Her muscles spasmed and her nerves felt as though the ends were frying, so much so that it was all she’d been able to do to simply remain conscious in the presence of her family, the idea of contribution so beyond the reality of her abilities that she was thankful no one cared to speak with her.

The tiles were cool when she eventually slumped against them, her cheek bone throbbing with the impact of her face all but smacking down to the floor. For several seconds, she did nothing but try and regulate her breathing, not entirely sure she was able to intake enough air in her lungs to survive whatever was happening to her.

Was this a punishment? For all that had happened over the last few days, for her failures? She hadn’t saved her father, she’d missed with her power when she tried to kill the King, and as a result Cassian had almost died. They’d almost lost everything. Was this the Cauldron’s punishment for being a sorry vessel for its power? Was it angry that she survived and kept hold of what she’d stolen from the pits of that hell in the midst of her agony?

Nothing existed but the feeling of her skin on the stone beneath her, the pressure of her pain and anxiety thick in the air. She wasn’t sure if she was dying or if someone should help her, she didn’t even think she could get their attention, at this point. All she knew was that she was burning, that there was nothing but pain. Even the tears that streamed down her cheeks exacerbated the ache, and for the first time in her life, Nesta could only pray to beings she didn’t believe in to offer her relief, to let her body fade off into oblivion.

---

When Nesta’s eyes cracked open, the cool sensation of stone against her cheek was the first thing she recognized. The room was dark, and her body felt heavy, as if she’d just climbed a mountain. She could smell metal in the air, blood, she’d learned, but when she tried to move, to see, she was held down by her own weight, no strength left within her to sit up.

She flexed her fingers, tried to rotate her wrists, but was met with steel that was so tightly bound around her wrists that to move them rubbed her skin raw against the manacle. She didn’t remember how she got here, only that someone had put them on her at some point before she’d lost consciousness.

“She’s waking,” a voice said, distant but cold. It was a voice she didn’t know. “The queen said not to let her get ahold of her wits.”

The sound of creaking metal came from the distance, but Nesta didn’t know what it could be. She had half a mind to tell whoever was speaking that she had no strength to do anything but be miserable on whatever floor she was laying on, that every joint in her body ached, her muscles in her arms and shoulders screaming at the weight the manacles on her wrist added. She knew she was on her side, her arms awkwardly in front of her, and she could feel the strain of it down her back. With some degree of concern, she realized she couldn’t feel much in relation to her legs, not with everything still so fuzzy.

But it didn’t seem to matter, not when she could hear footsteps approaching, which sent her heart racing so quickly it pounded in her ears. She had no strength to fight back, not when a cloth that had a pungent stench was shoved into face, covering her mouth and nose until she couldn’t breathe, choking against whatever chemical they were using to keep her sedated.

Her vision blackened, blurring, and the voices spoke again as her mind drifted, but she couldn’t make sense of the words. She didn’t know where she was, she didn’t remember what she was doing, and the only thing that felt familiar to her was the cool call to sleep that was so powerful she could do nothing to fight it.

---

“Nesta, I will not ask you again. Get up.”

Nesta wanted to tell her mother that she couldn’t, that her body just wasn’t working, but that embedded fear of disappointing her forced her to move, her hands pushing on the wooden panels that served as the floor of the dance studio in their home. The back of her legs throbbed, the sting of her grandmother’s cane so acute her knees shook, but the threat of receiving another lash was enough to keep her moving until she was back on her feet, turning to face the two women watching her with a scrutinizing gaze.

“You haven’t been practicing,” her grandmother said. “You lazy, ungrateful girl.”

“She’s been ill,” her mother replied. “I tried to get her to practice yesterday, but alas.”

It was as far as her mother’s defense would go. Nesta had been so violently ill the last week that she’d heard talk of a hospital, her father’s voice, tense with concern, being the only thing she’d been able to comprehend. Even this morning, she hadn’t been able to walk properly, not without losing her breath. Her father had been the only thing standing in the way of continuing her normal lessons, but he’d been called away, something about an emergency with his accounts, and her mother had taken his leave to call on her grandmother for her weekly lessons as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

“I told you that you would disappoint your grandmother,” her mother said to her, as if she had no power to do otherwise. “I can’t stop her from dishing out the consequences.”

“If you didn’t practice before, we will practice now, until you get it perfect,” her grandmother said, her cane across her lap. “Again.”

Nesta didn’t know how she made her body move, only that she did as her grandmother asked for an unknown amount of time until she was on the floor again. And again, and again. Every time, she would try and remember the steps, but once she started spinning, or moving too quickly, the ground would meet her so fast she had no idea how she even got there.

“Perhaps it is too soon,” her mother said after the fourth time she ended up on the floor. “She’s too fragile.”

“We have no time for fragility, Elizabeth.” Her grandmother snapped. “She’s already fifteen. At this rate, she’ll disappoint me just like you did.”

There was silence, or at least a period of time when Nesta couldn’t hear, until her mother said,

“I understand, mother. She will not disappoint you.”

“I know you aren’t crying,” her grandmother said, but this time the words were for her, the end of her cane hooking under her chin. Her nose had taken the brunt of her last fall, sending tears to her eyes and down her cheeks, and something warm and wet dripped onto the floor. Her eyes moved down to see, and the sight of scarlet on the light wood startled her so severely she jumped.

That was blood. Was she bleeding?

“She’ll stain her dress, mother, if you hold her head like that.”

Her grandmother sneered down at her but seemed to believe that possibility to be more of an offense than the wound to her face. She pulled her cane back abruptly, and Nesta caught herself in time to ease back onto the floor. Sweat had prickled her skin, and every time she breathed it burned, as if she were inhaling rocks, her ears ringing. If she had anything left in her stomach, she had a feeling she’d be sick.

“I don’t understand,” her grandmother said. “What is wrong with her? You said the illness she inherited from her father would not impact her ability to meet my standards. I already let her be last week when you said she had a cold.”

“It won’t,” her mother replied. “She’s being dramatic.”

“We don’t have time for dramatics. The winter ball is next week. If she’s not ready, we’ll be at a loss.”

Anxiety tightened Nesta’s chest, as she’d entirely forgotten that she was expected to make something of a debut next week. There would be eligible bachelors from all over the region, and while her father had been adamant that she not be married until she was eighteen, it was perfectly acceptable to secure a match now.

A crash sounded suddenly, and she jolted, vaguely recognizing the sound as the door hitting the wall. Her grandmother had certainly abused the old wood enough for her to know the sound anywhere.

“What have you done?!”

Her father’s voice echoed off the walls, and Nesta had never heard him so furious in her life. He was always a softer spoken man, and she’d only heard him shout on a few occasions, and never directly in her presence. His footsteps were heavy as he approached, drowning out whatever her mother said in response.

“The rearing of daughters is not your concern,” her grandmother snapped. “Nesta knows her duty as a woman.”

“Nesta is a child!” Her father roared, suddenly so much closer, and then his hands were on her shoulders, pushing and lifting until she was in his lap, her head rolling into his chest.

“I should have you arrested for this,” he continued, before his palm was on her cheek, tilting her head back so he could see her face.

“Nesta, sweetheart, look at me,” he said, suddenly so much softer. A cloth was pressed to her nose, gently, even if the action had her wincing.

Moisture gathered on her cheeks, like a flood, until she realized what it was that had her devolving into sobs. Relief. Her father was here, and he would keep her safe. And she was so relieved.

“Oh, my love, I’m so sorry,” he murmured, lifting her properly into his lap so he could press his lips into her hair. He turned his head, long enough to shout at whatever servant was closest to call a doctor.

Now that she was held securely in his arms, she had the time to gain her wits again, her eyes settling on her mother, who stood with her face set into a grim line, her hands clutching her chest. Her eyes were hard, but just briefly, Nesta thought she saw fear there.

“How does this not horrify you?” Her father hissed, his voice quieter but just as furious, and she saw the softest of jerks shake her mother’s frame as she stepped back.

The action made her cough, just a few times, but Nesta noticed she had been doing that off and on from the moment she saw her this morning. Now that she thought about it, her mother hadn’t looked quite herself today either.

“You agreed to this,” she snapped back.

“Not this,” he said, shaking his head. “You knew she was sick. She has pneumonia, Elizabeth, by the stars! This could kill her.”

“Well, it’s not too late to begin training for Elain,” her grandmother replied, and her father went so wholly still Nesta feared for a moment that something had happened to him.

“You will leave this house,” he said so lowly it was almost a growl. “You will leave this house and never step foot on my property again.”

A heavy silence stretched long enough that her eyes closed, her head turning back into the soft fabric of her father’s shirt. She was so, so tired.

“You wouldn’t dare,” the voice of her grandmother hissed, but her father merely said, “if you’re still here by the time I get my daughter to bed, I will have you removed.”

He turned his full attention to her then, his hands so gentle as they stroked her hair and cupped her cheek. She tried her best to give him her focus, but the longer she was wrapped in his warmth, the harder it was to keep her eyes open.

“My darling, tell me what hurts,” he said, but her tongue felt leaden, and the idea of opening her mouth posed such a monumental task that she couldn’t answer him. Instead, she started to close her eyes.

“Nesta, keep your eyes open. I know it’s hard, but just until the doctor gets here, sweet girl. Keep your eyes on me.”

There was such terror in his voice, such horror, but even if she wanted to soothe him, she just couldn’t.

“Nesta,” he called again, but it was no use.

Her eyes closed and didn’t open again. And it was such a relief.

“Nesta!”

But she was gone, falling back into that darkness, into peace, where everything was blissfully quiet.

---

Cassian’s entire world moved in slow motion.

He knew, he knew, he shouldn’t have left her alone. He should have insisted, should have let her rage at him. At least then, she’d be safe. But the moment the corrupted Illyrians they’d gathered fell back into themselves, he knew what had happened.

Rhys hadn’t been able to stop him as he took off running, desperate, desperate, to lay eyes on her. To convince himself that it wasn’t true. But there was no other reason that Briallyn would have let his people go, no other reason than…

“General…”

Cassian’s eyes took in every detail of the destroyed shop before they zeroed in on the male who was sitting beside Emerie. Balthazar, if he remembered correctly. His eyes were wide, haunted, even, but Cassian was moving before he could recognize it, and had him pinned against the wall so quickly the wood cracked, his hand squeezing around the male’s throat.  

“Cassian, please,” Emerie cried, but the sight of the cut on her brow and the marks on her throat only fueled his rage.

“What did you do?” He shouted at the male under his grip. “Where did she go?”

Balthazar shook his head, and it was the stark fear in his eyes that forced him to pause, to take stock.

“I don’t know what happened, General,” he wheezed. “But I would never hurt your mate, I swear it. I don’t know how I got here.”

“He’s telling the truth!” Emerie tried again. “Balthazar wouldn’t hurt either of us willingly, Cassian.”

“Cassian,” Rhys’ voice called then. “Let him go.”

But Cassian didn’t want to hear anything his brother had to say, not when they had both failed to save her, to save Nesta. He wouldn’t yield until everyone who put their hands on her was dead, corrupted or not.

A fierce, blinding presence pressed against his mental shields, a warning.

“General, you will release him this instant. I won’t ask again.”

It was with devastated frustration that he was forced to obey his High Lord, releasing the soldier in his arms so roughly he fell to the floor, gasping for breath. Turning with power pulsing at his fingertips, he rounded on Rhys, prepared to knock him flat on his ass for daring to interrupt his vengeance. But Rhys’ eyes flashed in a warning, and suddenly he couldn’t move. Instead, he breathed heavily for several seconds, watching as his brother held Emerie close by her elbow, almost as if to protect her from him.

“I won’t let you go until you have yourself under control,” Rhys said firmly. “You won’t cause any more damage here than what has already been done.”

The shame and rage at being put in his place stung deeply, and he let out a long, frustrated sound. But Rhys was right, he always was, and after a few moments he said,

“I’m fine.”

Rhys eyed him suspiciously before he nodded once, and Cassian instantly moved forward to evaluate Emerie himself.

“What happened?” He asked again, brows furrowing as Rhys tilted her head back to observe the bruising around her throat.

“She was here,” Emerie said, her voice hoarse now that he heard it properly. “She came before you arrived. She used me against Nesta. She had the crown.”

Rhys had a firm frown on his face, even as he concentrated on letting his magic heal her wounds. But not before Balthazar gathered his wits and said, in a horrified tone,

“Oh gods, Em, I’m so…”

It was the devastation in his soldier’s voice that finally settled him. Turning to assess the male who was still pushing himself off the floor, he took in the absolute despair in his face as his eyes roved over the damage he had done to his friend. Emerie shook her head, wincing at the movement, just as Rhys said,

“It isn’t your fault. There was no stopping it while under the crown’s control.”

“Where did she take Nesta?” Cassian asked, putting all of his control into easing his tone.

“They made a bargain,” Emerie said as Rhys finished his ministrations. “She agreed to go with Briallyn if she released all the Illyrians from her control. Briallyn agreed, and then they disappeared. I don’t know where.”

“We have to get back to Velaris,” Rhys replied. “Get Azriel to locate her. You should come with us, Emerie, you’ll be safer there.”

“I’ll keep your shop safe,” Balthazar added, and Cassian briefly wondered how he didn’t know before that he’d been a friend of hers.

Emerie let out a breath but nodded. Turning to Cassian then, with eyes full of tears, she whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t,” Cassian said, taking care to ease his tone into something gentler. “It’s not your fault. Nesta knew what she was going to do from the moment we arrived. I was just too stupid to let her.”

“We were both too stupid to let her,” Rhys corrected. “But we’ll get her back, Cassian, no matter the cost.”

---

“You better be fucking joking,” Feyre said, eyes ablaze, pacing back and forth in front of them.

Cassian shook his head, too distraught to offer anything else. For hours now, they’d been sitting around Rhys’ study, Azriel working to pinpoint Briallyn’s location while they kept watch over the remaining items of the Trove.

Feyre paused in her pacing, taking in a deep breath as a contraction worked its way through her system. She wasn’t in labor yet, according to Madja, her body was just preparing. Regardless, the timing couldn’t be worse. Rhys had been firmly reprimanded the last time he’d tried to hold her through it, and was instead resigned to his desk chair, anxiety coming off him in waves.

“I can’t believe she agreed to do that,” Elain said, with a frown. “I don’t think I could.”

“She did it for the Illyrians,” Emerie commented from her place on the couch. She’d been staring blankly into the fire for some time, only breaking out of her trance when Mor sat beside her, a cup of tea in her hands. “She traded herself for our freedom. I would have done it too.”

Cassian wished he could be angry with Nesta for that choice. Wished he could tell her she was wrong, and that Illyria would have been just fine if she’d stayed put. But he knew they wouldn’t have been. He knew he would have done exactly the same thing. To have the death of Illyrians on Nesta’s hands would have destroyed her more than whatever hell she was going through now. Meanwhile, the only thing keeping him from shattering into pieces was the feeling of the bond, soft but sure, in his chest.

“You don’t think they went back to the mortal queens’ palace?” Feyre asked, but Rhys shook his head, pinching his brow.

“Azriel already scouted it out. It’s deserted. He seems to think they’re still in Prythian, to stay close to the other Trove items.”

“Do you think Briallyn could actually wield the crown against Nesta?” Mor asked. “If they answer to her, then it may not be so simple.”

“We can only hope,” Feyre said. “But Nesta had an iron will before the Cauldron anyway. If anyone could resist it, it would be her.”

“Maybe, but if she’s unwell…”

Cassian frowned deeper as Mor said the words. She’d already been off this morning, her stress from Azriel’s injuries weighing on her. If they were keeping her somewhere less than comfortable, he imagined it wouldn’t bode well for her. His heart clenched in fear for his mate, his rage at not being able to ensure her comfort leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

“She said she’s always in pain though, right?” Elain said, wringing her hands. “Maybe we just have to hope she can power through.”

The room hummed in agreement, though it wasn’t quite enthusiastic. A heavy silence stretched for several minutes, until it was Amren who despite the months of criticism and harsh words said,

“Nesta is strong. I have faith in her.”

---

“Let’s try this again, Nesta,” Briallyn said. “You have a duty to your Court to fulfill your end of this bargain, after all.”

Nesta’s chest heaved from where she sat on the floor of the cell, she’d been deposited in. The manacles around her wrists were too heavy for her to lift her arms, and her cheek stung with the gashes she’d received after the queen’s initial attempts to get her to yield to the crown’s control. But no matter how hard Briallyn demanded it, the relic did not so much as scratch her mental walls. Instead, it whispered to her,

Sister, sister, how sad you look.

Take me, and we will have our revenge.

Like calls to like, Nesta, I cannot harm you even in your shackled state.

She didn’t believe that for a moment, but no matter what she told the crone before her, the fact that she could not be controlled was beginning to put her in a precarious situation. Again, Briallyn focused all of her power on willing the crown to corrupt her, but Nesta felt nothing, even with her magic cut off, courtesy of the chains they’d put her in. She wished the lack of the Cauldron’s presence offered her long-sought relief for all the pain it brought, but her body ached so severely it was all she could do to keep her eyes open.

A sharp slap jerked her head to the side, the long nails of the female before her cutting into the skin.

“Stop resisting!” She shouted. “You will obtain the other items of the Trove for me, Nesta, and you will wield them as I command. There’s no use in trying to stop it.”

“I’m not trying,” Nesta sneered. “If you truly knew the ways of the Trove, you would know that.”

Briallyn struck her again, and she tasted metal in her mouth. A round of coughs shook her chest, brought on by the damp chill of the place they’d brought her to. She hadn’t the faintest idea of where she was, only that they were still in Prythian.

“I’m not above having these brutes rip you apart piece by piece if that’s what it takes, dear,” Briallyn crooned. “You’re pretty enough that I’m sure they’d enjoy it.”

Nesta cast a glance at the Autumn Court soldiers who stood resolutely at the queen’s beck and call. Their expressions were perfectly blank, not a single free thought behind their eyes. She had no doubt that, even without the crown’s control, they’d rip her to pieces, but the fear of what they’d do without a moral conscience had started to weigh on her.

This is tiring, that voice called again, and Nesta had half a mind to retort, to tell whatever it was that she’d been exhausted since this chaos with the Trove began. But Briallyn hissed the next time she tried to command the crown, and Nesta realized, through her haze, that she didn’t have the control over it that she claimed, despite being Cauldron-born herself. The old queen looked on the verge of pain until she pulled back with a scowl, leaving the cell in an angry storm.

“Quiet her,” she shouted from down the hall. “I don’t want to hear her existence until she decides to make herself useful.”

Nesta was sure, absentmindedly, that she’d heard her grandmother say those exact words to her, at one point, but she didn’t have the time to think it through properly until the male who had been standing guard was approaching her in the cell. Fear gripped her fiercely, not in the least when his eyes roved over every inch of her.

But instead of touching her, of doing those more horrific things that Briallyn freely threatened her with, he simply struck her across the head in one smooth movement without so much as a blink. And though she tried not to let the darkness take her, Nesta was unconscious before she even hit the ground.

Chapter Text

“I’m afraid it’s up to Miss Nesta now, to decide whether she pulls through.”

Nesta felt like her body was made of steel, unable to move. There was a pressure on her chest, too warm and suffocating, but she was too tired to do anything about it. So wrung out, that she couldn’t force herself to climb up to consciousness, to push through the veil of sickness that kept her incoherent. Instead, all she could hear were the voices that came in and out, though she never quite knew who it was speaking.

“The pneumonia has worsened, and her fever has yet to break. I believe the sickness had already been exacerbated the day before yesterday, and simply reached its peak with her physical exertion. Either way, you should prepare yourself accordingly.”

She didn’t know that voice, didn’t like the cold, yet somehow sympathetic tone of it. She felt as though she was burning, and yet couldn’t bring herself to seek relief. And so, she drifted, the voices around her fading until she had the strength to listen again.

“My darling girl, my first love, you’re so strong. I know you’ll pull through this. And I will be right here until you open your eyes again, I promise.”

Her father’s voice she could recognize anywhere. Smooth and constant, he was always there, calling and coaxing. But she just couldn’t push herself like he wanted. So, she faded again, drifting in pleasant darkness for unknown amounts of time, until another voice filled the void.

“You must know I never meant to harm her this way,” said her mother. “I hadn’t realized she was so ill.”

“You hadn’t realized because you were too absorbed in keeping your mother happy, just as Nesta is when it comes to you.”

“You don’t know what it’s like, to meet the kind of expectations Nesta will face.”

“I know what it’s like to watch her lose her joy because of it. I feel that guilt so acutely it aches more than any ailment ever could. I never should have let this happen to her. And, I suppose I never should have let it happen you either.”

“If we lose her, what will we do?”

Lose her? Nesta thought sluggishly. Where was she going?

“We aren’t losing her.” Her father snapped. He sounded so angry, so firm. She almost didn’t recognize it.

“Papa? Is Nesta alright?”

“We picked some flowers to make her feel better, papa.”

“Your sister is very sick, girls,” her mother’s voice came again. “You best leave her be.”

“The flowers are lovely, Elain. You and Feyre did a wonderful job picking them. Nesta will be just fine, I promise.”

Nesta slipped away again, plagued by her grandmother’s screaming voice, the weight of her disappointment. Nightmare after nightmare terrorized her for what felt like days on end. She feared she’d have to fail her father once again, that she wouldn’t be able to pull through like he was so sure she would.

But eventually, after what felt like an eternity, Nesta saw daybreak.

A thin, cool hand was stroking the hair on her forehead, brushing it back and running through the long tresses. It was a touch so rare she almost didn’t recognize it. And when Nesta opened her eyes, she found her mother’s matching ones staring down at her, pensive.

“Thank the gods,” her mother murmured, and Nesta’s brows furrowed at the phrase. They didn’t believe in any gods in this house. “You were starting to scare us, Nesta.”

Nesta went to open her mouth, to reply, but her lips were chapped, and her throat was dry. Her mother shushed her, before she said,

“I didn’t realize you were so ill. You should have said. Why didn’t you?”

Nesta tried to organize her thoughts, tried to make sense of all the pieces she had from the world around her over the last few days. But everything was muddled, and forming sentences felt like the hardest thing she’d ever done. Her mother’s eyes sharpened, almost disappointingly, but there was pain there, if she really looked. She was sure of it now.

“You have to use your voice. Your grandmother and I aren’t monsters. We have a strict schedule, but if you’d said, then…”

Her voice trailed off, and Nesta watched her eyes flick to the doorway. In a monumental effort, she turned her head, just in time to hear her father say softly, but firmly,

“I told you that you weren’t to be alone with her.”

“She is my daughter,” her mother snapped. “I will be alone with her as I wish.”

Nesta’s confusion only grew at the words. Why wouldn’t her mother be allowed to be alone with her? Her father looked down at her, and she saw the surprise in his eyes, and the guilt, and realized that he didn’t know she’d woken when he spoke. In a smooth moment, he was at her side, lifting a hand to her forehead, his entire body sagging in relief.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m so glad to see you awake.”

Nesta made to sit up, wanting to know what exactly happened since the dance studio. Her father’s hands shot out to support her, helping her prop up against the pillows. He guided a cup of water to her lips, and the relief was so acute she sighed. His touch was warmer, and softer, but she couldn’t deny that she wished her mother had been the one to help her. Instead, as soon as he entered, she’d pulled back.

“What happened?” She asked, cringing at the rasp in her voice, the burn it caused in her chest.

“Your pneumonia took a turn,” he said, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “For a moment we…we were scared you wouldn’t come back to us.”

Tears glistened in his eyes, but before he could speak further, her mother said,

“We knew you were strong, Nesta. I knew you were always going to pull through. Your sisters will be delighted to see you awake.”

There was a look exchanged between her parents that spoke a thousand words she wasn’t privy to, something tense and angry. But at that moment, she didn’t care what they were. Because, despite the anxiety she felt at the conflict that seemed to revolve around her, she just wanted care from the both of them. Even if it was just for a few seconds.

“Wake her.”

Nesta hissed at the way the manacle around her wrist was yanked, pulling her up and abruptly out of the doze she’d been in, out of the memory of her father’s kind face. Her shoulder screamed at the movement, and for a moment she feared it would dislocate from the awkward angle the brute was holding her at. But before she could really start to panic, she was deposited at the queen’s feet, the impact taking the breath from her.

 Briallyn’s efforts to influence her had yet to succeed over however many days she’d been here, not even a little, and the crone’s rage seemed only to grow with each passing attempt. They couldn’t kill her, that much was certain given the fact that she may be the only person who could access the other items of the Trove, but without the ability to force her to do Bryallyn’s bidding, her wellbeing certainly wasn’t assured.

“Perhaps I’ll have to pay a visit to Windhaven,” the queen said. “Since you’re being so stubborn about our bargain.”

“I told you I would go with you willingly,” Nesta replied, grimacing at the bruising around her ribs. The floor was cold and hard, and it didn’t take much to leave an impact on her body. Not when her magic was cut off entirely. She felt almost human again. “But I never said I would help you. It seems you forgot to learn the intricacies of a fae bargain.”

“Nevertheless,” Briallyn countered, though her lip curled back in frustration, “if it were your General standing here, punishing you, would you be as resilient? I do wonder.”

The thought of Cassian under the influence of the crown sent a wave of nausea through Nesta’s system. Since that first day, the object had yet to call out to her again. In a strange, almost absurd sense, she felt as though it would not yield to her unless she broke free, unless she took it by force. The aid of the Trove would not be freely given, it had to be earned. And Nesta had fought to be good enough for her mother’s expectations long enough to know it wouldn’t come easy.

Before she could offer a reply, a harsh series of coughs shook her frame. The dampness of the cellar they’d put her in was wreaking havoc on her weakened system, not in the least when their offering of sustenance consisted of a few gulps of water and a bread crust. If it wasn’t the beatings that would kill her, it very well might be the illness that was sure to set in at some point.

“Be careful”, her father had said all those years ago after she pulled through the pneumonia that almost changed everything. “The doctor said you were more likely to get sick now.”

She shuddered at the memory, not wanting to dwell on the care that she refused to admit, she desperately missed. Briallyn clicked her tongue, and a long, jagged finger hooked under her chin, forcing her to meet her eyes.

“Perhaps I won’t have to do anything at all. It seems you’re withering away all by yourself. Don’t fret though, my dear, you’ll live until the moment I throw you back in that Cauldron. Do as I ask, though, and perhaps I might be inclined to make your last moments more…comfortable.”

Nesta fought the urge to scoff. If she’d had the choice, Nesta would have withered away a long time ago. There was little will in her to do anything to change that from happening now.

“I’ll give you some time to think on it,” Briallyn said, pulling back. “Withering or not, I’m not opposed to bringing greater forces into play to force you to yield. I know a death god or two who would love to get revenge on your family through you. Whatever would your General say, I wonder? To receiving your head at his doorstep.”

Nesta thought back to the monsters she saw in the Prison, the threat of Koschei that Rhys had told her about when all this began. And though she wasn’t able to hide her trembling, be it from fear or the cold, she knew with certainty she’d face any of them before she let her family be hurt again because of her failures. But she also thought of Cassian, and gods she longed for him. As terrified as she was of the pain he may suffer because of her, she couldn’t deny her selfishness and wished he would come for her. She just hoped, foolishly, that he wouldn’t.

---

“You haven’t found them?” Cassian asked from the head of the strategy table they’d set up in the House of Wind.

Azriel sighed and shook his head, darkness cloaking him more and more with each day that passed. “It’s as if Briallyn got what she wanted and disappeared entirely. I don’t even have eyes on the Autumn Court soldiers she controls.”

“All of the Illyrians are back to normal, though?” Emerie asked, seated in the corner of the room, Gwyn beside her.

His brother nodded. “Most of them have no recollection of what happened. Devlon has been informed to the extent he needs to and is keeping things in order. As tense as things are between us, he doesn’t want his men corrupted anymore than we do.”

The anxiety in Cassian’s chest was so acute that it made it hard to breathe. It had been four days since Nesta made that damn bargain, and in that time, they’d found next to nothing about where she went.

“Briallyn wants the Trove,” Azriel said, pinching his brow. “I expect she’ll try to make a play for it soon. She can’t access them without Nesta, so I’d wager she’ll keep her alive until then. Maybe we’ll have to wait for her move.”

“That’s bullshit,” Cassian snapped. “Alive isn’t good enough. We have no idea what that witch is doing to her.”

Azriel pursed his lips, signaling that he agreed but didn’t necessarily have better answers. They’d all been feeling the pressure of locating Nesta, particularly before Feyre gave birth, and the longer they went without substantive leads, the more on edge everyone became.

“We will find her, Cass,” Azriel said. “I promise. I want her home too.”

Cassian didn’t respond, instead roving over the map laid out in front of them for the millionth time, as if it would suddenly reveal its answers. Heavy silence filled the air for several long moments until the sound of wings broke the reverie. Lifting his head, Cassian watched as Rhys touched down on the balcony and made his way inside. His face was drawn, tense, and Cassian held his breath until his brother said,

“I have news, but you may not want to hear it.”

Irritation swelled up in his chest, and he made to snap at Rhys, demanding answers, but it was Azriel who said,

“Please, Rhys, enough with the dramatics.”

Rhys offered a small, slightly apologetic smile, and said,

“I have a letter from Eris Vanserra. He claims to be aware of our situation.”

Cassian’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“He’s been tracking his soldiers that Briallyn has under her control. He seems to suggest he knows where they are. And allegedly, where Nesta is.”

Azriel frowned deeply. “I’ve kept tabs on his network. They haven’t indicated they have any idea where she is.”

“You don’t think Eris wouldn’t hide something like this for leverage?” Cassian asked, tone sharp.

Azriel cocked his head in acquiescence.

“He’s offering help,” Rhys said. “In exchange for the assurance that his men are released when Nesta is. And, of course, for our continued support for his claim to his father’s power.”

Cassian let out a long sigh, tilting his head back. The thought of Eris Vanserra getting involved was the last thing he wanted to consider. He was almost certain he was hiding something else to put the situation distinctly in his favor. But with Nesta’s life at stake…

“I’m not sure we have other options,” Azriel muttered. “But I don’t like it. It puts us at a disadvantage.”

“None of us like it,” Rhys said. “But with Feyre so close to her due date, we don’t have as many options as I’d prefer. I want Nesta home as soon as possible. She agreed to help us find the Trove, but not to become Briallyn’s pawn, though I suppose she already accepted that risk. I won’t hesitate to accept Eris’ aid if it means ensuring her safety. But Nesta is your mate, Cass, not mine, so I will defer to you.”

Cassian was silent for a few moments, as if he were considering it, but really, the decision was already made. He’d do anything to get Nesta back as soon as possible, even if it meant working with someone like Eris Vanserra.

“Tell him we agree,” he said. “And set a meeting no later than tomorrow. I’m done waiting.”

---

Eris Vanserra had Cassian’s blood boiling from the moment he took in his smirking face. They’d agreed to meet in the Moon Palace, above the Court of Nightmares, and though Rhys was wearing his own usual arrogance, there was something about seeing it on the Autumn Lordling's face from the moment they arrived that had him chomping at the bit.

“Careful, Lord of Bastards, your mate won’t appreciate it if you rip my head off before I tell you where she is.”

Cassian’s brows knitted together, and a snarl creeped up his throat, but he tried to channel Nesta in that moment, tried to find the same, cold restraint she was able to wield so effectively. So instead, he crossed his arms and remained silent. Besides, Eris had taken a healthy step backwards when Azriel appeared beside him, and that was satisfaction enough.

“I don’t have time for taunting,” Rhys said. “Either tell us what you know, or I’ll throw you off this mountain.”

Eris raised his arms in acquiescence, before he moved toward a table in the room. Waving a hand, a map appeared before him, lined with the movements of what Cassian assumed were his men, both corrupted and uncorrupted.

“While you’ve been hunting the Trove, I’ve spent the last few months tracking my men’s movements, trying to find any patterns. Aside from when they are dealing with you, they remain fairly consistent with what you’d expect for a patrol guarding a fortress. I think Briallyn has taken residence in one of the abandoned strongholds left behind from the first war with Hybern, far enough into the Middle that we’ve been hard pressed to detect her.”

Azriel pursed his lips in contemplation, moving forward to assess the map himself.

“My network hasn’t tracked much movement in the Middle.”

“Yes, well, we all have our shortcomings.”

Cassian wondered, briefly, if Azriel would attack Eris again for such a slight. But his brother remained firm, though his eyes flared in his own irritation.

“Either way, my network has informed me that for the past several days you’ve reoriented your efforts solely on finding Briallyn. A little meddling and I was able to confirm why. I should have known Nesta Archeron could wield the Trove, with that power in her eyes.”

“It’s not something I am intent on sharing with other Courts,” Rhys said carefully. “Nesta is not a weapon to be used or stolen. By you, or anyone. If she offers to help you, then it is her decision.”

To Cassian’s surprise, Eris didn’t respond with a derogatory comment about his mate. Instead, he simply assessed Rhys with something too close to understanding in his eyes, and respect. Not for Rhys, but for Nesta.

“I would never presume I could force Lady Death to do anything she doesn’t desire. I expect you’ve learned the same.”

Rhys pursed his lips but offered nothing further. Eris turned his eyes to him then, cocking his head.

“It makes since someone as prone to reckless and thoughtless bloodshed  as you would have no qualms mating the female that embodies the Cauldron itself. Have you danced too close to her flames yet, I wonder?”

Cassian let a smug smirk tug at his lips. “I keep her interest well enough that she doesn’t burn me.”

Eris smirked back, and Cassian was only slightly proud of how it didn’t make him want to punch the look off his face.

“Nevertheless,” the Lordling said. “I do not wish Nesta to suffer either. She and I have what you might call an understanding. If you ensure the release of my men, I will help you retrieve her. That, and of course, when the time is right-”

“Yes, yes,” Rhys said, waving a hand. “Though you are certainly taking your time with that, aren’t you?”

Eris narrowed his eyes, and his own flames flickered within them. Cassian bit back a snort.

“So then, when are we leaving?” Azriel asked. “I have little patience for unnecessary bullshit.”

“I haven’t heard your agreement yet,” Eris said. “What do you say, High Lord?”

Rhys sighed, almost as if he was bored. “I wouldn’t have called you here if I didn’t agree, Vanserra. It would have been a waste of my time.”

“Perhaps, but I want something more concrete. A bargain, perhaps,” Eris said. “If Nesta truly is that important to you, then you shouldn’t have any qualms ensuring your commitment to our deal?”

Anxiety spiked in Cassian’s chest, and he almost made to offer Eris his own vow of support, if Rhys didn’t want to show his hand so readily. But to his surprise, Rhys didn’t hesitate in moving forward, offering his hand without a snide comment. The spike of magic filled the room for a brief second as Eris took it, signifying the bargain had been sealed.

“Bring my sister home, Lordling,” Rhys said, his own power sparkling in his eyes, “then we’ll talk about your ambitions.”   

Chapter Text

Cassian stared into the forest ahead, arms crossed. If he listened hard enough, he swore he could hear her calling out to him. His mate, death herself. Ever since they’d parted, he could feel her there, a steady presence in his chest. But as he stood at the entry toward what Eris Vanserra claimed was the prison Nesta was suffering in, he swore he could hear her, too. And if not her, then her power, thrumming through the air like a song meant specifically for him. It called to him, coaxed him, and reminded him that he wasn’t only mated to Nesta, the female with a will of iron, but also the essence of the magic that had become part of her, the Cauldron.

Lady Death and Nesta Archeron were both entirely different yet one in the same, and his heart belonged to both of them.

“I haven’t laid eyes on the fortress specifically that Briallyn has claimed as her own, but have tracked the patterned movements along this perimeter,” Eris was saying to Azriel, who listened with a scathing expression on his face, irritated that it wasn’t him providing the information. “I’m not sure what lies ahead for us after this point.”

“I don’t care,” Cassian said. “I’m done waiting.”

“Yes, yes, we all want Lady Nesta to come home in one piece. But I do think she’d prefer if you did too, General of Bastards. I certainly do not intend to invoke her wrath myself if you die before we reach her.”

“I have no intentions of dying,” Cassian replied. “Not at the hands of an old crone, anyway. You, on the other hand, I’m not so sure, with how loudly you’re talking.”

Eris rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Scared?”

“If you’ve seen the things the Trove is capable of, you would be too.”

“How does your mate feel about being with someone who is afraid of her?”  

Cassian’s blood boiled, and he snarled, stepping forward to remind the Autumn lordling just who he was talking to-

“Enough,” Azriel said. “Nesta is more important than whatever bullshit you two want to spew at each other. I’m going ahead, either sit here and argue or get moving.”

Cassian glared at his brother as he walked into the tree line, his shadows cloaking him. For several seconds, he and Eris watched him go, and in that time, Cassian could hear her call again, soft, yet steady. Taking in a breath, he followed after him.

And, to his displeasure, Eris did too.

---

“Eat or bed?”

The words repeated in Nesta’s head for the hours and hours that she laid in that room. She was sure she was dying, that the Cauldron was taking its revenge. Ever since her power had exploded on that battlefield, she felt its sting over every inch of her body. As the hours dragged on, she was sure this would be how her sister found her, whenever Feyre decided to finally check on her, curled up and pathetic on a bed stripped bare, burning alive. She wondered if she’d even be here at all, or if the Cauldron’s flames would leave nothing behind but ash.

“My love, my Nesta, let papa help,”

For hours now he had been taunting her, the image of him clouding her vision, his voice ringing in her ears until she covered them with a pillow, silently begging him to stop. Because he wasn’t really here, and he never would be again. And it was all her fault.

“It’s alright sweetheart, the pain will go away soon. It always does. Until then, I’ll always be right here.”

She supposed he’d been right in the end. Death certainly took away her father’s pain. Squeezing her eyes shut, she refused to listen to his words any longer, refused to let herself think of him, of his loss, of the look in his eyes as he told her he’d always loved her, and how quickly the life extinguished from them as the King snaped his neck. And if it wasn’t him then it was…

“I have no regrets in my life, but this. That we did not have time.”

It was this other voice she clung to, desperate to relieve herself of the devastating grief her father’s loss caused her. It was his eyes, blazing despite the pain he was in, the warmth of his skin and the way the brush of his lips ignited something so new, so intense, that for the briefest of moments Nesta forgot the world entirely.

But Cassian wasn’t here either, no one was. Instead, the sun had set and risen, again and again, and no one came. No one worried, no one pestered. She wondered if they even remembered she was here at all. But with her failure so stark, the life of her father extinguished due to her own inadequacy, she couldn’t blame them. Couldn’t blame him. He had more important things, better things, to focus on than fulfilling a half-hearted promise made on a dying breath.

And so Nesta simply squeezed her eyes shut, tears burning her cheeks, the salt stinging her nose, and let herself drown in her own misery, pathetic as it was. Because it was what she deserved, after everything. To be nothing but a distraction, a fleeting moment, a memory forgotten in favor of happier ones, ones with actual promise.

“I will find you in the next world, the next life…”

He’d promised. He’d promised her time, and yet…

The dream shifted.

“You are my obsession, my desire, my hopes, my dreams. You are my mate, yes, but you are also my love, the person I want to spend my future with, the person I want to live with. You infuriate me and challenge me and knock me down a peg when I need it, but you also make me feel more than I ever have. You make me want to be better, to do the things I’ve always been too afraid to. Do you understand?”

There, in the darkness, she heard him again. His voice soft, his touch warm, affectionate.

“I was thanking the Mother,” he’d said. “For giving me you.”

His words had been everything, filling her with something she’d never experienced before. Even if she was a sorry excuse of a mate, broken beyond repair-

“No, my love, she didn’t give me a broken mate. She gave me a perfect one, perfect and strong and so brilliant. You’re so brilliant, Nes.”

She pictured his face, the small smile he always had just for her, one that held the depth of what they meant to each other, like a secret only they were privy to.

“If Briallyn got her hands on you, I don’t know what I’d do.”

But she’d known. And despite her determination to keep him safe, the haziness of her mind clouded her judgement, leaving only the burning hope that he’d come for her.

As if in answer, something warm pulled on her consciousness, something powerful. It was like an answer, a promise.

He was coming, it seemed to say. He was coming and nothing would stop him.

As that connection strengthened, tugging and tugging, the haziness of Nesta’s mind cleared, just for a moment. And with a sharp intake of breath, Nesta opened her eyes.

---

“I would remind you that my men are not here on their own free will, so I would appreciate it if you didn’t butcher them like cattle.”

Cassian didn’t offer Eris a reply as he tracked the movements of the guards outside the abandoned fortress they’d found. Despite being forgotten by history, it was well preserved, the perfect place for a scorned queen to conduct her revenge. He could feel the mating bond acutely in his chest, nearly singing with how close Nesta was. And yet, they had to be careful. One wrong move, and they themselves would be caught under the control of the crown, of Briallyn.

“I can use my shadows to incapacitate those outside,” Azriel said. “If I move them into the tree line, it might buy us some time before the queen becomes aware of our presence.”

Eris dipped his chin in acknowledgement, and Cassian assessed his brother closely.

“Come back here once you’ve finished,” he said. “Once we get inside, the priority needs to be locating Nesta. If Briallyn gets control of us and we don’t have her, things will get much more difficult.”

Azriel nodded once, and without another word disappeared into the darkness, intent on his mission. And though Cassian had absolute faith in his brother’s abilities, the minutes that dragged by as they waited filled him with increasing anxiety.

“I hate to say it, but I’m impressed,” Eris commented after a while, eyes fixated on Azriel as he moved along the perimeter. “The shadowsinger has skills after all.”

“Please,” Cassian replied. “Don’t act as if he hasn’t been seconds from squeezing the life out of you on more than one occasion.”

Eris offered him a glare, but even as Cassian felt the need to further assert his brother’s superiority, there was something more pressing he wanted to address. So, swallowing his pride, he returned the male’s stare and asked,

“Before he returns, I need you to promise me something.”

Eris cocked a brow, perhaps shocked that he would even broach such a subject. “I’m listening.”

“If Briallyn gets control of me, do everything in your power to ensure I don’t hurt Nesta. Even if it means striking me down.”

Eris’ brows furrowed. “I don’t think your brother, or your mate would appreciate that.”

“No,” Cassian agreed. “But I couldn’t live with myself if I caused Nesta more pain. I can’t trust Azriel to go through with it, he’s too close. But you can. And once it’s done, take Nesta back to the Night Court, make sure she’s safe. Can you do that?”

He expected Eris to demand something of him, to require another bargain. But he merely regarded him with a clouded expression, one full of emotions Cassian didn’t rightly understand. After a moment, the Autumn prince nodded, simply saying,

“I can do that.”

“Thank you,” Cassian replied, turning back to watch as Azriel finished his meticulous work.

“But I won’t unless it’s absolutely necessary,” Eris added. “Your mate doesn’t deserve to suffer the pain of your loss just as much as she doesn’t deserve to suffer pain at your hand. I think she’s suffered enough.”

Cassian turned back to assess him, eyebrow raised, but before he could ask where Eris’ sudden resolve to help Nesta came from, Azriel re-appeared.

“It’s clear,” he said. “But we have to move quickly.”

In an easy movement, the three of them winnowed into a hallway off the main entrance, dimly lit by half hazard torches hung along the walls.

“There are rooms above and below,” Azriel said. “Normally I would suggest we split up, but I fear having to face one of you in battle if we do.”

Eris nodded, cocking his head as he listened for the movements of his soldiers within. “My men are primed to use magic first in a fight,” he said. “Close quarters hand to hand combat is not necessarily their strength.”

Cassian’s surprise at Eris’ decision to share that knowledge must have been evident on his face, for the Autumn Lordling glared at him so fiercely he could almost feel the heat of his own flames.

“I understand,” he said slowly. “We’ll search the lower levels first.”

They moved surprisingly well as a unit, in tune with each other in a way Cassian didn’t expect. For all that he was, Eris Vanserra did seem to know when it was time to get a job done, and how to get it done well.

But it had been too easy, and it was only a matter of time before their first problems arose.

It was the sound of running footsteps that alerted him, and he turned, listening as corrupted Autumn court soldiers shouted commands from up the hall. There weren’t too many, maybe five or six, nothing in comparison to the battles he’d fought before.

“Keep going,” he ordered, pulling his sword. “Search the lower levels. I’ll hold them off.”

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Azriel hissed, pushing past Eris to get to his side. “I won’t leave you here.”

“A few Autumn Court soldiers aren’t enough to strike me down,” he said. “Keep looking for Nes, I’ll catch up with you.”

Azriel opened his mouth to refute, to argue, but Eris gripped his shoulder roughly and snapped,

“Stop wasting time.”

Looking to Cassian, he said, “Do what you must.”

And then they were gone, disappearing through the shadows.

---

Had Eris Vanserra known that doing a mission with two Illyrian bastards would be so infuriating, he would have done this by himself.

But here he was, a fresh bargain tattoo on his bicep, that obnoxious fucking shadowsinger breathing down his neck, and the fate of a mating bond in his hands. He almost wished he’d let Azriel take on his men instead, if only to not have his overbearing presence distracting him from the actual task at hand.

Now that he thought about it, though, he trusted the General to keep his men alive in actual combat far more than the Spy Master, who looked as though he would kill the next person who spoke two words to him.

“You’d think you were Nesta’s mate, with how tightly you’re wound,” Eris commented as they rounded a corner, revealing a cold, damp cellar.

“Nesta is my sister,” Azriel snapped. “How else would I be?”

Eris shrugged, scanning his eyes through each small room they passed. “I suppose you’re right. You are overprotective as hell of anyone who can stand to be around you for more than a few seconds.”

The shadowsinger snarled, his teeth gnashing in the low light. But as amusing as it was to ruffle his feathers, Eris did make that bargain for a reason, so he’d do his best to see it through.

“Check the rooms to the left,” Eris said. “This place is too big for us to go everywhere together.”

“Don’t order me around, lordling,” Azriel growled, but heeded his word. Perhaps he was smarter than Eris gave him credit for.

Moving further down the corridor, he took care to keep his steps quiet. It was peculiarly empty, until he moved down another stairwell, into the bottom cellar. He heard their voices then, voices that he would recognize anywhere.

“Did you knock her back out?”

“For now. But she keeps pushing through whatever I give her.”

“Hit her upside the head, then.”

“I did. But we’re not supposed to kill her.”  

The voices were so monotone, so empty of the males he knew were trapped somewhere in their own skin. Moving closer to the small room at the back of the tiny space, he caught sight of them, standing in front of a cell, hardly large enough for anyone to stand up straight in. And sure enough, Lady Death herself resided within, unmoving on the floor.

The Lord of Bloodshed was going to burn the entire place to the ground as soon as he laid eyes on her.

Eris took in a breath as he prepared to move forward, to act against the males who had vowed to serve him. They were his true brothers, in one way or another, even if he’d never readily admitted it to them. And though there was little true affection between them at the current moment, the guilt at incapacitating them with his flames would stick with him for some time.

They fought back, just enough that the ends of Eris’ hair singed as their flames licked at him. But he’d always been the best fighter in the Autumn Court, and he wasn’t lying about their lack of expertise in close quarters. In the end, it was a blow to the back of a head with a metal bar that he sincerely hoped hadn’t been used on Nesta that did them in.

The smell of blood tainted the air, and the relief that washed over him as he felt the pulses of his men was enough to distract him, until his target let out the softest of pained whimpers.

Pushing to his feet, he moved towards that cell, taking in the sorry state of Nesta Archeron. Her wrists looked so tiny shackled in what were surely manacles that restricted her magic. There was a cut on her cheek, overtop a darkening bruise that went all the way up to her temple, and a stream of blood trickled steadily from her hairline, her nose.

There was no doubt about it, then. Cassian’s fury would burn until every single person in this fortress was either dead or relieved of their corruption. And even then, he didn’t know if that would be enough.  

The door had been left open, perhaps out of the knowledge that their prisoner wouldn’t be moving around any time soon. Sinking to his knees in front of her, he raised a hand, brushing her hair back from her face to get a proper look of the wound that still bled from her scalp.

For the briefest of moments, the image of another female flashed through his mind, his mother’s eyes staring unfocused into his own as he tended to the very same injury, inflicted as a result of his father’s latest offense. Eris shuddered at the thought.

“Alright, Lady Death,” he said, pulling into her into his arms with as much care as he could offer. “This is no place for a female of your prowess. Let’s get you back to your mate before he loses his sanity.”

Nesta’s head lolled into his shoulder, her eyes closed, and Eris shifted to pull her properly in his lap as his hands moved towards the manacles around her wrists. Her entire body seemed to be burning, so hot it almost burned him, and he hoped that whatever fever had taken her wouldn’t be life threatening. The keys to her shackles were nowhere to be found, and as he pondered his next steps, her brows furrowed, and she murmured something soft, a name.

“Yes, Cassian is here,” Eris offered, not quite sure why he felt the need to soothe her, when they had barely more than one evening of interactions together. “Rest easy now.”

She quieted, her breath coming in a ragged gasp, and he ran his hands over the chains, contemplating. Worst comes to worst, he could break her wrists and slip them through, but then it might be him at the mercy of the Illyrian warrior upstairs, rather than Briallyn. But now that he looked at them, her hands might just be small enough to pull through with minimal damage. Holding one in his hands, he assessed the logistics of it until something cold and sinister wrapped around his body.

“Get your hands off her,” Azriel snarled, and Eris barely had a chance to recognize the voice as the shadowsinger’s before he was in front of them, the blue of his siphons casting an eerie glow over the room.

 Eris couldn’t help the fascination he felt as Azriel cupped Nesta’s face in his palm, the rage on his face shifting to something so soft and full of concern that he hardly recognized him.

“I think they hit her with something,” Eris said, electing to ignore the order he’d been given. “And she has a fever. We need to get the chains off so we can move her.”

Azriel didn’t reply right away, pressing the back of his palm to her forehead. She shifted away at the action, as if his touch was scalding.

“It’s not a fever,” he murmured, almost to himself, and Eris quirked a brow in question. Azriel turned his gaze to the chains in front of him, and was silent for several seconds, until he said,

“Her power might overtake her if we take them off before she’s strong enough to handle it. Her body it…it struggles to keep up with the intensity of it. I’m afraid it would exacerbate her pain too greatly.”

“I understand,” Eris replied. Because he always had, even without this final piece of truth. He understood as soon as she’d called him out for his own pain that night in the ballroom. “Can you break the chain at the wrists?”

Azriel nodded, doing so with his bare hands with a ferocity that, though he would never admit it, sent the smallest shiver of fear down his spine. Nesta let out a soft cry, jostled by the action, and fell more heavily against Eris’ chest, like a dead weight. Azriel was in his space instantly, far too close for comfort, a soothing sound coming from his lips as he cupped Nesta’s face again.

“Nes,” he said. “Can you hear me?”

She tried valiantly for consciousness; her brows furrowed so tightly he felt the urge to smooth them.

“Come on, love,” Azriel tried again. “Open your eyes and we’ll get you to Cassian.”

Time seemed to stand still as they waited for her to respond. He could see every ounce of pain on her face, and despite himself, he found that his own hand had moved to brush through her hair, keeping it out of her face. If Azriel noticed, he didn’t comment.

And when her eyes finally, finally opened, Eris let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“Cass…” she murmured, her voice cracking over the word.

“He’s right behind,” Eris replied, shifting his eyes to the shadowsinger as if in search for confirmation.

Azriel held his gaze for a full second, debating, before he turned back to Nesta, affirming, “he’s coming.”

Eris didn’t fight the shadowsinger as he reached out to take Nesta from him, bunding her up in his arms as if she were a prized possession. Back on his feet, he moved out of the cell, unable to stand up straight until he cleared the bars.

“We’ll go back the way we came,” Azriel said. “Hopefully Cassian has kept it clear.”

Eris nodded, pushing ahead, silently leading the way back up the stairs to where they’d left the General. They made it to the top of the stairs, back towards the entry way, when he laid eyes on him, standing ramrod straight, wings tucked in tight. But before they could move any closer, Cassian shook his head minutely, and Eris froze in his tracks.

Shit.

“Don’t,” Cassian said through gritted teeth, and as his eyes landed on Nesta, who was still fighting to keep herself awake, something fractured in his expression. But before Eris could shift in front of her properly, to keep the promise he’d made, he found he couldn’t move either, no matter how fiercely he demanded it of himself.

“Good,” a voice purred, melodic despite the creak of it. Shifting his eyes, he took in Briallyn for all that she was, beauty warped into an ancient body, eyes burning with rage, with desperation.

“Now that we’re all here, we can get started.”

---

Nesta’s ears rang as she tried desperately to get her wits together. She could hear Briallyn speaking, spewing whatever nonsense she’d been going on about for days, but she was so much warmer than the last time she’d spoken to her, her body restrained in different ways.

“Easy, Nes,” a voice murmured in her ear. The voice was so jarringly familiar that she pushed herself through, snapping her eyes open to focus on the blue siphon on Azriel’s chest. His grip was firm, unyielding, but not painful, despite the absolute agony she was in. She felt as though she’d been crushed by a horse, and her head pounded incessantly with the pain of however many times the soldiers had lost their patience trying to keep her unconscious through gentler means.

“Let her down, she’s awake enough,” Briallyn drawled lazily, and Azriel moved instantly, nearly dropping her.

Of course, Nesta’s knees buckled immediately under the weight of the rest of her body, and it was only his hands, which shifted to grip her forearms tightly, that kept her upright. Her vision blurred, and she blinked rapidly to clear it, just in time to hear Cassian say,

“Nesta, don’t let her make you do shit.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest, and she focused on the sight of her mate, standing to Briallyn’s right, his sword drawn. Eris Vanserra was beside him, arms tightly crossed, as if he refused to yield them to the queen’s command until the last possible second. Had they all come for her?

The crown glimmered on the crone’s head, but its voice was quiet, nothing calling out to her as it had before. Nesta straightened, eyes sharpening as she focused on the female in front of her.

“I told you I would go to greater lengths to get you to cooperate,” the queen crooned. “How brave can you be if it’s your own family breaking you?”

Azriel’s hands flexed around her arms, and Nesta cast her eyes up to his, taking in the absolute horror within them, at the thought of having to harm her.

“Give her to her mate, shadowsinger,” Briallyn said. “That is, after all, why you came, isn’t it?”

Nesta stumbled as he let go of her arms, but before she could regain her bearings Cassian had his hands on her, hauling her upwards with a gentleness at odds with the queen’s commands. His expression was frantic, infuriated, and terrified all at once. He trembled, either from the effort to resist the crown’s call or his emotions (or both).

“I won’t hurt you,” he said to her. “I won’t.”

Nesta shook her head, fully aware that he wouldn’t, even as Briallyn demanded he stop talking.

“We don’t have time for theatrics,” Briallyn said with a snarl. “I’ll give you one last chance, Nesta. Agree to obtain the Trove for me, or else I’ll have your mate torture you until you’re begging for mercy.”

It took Nesta far longer than it should have to fully comprehend her words, her mind so sluggish from the abuse it had taken over the past few days. The pain had gone numb, and she wasn’t certain she would be able to do anything other than fall to the floor should Cassian let go.

“You can try,” Nesta replied, hoping her words came out coherently. “I still won’t give them to you.”

Briallyn snarled, an air of desperation about her that only spoke to how unsteady she was. Her eyes scanned the four of them carefully, before she said,

“Then he’ll torture someone else,” she said simply. “Let her go,” she ordered Cassian. 

Nesta’s eyes widened, even as Cassian obeyed her order and dropped her to the stone floor as if she were nothing. She hit the ground hard, hissing at the impact as her wrists took the brunt of her fall. She could see the way he was trying to resist, almost desperate to go back to her. Instead, it was Eris Vanserra who helped her to her feet, his hands far too warm for the state she was already in and a fierce, possessive growl slipped past Cassian's lips as she winced.

"Keep your head, General," Eris warned. " Remember I have a promise to keep."

Something shifted in Cassian's face, and he eased. Nesta leaned heavily into Eris' arms despite herself, black dots blurring her vision. She only wished she knew what promise he was talking about.

Briallyn grinned at Cassian then. "Good," she said. Lifting a hand, she gestured to Azriel. "Now kill." 

"Don't you dare," Nesta snarled, but it was no use.

Cassian moved towards his brother slowly, unsheathing a dagger on his thigh, his body practically vibrating with how hard he was resisting. Azriel was ready for him, shifted into a defensive position, though Nesta knew that he would never hurt his brother, even if he asked him to. Nesta pushed herself out of the Autumn Prince's arms, horrified at what would happen should one of them actually try to kill the other.

But suddenly, Cassian stopped moving, and instead stared at Azriel for a long, long moment.

“Take care of her,” he said firmly, even as Azriel shook his head, seeming to come to a conclusion Nesta herself had yet to make. “Promise me.”

“Cass-” Azriel started, and the horror and despair in his eyes gave Nesta the tools she needed to begin to understand what Cassian intended to do.

“Promise me!” He shouted, and Nesta shuddered as Azriel’s shoulders slumped, and he dipped his chin slowly.

“I promise, brother. But don’t-”

The world moved slowly, and panic boiled up in Nesta’s throat so quickly that as Cassian turned the blade towards his own chest, arm swinging down to impale himself, she screamed, something deep within her snapping off its leash, and then several things happened at once.

The entire room exploded in a bright, blinding light, filling every crevice, exposing every shadow. Nesta’s rage consumed her entire being, until there were no thoughts but the determination, she felt at stopping Cassian from doing the unthinkable. The cuffs around her wrists disintegrated, the building around her turning to nothing, as if it had never been there, and her power surged through her so quickly she could do nothing but yield to it.

Yes, sister a voice called out, and as time stood still, Nesta’s gaze zeroed in on the crown sitting on Briallyn’s head. Take revenge for our mate.

Nesta moved forward, entirely surrendered to the power within her, and she watched with no small amount of sick satisfaction as Briallyn was destroyed before her, pulled apart into nothing with nothing but a thought. Her screams didn’t even reach Nesta’s ears. In a smooth movement, she reached down, the crown coming into her grasp easily. It felt like a homecoming, her right to claim the object, and as the light faded around her and the world snapped back into focus, she wore it easily on her head, commanding it to release all those who were forced to bend to Briallyn’s will.

Like calls to like, the crown sung to her, your wish is mine.

Nesta wanted to burn it all, she wanted vengeance for all of those who hurt her, who hurt the people she loved. She wouldn't stop until it was all gone, all of it-

"That's enough, sweetheart, it's done."

She knew that voice so well, and yet the storm within her refused to yield, as if she were nothing but the vessel the Cauldron used to do it's bidding. 

A pair of hands touched her face, warm, and she wondered who'd dare try such a thing, after witnessing her wrath. 

"Nesta, my love. It's done, let go. Let go and we'll go home." 

Her eyes found his, burning with those brilliant gold flakes, unwavering from her own, even though he knew it wasn't quite herself staring back. 

"That's it," he said. "Let go. I'm alright, everyone's alright. Your job is done."

Something in her shuddered, relief crashing into her like a wave, and suddenly that power receded, so quickly she gasped. 

When the dust settled, and Nesta’s eyes re-adjusted to the world around her, she found the bodies of the other two males who came to save her on the ground, prone. Horror filled her chest so quickly that she cried out, her knees buckling. But before she could hit the ground, Eris Vanserra coughed, muttering,

“By the gods.”

But Nesta wasn’t listening, her eyes catching on Azriel, who hadn’t moved. She stared and stared, desperate to see his chest rise and fall. If she’d killed him, if she was the reason he was dead, then she’d-

“I figured it was safer to stay down here, while you did that,” Azriel wheezed, pushing up onto his knees. Dust coated his face, and for the first time she realized they were surrounded by rubble, by the remains of what had been a perfectly maintained fortress.

The relief she felt at hearing him was so intense she fell, a strangled sob slipping past her lips. Her mate was there in an instant, his arm securing around her waist, a soothing sound coming from his lips.

“Easy,” he said. “I’ve got you, just breathe. It’s alright. Look at me sweetheart, let me see your face."

She obeyed, simply from the desperation in his voice, but Nesta was burning, just as she had that day after the final battle. Her insides screamed in agony, the force of her power overwhelming her. Her body trembled so fiercely that it was all Cassian could do to hold her steady, a hand brushing over the cut to her cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” Cassian said. “I’m so so sorry, sweetheart. I know it hurts.”

Nesta shook her head, but couldn’t speak, couldn’t even comprehend her own thoughts. Vaguely, she heard Eris say,

“Get her home, Cassian. She needs a healer. I need to retrieve my men.”

His men? Oh gods, had she killed them?

Nesta turned her head, intending to ask that very question, only to see Eris offering a hand to one such soldier, who reached up wearily to clasp it in return.

“Come on,” Azriel said beside her, and she wondered when he’d approached, for she certainly hadn’t noticed. “You need help, sister.”

“But…” Nesta opened her mouth and shut it again, the single word alone sending too much pain throughout her body to continue. They couldn’t just leave Eris here, could they?

“Go on,” Eris said then, and she watched as he approached their circle carefully, as if aware just how protectively Cassian was holding her. “You’ve saved my men. I owe you for that. Let your mate take care of you, while I take care of them.”

Nesta watched his expression carefully but nodded once, her resolve almost entirely shattered. Before she could fully think of a reply, Azriel’s hands were on her, on Cassian, and they were winnowing, whipping through space and time until they were back within the Night Court’s borders, within Velaris. The action took what was left of her, and as they landed on the lawn of the River House, she let out a wheeze, gripping tightly onto Cassian’s leathers as her knees hit the grass. Cassian’s arms were around her in an instant, keeping her steady as everything emptied from her stomach.  

“It’s okay,” Cassian said, his voice hoarse. “I’ve got you, Nes. Just try to breathe.”

“I’ll get Madja,” Azriel said, moving towards the path to winnow again. But before he could get too far, Mor appeared in the doorway, stark relief on her face contrasting with her stress. Nesta lifted her head at the sound of her voice.

“You don’t have to,” she called. “She’s already here. The baby’s coming.”

Chapter Text

Nesta didn’t know where her energy came from, how she even had any strength left, but as soon as Mor had spoken, she was moving. On her feet, she pushed out of Cassian’s arms, trudged across the grass, and was inside and on the stairs before she properly realized what she was doing.

“Nesta wait you’re hurt!”

She made it halfway up the flight of stairs before it caught up with her, and for several dangerous seconds the world tilted, her ears ringing. She didn’t even think about looking back at Cassian or listening to him. Because he would have to wait, for there was currently something far more important going on.

“She’s refusing to have the baby until she knows Nesta is safe, but there’s something wrong, he’s not moving as he should,” she heard Mor say, and the sound of clanking weapons echoed through the hall as the Illyrians behind her dropped their weapons.  

“What??” Azriel asked.

But Nesta stopped listening, for Mor’s words gave her the push she needed to finish her trek.  

Her knees trembled as she pushed up the final few steps, her hand brushing the wall for support. Vaguely, she realized she left a smear of blood behind, and for the first time her mind seemed to recognize how bad of shape she was in, and a sharp spike of anxiety speared through her chest. But then she was pushing the door open to Feyre’s bedroom, just in time to hear her yell,

“I am not pushing until someone tells me where my sister is!”

Nesta lost her grip on the door, her fingers slick, and the wood hit the wall with an ungraceful thud. At once, everyone in the room froze. Amren’s brows were up in her hairline, and Elain had let out a horrified gasp. Well, she supposed she did look awful.

“I’m here,” Nesta rasped, cringing at the weakness in her own voice. “I’m here.”

“Oh gods, Nesta,” the High Lord said, and to her surprise he’d pushed halfway out of his chair, though his hand remained tightly wrapped around Feyre’s, stress lining his brow.

“You look like you’ve just emerged from the grave, girl.”

Nesta ignored him, instead moving towards the other side of the bed, where Elain was seated in a chair. Elain rose instantly, and then she was gripping her elbow, pushing her down into the cushions she’d previously been occupying. It took everything in her not to let out a sigh of relief as she hit the soft fabric. Instead, she took Feyre’s free hand into her own, briefly recognizing how ghostly white her skin was in comparison to hers, the blood and dirt on her knuckles. Feyre sat up, leaning forward, and she removed her hand from Rhysand’s to reach over and brush her fingers along the cut on Nesta’s cheek.

“You’re hurt,” her sister said, the concern in her eyes so acute it overshadowed the pain she was certainly in.

“I think you have bigger things to worry about right now, sister,” Nesta said, her voice quiet, and she gently pushed her back down against the pillows.

Just then, Cassian burst in the door, almost knocking it off his hinges, his eyes wild.

“She needs a healer,” he said, voice tight with tension.

“Later. It doesn’t matter right now,” Nesta said to him, something strange and commanding in her voice. To her surprise, everyone complied with the order instantly, Azriel pulling Cassian towards the back wall to stay out of the way. Perhaps it was the fierceness in her tone that drove them, or the more serious matter of Feyre’s condition, she didn’t know.  

“It can never be easy with this family, can it?” Madja muttered, before returning her focus back to Feyre. “Alright, my dear, your sister is here. It’s time to push. We can’t wait any longer, and the child is already in distress.”

The next several minutes seemed to pass in slow motion. Feyre screamed and screamed, each contraction taking the breath from her lungs. The scent of blood was nearly pungent in the room, a mix of Nesta’s and her youngest sister’s. She’d learned, just in the last few seconds, that Feyre had been slowly shifting her body into an Illyrian form, to accommodate her child, which had wings. It wasn’t something she’d mentioned, a secret kept between her and her mate, and Nesta would have to try to save her anger for later when they got through this.

Because now there was something wrong.

“Your pelvis is too small still,” Madja said, her brows knitted tightly together. “He is wedged in the birth canal.”

“What does that mean?” Rhysand asked, more fear in his voice than Nesta had ever heard.

“She’ll be okay, right?” Mor added.

Madja shook her head, too focused on her work to answer either of them, and Feyre’s head fell back against the pillows, exhausted. Nesta squeezed her hand, her thumb brushing over the back of her palm.

“I could cut, but the bleeding, it would…” Madja lifted her eyes to Feyre, before flicking them to Rhysand’s.

“It would what?” Rhys asked, his voice hard, strained.

But Nesta already knew the answer, and her entire body was ice cold as she looked over her youngest sister, taking in the pallid nature of her skin, likely akin to hers. Surely, they weren’t going to lose her, right?

“I can’t guarantee both would survive. She can try to keep pushing, but I’m not certain we’ll get much farther than this.” Madja said.

Rhys said something then, but Nesta had stopped listening. Instead, she spoke to Feyre.

“You’re strong, Feyre,” Nesta said to her quietly, her voice steady despite the terror seeping through her bones. “You can do this.”

Feyre turned her eyes to Nesta’s, brows knitted together. “I’m so tired, Nes.”

“I know,” Nesta said. “Just a little longer, then it will be over.”

“When this is over, I’m going to kill you for making that bargain,” Feyre croaked, her face contouring into a grimace, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Nesta let out the sorriest excuse for a laugh anyone had probably ever heard, but offered, “and I’m killing you for keeping this situation a secret. We’re even.”

“I’m killing both of you,” Elain said simply, though her voice wobbled as she fought to contain her own horror.

Feyre let out a shuddering breath, her head rolling back towards her mate. Rhys looked devastated, holding her hand to his lips.

“If you need to cut, then do it,” Feyre said, voice firm.

“Feyre, darling,” Rhys pleaded. “Not yet. You can do this, my love.”

Madja didn’t move right away, waiting on Feyre’s final word.

It was then that Nesta felt the warmth start to trickle up her fingers, the remaining embers of her power slowly, but surely igniting into a flame. A voice, that voice, the one that always called out to her, seemed to hum in the distance.

Feyre shook her head, defeated, and Nesta wanted desperately to beg her to try harder. But there was blood everywhere, and she could practically feel her sister’s agony. The exhaustion was so palpable, so deeply felt, that she had no idea if it was hers, or Feyre’s, or everyone else’s.

“I can’t,” she said with a sob. Eyes finding Madja, she asserted, “Do it. I won’t lose him because we waited too long.”

If you will it, it will be done.

If I will it? Nesta asked, the sudden voice in her head cutting through the haze of her mind. Will what?

Your sister will die. You must act quickly.

Nesta’s brows furrowed, wondering if she’d truly been hit too many times in the head. But heat coursed through her veins, agonizing and overwhelming, and her fingers tingled so fiercely she nearly couldn’t feel them.

Madja let out a breath, and Nesta watched her pick up a blade, glinting in the light.

You can stop it, if you will it.

“I’ll do my best to keep you both with us.”

Wait, Nesta thought, her mind slowly but surely coming to the decision that strange entity wanted her to make. She was so exhausted, and she wasn’t sure her body could handle such a thing, but if it saved Feyre, then there really wasn’t a choice at all.

Just as Madja moved, Nesta found her voice and croaked, “Wait.”

As soon as the words left her lips, the entire room froze, as if unable to move. Nesta pulled her hand from Feyre’s before anyone could ask and placed both over her sister’s womb. Immediately, her power surged, overwhelming her so quickly she had no chance to try and restrain it.

“Nesta-”

She didn’t know who was speaking, didn’t recognize anyone in that moment.

Fix it, fix everything, she said. Heal her, give her a future.

And what about you? That voice asked. What of your future?

It doesn’t matter, Nesta replied, watching as light overtook her sister’s body. Just let them live. Let them have a happy life.

She could feel her body giving out, unable to keep up with the weight of her power. She didn’t know if she would be there herself to see such a life, but if she could ensure it, she would, even if it took everything that was left of her.

You think too low of yourself, Nesta Archeron.

Bright white light filled every crevice of the room, blinding and all consuming, and in that moment Nesta let go, unsure if it was for the last time. She lost touch with everything and for several seconds just floated, weightless, in nothingness.

My darling girl, I am so proud of you.

Her father’s voice rang out into the void, and her brows furrowed, trying to place where he was.

Be happy, Nesta. Be happy, my little love.

The emotion overwhelmed her, and she wanted desperately to find him, to apologize for everything she had become, the ways in which she’d failed him.

It’s time to stop punishing yourself. Live, Nesta.

He was just out of reach, just there, in the distance, but before she could find him, everything snapped back into focus, and Nesta was deposited firmly back into her own body. Her body, which, by some miracle, still had a beating heart that was pumping blood through her veins. With a shaky gasp, she nearly keeled over, her fingers clutching at the arms of the chair, but it was the sound of a babe’s cry that kept her upright, kept her conscious.

Blinking, Nesta focused her gaze on her sister, who held her newborn son with nothing but awe in her eyes. He was glorious, entirely perfect, his tiny wings folded protectively at his back. But even as she gazed upon him, she soon realized everyone else was staring at her, equal amounts of shock and nervousness in her gaze.

“How did you do that?” Elain asked, and Nesta shook her head, for she honestly had no idea.

“Nes…” Cassian called softly, and she met his gaze for the first time since all this began. He looked devastated, yet stunned, and Elain made room for him as he approached her on slow, steady steps.

“Are you alright?” Nesta asked Feyre, who finally turned her eyes to meet hers.

“I don’t know what you did,” she said, with a smile. “But suddenly it was so easy.”

“You changed her,” Madja said, examining Feyre with a puzzled expression. “She has full Illyrian anatomy.”

“Oh,” Nesta said simply. “Well, I…I just willed it, I suppose.”

Rhys let out a teary laugh from the other side of the bed, though she could see the way his hands still shook as they rested on the back of his son, on Feyre’s hair. “Nothing stands a chance against Nesta and her strong will.”

Nesta didn’t respond to him, despite the laughs it got from the rest of the room. Instead, she peered down at the bundle in Feyre’s arms, the baby whose wide eyes stared back at her. She wished she could hold him, wished she could do something other than stare, but she didn’t think she could so much as lift her arms without losing herself entirely.

“He’s beautiful,” she said simply.

Feyre hummed, but then her eyes focused properly on Nesta. “You need help now,” she said. “I don’t know what you did, but I do know you were well past your limit before you even got here.”

“She’s right, child,” Madja said wearily, wiping her hands clean. “I fear your heart could stop at any moment with how ghastly you look.”

Nesta’s brows furrowed, even as Cassian pushed himself forward, his hands careful as they found her elbow, her shoulder.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, voice rough as gravel. “There’s no one else for you to save now.”

Nesta didn’t have anything to refute him, so she allowed him to pull her up. She couldn’t feel her legs, didn’t know if she was supporting her own weight at all. But she didn’t hit the floor, so she supposed he had a firm enough grip on her either way.

“At least put that crown somewhere safe first,” Amren’s voice came. “I don’t want to be ordered around by that thing ever again.”

Nesta straightened, blinking. Reaching up, she felt the metal frame of it in her hair, and her brows furrowed. She’d forgotten entirely that it was even there. Was that why everyone had listened to her so easily?

“We’ll save it for the next time one of us wants to do something stupid,” Cassian said, placating, but there was something about his voice, something hard, that had anxiety knotting in her chest.

Unfortunately, she didn’t get the chance to ask him. For as soon as she took two steps, her body gave out entirely, and she was gone, floating again in that dark, peaceful space.

---

Cassian was certain he’d shaved at least a hundred years off his life in the last twenty-four hours. Between Feyre, and Briallyn, and Nesta, he wasn’t sure he’d ever sleep well again. But he could hear Nyx cry from up the hall, hungry, just as he heard Feyre’s soft laugh as she got accustomed to feeding him. He wished desperately that it was enough to soothe him, enough to assure him that everything was alright now. But it wasn’t.

Because Nesta, his Nesta, had seven broken bones. Seven. Four fractured ribs, a crack in her skull and her cheek bone, and, most horrific to him, a broken wrist from where he’d dropped her hard on the concrete floor at Briallyn’s command. The bruising on her face had set in, discoloring it so severely it made him nauseated, and the rage he was feeling was so acute that he almost couldn’t stop himself from going to the Autumn Court and wreaking havoc on all those males who had harmed her, even unwillingly.  

Sweat coated her brow, her skin so pale it made Kallias look tan. Her breaths came in quick, ragged gasps, and it was all he could do to hold tightly to her hand, silently begging her to pull through as Madja tried to figure out what she could do to ease her. So many tonics had been passed through his mate’s lips, yet none seemed to have taken the edge off.

“I’ve healed the cuts on her face,” Gwyn’s voice came, and his eyes shifted to the Priestess who was seated up by Nesta’s head. She’d come instantly when Madja made it known her own power was drained, and Azriel was ready to find another healer as soon as they said the word. “The bones though, go beyond my abilities.”

Madja nodded, and instead handed her a roll of bandages. “Wrap her ribs, I’ve set them.” Trading places with her, the old healer set her hands on Nesta’s face, soothing magic pouring from them. Nesta eased as she worked, just enough that he let out a breath, and he shifted to help lift her enough to so that Gwyn could wrap the bindings around her torso.

“I’ve given her every tonic and herb I can think of,” the healer said, running a tired hand over her hair. “The wounds are healed, or healing as best they can. She will pull through, her will to live is strong. But her body is going to have to keep still to rest. Though her power is diminished, the impact of using so much of it has left her severely weak.  She’s going to be in pain, lots of it. We can keep giving her things for it until it settles.”

Cassian nodded slowly, lifting her hand to place a kiss on her knuckles. Her skin was burning, even with how pale it was, and it was clear they’d all be spending their night trying to keep her cool.

“If she’s conscious enough for it, I want her in an ice bath. Until then, we’ll make do.”

“Thank you,” Cassian replied. “You should rest now, Madja. We’ve put you through hell today.”

Madja smiled tiredly and pushed to her feet. “As long as everyone is breathing, it is a day well spent.”

Gwyn gripped the healer’s elbow gently as she helped guide her out into the hall, towards one of the guest rooms. And for the first time in days, Cassian was alone with his mate.

“How dare you,” he whispered to her through the thickness in his throat, pressing another firm kiss to her hand. “How dare you order me to ignore your pain to focus on someone else. You ridiculous, self-depreciating female. Don’t you ever do that again.”

Of course, Nesta didn’t answer, her brows knitted together, and so he sat. Sat, and waited, and prayed. Gods he prayed. He begged whoever was out there listening to have mercy on her, to ease her and not leave behind permanent scars from this mess.

But as the hours went on, it became clear that the light at the end of the tunnel was far, and that their battle was just beginning.

At dinner, the nightmares started, causing his mate to toss and turn her head, distressed by whatever horrors were in her mind.

As the clock struck nine that evening, she’d soaked through the sheets.

By eleven, Nesta was crying in her sleep.

And Cassian could do nothing but hold tight to her hand and speak softly, hoping she’d hear him.

“Perhaps we should get the High Lord, he can soothe her,” Madja said, her fingers running gently through Nesta’s hair.

Nesta let out a ragged sound, tears staining her cheeks.

“He’s only been a father for a few hours,” Cassian replied, though he didn’t disagree. “Nesta will try to kill him if she’s the reason he’s pulled away.”

“If it means she’s well, Nesta can try to kill me anytime she likes.”

Cassian lifted his eyes to the doorway, where Rhys stood tiredly, a cup of tea in his hands.

“Feyre?” He asked.

“She’s going to be here the moment she can stand properly. She’s ordered me to offer my assistance. It seems her timing was perfect.”

“Feyre needs to rest,” Cassian replied. “If she gets up too soon, Nesta will be furious.”

“I told her as much,” Rhys said, moving over to the bed just as Nesta let out a soft, distressed cry, her shoulders trembling. “She said this was more important.”

Cassian sighed as he cupped his mate’s cheek, shushing her for what seemed like the hundredth time. But his words seemed to have no impact on her, and he was becoming increasingly desperate.

“Let me,” Rhys said, handing Cassian a cup of tea. “And drink this.”

“I’m in no mood for tea,” Cassian replied.

“Not even if it’s the only time I’ll ever let you drink my tea?”

Cassian furrowed his brows but lifted the mug slowly to his lips. As soon as the warm liquid crossed his mouth, his muscles eased, something bizarrely tranquil about it. No wonder Nesta had taken to it. Rhys gave him a knowing smile before he seated himself on the side of the bed. With a gentle hand, he brushed hair back from her forehead, frowning at how warm she was. Nesta shuddered at the action, and Cassian shivered as he felt the chill radiate from his brother, whose hands were surely like ice blocks if he were to touch them.

“Easy now,” Rhys murmured quietly to her, his fingers replacing Madja’s as they stroked through her hair. “You need proper rest, sister.”

The room went quiet as he tried to slip into her mind, the silence only broken by the soft comfort Rhys offered, coaxing that iron will of hers to let him in, even just for a moment.

“That’s it,” he said, brushing tears off her cheeks. His eyes were distant, focused, and Cassian watched as the tremors in Nesta’s body eased, her frame going slack as Rhys found his mark. When she let out a soft sigh, going still, Cassian felt as though the weight on his shoulders crumbled, even just for a moment.

“That’s better,” Rhys commented, brushing through her hair one last time, as if to ensure his job was properly done. “That should hold for at least a little while. I’ll soothe her again if her mind breaks through it.”

“The crown,” Cassian commented suddenly, turning his head to where it rested on the table beside her. “You should probably put it with the others.”

Rhys nodded but remained seated. “You need to rest too, Cass.”

Cassian shook his head. “She needs me.”

“She needs you well,” Madja said with a pointed look. “If you keel over as soon as she opens her eyes, it will do us no favors.”

Cassian watched the relaxed expression on his mate’s face, the now even rise and fall of her chest, and relented.

“Alright,” he said. “But just for a little while.”

“That’s as good as we’ll get, I imagine,” Rhys replied, and squeezed his shoulder tightly as he used his magic to whisk the crown away.

---

When Nesta next experienced consciousness, she felt as though she weighed a thousand pounds. She also felt as though she’d been in this exact situation before.

Her eyes watched as Rhysand flipped through what was, without a doubt, the sequel to the book she’d caught him reading the first time. What was strange, though, was the fact that his hand was resting beside her own on the mattress, as if he’d needed to be close. Her mind was hazy, confusion thick and heavy against her, so much so that she only thought to ask,

“Do you like it?”

She had no idea if the words came out the way she meant them to, but Rhysand’s brows rose in surprise at the sound of them, and then he was closing the book, setting it on the nightstand, and taking her hand in both of his.

“I’ll be sure to write a review for you,” he said, his voice soft as if speaking any louder would harm her. Perhaps it would.

A soft pressure touched the forefront of her mind, and vaguely she recognized it as whatever mind tricks he was capable of. One of his hands lifted to brush over her hairline, and he said,

“You need to go back to sleep, Nes.”

Her brows furrowed. When the hell did he start calling her Nes?

His voice was low as he let out a laugh, but her eyes already felt heavy again, and the way his fingers stroked her hair was soothing enough to convince her to let herself drift off again, let the comforting weight of whatever he was doing to her keep her safe. It almost reminded her of her father.

We’ll be here when you wake, sister. Just rest now.

She felt relieved by that notion, content even. And so, she let herself fall back into the void, where she was weightless.

The next time she woke, it was to the sound of a babe’s cry. Her room was dark, and as her eyes adjusted, she could see that it was dark outside too. Her body ached, and her exhaustion lingered, but the child continued to wail, and it drove her to push herself up.

Her feet were unsteady as she shuffled to the door, opening it slowly. The hallway was dimly lit, and she took her time walking down it, her fingers brushing the furniture to keep her balance. She found the door to the nursery cracked open, soft light shining from within, and her sister’s voice, soft and lilting,

“Shh, my love, you must be quiet now. Your aunt Nesta needs her sleep, and she’ll wake at the sound of a pin dropping.”

Nesta stood in the doorway, watching as Feyre rocked her son against her chest. To see her standing was a relief, particularly as the memory of what she’d looked like when Nesta last saw her came back to the forefront of her mind. She turned in slow circles, soothing the child, but paused in her step as she laid eyes on her, brows raising.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “You shouldn’t be up, Nes.”

Nesta furrowed her brow. “He was crying,” was all she said, as if the explanation was obvious. But it was the only thought she could cling to as she tried to make sense of the world around her.

Feyre let out a soft little laugh and leaned down as if to whisper into his ear, “See, baby, I told you.”

Nesta stepped forward into the room slowly, blinking to clear her vision as she took in the sight of her nephew properly.

“I used to come get you, when you cried,” Nesta said, and she raised her good hand, tentatively, to run her fingers over the back of Nyx’s head.

“I know,” Feyre said, with a more nostalgic smile. “Elain told me. I had a feeling you’d do the same with him.”

Nesta nodded, smiling slightly as he nestled into his mother’s chest, eyes drooping. Feyre shifted, so that she could hold him in one arm, while her other gripped her elbow, leading her towards a far too comfortable looking rocking chair in the corner of the room.

“How are you feeling?” Feyre asked. “You really should be in bed, Nesta, Madja doesn’t want you doing anything for at least a week.”

“Oh,” Nesta replied, reaching up to rub her brow. “I don’t remember that.”

“What do you remember?”

“I remember…Briallyn. She had Cassian, and she was going to have him kill Azriel, because I wouldn’t give her the Trove.” In that instant, Nesta realized abruptly that she had no idea where her mate or her brother was. Panic rose in her so quickly that she gasped, “Oh gods.”

“They’re okay,” Feyre said, rubbing her arm. “They weren’t hurt. You destroyed the queen before they had to face each other. Do you remember that?”

Nesta thought about it for a moment before she nodded slowly. “And then you were…you were dying and I…I couldn’t let you.”

Feyre set Nyx into his bassinet before moving to kneel beside her, grasping her hands. “You didn’t let me,” she said. “You changed my anatomy completely. I have an Illyrian reproductive system no matter what form I take. And then you lost consciousness. We were afraid we were going to lose you.”

Nesta pieced together the events of that day slowly, trying to figure out how much time had passed. Feyre seemed to anticipate her question, squeezing her hands gently.

“You’ve been sleeping for four days. How do you feel?”

“Terrible,” Nesta said automatically. “Let’s not do this again.”

Feyre’s shoulders shook in a silent laugh, but there was stark relief on her face. As Nesta sat, she took stock of what shape she was actually in. There were bindings tightly wrapped around her torso, around her wrist, restricting her movement. And her face throbbed, like the entirety of it was bruised.

“Let’s get you some water, maybe something light to eat, then get you back to bed, okay?”

Nesta nodded slowly, but as her sister helped her up, guiding her towards the hall, she froze as the door to her bedroom opened, and Cassian stepped out with a bewildered expression on his face. His clothes were rumpled, his hair wild, and for several seconds he stared at her as if she was crazy.

“I didn’t hear you get up,” he croaked. “I don’t know how you got passed me.”

“You’ve been asleep in that chair since this afternoon,” Feyre offered. “Haven’t moved an inch.”

Cassian let out a shaky sigh, running a hand through his curls, though his shoulders shook slightly with a tired laugh. Nesta tried to remember seeing him when she’d gotten up, but she was so disoriented she must have missed him completely.

“Madja said Nesta needed water and a snack once she woke properly. I also want a snack, so I’ll go down to the kitchen and see if I can steal some of the latest dessert Elain’s made. You should take Nes back to bed and maybe this time get in with her instead of waking up with a crick in your neck.”

Cassian nodded, and though Nesta tried her best to listen to what Feyre was saying, she could only stare at him, at how exhausted he looked. How haunted. Nesta reached out her good hand, which he took as if it were made of glass, and he led her gently down the hall, back to bed, his other resting on the center of her back.

“You shouldn’t be up, sweetheart,” he said gently. “You need to rest.”

“So everyone keeps telling me,” Nesta murmured, though she couldn’t deny the relief her bones felt as he eased her back onto the mattress, propping pillows up behind her so she could sit up.

For several seconds, he stared at her, seated on the edge of the bed. Before Nesta could ask, he lifted a hand, and suddenly his fingers were brushing over the side of her face, which was, apparently, quite tender. He winced as she flinched at his initial touch, and said,

“I should have killed all of them for this.”

“They couldn’t help it,” Nesta replied. “Besides, they weren’t expecting me to be as…breakable, I don’t think.”

Cassian shook his head, as if he hated her phrasing. His touch was so comforting, even if she could feel his own grief through their bond, and her head tilted to lean into it as his hands ran through her hair.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” he whispered, and she suddenly saw the way silver lined his eyes. “I’ve never been so afraid in my life, Nesta.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, watching as he shifted his focus to her wrist, which, she realized, was properly splinted instead of just wrapped. He pressed a series of kisses over the bandages.

“Don’t be sorry,” he replied. “But don’t you ever, ever, prohibit me from taking care of you. We should have had you with a healer the moment we arrived in Velaris.”

“But then Feyre might not be here,” Nesta countered. “That’s more important than some cuts and bruises.”

Cassian’s eyes blazed, and she wondered if he would shout at her, had it not been for the quiet of the night and the sake of the sleeping child up the hall.

“You had seven broken bones, Nesta,” he hissed. “Your heart rate was so low Madja was afraid it would stop entirely. She gave you every tonic she could think of, and your pain was still so severe Rhys had to keep it at bay. Don’t belittle yourself, not when we love you far too much to ever see you suffer like that again.”

Nesta stared at him for several seconds, trying to remember all these things he was saying. But it had been such a whirlwind, her adrenaline pumping through her veins until the last possible moment. And then, everything had gone dark, and largely stayed that way.

“Promise me,” he begged, and he sounded so distraught that Nesta’s agreement was already on the tip of her tongue. “Don’t ever push yourself that far again. Don’t ignore your own body.”

“I promise,” she replied. “But only if you promise not to be a self-sacrificing moron. Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you were going to do.”

Cassian let out a long breath, pressing more kisses to her wrist, as if atoning for the injury. “I’d rather be dead than be the reason you were hurt further. But it seemed it didn’t matter either way. I hurt you when I dropped you, and you were so horrified by what I was going to do that you nearly killed yourself. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. So sorry.”

Nesta shook her head. “You weren’t in control Cassian. There isn’t a universe where I would blame you for that.”

“She’s right,” Feyre said from the doorway, a glass of water and some toast in her hands. “Stop beating yourself up, Cass. I think everyone is battered enough.”

Nesta accepted the water from her sister gratefully, though her hand trembled with effort.  Cassian moved to sit closer to her, and it was his fingers who kept the glass steady as she brought it to her lips. His other hand stroked over the back of her head, through her hair, in a manner so soothing she nearly sighed.

“I’m not particularly hungry…” Nesta said, her exhaustion already tugging at her again. Feyre nodded, setting the plate of toast on the nightstand.

“Just try a bite or two before you fall back to sleep alright?” Feyre asked. “It doesn’t have to be much.”

“And you should get back to sleep, my love,” Cassian added, and Nesta didn’t miss the soft, sappy smile that tugged on her sister’s lips. “You need as much rest as you can get.”

“If it means the pair of you will stop mother henning me,” Nesta replied, though she couldn’t deny that, with Cassian’s touch still so soothing, she wasn’t that opposed to the idea.

“If you think the two of us are bad, wait until morning,” Feyre said, pushing to her feet.

“Because you’ve got an entire family who’ve been waiting for four days just to do exactly that.”  

Chapter Text

The morning was quiet as Feyre walked along the hallway, already getting used to the odd sleeping hours a newborn would bring. But she had a different task in mind, instead adhering to her sister’s demands to lay eyes on the members of their family who had nearly died in the last week. Nesta was still so weak, frighteningly so, and Feyre could feel the pain she was in from the moment she stepped into the room, like a cloudy shroud in her mind. But she was also stubborn, stubborn and relentless, and she had all but refused to close her eyes again until she was sure everyone was in one piece.

Feyre kept her knock soft as she rapped on Azriel’s bedroom door. She had no doubt the shadowsinger was already awake, but it was still unnerving for him to open the door without her having heard so much as a rustle of bedsheets. When he stood before her, it was clear that he had been in bed, with the way his hair was tousled, and his sleeping clothes were slightly rumpled. But his eyes were sharp, alert, as he waited expectantly for her to speak.

“Nesta is awake,” she said. “She’s demanding to see you in one piece.”

Nothing about Azriel’s expression changed, save for the tiny uptick at the corner of his lips, which betrayed his amusement.

“Is she refusing to do anything until I see her?”

Feyre dipped her chin. “Stubborn as always. I’ve only just now passed her inspection. Cassian’s probably broken a record in patience trying to convince her to focus on herself.”

Azriel let out a single huff of a laugh. But before he could open his mouth to reply, another voice called from within.

“Az? Is Nesta alright?”

Feyre didn’t know Gwyneth Berdara very well. She knew that she, Nesta, and Emerie had developed a kind of light exercise regime that was slowly spreading throughout the rest of the Library, and she knew that the three of them also had a long-running book club of sorts. She’d also heard, through the grapevine, that there was something going on with her and Azriel, though it had never been confirmed. At least…not until now.

Her voice was distinctly slurred with sleep, and this time the sound of rumpled sheets was unmistakable. With Azriel’s large frame, she couldn’t see into the bedroom within, despite her best efforts. Instead, when her eyes met his again, she was met with the same, stoic wall he usually gave her. The only thing different was the silent challenge in his eyes, daring her to say something.

Feyre pursed her lips, determined not to smile, to give away the absolute thrill she felt at the newfound knowledge. Surely, Nesta would let them go back to sleep if she knew they were together, right?

“I’ll be right there,” Azriel said. “Tell Cassian not to give up just yet.”

For a second, Feyre merely stared at him, unsure how she was supposed to go about her day as if she hadn’t heard Gwyneth’s voice. But Azriel lifted a single brow, another dare, and she decided she valued her life too much to tease.

“Good,” she said, with a soft smile, and without another word, Azriel shut the door.

And though Feyre desperately wanted to see what Nesta had to say to him, Nyx sounded from the nursery, intent on an early breakfast.

---

Nesta assessed Azriel from head to toe, her eyes narrowed.

“I promise, Nes, you didn’t hurt me.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” She said, decidedly ignoring the way Cassian squeezed her hand, a subtle reminder of his continued insistence that she was hurt. All morning he’d been telling her what Madja ordered once she woke, and all morning she’d been pushing it off as long as possible, even if her flames burned beneath her skin and her body throbbed with each breath.

Azriel smiled at her softly. “I’m sure, love, Madja gave me a clean bill of health. As concerned as you are, I think it’s time you focus on you.”

Her eyes narrowed further, the stress of what was happening shortening her fuse. “I’m fine. I could have blown all of you out of the plane of existence I don’t understand why you’re taking that so frivolously.”

“We aren’t,” Cassian said. “Sweetheart, you used your magic to protect us, not hurt us. But we hurt you. I hurt you while we were under Briallyn’s control. So, we need to help you be okay. Because you’re not, Nesta.”

She could see it in his eyes, his terror at the idea of losing her. In truth, she still had no idea what the last few days had been like, only remembering the pain and small flashes of consciousness that passed as soon as they came. She didn’t actually know what her condition had been, how close she’d come to being lost all together.

“I knew what I was risking,” Nesta said. “It was worth it.”

This time, it was Azriel who said, “It certainly would not have been. You doubt your importance to this family too much. Don’t make me wake Gwyneth. Emerie is up at the House of Wind, I’m happy to fetch her too.”

Nesta quirked a brow.

“Gwyn was still sleeping when you left her?”

She knew it was a low blow, but Azriel merely smirked, as if he was happy to play this game with her, if it meant they were getting somewhere.

“Your sister woke her up when she came to retrieve me, but she was dozing back off when I left her. And before you ask, she’s fine too. She’d be happy to help, though, if you need her.”

Nesta fought the urge to sigh. She was refusing to glance at the door to the adjoining bathroom, where her fate resided. An ice bath. Madja had ordered an ice bath as if that was supposed to help her, when the mere thought of going into it filled her with such dread, she was sick. She didn’t care if she felt as though she was on fire, she wouldn’t, she couldn’t, immerse herself in something so…reminiscent.  But if her friends were brought here, they’d be just as firm as her mate was being about it. So, she decided to cut her losses.

“She’s probably exhausted, don’t wake her.”

Azriel hummed in agreement. “She’ll be by to pester you later, I’m sure.”

“Emphasis on later,” Cassian said beside her. “Come on, Nes.”

Azriel reached to take her hand, and squeezed it tightly, a silent reassurance. “It’s okay to take time to heal, little sister. The Trove is safe, Briallyn is dead, and we’ll all still be breathing if you take a few days. Or weeks, frankly.”

He didn’t let her respond to him, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her temple before disappearing back down the hall, shutting the door behind him and leaving a deafening silence in his wake. For several seconds, Nesta stared after him, taking stock of how quickly her heart was beating at the exertion of something as simple as a conversation, how tired she felt. Beside her, Cassian ran a hand up and down her arm.

“I know this is hard, but you’re still too warm, Nes. We have to get your temperature down. Nothing else has been working.”

Her breath hitched then, refusing to look at him, and Cassian lifted the hand he was holding, still splinted at the wrist, and pressed kisses to her knuckles.

“I’ll get in with you, alright? It’ll be just like the lake.”

Nesta frowned, turning to assess his gaze. “I don’t think an ice bath is anything like the lake. And why would you get in an ice bath willingly?”

Cassian shrugged. “I’ve taken many before, I kind of like them. And if it means it helps, then it’s a small sacrifice. Because you’re burning yourself through, my love. Your skin is red.”

Nesta looked down at her arms, and grimaced at the fact that she couldn’t refute it. It hurt to move, hurt to breathe, hurt to speak. She’d sweat through so many sets sheets she wondered how much longer it would be until they could no longer conjure them and instead had to go out into town. If her power hadn’t been so depleted, she had a feeling she’d have burned through them instead. Lifting her eyes back to his, she also couldn’t refute the way he was trying to be strong for her but was growing increasingly desperate. And despite herself, she couldn’t put him through more grief after everything.

“Fine,” she whispered, though her throat tightened so uncomfortably tears stung at her eyes.

Cassian nodded, kissing her knuckles again. “I’m going to lift you, it’s going to hurt.”

“I can walk,” Nesta protested, but the intensity of the refusal in his gaze cut off any further protest. He looked almost angry at the notion, perhaps still upset over last night, when she’d simply walked past him out the bedroom door.

“Can and should are different things,” he said as he slid his arms underneath her. “I know it hurt like hell to walk down that hallway last night. Let me take care of you. Please.”

She tried her best not to wince at the action, but he was right. It did hurt. Everything. Fucking. Hurt.  But Cassian didn’t balk, instead moving in seamless steps into the bathroom, where water had already filled the pool-like basin. Nesta let out a shuddering breath at the sight of it.

“We’ll go slow, alright?” He asked as he sat her down on the edge, where towels had been folded for her to sit on. In a gentle movement, he pulled the nightgown she’d been changed into off her shoulders and undid the wrappings around her ribs, taking such care with her that the first tears had already rolled down her cheek before she’d even touched the water.

“It’s alright, sweetheart” he said softly, lifting a hand to gently brush the tears away. “We’re going to make it better.”  

He tugged off his own clothing and without an ounce of discomfort, stepped into the icy water, dipping all the way down to cool the rest of his skin before he touched her again. Nesta stared at him uncertainly, the thought of going in herself so disturbing she couldn’t muster any words.

“Just like the lake,” Cassian repeated, his hands moving to run water over her legs, which was incredibly soothing over her burning skin, despite the fear she felt.

“This is far less fun than the lake,” Nesta replied, unable to stop the shiver that ran through her when his hands settled on her waist.

“I know, but it gives us an excuse to go back,” Cassian countered. “We’ll go and stay there for days and do nothing but eat those pastries you like and fuck on every surface-”

“Brute,” Nesta cut him off, but a smile had tugged on her lips, just a little, at the idea. “Promise?”

Cassian gave her a feral grin, though his eyes remained soft. “Promise.”

Nesta dipped her chin, pursing her lips together. “Okay,” she whispered, and she lifted her good hand to settle on his shoulder.

“I have you,” he said as he began to pull her forward into the water, “and I’m not letting go.”

Nesta squeezed her eyes shut, her nails digging into his skin, despite her best efforts. As her body submerged, she let out a soft cry, hot tears doing little to soothe her skin as they rolled down her cheeks.

“You’re okay,” he repeated, bringing her close to his chest. “You’re safe, Nes.”

She held tightly to him for several seconds, as if he would disappear the moment she let go. But eventually, he started to turn her, intent on holding her back against him. Her lips parted, and a sound of refusal slipped past them, her good hand tangling in his curls as if to prevent him from releasing her, her legs attempting to wrap around his waist to prevent such a thing.

“Just like the lake, love,” he said again, and his hand smoothed slowly up and down her back. “We’re going to float, remember?”

It should have been pathetic, how hard she was trembling, and she sincerely wished it was because of the chill. But she could see steam coming up out of the water, and as relieving as it was, it would be a while before she was cold enough to properly feel it. Cassian pressed a kiss to her temple, whispering a stream of comforting words, and slowly, begrudgingly, she convinced herself to unlock her fingers from around his hair, and instead let him move her slowly, turning until her head was back on his shoulder.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he praised, and his hands moved lightly over her sensitive ribs, guiding her body up, to simply exist in the water. “Try and relax your muscles. I’m right here.”

“I can’t,” she gasped, keeping her eyes closed as her chest stuttered in restrained sobs. Each rattled her frame, making the delicately healed bones throb, and she was quite certain this is how she’d die, how the Cauldron would get the last laugh.

“Yes, you can,” he said. “You’re so strong, Nesta. So strong. This is not going to be what defeats you.”

Nesta shuddered, but tried to steady her breathing, tried to soothe herself, reaching for those mind stilling techniques that she’d practiced for months with Emerie and Gwyn.

I like to imagine I’m floating; Gwyn had said once. That the problems in my life pass through me, rather than strike me down.

Don’t overthink it, Emerie added. It’s not meant to be something difficult, that stresses you more. It’s meant to ground you, to offer you relief.

Don’t over think it, just be.

“That’s it,” Cassian murmured, and she realized she’d been drifting in her thoughts, her breathing slowly regulating. “Just breathe. I have you. I’m not letting go.”

Just breathe.

She could do that, or at least she hoped.

Just breathe.

---

“How is she doing?”

Nesta’s eyes fluttered, and she inhaled a bit sharply at the sound of the foreign voice, acutely aware of her state of undress.

“The water has stopped steaming,” Cassian’s voice rumbled behind her in reply. He sounded almost sleepy, as if he too had taken the time to ease his mind. “She’s been like this for about half an hour.”

Half an hour?

“Good,” came the voice again. Madja, she realized, when she felt the healer’s hand reach out to brush a strand of hair out of her face. She let out a soothing sound, and Nesta felt a bit more at ease again, drifting. She wasn’t exactly thrilled about being seen in such a state, but if it was just her, she supposed she could write it off as a health-related necessity.

“Keep resting my dear, let the water work its magic.”

And whether it was Cassian’s hands, brushing softly over her skin, or the healer’s encouragement, Nesta obeyed, everything going back to perfect, blessed stillness.

---

When Nesta next came back to herself, it was to the feeling of Cassian brushing a towel over her skin, her body much cooler than it had been when she woke up this morning. Blinking, she shifted, moving to sit up straight against the soft bench in the bathroom, wincing as she stretched her ribcage too far.

“Easy, I still need to wrap those” Cassian murmured, and she settled her eyes on his face as he ran the towel over her legs. “How do you feel, sweetheart?”

“I feel…better, I think.”

His smile was soft as he set the towel down beside him and picked up a roll of bandages. It was all he had been with her since she woke. Soft.

“Good,” he replied. “Hold still for me?”

She obeyed, and watched as his practiced hands bound her ribs, the movement automatic with how many times he’d likely done it in his lifetime. His brows were furrowed just slightly in concentration, but it was enough to give away the stress he was feeling, the irritation, perhaps. So, unable to stop herself, she asked,

“Are you still angry with me?”

Cassian paused and stared at her for several seconds. Lifting his hand, he brushed her cheek, his fingers following the line of the cut that had mostly healed, the bruising that would take longer.

“I’m not angry with you,” he said quietly. “I’m angry with me.”

“Cassian,” Nesta said with a sigh. “There was nothing you could have done.”

“I could have insisted on going to Emerie’s shop with you,” he replied. “And let you be irritated with me for it. I could have begged you to stay home all together, with Azriel.”

“But then she could have taken you,” Nesta argued. “And I would have come to get you either way.”

Cassian sighed. “I should have fought harder, to keep you safe. Or at least, to make sure you didn’t exert yourself like this.”

“I told you it was my choice.”

“And I asked you to promise me never to push yourself this far again.”

With gentle fingers, he finished wrapping her ribs, and Nesta watched the fear that was so transparent on his face, now that it was just the two of them. Lifting her hand, she cupped his own cheek, stroking over the cheek bones.

“I’ll do my best,” she said. “But you have to forgive yourself, Cassian. I’m right here. It’s over.”

Cassian all but melted into her touch. “I love you,” he said seriously. “I’ll never stop loving you. The Mother granted us time, and I refuse to lose you before we have it. I can’t lose you.”

Never before had anyone been so distraught over her wellbeing, not since her father. She supposed she should have been used to it by now, with his position as her mate, but it was still a surprise, still hard to wrap her head around.

“I’m right here,” she said again, unsure what else she could offer. “And I love you too, which means you can't leave me either.”

Cassian’s entire body shuddered at the words, and he leaned forward, just enough to press a gentle kiss to her lips. Nesta sighed into his touch, her eyes closing as he pressed another to her cheek. He only pulled away for a moment before she felt a new nightgown come down over her shoulders, her hair already dry from the magic imbued in the house.  

“You’ve definitely cooled,” he said, stroking through her hair. “But Madja wants you to keep taking the tonics every few hours until everything has healed.”

Neta nodded and lifted a hand, determined to walk the few feet from the bathroom to the bedroom. Cassian seemed to consider it for a moment, unsure, but the glare she gave him must have been convincing enough for him to acquiesce. And so, with an arm around her waist, he helped her move across the floor, each step a little less wobbly than the last. Once she was settled back in bed, she asked him,

“Can we not go back to the House?”

Cassian offered her another smile, perhaps pleased she’d claimed the space as her own.

“Once you’re a little stronger. Madja’s orders.”

Nesta let out a soft sigh but didn’t get the chance to complain before there was a knock at the door. Instead of a face, the first thing to come through the doorway was a huge bouquet of flowers, dahlias and marigolds, and roses. Autumn flowers, she realized, and it was only when Rhysand set them down on the nightstand that she saw the note attached.

“These hit me in the face this morning the moment I stepped outside,” the High Lord said. “It seems we’re not the only ones worried about you.”

Dutifully, he unlaced the card from the rather obnoxious bow wrapped around the vase and handed it to her. Immediately, it unfolded in her hands, apparently sealed to anyone but her. Her eyes scanned over the short correspondence, an apology gift from the males who had been under Briallyn’s control, and a single line from Eris Vanserra, which stated,

I fear your expertise will be required in the future, Lady Death. Best get well soon.

 Nesta hummed, placing the letter aside. An interesting male, to be sure. One that was complex as he was overconfident. Nevertheless, it was a nice touch.

“Azriel has gone to fetch Emerie,” Rhys said. “Elain will be bringing you up food in a moment, I’m sure, and Feyre is currently walking down the hall.”

Nesta quirked a brow, eyes fixating on the doorway just as her youngest sister entered. Feyre still looked tired, drained by her own harrowing experience over the last few days, but she also looked strong, healthy.

“It’s good to see you properly awake,” she said. “I’m sorry Nyx woke you last night.”

Shaking her head, Nesta replied, “hardly an inconvenience.”

“Still, no more late night walks until you don’t have to hold on to every piece of furniture.”

Nesta sighed, leaning against the pillows, already exasperated with the coddling. Beside her Cassian offered her a small smile, amusement in his eyes. As Rhys predicted, Elain entered not a moment after, a tray of tea and breakfast in her hands. Nesta accepted the tea gratefully, recognizing the subtle taste of the tonics within them.

“Now that you’re awake, do you remember what you did to save Feyre?” Rhys asked, taking a seat in an armchair that had been pulled up to her bedside.

Nesta shook her head. “I demanded to know how to save her, and the Cauldron’s power answered. That was it.”

“She did have that cursed crown on her head,” another voice called, Amren, who entered the room with her latest puzzle box in her hands, absentmindedly fiddling with the contraption. If Nesta had to guess, it was likely a gift from Varian. “Maybe you ordered around the Cauldron itself, girl. None of my research has suggested otherwise.”

Nesta grimaced. “I’m sorry to have used it on you. I forgot I’d taken it.”

“Yes, well, as long as it didn’t kill you. You should use it on those animals that bruised your face instead.”

Surprise fluttered across Nesta’s face at Amren’s firm statement. Gesturing to the flowers, she said, “They did apologize.”

Amren narrowed her eyes, seemingly unconvinced. And it was with greater shock that she could see the same sentiments shared in everyone else’s face too, even though they all rationally knew that Eris’ men had no control of their actions.

“The Illyrians,” she said after a moment, turning to Cassian. “You didn’t hurt any of them, did you?”

“He certainly tried,” Rhys replied. “But no, she released all of them per your bargain. Illyria is in your debt, as we all are.”

“That’s hardly necessary,” Nesta shot back. “It’s what needed to be done.”

“Bullshit,” Amren replied. “I’d rather we lost an Illyrian or two than for you to be on death’s door again, girl.”

Nesta wasn’t actually sure if what the ancient female was saying was a complement, per say, but the sentiment was there, at least a little. It was an overwhelming notion.

“Alright, stop pestering her,” Elain said, crossing her arms. “Nesta needs to eat, and she won’t if you all keep talking to her.” Turning to Feyre she said, “and you are supposed to be sleeping. Go back to bed.”

There was no room for disagreement in her sister’s voice, and with jarring clarity she remembered her declaration that both of them would be at her mercy for the mess they’d found themselves in. It seemed everyone else did too, for they obeyed her word, Amren with an eyeroll of protest, and Rhys with gentle acquiescence, guiding his own mate out the door towards her own bed.

“She’s been like that for four days,” Cassian offered, leaning back in his chair. “I genuinely think she might kill you both, I’ve never seen her so angry.”

Nesta hummed, picking at the food in front of her. “She can be the worst mother hen of all, if she needs to be.”

But despite Elain’s insistence, her solitude only lasted a few more minutes, enough to finish a piece of toast and some fruit. Because soon after Emerie burst in through the door like she owned it, her eyes nearly frantic as she got her turn to look her over.

“You are an idiot, and I hate you.”

Nesta quirked a brow, jarred by the tearfulness in her friend’s voice.

“Don’t you ever do something so stupid again.”

“I’ll try my best,” Nesta replied slowly. “I’m alright, though, Emerie, it’s okay.”

Emerie sniffed, shaking her head and crossing her arms. “Fuck off, Archeron, you look like shit. Tell me that when your face doesn’t look like a bruised apple.”

A laugh bubbled out of Nesta’s chest, despite the pain it caused. “I suppose I do look awful.”

“Not awful,” Cassian replied, with a smile. “Just a little rough around the edges.”

Nesta glared at him, only to flinch when Gwyn’s soft hands brushed over her cheek.

“Madja should be by to finish healing this,” she said, brows furrowed. “But I can start now if you like.”

“I’m fine,” Nesta pressed. “Really.”

“Shut up,” Gwyn countered. “You have a cracked skull you aren’t thinking clearly.”

This time, she did sigh, a long, drawn-out thing, and beside her, Cassian squeezed her hand.

“Sorry, sweetheart. You saved all of us, so we all get to take care of you. Those are the rules.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she replied, wincing as her friend began running her magic along her cheekbone.

“That’s family,” Azriel supplied from his place against the back wall. “Best get used to it.”

Chapter Text

Touching down on the balcony of the House of Wind was the homecoming Nesta had been needing. Already, she soothed, despite the lasting pain she was in. It had been a battle of wills – Nesta demanding to go home, while Feyre, Rhys, and Madja expressed their concern about moving too soon.

Cassian didn’t think it was much of a surprise who won in the end.

His mate valued her privacy, especially in times like these, and he’d known they’d been on a ticking clock from the moment she’d woken up properly. Besides, she allowed him to care for her and that’s all that mattered.

She gripped his arm tightly as he helped her inside, and though her footsteps were slow, measured, she was determined to go on her own power. The bruising on her face was still jarring to look at, filling him with such a rage that he might be sick, and her bones were taking so much longer to heal than he was accustomed to. She assured him again and again she was okay, but then he’d see her pinch her brow, fighting off the sudden headaches that had been coming and going since she got back on her feet, and he felt at a loss all over again.

“Where do you want to go, sweetheart?” He asked, his thumb brushing over her skin. “Bed or couch?”

“I’ve only been in bed,” Nesta replied softly. “I think I’ll go mad if I just go from one bed to the other.”

He hummed in understanding and smiled when the House immediately obliged, the simple couch in the sitting room expanding in size, pillows and blankets appearing in what would be the perfect nest for her. Nesta’s penchant for curling up in her own little nook amused him on most days, but she’d be on another level with this.

“Competing with me for care of my own mate, are we?” He asked the House as he guided her into the cushions. In answer, he was met with a pillow in his face.

Nesta laughed softly, which was about all she could do with the state of her ribs. Lifting a hand, he cupped her cheek affectionately, leaning down to kiss her forehead. She lifted her arms in response, a silent request he join her.

Cassian was far too selfish a male not to oblige.

They’d finally gotten her temperature to a bearable level, so long as she took her tonics regularly. Madja wasn’t certain whether this would be her new normal or if things would go back to the way they had been before the events at that fortress. Cassian was praying with every ounce of his ability that it would be the latter. But Nesta took the news in stride, like she always did, so he would too. Either way, to be able to curl up next to her under the blankets without knowing she was burning alive was a victory in itself.

Nesta shifted to rest against his chest, her head nestling into his shoulder. He smiled, running his hand over her arm, and turned to press kisses into her hair.

“What do we do now?” She asked with a soft, content sigh.

“Heal,” Cassian said. “And then, whatever you want.”

“Don’t I have to return the Library?” Nesta asked him, tilting her head to assess him.

Cassian frowned, running his fingers gently over her hairline.

“You don’t have to,” he answered. “Do you feel like you do?”

Nesta shrugged, settling back down against him. “I thought those were my orders, is all.”

Cassian pondered her words for a long second, holding her as tightly as he could without hurting her.

“They were,” he admitted quietly. “But I think we should have done that whole thing better. There was too much animosity. Rhys wanted to punish you; I was angry that my methods weren’t working. It wasn’t right to threaten you with the human lands. I hope you know I never would have let them deposit you there.”

Nesta didn’t answer, and the truth that she didn’t settled bitterly over his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he added. “We should have had Madja tell us what to do, and it shouldn’t have been driven by our emotions. But you’ve done enough over the last few months, sweetheart, willingly and unwillingly. I will always be sorry for that. Whatever comes next is all your decision.”

She hummed, but remained quiet as she contemplated her options. He let her, content to stroke his fingers through her hair, sitting with his words, his lasting guilt.

“I just want to come and go as I please,” she said quietly. “I like working in the Library, but perhaps… to research, rather than just stock shelves.”

“I understand,” Cassian replied. “We’ll find a way, my love.”

Nesta nodded, and decided she was satisfied. Letting out a soft sigh, something she always did after she’d closed her eyes, he felt her grow heavier against him, a sure sign of her exhaustion.

“I promise,” he said to her, reaching to pull the blanket up properly over her shoulders. “We’ll find a way.”

---

It seemed, apparently, Rhys was one step ahead of Cassian, in the end.

Nesta didn’t quite know what to do with the presence of her brother-in-law in her House (and it was hers as of 7 o’clock this morning), but he’d spent all day in the depths of the stairwell, perhaps negotiating with the magical being within its walls.

And though she was nervous, unsure what to do with herself while he was here, her sisters were putting effort into keeping her occupied, with the newborn baby in her lap.

“I’m still furious with you,” Elain said from her place beside her. “I can’t believe you went up here without telling me.”

“You would have tied her down,” Feyre replied, stroking the back of Nyx’s head. “And then my house would be rubble.”

Nesta smiled slightly, unable to deny it. “I am sorry, Elain. I just…wanted my House.”

“Ah yes, your House,” Elain replied dryly. “Well, your House better be keeping you in bed and making sure you eat three meals a day and taking your tonics and the stretches Madja wants you to do on time.”

“I think Nesta is perfectly content,” Feyre said. “If the plethora of snacks we were offered upon our arrival was any indication.”

“I suppose,” Elain murmured. “I can stay, you know. It really isn’t any trouble.”

“I need you,” Feyre countered. “Nyx is already a hellion and it’s only been a few weeks.”

Nesta offered her youngest sister a grateful smile, entirely aware Feyre was trying to protect her peace. Feyre winked back when Elain wasn’t looking, and that warm feeling she was slowly getting accustomed to filled her chest.

“Alright,” Elain relented, reaching out a hand to clasp Nyx’s tiny fingers. “But really, it’s no trouble.”

“You’ll be the first to know, sister,” Nesta said. “I promise.”

It seemed to sate her, at least for the moment, something which Nesta was grateful for. Elain had been unrelenting in her care for both Feyre and herself, furious that she’d been left out of both her younger sister’s secret and her eldest’ sisters sacrifice. Both of them could understand of course, so they let her do as she demanded. Still, it was a relief to see her relaxed.

It made Nesta’s next request easier.

“I was thinking…” she started, but paused, unsure if she was really brave enough to see it through, her hand rubbing almost nervously at her nephew’s back.

“What?” Feyre asked, offering her a tiny smile, an encouragement.

“I thought it might be nice to go see him.”

She didn’t have to specify; her sisters knew instantly who she meant. Silence hung between them as they processed the words, long enough that Nesta began to regret she asked.

“I think that would be lovely,” Feyre said after a moment. “I haven’t been since we put the stone up. I could introduce him to his grandson.”

Nesta hadn’t been at all, but she didn’t need to tell them that.

“I agree,” Elain said with a smile. “I like to think he’ll be able to hear us, at least.”

Nesta thought back to those moments when she’d saved Feyre, of his voice that had been so close, so real. Perhaps it had been him, making sure she didn’t give too much of herself, pushing her back towards the living when it could have been so easy to take his hand and go wherever he was. She supposed she should thank him for it.

“We can go tomorrow,” Feyre said, in decision. “Before it gets too warm.”

---

As Nesta looked up at that hill the next morning, tucked neatly behind the River House, she wondered if she would regret this decision. Elain held Nyx comfortably in her arms, the babe only soothing when it had her hair to hold onto, and seemed to have no qualms about the trek, moving effortlessly through the grass.

On the other hand, Nesta wasn’t quite sure she could do any kind of climbing at the moment.

Still, she tried anyway, trailing after both of her sisters at a slow, yet steady pace. She made it halfway, triumphant, before her ribs screamed in protest at the amount of air she was bringing into her lungs. She was almost content to let them continue ahead of her, to see him and tell her how it went. But then Feyre was turning her head, pausing, and coming right back down to meet her.

“You should have said,” she chastised, though not unkindly. “I could have winnowed you to the top.”

“Oh, gods no,” Nesta countered, knowing with certainty that winnowing was perhaps her least favorite thing in the world. If only because her entire body felt rearranged afterwards. “I’m fine, I can walk. I just need to catch my breath.”

To her credit, Feyre didn’t look offended at her words. Perhaps Cassian had informed her of the fact that she’d yet to successfully winnow somewhere without immediately falling over afterwards. The last time, just this morning when Azriel had brought her down to the River House, she’d fallen into him so completely that they both went to the ground. She had a feeling he’d be guilty about it for at least the next week.

It took a full five minutes, but eventually, she felt ready to walk again. This time, Feyre looped her arm through hers, a silent guide as they walked up the steepest part of the slope. It was a slow, leisurely pace, one that could not have been comfortable for her long-legged sister, but in due time they made it. And then there was another challenge entirely.

Because there he was, or at least, what was left of him. A marble headstone that shimmered in the sun, his name spelled out in regal gold lettering. Nesta’s breath left her all over again.

She could only watch, silently, as Feyre took her son from Elain and approached, speaking softly to him.

“Your grandchild, father.”

Elain smiled sadly, a single tear on her cheek, before she joined her sister, placing her hand on the stone and bowing her head for a few silent moments.

Nesta watched them until they pulled away, moving back towards the hill, as if they knew she’d prefer to do this in private. Her hands shook as she approached, and she landed just hard enough on her knees in front of his grave that it reverberated through her torso.

For several long seconds, she stared at what remained of her father, eyes tracing each letter, each intricate carving. She tried to remember what it felt like to actually touch him, the warmth of his hands each time he’d rock her to sleep as a girl, the safety she felt with him when her illness threatened to take her. He’d never wavered in that care, even when he failed at other things.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “For being so angry with you. I hope you can forgive me.”

A breeze brushed through her hair, along her neck, as if in answer, and she closed her eyes, swallowing the tears in her throat.

“Thank you for all you could do,” she finished. “I love you, too.”

A whisper of a feeling brushed her cheek, so faint she almost missed it. But it was there, a soft caress, no matter how brief. She’d hold onto it for the rest of her life.

Pushing to her feet, she turned to rejoin her sisters, something so, so heavy lifted from her shoulders. Feyre smiled at her as she approached, reaching out a hand for her to take. With careful steps, she accepted, and as they made their way slowly down the hill, Nesta felt, for once, entirely at peace.

---

It took three days to discover another way to leave the House, and Nesta felt almost foolish for not considering it sooner.

Rhys had worked tirelessly at the wards, to no avail, but it was Gwyn who asked her curiously about the Harp, about the possibilities.

All three Items of the Trove still answered her, and perhaps always would. And so, it was a minimal amount of magic to request that the Harp transport her to the bottom of the stairs. Of course, it always whispered songs of what they could do together, of other worlds and galaxies. But she was able to persuade it for one last small game, to build a gateway that only she could pass through, from a random hallway closet to the streets of Velaris below.

Her brother-in-law still wasn’t able to get rid of the shock on his face as she demonstrated it. He and Amren tried relentlessly to figure out how she’d done it, what kind of magic allowed the pathway to remain open, even after she’d replaced Harp back in its new resting place, below the Library.

“I simply asked,” she’d said. But it seemed her ability to simply will things was beginning to frustrate them, as would any scholar. She had a feeling Rhys would be asking her questions about it for the rest of their days.

Either way, her one ask had been granted. She could come and go as she pleased. And thus, the House finally, finally, felt like hers.

The weeks that followed were blissful, delightfully so. In the mornings, she’d sit on the side of the training ring and watch as Cassian began training Emerie in the ways of an Illyrian warrior. Her friend had plans, big ones, and Nesta fully supported whatever hell she was about to raise against those who’d oppressed her. Gwyn would often join her, taking pleasure in distracting Azriel from whatever he was doing, the two of them continuing their research into the Valkyries and methods to potentially revive them.

Afterwards, she’d do the stretches Madja ordered, usually with Cassian at her side, helping her ease her limbs back into the shape they’d been in before the chaos with Briallyn. He’d spent many nights rubbing the tension from her muscles, learning all the areas that pained her most. She was convinced it was only his touch alone that could actually get them to relax.

She still got the headaches. They came on rapidly and could last for hours at a time. But her body had soothed enough that she wasn’t reliant on her tonics at all hours of the day. Her ribs healed, slowly but surely, and though her wrist clicked when she rotated it, Madja was confident she’d make a full recovery there too. The bruising on her face lingered, her cheek still just a little tender to the touch. Even she was surprised at how long that took, but the healer who’d become her saving grace wasn’t concerned, even if her mate was.

But as time went on, his concerns were eased. She got stronger, wiser, more devoted to her causes, and he’d learned just about every which way to detect her tells. Her tells of pain, of grief or anxiety, of the sadness that sometimes gripped her fiercely despite her best efforts. But also of her joy, her excitement, her desire. He read her better than she herself did. And it was this knowledge that brought them to where they were now, standing on the balcony with enough provisions to last a week.

“Don’t soil my House more than you already have,” Nesta said to Gwyn, whose face turned so bright red it almost matched Cassian’s siphons.

“We have no idea what you’re talking about, sister,” Azriel replied dryly, even as his hand squeezed affectionately at Gwyn’s waist.

“I’m sure you don’t,” Nesta countered, a smirk pulling at her lips. “But I do like that dining table quite a bit. I would hate for the legs to give out.”

She saw it then, the surprise that flittered through her brother’s face. He truly hadn’t known, then, that Cassian and Nesta had caught them in the act. The soft blush on his cheeks was far more satisfying.

“At least not before we make use of it,” Cassian added, a feral grin on his face.

Nesta scowled, hitting him gently with her hand, even as the idea sparked unabashed interest in her.

“Gods please get the hell out of here,” Emerie called. “I can’t take it anymore.”

“Alright, alright,” Cassian relented. “One week. I’ll be testing you when I get back.”

Emerie rolled her eyes at him but saluted anyway, sauntering off back to her corner of the training ring. She was a fast learner, a brilliant one, and Nesta had no doubt she’d easily replace him one day, if she wanted.

His arms were warm as they slid around her waist, and he grinned down at her as if he knew exactly that.

“Ready, sweetheart?”

Nesta smiled back, dipping her chin, and then they were off, gliding through the air as if it was effortless. By the time they found their lake, hours later, she’d once again been soothed to sleep with how light she felt in his arms, how safe.

She woke on the plush furs of their bungalow, so deeply burrowed she had to untangle herself to get free. It was easily one of the best naps of her life, though it was clear she’d slept for a good while after they arrived. Listening for her mate, who was absent, she smiled at the sound of water trickling, and pushed to her feet to investigate the lake outside.

It was as stunning as it always was, glimmering in the late afternoon sun, the waterfall feeding it quiet despite its constant flow. For several moments, she watched him in the water, rinsing his hair. She figured she should be used to it by now, how stunning he looked, body glistening with the droplets that rolled over his skin, but no matter how hard she tried it always took her by surprise.

She slid out of her clothes easily, the soft tunic and leggings she’d chosen far easier than the dress she’d worn the first time they’d been here. The air was comfortably warm on her skin as she moved to join him, the coolness of the pool entirely soothing. She saw his lips quirk upwards as she approached, but he didn’t say anything until her arms were around him from behind, her lips pressing to the space between his wings on his back.

“Hey, sleepy head,” he said, his hands squeezing her own. “Have a good nap?”

Nesta hummed, offering him a small smile as he turned in her grasp. “One day I’ll stay awake when you fly me here.”

He laughed, a purely happy thing. “One day, perhaps. But not today. Or in a week, I expect.”

She scowled good naturedly at him, but he merely grinned back, hands cupping her face. They were cool from the water, drawing a soft, easy sigh from her. The kiss he pressed to her lips was just as gentle, but Nesta pressed up on her toes to keep him there, deepening it until he groaned softly, his arm sliding around her waist.

In all the weeks since that day in the fortress, he hadn’t touched her. At least, not this way. He’d been so afraid of hurting her, with his size or his strength, and it was the devastation on his face at the thought of it that convinced her to appease him, not to push. But now she felt strong, or at least stronger, and she missed the feel of her mate too much to let him look like this and not do anything about it.

In an easy movement, he sat down in the water, the shallow depth only bringing it up to his chest, bringing her down with him into his lap. His hands slid up her back, and his teeth bit at her lips, unable to hide his own hunger for her. She hummed appreciatively in response, settling herself against the hard length of him so he knew exactly what she wanted.

“Fuck, Nes,” he said softly, dipping his head to kiss down her neck, his hands moving to squeeze her breasts. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Nesta tilted her head back, a soft whine falling from her lips as he kneaded them together. “You won’t,” she breathed. “Please, Cassian.”

At the sound of his name, he growled, dropping an arm to settle around her thighs, lifting her enough that he could mouth at her nipples, his tongue flicking in a way that had her back arching, her hands gripping his shoulders for balance. His other slid down her back, further and further, until his long fingers could enter her from behind. The sound that came out of her mouth echoed off the stone around them.

“Is that what you needed, sweetheart?” He asked.

Her brows knitted together, and for several seconds she relished the feeling of his movements, slow and steady.

“Answer me, Nesta,” he ordered after a moment, his thumb swiping out over her clit, pushing hard.

“Yes,” She gasped, and his laugh was low as he let her rock her hips in time with each thrust of his hand. The way he was holding her up, her pubic bone nearly brushed his diaphragm with every movement, the position seeming so effortless for him that she lost her breath all over again.

“Be a good girl, then, and prove it” he replied, pulling her nipple between his teeth.

Her cheeks heated, despite herself, and her nails dug into the skin of his shoulders as she worked towards her release. His pace was relentless, pausing only so he could shift his arm down her front, allowing him to slide three fingers back into her, his thumb returning to her clit with equal force.

“That’s it,” he praised as her mouth dropped open, her head falling forward as tension coiled deep within her. “Show me how well you’re going to take my cock when I finally get to fuck you.”

She came moments later, the command in his voice sending her over with little effort. For several seconds, her world was white, her muscles clenching around his hand, and then he was kissing her, desperately. It was all she could do to wrap her fingers around his curls as he lifted her, moving the few steps over to the cliff wall. Despite the dominance he was exuding, he placed her against it gently, mindful of her ribcage.

For several seconds, he placed gentle kisses over her chest, her collarbones.

“So perfect, sweetheart,” he said. Flicking his eyes up to lock with hers, he asked, “Okay?”

Nesta nodded, unable to get her mind to form the words. He pressed another kiss to her lips, soft, before pressing into her in a single thrust, groaning loudly at the feeling.

“Gods, I love you,” he said, burying his face into her neck. “My brilliant mate.”

The pace he set was slower than what his hand had suggested moments before – perhaps to be mindful of the stone behind her – but it was deeper, more satisfying. Nesta was quite certain she could die like this and have not a single regret to speak of. The bond was warm and strong between them, and Cassian’s grip was firm yet gentle as he rocked into her, his wings tucked in behind him.

“Cass,” she sighed, leaning her head back against the rock wall. “Fuck, Cass.”

He nearly snarled, hips snapping up at the sound of her voice, which was nothing short of wrecked.

“Nesta.”

His release came out of nowhere, barreling into him so suddenly he shouted. His entire body trembled as he held her up, his chin against his chest as he caught his breath. Nesta lifted a hand, cupping his cheek, smiling as he turned to press kisses into her palm. It shouldn’t have surprised her that the first words out of his mouth once he regained his breath were,

“You’re sure I didn’t-”

“I’m sure, my love.”

Cassian’s eyes glimmered with emotion as he eased them back down in the water, his hands rubbing over every inch of her skin he could reach. Nesta was content to sit with her legs wrapped around his waist, running her fingers through his hair until he practically purred.

“I missed you,” She said quietly. “Like this.”

He hummed in agreement, shifting so he could pull her into his chest, his lips in her hair.

“I was so afraid we’d never get another chance,” he replied. “When you were so hurt, I was so worried we’d never…”

He trailed off, voice thick, and she lifted her head to kiss him, hoping to assure him that she was here, that she wasn’t going anywhere. That it was over. He soothed at the action, and she felt his anxiety ease through the bond.

It was this peace that perhaps was the catalyst for her next words. Settled against him, they relished in the silence, the comfort they offered each other. It broke Nesta's walls down into nothing, had her so lax that when she spoke again, it was without thinking. A quiet, gentle murmur. 

“Marry me.”

Cassian pulled back at the sound, eyes wide, and Nesta realized, with a small amount of horror, that she’d said the words aloud.

“What?” He asked, though a grin was already pulling at his lips.

Blinking, Nesta thought about it, if it was too sudden. But his eyes sparkled, and she felt so incredibly safe. Thus, she repeated, 

“I…Marry me. I want to marry you.”

As she said the words again, her resolve solidified, entirely certain in her ask. Cassian stared at her for a long second, just enough to fry her nerves the tiniest bit, before he replied,

“Typically, a proposal is framed as a question, sweetheart. Want to try again? I realize your brain may not be working properly right now, with how hard we just-”

Her brows furrowed so quickly she sent a small throb of pain over her temples. On instinct, she splashed him, scowling at the way he laughed so hard he nearly fell back into the water. But he still looked at her expectantly, a single brow quirked, so she took a breath, and asked,

“Marry me. Please?”

His entire expression melted at the softness of her tone, and he leaned forward again, cupping her cheeks.

“Nesta Archeron of course I will marry you.”

“Even when I’m like this?” She asked, her nerves suddenly flaring, her insecurity. “With a body that’s broken?”

“Especially, like this. You’re not broken, my love. You’re perfect just as you are. It would be the honor of my life to marry you.”

He kissed her then, and the emotion inside of her was so intense that tears rolled down her cheeks. She gripped onto him tightly, so overwhelmed in her joy that she didn’t know if she could let go. Pulling back just enough to assess her face, he wiped her tears, saying,

“Don’t look so surprised. There’s a ring inside the bungalow, you know. I was going to propose to you the moment we got here. Someone just had to go and fall asleep.”

It took her a full five seconds to process what he was saying. And all the while, he grinned at her with a look so satisfied, so smug-

She splashed him so hard she got herself wet. Only for him to splash her right back, pulling away and moving towards the shoreline.

“You brute!”

There was no bite to her tone, not even if she tried. His laugh echoed throughout the clearing, even as she went after him, trudging up through the shallows, prepared to enact some kind of revenge she hadn’t properly thought of yet. Pulling her properly out of the water, he wrapped her in a towel before she could lecture him further, placing a firm kiss on her lips.

“You love me, sweetheart. Now come inside so I can have my turn. I had a whole speech.”

She could only watch as he walked back towards the bungalow, completely bare, his entire demeanor lighter than she’d ever seen. The more she thought about it, she felt lighter too. Light and happy and…Free. As he reached the door, he turned back to assess her, tilting her head in silent beckoning.

Her feet moved before she could even finish processing it, towards a future she never thought she’d receive. Towards joy and love and security.

Towards him.

Chapter Text

5 Years Later

The eve before battle always felt heavy on the shoulders of those on the field, who spent the night with their loved ones, coming to terms to their potential death that loomed on the horizon.

Nesta had known it would always come to this. From the moment she destroyed Briallyn, the next conflict began, all attention shifted to the one adversary they’d been ignoring until they couldn’t any longer. And though it took them a long time to get here, she never had any notions that she wouldn’t be right in the middle of it, even if the time in between was full of relatively blissful peace.

Cassian’s calloused hands were soft as they massaged oil into her skin, working at the knots that had left her shoulders hunched by the time they collapsed back into their tent.

Koschei’s war had started quietly, but had wreaked havoc across Prythian after two years of fighting. And to no one’s surprise, just like the last conflict on their doorstep, her connection to the Dead Trove gave her that link to the Death God that they couldn’t do without. Because while Nesta herself could raise the dead, so could he, and it had been a bloody, bloody battle, often against the corpses of their own men, or those corrupted by Koschei’s influence.

The Courts, miraculously, worked together so much easier than the first war, none of them able to deny the threat to their very existence. Even Autumn obliged, though Nesta had a feeling Eris Vanserra had something to do with it. But the losses were steep, and morale was waning. And so, Rhys had asked her the impossible again, to try and seek him out herself. And after hours and hours of scrying, she had, bringing them to the perilous terrain of the Middle, the valley they occupied littered with torn up earth and left over scars from wars past.

Letting out a long breath, her back arched at the way his fingers dug in along her spine, again and again, a nightly ritual that he’d taken up over the last few days, for the cots they slept on were thin, and despite herself, she often woke too stiff to move. According to him, it gave him a chance to be close to her, to touch her and care for her, in conditions where their usual methods were less appropriate.

The metal of his wedding band was warm with the friction of his hands on her skin, and the mating bond hummed between them, strong and sure.

“Is that better, sweetheart?”

Cassian was still furious, despite the soft tone of his voice. So protective of her that it had almost come to blows tonight at dinner. It had taken hours for her to talk him out of it and an oath from his brother promising to prioritize her safety. And still, he fumed up until this very moment, on his knees beside her while she rested on a pile of fur. As soon as they’d returned here, he’d held her tightly to his chest, begging her to remember the promise she’d made him all that time ago, that she’d never push herself as far as she had for Briallyn.

But she’d been just as afraid for him, leading the Illyrian legions as he was. They spent most of the last few nights wrapped up in each other, keeping warm and trying to get as much rest as they could despite the crippling fear, they had for each other. Every morning, he kissed her goodbye with such force, such promise, that she refused to accept it as final. He’d promised to come back to her and she him. And she’d be damned if either of them broke that vow.

“Yes,” she replied, content to leave her head resting on her arms, eyes fluttering open to assess him. “Thank you, love.”

Cassian settled down beside her, propped up with one arm, and ran a hand through her hair, over her cheek.

“You should take the tonic for your head, before tomorrow.”

Nesta made a noise of protest, even if her temples still throbbed from the headache that set in less than an hour before.

“It makes me drowsy,” she protested. “I need to be alert.”

“You need to be alert tomorrow, Nes. I’d rather you be so drowsy you sleep well tonight, rather than still in agony tomorrow morning.”

He was right, she knew it. Still, she tried, “I don’t want to lose this time with you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he replied. “I’ll be right here until sunrise.”  

Sunrise. When he would go back to fighting against Koschei’s legions of the corrupted and undead.  They’d retreated today, after hours and hours, having to move far enough from the field that their own losses couldn’t kill them in their sleep when the Death God woke them. But tomorrow, the fighting would begin anew, and while Cassian led his forces in the thick of the bloodshed, Nesta would have her own mission.  

Because while she’d located this valley, near the heart of the God’s layer, Koschei himself remained aloof. He was here, she could feel it, pulling and taunting at her consciousness, drawing her out of even the deepest sleep, a cruel laugh and sinister smile all she could remember. But where, exactly, was the question. Rhys asked if she’d follow the feeling, if she’d lean into it, to try and find him, and she’d agreed, even if it meant going into the heart of the battle.

“Alright,” Nesta relented, not wanting to push her mate any more than he already had been. He was stretched thin without the news of her task, and now she could feel how fried his nerves were. She sat up as he moved over to a small table, pouring the clear liquid atop it into a cup. When he returned, she accepted it easily, the tonic lukewarm as it slid down her throat.

Cassian leaned forward to kiss her softly, sinking back down onto his knees in front of her. Nesta hummed into it, pulling away to slide his jacket off his shoulders, to free him of the armor he still wore.

“You need to rest too,” she said. “I expect you to come back to me.”

He obliged her, stripping down until he was just in the cotton shirt beneath, and Nesta slid her hands under his collar, digging her fingers into the tension in his own muscles, working up his neck until he leaned back into her touch.

“I expect you to come back to me,” he said, pulling her close. “I mean it, Nes.”

Nesta nodded, taking in a breath that shook, despite herself. “I know,” she replied. “I will do everything in my power.”

Cassian cupped her face, resting their foreheads together, and for several long moments they just breathed.

“I’d hope to give you peace for longer. After Briallyn, I knew we’d end up here, eventually, but I hoped…five years isn’t nearly enough time with you, my brilliant wife,” he said. “I refuse to let tomorrow be the end of our time.”

“It won’t be,” Nesta affirmed. “I promise, mate, it won’t be. Not if I can help it.”

And as he kissed her again to seal the promise, she vowed to ensure she was right.

---

Smoke rolled across the battlefield, thick and heavy, each blast of Koschei’s magic taking out hundreds, only to resurrect them moments later. The God himself was unseen, but his power was felt, so reminiscent of the Cauldron, that day that seemed so, so long ago.

All Nesta could hear was the clashing of swords, screaming, and the explosions of magic ripping up the earth into new, contorted figurations. Her head pounded all over again, despite the tonic working its magic the night before, and though she hadn’t been trained as a warrior in the House, she was still clad in leathers, complete with her own set of blades.

Emerie led her battalion of Valkyries ruthlessly, the females hand picked from throughout the Night Court, and each time Koschei’s magic slashed through the sky, she prayed they were out of the line of fire. Gwyn, meanwhile, remained behind the line, running intelligence and continuing their critical research into how they might kill the Death God at the other end of the valley. But far there was nothing. After all, how did you kill someone who embodied death itself?

And thus, Nesta’s task was before her. Her true task, even if Rhys and Cassian wouldn’t admit it aloud. She’d been named for her connection to death, her embodiment of it. If she couldn’t kill him, what could?

But despite the risk, her brother-in-law was determined to keep his own promise about her safety. Not to her mate so much as the one he made her, in which he’d vowed never to put her in a position as dire as what had happened in Briallyn’s clutches. In the five years since that day, he’d become as protective as the rest of them, claiming her as his sister in his own right. The wedding band on her finger likely helped matters there.

Elain, thank the gods, stayed in Velaris. Her job consisted of sending word if her visions grew too concerning and keeping their city safe, including their most beloved family members – The young prince of the Night Court and his cousin, little Catrin, who’d just celebrated her first birthday. Nesta had begged one of her parents to stay home, but the mating bond had snapped between Gwyn and Azriel with such a force that to convince them to part was like moving mountains.

Which was why she was determined to make sure they all came back from this. It was too important, they had too much at stake now. She would not fail her family, not when they’d all achieved the lives they’d wanted, that they deserved. Azriel was such a devoted father, happy in a way none of them had ever thought he could be, and even Mor and Amren had settled into contentment, both in a constant battle over the title of best aunt. She hoped that, in the future, that would be the only war they fought, rather than the one they were in the middle of now, both females among the fray of the fighting, likely close to Feyre.

“I feel him,” Nesta said, arms crossed around herself as she searched the depths of her soul, eyes closed, teasing that link, coaxing the Death God to play. “He’s beyond the far hill, behind his army, I think.”

“Then we’ll start there,” Rhys replied. “I’ll take you.”

He said the words as if it were new information, as if it had ever been up for discussion who would be escorting her. “We’ll winnow to the bottom, and I’ll make a path up. We’ll get somewhere you can channel again, if we don’t have eyes on him from there.”

“Feyre?” Nesta asked, unable to spot her sister among the fighting, though her power frequently burned bright into the air.

“Fine,” Rhys affirmed. “Cass too.”

Nesta nodded and took a deep breath. Her bond was strong, just as it always was, and she sent a wave of affection down it, smiling faintly at the feeling she received in return. But she couldn’t distract him any further, not when his life wasn’t promised.

Another wave of magic carved through the field, bringing nothing but decay with it, all life ceasing to exist in its path. Nesta tried not to feel sick at the sight of it.

“I’m ready,” she forced herself to say, determined to get this done before he had the chance to strike again.

Are you? That cruel, cruel voice whispered into her head.

Rhys silently reached out a hand, and she took it gingerly. In five years, she hadn’t gotten used to winnowing. And she certainly didn’t start now.

They landed hard in the field, Nesta’s vision immediately blurring with the smoke and the mud and the heavy, heavy scent of blood. Power tingled at her fingertips, that entity within stirring to protect her, as it always did.

You control it, her brother reminded in her head. Not the other way around.

The High Lord moved effortlessly through the line of undead soldiers blocking their path. So quickly she barely had a chance to get her bearings. She put all her energy into keeping up with him, moving up the hill on unsteady feet, relying on nothing but adrenaline to get her there.

Rhys cleared the area around him in seconds, giving her the time to search for the God himself. But as they got further up the hill, the air around them plummeted to icy temperatures, the sweet, yet rotten scent of death tainting the air, closing up her throat.

I see you, Nesta.

Rhys fought on that hill with a ferocity she’d never seen, disintegrating the corpses into mist before they could revive and continue their tasks. Nesta scanned her eyes into the forest beyond, knowing he was right there, but couldn’t see him among the shadows. But she could feel him, as if he were right at her back, waiting to rake his claws over her skin.

In the end, they never had time for her to channel him. Because Koschei, it seemed, was done playing.

Nesta laid her eyes on him a second too late, the dark figure in the wood, but then the world was upside down, blown apart, and she was on the ground, eyes burning, the air ripped from her lungs.

Gods what was that?

She felt entirely numb, her ears ringing, as she pushed herself to her knees. It felt like a monumental effort to lift her head to search for her brother-in-law, only to not be able to see anything through the smoke.

I’ve been waiting a long time for this.

The voice was icy, cutting deeply into her soul and filling every inch of her with fear. Her head throbbed as she stood on trembling legs, determined not to look weak in front of any adversary. The taste of metal filled her mouth, but she didn’t have the time to evaluate why.

He was still so far away, black flames licking at his finger tips, but he seemed to move through space and time, closing in on her before her mind could come up with a way to escape him. To escape death.

Koschei’s eyes were black, darker than anything she’d ever seen, the feeling he exuded so eerily similar to that place she went to, when her own power came out to play. As he got closer, close enough she could see him properly, she realized that he, too, looked decayed. As if his own power took a toll on him.

Flames of her own burst to life in her hands, tugging at the leash she used to control them. It seemed it was what he’d been waiting for, as a cruel smile spread across his lips, thrill in his eyes. Deep within her, that something that was so other yet also an inherent part of her awoke slowly, like a beast disturbed from its slumber.

Thief of the flames. Just as impressive as the stories suggested.

“I’m flattered,” Nesta said, deciding to ignore how breathless she sounded, spitting blood onto the earth before her.

“Still,” Koschei said aloud. “I didn’t expect Lady Death to have a body so…small.”

A laugh was out of her chest before she could stop it.

Nesta.

Rhys’ voice was weak in her mind, as if he was still trying to grasp his own consciousness. It occurred to her that she still didn’t have eyes on him, didn’t know where he’d ended up when Koschei had all but blasted them off the earth. Because it had been him, she saw that now. Everything around her was gone, even the grass, those flames burning from his fingertips, like extensions of his claws.

He was playing with her, taking his time instead of just wiping her off the plane of existence.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Nesta replied. “Though I didn’t expect you to lurk behind your own forces like a coward. Finally come to play, Koschei?”

The god before her snarled, everything around his feet rotting away. Nesta decided that if she truly was death itself – or herself – as her mate liked to say, now would be a good time to prove it.

Nesta, where are you?

“I’d wondered what the others saw in you, how you compelled them. The Trove chose you as their wielder, and yet you do not have them now. How foolish.”

“I don’t need them,” Nesta replied, her voice shifting into that perfectly calm, almost serene tone that, according to Cassian, was always the first tell of when what she stole from that Cauldron began to take over. “I never have.”

“I see now, why Lanthys desired you. We could be great together, indeed,” he crooned. “Accomplished things no being ever has dreamed of. I have danced with the power of the Cauldron before, but never quite like this.”

“I’ve grown tired of such offers,” Nesta replied dryly. “I’m afraid my interest lies elsewhere.”

Nesta, wait for me. I’m coming.

“A pity.” Koschei said. “You fae are always so predictable, valuing feelings over true power. I could show you things the General you call your mate never could. No one in this world is truly your equal, not with what lies inside of you.”

“I have true power,” Nesta countered. “I simply have more to live for than using it to cause others pain.”

Koschei clicked his tongue. “Foolish girl. It is not pain I bring, only eradication. Completion. To make way for the new, the better.”

Nesta, answer me.

“An irrational perspective, if I’ve ever heard one,” Nesta commented. “I always expect those of your kind to have something more compelling to say. It’s yet to happen.”

She could see the rage in his eyes, the genuine offense that she would dare say such a thing. But the power within her burned bright, and if she only had one chance to release it, she would do her best to ensure he was in her line of fire.

“I have little interest in wasting my time any longer with your useless opinions,” he said. “But it’s no matter. You’ll be out of my way soon enough.”

The power shot from his body so quickly that despite her own surging within her, she felt caught off guard. The full force of it barreled towards her, a dark vortex that would capture her inside, do unspeakable things to her, to those around her. It brought with it the scent of death, overwhelming, the dread that there was no coming back from this. Nesta could confidently say she’d stared death in the face more than once, but this was unlike anything she’d ever seen, ever felt. This was pure destruction. Eradication.

Nesta, move!

The fire inside her scalded every inch of her skin so intensely it took all her ability not to cry out. But she had one chance. One chance to test what happened when death faced death. If it was the only way to kill him, it was a sacrifice she’d have to make. So, she gave herself over to it, losing herself.

NESTA!

She felt the power of the High Lord right as his voice rang in her mind. It swelled so quickly it nearly knocked her off her feet, but it was no matter.

Because Rhysand was too late.

In one breath, her power surged out of her like a wildfire, blinding her vision and engulfing everything in its path. In the next, Koschei’s power slammed into her with the force of a mountain.

And everything ceased to exist.

---

For several long seconds, there was nothing. The world was white, entirely blank.

And then everything crashed back into focus at once, screams and confusion all around, no one quite sure what the hell had happened or how.

Cassian didn’t know how he was still in the air; didn’t know how he was still alive. But his heartbeat roared in his ears, his lungs heaving, and he could feel the pain of the wounds he’d sustained in the day’s battle.

Something was wrong, something was different.

He felt so disoriented, pain shooting up his side from how hard the energy of that power had hit him. All around, his soldiers were flailing to keep aloft, though some were already on the ground, more than a few with wings or limbs at awkward angles.

Reaching for the one thing he could be sure of, the one thing to ground him, he searched for Nesta. Nesta, who’d been… he didn’t know where. But he didn’t get to ponder it, because as soon as he reached that place where his bond lived, Cassian’s entire body went stone cold, only to immediately be consumed by agony so complete he screamed.

Agony so whole he didn’t even notice the blade that pierced through his shoulder, a last laugh from his enemy, who disintegrated into dust before he could turn and behead him, the entire army gone so quickly as if they hadn’t just killed thousands of soldiers. Around him, corrupted soldiers stood awkwardly, trying to make sense of what had happened, some already succumbed to the reality of it.

But Cassian didn’t care.

The bond. It was…It was gone.

He ripped the sword out of his shoulder without thinking through it properly and then was practically falling out of the sky, his wings barely keeping him from crashing into the earth.

Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods.

It couldn’t be gone. It couldn’t be. It was right there; it had been right there-

“RHYS!”

His fury, his anguish, echoed across the field. He didn’t have eyes on anyone, didn’t even know if the rest of his family was still alive, but in that moment, he couldn’t do anything but try to wrap his head around what he’d lost, what was just…

His eyes zeroed in on his brother, seated on the ground in the epicenter of what must have been the source of the explosion. A circle of black char, cutting a trench at least 10 meters deep, surrounded him, everything within decayed into ash. Cassian didn’t know how he cleared it, except that once he saw the legs beside his brother’s lap, connected to whoever he was holding, he saw nothing, but red. Felt nothing but cold, cold fury. Fury and horror.  

“RHYS!” He bellowed again, coming around him so quickly that he almost knocked him over. Collapsing onto his knees in front of his brother, his eyes frantically scanned over the body in his arms.

Nesta was ghostly white, head lolled to the side, entirely still. Entirely…Entirely…

“What did you do?!” He screamed. “How could you, how could you-”

“Cassian,” Rhys said back, his voice wrecked, soot covering his face, his neck. “Cass-”

“How could you let her? How…How-”

He was going to kill him. It was all he could think. The ache had cut so deeply to his core, something so irretrievable missing from his chest that he was almost sick. He would be sick. Gods, he couldn’t bear to look at her for more than a moment. At what was left.

“Cassian, listen to me.”

“I’ll fucking kill you, you bastard!” He snarled, the siphons on his hands pulsing so brightly he was temporarily blinded.

Rhys lifted a hand, squeezing his wounded shoulder tightly, the pain just enough to give him pause.

“Cassian!” He shouted, and suddenly his mind was in his brother’s grasp, and his body forced to stillness. Rhys’ eyes were wide, genuine shock and confusion within them, as he said,

“Cass, she’s breathing. She’s breathing.”

It took too long for him to process what Rhys was saying. So long that he just stared blankly at him, unable to make sense of what came out of his mouth.

She’s breathing, brother. She’s alive. Search for the feeling.

Rhys grabbed his hand, moving it until it was pressed over her heart. It took a second – a tenuous, horrifying second – but then he felt it. The steady pulse. Strong, constant. Cassian finally dipped his head, just in time to see her chest rise and fall.

A shocked sound came out of him, though he didn’t know if it was words or just a devastated cry.

“Search for it,” Rhys repeated. “It’s there Cass.”

“What…What-”

“I don’t know what happened,” his brother said. “I think his power clashed with hers, I think she cancelled it out. Or maybe she hit him first, I don’t know. But…But whatever it was reverberated back onto him. He’s gone. He’s just… I didn’t even have a chance to see it. I didn’t make it in time. I was right there, and then…”

Cassian scanned Nesta’s face, taking in the unmarred skin, save for her lip, which was split. Unable to take his hand from her chest, he felt for the bond, and let out a sob as he felt it, buried, but slowly coming back, slowly gaining that warmth he’d come to rely on for years now.

“I know,” Rhys replied, letting out a shaky sigh. “I know, Cass. She was gone, for a second, she…she was. But whatever happened, it must have…I’m so sorry, brother.”

Cassian shook his head. He didn’t want to know. If she was here, breathing, he didn’t want to know. He needed to hold her, needed to see her eyes, needed to make sure.

“This wasn’t the plan,” he rasped, attempting to lift his other hand, to cup her face, only to find that he couldn’t – his arm simply didn’t work. Thick blood soaked through his leathers, and for the first time, Cassian felt dizzy.  

“We didn’t…He was waiting,” Rhys explained. “He came to us. Nesta had seconds, maybe, to do something. I don’t even know what. Whatever it was, though, it worked.”

Cassian couldn’t even begin to process that, not when Nesta still looked as though she was…gone. If it wasn’t for the feeling in his soul, her pulse against his hand, he wouldn’t believe she was alive at all.

Gods, what had this done to her? What would be the fallout? What would-

“Feyre says Madja’s already at the tent. Everyone’s alright, mostly in one piece. She’s going to get the other High Lords rounded up, to figure out what the damage is. If it’s truly over.”

Numbness had settled into his bones, shock and horror and the sheer exhaustion that came after feeling such agony. He didn’t give a single shit about the High Lords or whatever the hell they were supposed to do next. All he cared about was the fact that his mate had been dead. That their bond had broken, and that she still hadn’t opened her eyes. Why wasn’t she opening her eyes?

He tried again to lift his arm, his other finally lifting off her chest to cup her face, to brush hair from her eyes, and he let out a frustrated sound, nearly frantic.

“I need to,” he rasped, “Let me-”

“You can’t,” Rhys countered. “You’re hurt, Cassian. Badly.”

“She’s my mate,” Cassian snarled. “I need to-”

“I know,” his brother said again in a soft tone that was so fucking infuriating. “I know, Cass. But you can’t. Let me. I’ve got her, brother. Let me take her.”

Cassian wanted to protest, wanted to shout at him some more, but the longer he sat, the more it became evident how right he was. But he couldn’t let her go, couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“We need to get her to Madja,” Rhys said again, somehow sounding so patient despite the chaos he was feeling. “I don’t know what happened, only that she’s breathing. I’d like to keep it that way. Wouldn’t you?”

He could have punched him, just for that. But still, he was right. Cassian forced himself to breathe, to reset. In, and out. He could do this; he would do this. So finally, reluctantly, he pulled back enough to let Rhys push to his feet, Nesta in his arms.

“We’ll winnow,” Rhys said. “Until we know your wings aren’t broken. Can you stand?”

He was barely listening, only comprehending enough to rise on numb legs and place a hand on his shoulder, to go with him as he transported them back to the tent. Feyre was ready for them, and gods, despite his distress he was so relieved to see her in one piece.

“Get her inside,” Feyre said, brows drawn tightly together. “What happened? That was… intense.”

“I don’t know,” Rhys replied, pushing through the flaps into the large space, where Madja already had a cot prepared. “I’ve never seen anything like it. One minute they were both there, the next…”

“It encompassed the whole battlefield,” Mor offered, pulling the sheets back and reaching out her arms to help ease Nesta down. “For a moment, I didn’t feel as if I existed at all.”

“But none of you were hurt?” Cassian asked, breathing heavily as he pressed a hand to his shoulder, suddenly overcome by the agony of it.

“The force of it hurt like a bitch,” Feyre replied, taking her sister’s hand and squeezing. “Knocked us all on our asses. But nothing’s broken. Koschei’s soldiers though…”

“Gone,” Morrigan affirmed. “All gone. In moments. The corrupted, they…they’re themselves again but most are…irretrievably changed by what they’ve done.”

“I wasn’t conscious for most of it,” Rhys said, moving out of the way to let the healer begin her long, arduous work. “When I woke, she was like this. And everything was quiet.”  

“She’s alive,” Cassian murmured, another wave of dizziness washing over him as his adrenaline came down. “She’s…?”

“Alive, yes, General,” Madja answered without looking at him. “Very much so.”

Thank the fucking gods.

But despite his desire to go over there, to sit right beside her until her eyes opened, the words were the last comprehensive thought to pass his mind. Because suddenly the world was spinning, spinning, spinning, and everything was dark.

---

When Nesta’s eyes snapped open, she felt entirely the same, yet different.

The agony, of course, was always there. So, too, was her power, humming in her chest. But something had happened. Something had changed. She was gone, then she wasn’t. But then… where was she?

It was quiet, too quiet. She couldn’t hear the battle outside, or even the shouting of orders or cries of the injured. There was just…silence.

The tent she was in had multiple rooms to it, hers cloaked in darkness, furs pulled up to her chin. She listened but couldn’t pinpoint the voices coming from the other room. She searched within her for the bond, for Cassian, strained to listen to him, but then realized he wasn’t there. The bond was intact, quiet and constant, but he wasn’t there. She couldn’t smell him, couldn’t hear him, couldn’t sense him.

And the thought alone sent her into a blind panic.

On her feet in moments, she moved through her room, into the next, and the next. They were empty, most of them were, so she just kept moving, her mind buzzing with fear, with the endless possibilities of what could have happened on that battlefield.

“The High Lords will meet in the morning,” a voice said. “What should we tell them?”

“The truth. None of us know what happened out there.”

She burst into the main room of the tent and was immediately met with too many faces at once. Her sister, her brothers, Morrigan, Amren, Gwyn, Emerie, but no Cassian. Cassian wasn’t there. At once, all their eyes locked on hers, and she stared blankly at them, long enough for her body to catch up with the adrenaline she’d exerted to get here.

Fuck.

Her knees weakened, and then everyone was moving.

“Nesta,” Rhys said, pushing out of his chair just as the world started to spin. “Gods, Nesta you shouldn’t be out of bed.”

“Cass-” She croaked, her voice far weaker than she expected it to be, her cheeks wet, “Cassian.”

The High Lord’s hands were gentle around her waist, and suddenly shadows were running over the back of her neck, soothing her. Her vision blurred with tears, body swaying, but she didn’t have the chance to fall over, because Rhys was pushing her down into the chair he’d been occupying, and Azriel was in front of her, her hands coming to clasp his own as tightly as she could manage as he helped her sit.

“Cassian’s fine,” Azriel assured, sinking down to his knees as she went.  “He’s with Madja.”

Nesta tried to focus on his words, but her ears were buzzing, a wave of nausea coming over her so quickly that she pitched forward, just enough that the shadowsinger guided her forehead to rest on his collarbone, his hand a steadying presence on the side of her neck.

“Breathe, sister,” he murmured. “Cassian’s just next door. He’ll be back soon.”

“Get her some water,” came a voice – Mor – whose hands were cold as she placed a cloth on the back of her neck. “Do you want me to get him?”

“Madja’s still patching him up,” Feyre’s voice came. “I’m not sure if he’s awake yet.”

The words sent another wave of panic through her, and she was lifting her head, eyes searching for her sister.

“What do you mean?” She asked, brows furrowed, fingers gripping Azriel’s arms to push herself up. “What happened to him?”

“Easy,” Azriel soothed. “Easy, Nes. Don’t hurt yourself. Your heart is racing far too fast, love.”

Was it? She could scarcely feel it.

“The boy is fine,” Amren finally answered. “Took a blade through the shoulder. Hardly fatal.”

Nesta shifted to meet the gaze of her brother, his hazel eyes soft as she evaluated whether he agreed with the words.

“She’s right,” he replied, pressing his forehead to hers. “He just wore himself out worrying for you that he fell over as soon as you got here.”

“Here,” Gwyn said, kneeling down beside her mate. “Drink this, Nesta.”

She stared at the vial in front of her, unsure which of the tonics she was being presented with. She supposed it didn’t matter. Gwyn nodded encouragingly at her as she drank it, lifting a hand to feel her skin.

“Still cool,” she commented, as if they’d been keeping track. “How do you feel, Nesta?”

Nesta had to think about it for a minute. How did she feel? Awful, as awful as she usually did after using so much power, but somehow the pain was different. She wasn’t burning up. She wasn’t so hot that steam came off her when she touched anything cooler. It was a different, deeper pain, an exhaustion so complete she felt as though she could sleep for 100 years. Her body felt heavy, as if she was learning how to use it again.

“I don’t know,” she replied simply. “I don’t…What happened?”

At this, the room went awkwardly quiet, and she raised her eyes to assess whoever she could immediately see.

“We’re still trying to figure that out,” Rhys said softly. “You…well, you took the brunt of Koschei’s power straight to the chest. But your power counteracted it, or maybe overpowered it, I don’t know. Whatever it was created a massive surge of energy. When it cleared, Koschei was gone, his army was gone, and you were…”

“What?” Nesta pressed, her body trembling with the exertion of how much energy she’d expended pushing through the tent like a madwoman.

“Well, you were dead.”

Nesta’s entire world slowed as she processed the words. Dead? She’d been… oh gods.

“And now?” She asked.

“You came back on your own,” Rhys explained. “After a few seconds. I don’t know how.”

She tried to remember those moments, what had happened when her power had collided with the God who she’d apparently wiped off the earth. Her power had already surrounded her when his struck, she’d already given herself over to it. Anything after that was simply…gone.

“It wasn’t me,” she commented, with a slow shake of her head. “I gave myself over to…”

“It was still you,” Emerie commented from her place at the table, her head bandaged. “Just because the power was stolen from someone else doesn’t mean it’s not still you.”

Nesta didn’t particularly agree, but her mind was spinning, and she was too busy trying to make sense of what Rhys had just said while also not losing everything in her stomach over her brother’s shoes.

“Hey,” Azriel said, squeezing her hand so she’d meet his eyes. “Don’t push yourself. You’re alive that’s what matters.”

“Cassian, did he-?”

“Yes,” Rhys answered. “He felt it break. But it came back. He almost killed me first, though.”

Emotion overwhelmed her again, the tremors rocking through her making it difficult to keep her head up. Azriel shushed her, guiding her forehead back to his collarbone, keeping her from falling over. She could feel the metal of the ring on his finger, so similar to Cassian’s, brushing against her skin, and it made her all the more desperate to lay eyes on her mate. But his shadows had all but swarmed her, dimming the impact of the lights, and suddenly the idea of moving was so monumental she could cry.

She wanted desperately to see him, to go make sure he was actually in one piece. To assure him she was here, even if, apparently, she hadn’t been. How devastated he must have been, to think that she was…? Her throat tightened at the thought.

“Do you feel like you died, girl?” Amren asked bluntly, and Nesta heard someone chastise the question in a hushed tone. Still, she replied,

“Not particularly.”

“I don’t think any of us who have come back from the dead actually feel like we died,” Rhys replied. “I do remember it though. Do you?”

“No,” Nesta said. “It was just dark.”

“Fascinating,” Rhys replied, almost to himself.

“Gods the two of you are insufferable,” Feyre muttered. “Save your questions for later, before you actually kill her.”

“The implication that Nesta is stronger than a Death God is fascinating,” Emerie commented.

The thought made her nauseated, the idea of having so much power less than thrilling to her. Azriel’s hand stroked through her hair, as if he inherently understood that fact.

“My theory is that your abilities were slightly different. Koschei’s power decayed, while yours was just the purest form of energy. It can completely eradicate, or it can invent. Thus, if you intended to eradicate him, you would have, just from the sheer force of it, whereas he would have decayed you from the inside out. To say your powers are death feels incorrect, technically. I think even though he struck you, that same energy ensured you lived.”

It made sense, she thought vaguely, but she really, truly didn’t care. All she wanted was to know what had happened to her mate, what had happened to the rest of their men, and what would happen next.

“I’ll go check on him,” Mor said. “If he’s been awake this whole time and we didn’t fetch him he actually still might kill us.”

There were hums of agreement, and Nesta took the opportunity to close her eyes, to breathe. She copied the breaths of Azriel in front of her, and Gwyn, who hadn’t moved from her place beside him. Slow and steady.

“Hopefully you never have to do it again,” Azriel murmured into her ear. “Because now it’s really over.”

Gods, she hoped so.

Gwyn rubbed at her arm reassuringly and for several tenuous moments there was silence, aside from the gentle murmurings of her family members or the occasional offering from one of them in attempt to ease her – a squeeze to her shoulder, a hand over her hair, or whispered words of reassurance.

“He’s up,” She heard Mor say. “I expect he’ll be here soon, whether Madja likes it or not.”

Something eased in her chest, and she let out a shuddering sound, almost a sob. Azriel’s hand stroked through her hair again, his presence steady and sure, as always. In the end, it only took a second before the tent flaps opened again. She felt him before she heard him, as she always did, the bond between them spiking with their proximity. His voice was hushed as he said something to Azriel, and then it was his hand on her shoulder, keeping her steady. Nesta opened her eyes and the relief she felt at seeing his own waiting for her sent more tears onto her cheeks.

“Let me see you,” he said softly, cupping her cheek. “Are you hurt?”

Nesta shook her head, despite the unavoidable truth that she felt like utter shit.  

Tears lined her mate’s eyes, relief hitting her through the bond like a blow.

“Thank the gods, Nesta. It looks like you saved the world again, sweetheart.”

A round of laughs could be heard from their family, but all Nesta could focus on was how tightly bandaged his other arm was, bound against his chest, the cut on his face. He usually wasn’t so careless, to let someone get a blow in like that. She opened her mouth, looking for her words, but came up empty, her mind fried with the overwhelming spectrum of emotions she was feeling.

Cassian shushed her, kissing her forehead. “It’s all okay,” he murmured. “All over, Nes.”

“Just like that?” She whispered.

“Just like that.”

“The other Lords will be gathering in the morning,” Rhys said. “They’ll want to know what happened. We kept the situation with Briallyn under wraps, but there will be no avoiding this I’m afraid. They’ll have questions.”

“She’s not going to sit through their bullshit if she’s not up for it,” Cassian replied, his tone still quiet despite the warning within it.

“I’m alright,” Nesta murmured to him. “I’ll be alright.”

Now that Cassian’s hands were on her, they didn’t stop running over her skin, through her hair, as if he couldn’t bring himself to remove them. She had a feeling that regardless of how she felt, he wouldn’t be keen on letting her do anything for the time being.

“Don’t think I don’t agree,” Rhys countered. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, Nes. But if they want answers, I may have to give them. There isn’t really another way around it. Whatever part of the Cauldron lives inside you did something I never thought possible. You shouldn’t be here right now, and they’ll know it.”

Cassian flinched, distinctly, and Nesta lifted a hand to his face, frowning. The pain in his eyes was so acute, and it dawned on her for the first time just how much horror he must have felt when she apparently ceased to exist.

“You can do whatever you need to,” Nesta answered, all but sagging into her mate’s hold. “I’ll join you if I can.”

“Only if you can,” Feyre said. “If there’s anything we can’t answer for you, they’ll just have to wait.”

“What are they going to do? Be mad she saved their ass?” Mor asked. “That’s a ridiculous idea.”

“They’ll want to know why she’s been hiding the full extent of her power,” Amren answered. “They know she’s powerful, but not that powerful.”

“How do you know I didn’t just get lucky?” Nesta asked tiredly. “It’s been a long war, perhaps his power was drained by maintaining his forces.”

“Regardless,” Rhys replied, “I have no interest in defending why you have the abilities you do. They’re yours and that’s it. Helion already knows, and Eris will likely voice support for you too. Thesan, Tarquin, and Kallias are reasonable enough that I’m not worried. But Beron and Tamlin may prove to be a nuisance. We’ve just fought a brutal war, though, I doubt anyone will be up for more fighting.”

“Well, clearly they wouldn’t win,” Emerie said. “I don’t think anyone will challenge the female who killed a Death God.”

“Do we even know that for sure?” Nesta pressed, not entirely sure she wanted to be deemed a hero all over again. She didn’t feel like one, not now and not five years ago, when she’d destroyed Briallyn. She didn’t want the accolades for what very well could have been sheer, dumb luck.

“The army disintegrated as soon as he was gone,” Cassian said, tucking hair behind her ears. “I’ve never seen that happen unless their master was gone too.”

Nesta nodded, letting out a breath. Now that she had eyes on him, her exhaustion fell more heavily onto her shoulders.

“It doesn’t matter right now. We should get you back to bed,” Mor said to her. “Both of you.”

Cassian didn’t protest, smiling faintly at her as he said, “Can you get up?”

An excellent question, one Nesta didn’t have the answer to. But she’d try anyway. Holding on to Cassian’s good arm, she stood on trembling legs, but kept upright.

“I’ll come by before we meet,” Feyre said. “To see how you are. But please rest, Nesta. I mean it.”

Nesta nodded, too dazed to offer a response, and let her mate escort her back through the rooms of the tent, towards the one she’d woken up in moments before.

---

Cassian didn’t think he’d ever fully recover from what had happened.

Staring at Nesta now, watching her run her fingers through her hair, her eyes so, so tired, her body aching, he couldn’t convince himself that she was actually alive. That he wasn’t staring at her ghost in some sort of crazed sense of denial.

He could still feel it, the emptiness, the chasm that caved his chest in when he realized what was missing. And though the bond was safe now, humming alongside the beat of his heart, he would never forget that feeling, that grief.

“Cass?”

He shifted his eyes back to Nesta’s face, offering her his attention as she turned to look at him.

“You’ve been staring at me for ten minutes now.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice coming out as a croak. “It’s just… you were gone.”

Nesta pushed herself up from the crate she was sitting on, taking careful steps over to the bed. A proper one, a requirement from Madja. One that Rhys had been more than happy to oblige. Reaching out, she traced lightly over his bandaged arm.

“Is that how you got this?” She asked.

Cassian couldn’t lie to her even if he wanted to.

“I didn’t even feel it,” he said. “Not until I saw the blade. Losing the bond was… overwhelming. I can’t describe it. I don’t…”

His voice cut off, and suddenly his cheeks were wet, tears streaming down in steady rivers. A sob choked its way out of his chest, and then Nesta was moving, sitting herself on his knee and cupping his face. Leaning forward, she kissed them away, kissed his nose, his brow, his lips. His good arm curled protectively around her back, pulling her closer.

“I’m here,” she said. “I’m right here. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“I know,” he whispered. “I know, sweetheart. It could have gone so much worse. I’m so, so grateful you’re still here. However it happened, I don’t care.”

Nesta nodded, brushing their noses together with the movement. “I didn’t know where you were when I woke,” she said. “I hadn’t realized you were hurt.”

“I’ll live,” Cassian replied. “As long as you’re here, I’ll live.”

Nesta slid her hands into his hair, guiding his face into her neck, where he sat for several long minutes, his grief leaking out onto the cotton collar of the shirt she wore – one of his. She didn’t budge as he clutched her to him, letting him sob like a child, heaving gasps leaving his chest.

“I’m here,” she whispered, over and over, “I’m right here.”

Cassian knew it would be along time before he would believe that through word alone. He needed to see her, needed to touch her and hear her heartbeat to get that feeling off of his chest, that agony. He didn’t know how long it would take until he could bear to be parted from her.

“When we go home, we’ll go to the lake,” she said. “Our lake. We’ll go and lie in that bungalow all day, just you and me. Just like we always do. We can take as long as you need. I’ll be right there.”

Gods, he loved her. He loved her so fucking desperately. He didn’t have to say it, but he did anyway, pressing kisses to every inch of skin he could reach from his position.

“How do you feel?” He asked after a moment, realizing he hadn’t and suddenly feeling so, so guilty.

“Different,” Nesta replied, still content to run her fingers through his curls. “The pain is here, but the burning isn’t. I ache, but I don’t feel as though I’m on fire. I think something has changed. Everything is… quieter.”

“But you hurt?” He pressed, lifting his head to assess her face. He could always tell when she was in pain, even when she was masking it so expertly that everyone else missed it. She couldn’t hide from him if she tried.

“Yes,” Nesta said. “Terribly. But in different ways. It feels more like it did when I was human.”

Cassian nodded, too exhausted to properly ponder what that meant. “We’re taking a long vacation after this. At least a decade.”

Nesta laughed, a soft, tired thing. “I don’t want to fight another war for at least a century. There are better things we should be doing.”

Cassian hummed in agreement. Shifting, he pushed himself back against the mattress, pulling her with him. “And right now, that better thing is sleep,” he said. “Bed first. Food tomorrow.”

Nesta sighed in relief, settling against his good side easily, resting her hand over his heart. He held her tightly, wings coming around to cocoon them both, warmth seeping into his bones at the feel of her.

“Bed first,” she affirmed, closing her eyes. “Peace tomorrow.”

Yes, he hoped desperately, peace tomorrow.

--

 “You’re telling me one girl destroyed Koschei in seconds, when we’ve been fighting this war for two years now?”

“It is surprising she had this amount of power for so long yet did nothing.”

“My sister didn’t do nothing,” Feyre snapped. “She wasn’t going to face him blind. Besides, half the battle was finding him.”

Nesta listened to the sharp tone in her sister’s voice as she addressed Tamlin, unsurprised at the ferocity of it. When Feyre had come by this morning, she rallied, pushing herself out of bed and accompanying her and Rhys to this meeting. Cassian stood resolutely behind her, the sheer intensity of the protectiveness he was feeling radiating off him in waves. He’d let her make it to her chest of clothing before he announced he’d be coming with her, and no one dared refuse him after the horror he’d experienced the day before.

“I’d speak better of Lady Death,” Eris Vanserra drawled, his chin in his palm. “It’s not like you could have done better.”

Tamlin snarled, his nails turning into claws and digging into the wood. Five years on, and it seemed he still didn’t have control over his anger. Pity.

“Nesta Archeron’s power has always been significant, we’ve known this,” Helion said, decidedly bored with the conversation. “I imagine she had no idea she’d walk out of her encounter with Koschei alive, am I correct?”

Nesta took in an even breath, letting it out through her nose. “You are,” she answered simply.

Cassian’s hand squeezed her shoulder.

“Though,” she continued, “it was not my intention to face him directly in the first place.”

“And what was your intention?” Beron asked, his lips curled into a disgusted frown. “To take up space on the battlefield?”

“Nesta’s link to the Cauldron gave her a link to him. She was going to try and locate him so we might end the war,” Rhys replied. “He just happened to come to us.”

“And you didn’t feel it necessary to let us in on this plan?”

“There wasn’t exactly the time,” Feyre replied. “When we found him, we would have told you. I expect you were utilizing your own resources to do the same.”

The room was quiet for a few moments, no one able to refute the notion.

“I’m not even sure I believe your story,” Beron said. “That this…girl was somehow able to kill him. She looks pathetic enough as it is.”

Beside the Autumn Lord, Tamlin huffed a soft laugh.

Nesta’s brows rose in surprise at the blatant insult, though she was not caught off guard, per say. She just expected the High Lord to have more tact.

“Keep speaking that way about my sister and I’m afraid you’ll be proven wrong very quickly.”

It felt odd, to be addressed by Rhys as such, but there was genuine irritation peeking out through the stars in his eyes, genuine offense. She supposed she should be more offended by the remark. Though it seemed she didn’t have to be, because a growl rumbled from her mate’s chest, so low she almost missed it. Lifting a hand, she laced her fingers through his own, squeezing gently.

“Well, Beron, I must say you tend look pathetic this early in the morning too, so I’m not sure that’s a fair assessment.” Helion called, not an ounce of the kindness he’d once shown her in his voice.

Beron opened his mouth to retort, flames flicking at his fingertips, but it was the High Lord of Dawn, Thesan, who said,

“I think we’ve had enough fighting. I believe your tale, if only because I can feel how drained you are, magically. It’s far below what I would think is survivable. There’s no other explanation for why that would be the case, even if you spent the last several days fighting.”

Nesta hadn’t cared to evaluate her magic, to assess how little strength it had at the moment. Though she supposed the amount of it required to wipe Koschei off the earth would have been significant.

Helion dipped his chin, in agreement with Thesan’s words. “I, for one, offer you my gratitude, Nesta Archeron, for keeping our world intact. I am more than content to have ended this war sooner rather than later.”

There were murmurs of agreement throughout the Winter and Dawn Court entourages, and even in Summer, though Tarquin still suspiciously eyed Cassian. Which meant the majority of them were on their side, at least enough not to continue with questions.

“I’ve already learned what horrors the Night Court brings when its leaders feel personally slighted,” Tamlin said. “I will not sacrifice my people to such reckless violence by offending the High Lady’s sister any further.”

Nesta watched as discomfort flittered across Feyre’s face as she was reminded of her first real act as High Lady. It had been the result of youth, of anger, and she knew her sister likely wished for an outcome less devastating for the civilians of Spring. Still, she didn’t waver. Didn’t offer Tamlin that satisfaction by showing her emotion so blatantly.

“Don’t expect to find such support in Autumn, either” Beron said, pushing to his feet. “Cursed witches such as her burn in my palace. As they should. Be wary along my borders, Lady Death.”

The threat, she’d been expecting. What she hadn’t been expecting was the sheer volume of rage it yielded in response. She’d seen Rhysand be cruel during these meetings, be dangerous. But suddenly there was true fear in Beron Vanserra’s eyes, and she realized a beat too late that his mind was held in the grasp of her brother-in-law. Whatever words passed between them was enough to get the Autumn Lord to yield, pale and trembling, pushing away from the group without a word, his sons behind him.

She could have sworn there was a smirk on Eris’ face.

“What did you say to him?” Nesta asked as the rest of the Courts followed suit, the meeting apparently over.

“Just what would happen if he hurt my family again,” Rhys said, lifting Feyre’s hand to place a kiss to her knuckles.

Nesta decided she’d sleep better not pressing for details.

---

Touching down in Velaris sent relief so deeply through Nesta’s bones she could have cried.

It was a long two weeks, cleaning up what they could from the battlefield, ensuring that those who’d been under Koschei’s corruption either had the resources they needed to return to their lives or, more heartbreakingly, what the needed to either start a new one or end it. The number of men they’d lost was steep and Nesta knew weighed heavily on her mate as they returned to their Court’s borders. After a few days of rest, they’d be going to Illyria to begin the long process of speaking with grieving families, and ensuring Rhysand still had an army at all.

But first, there could be joy. Just a little.

Gwyn let out a relieved sound, followed by a happy squeal as she laid eyes on her daughter, who had just been scooped off the ground by her father, his shadows swarming over her from head to toe as if to assess her safety. Azriel murmured soft words in Illyrian into her tuft of red hair, pressing kisses, his hands careful of her tiny wings that were still tucked against her back. Gwyn was at his side in a second, her hand stroking over little Catrin’s back, cooing softly as the child recognized her mother.

“Auntie Nes!”

Nesta shifted her eyes to the boy who was coming at full speed, his tiny wings flapping almost desperately so he’d remain airborne. She realized a beat too late that he would certainly knock her off her feet, with how low her energy was, only for large hands to catch little Nyx and pull him into a tight hug.

“Careful, little bat,” Cassian said, squeezing him. “Your aunt needs her rest; she was busy saving the world, you know.”

Nyx huffed, particularly as his uncle ruffled his hair, before he was set on his feet, approaching her so carefully her heart swelled.

“Are you…alright?” He asked sheepishly, though excitement still brimmed in him so fiercely he nearly vibrated.

“I am,” Nesta replied with a soft smile. “Come here.”

Embracing her nephew, she marveled at how big he’d become in just a few years, nearly up to her waist. He’d be tall, like his father. She relished in the knowledge that she was Nyx’s favorite aunt, even if she never voiced it out loud. But the child had favored her from the moment he arrived, and she him. Even if he was getting too big for her to cradle him while she read during long nights.

“I was worried about you,” he said into her leathers. “There wasn’t any word for so long, I wanted to go with you.”

“It was safer for you here,” Nesta countered, running her hand more gently through his hair. “Besides, someone had to protect Catrin, and you were the perfect candidate.”

The heir to the Night Court smiled sheepishly up at her, as if he was proud of that fact yet too shy to admit it. Very unlike his father.

“Come on then,” Cassian said. “Let’s get everyone inside, I want to sleep for days.”

Nyx giggled and held on to Nesta’s hand as they walked. It was his quiet way of helping when she didn’t feel well, holding onto her as they moved places or bringing her things, or simply curling up beside her. Once, he’d offered to read her book to her, so she wouldn’t fall behind Gwyn and Emerie, and while she’d been touched, it was an unequivocal fact that there were several years before he needed to familiarize himself with those pages.

“Thank the gods you’re all home in one piece,” Elain said, smiling from the doorway. “We were getting lonely.”

“Velaris was in the best of hands,” Rhys answered, pushing off from the end of the couch he was leaning against to make space for his son to guide her to the cushions, waiting patiently for her to sit comfortably before settling beside her, under her arm.

“Papa says you killed the bad God,” Nyx asked her in a not so quiet whisper, his eyes wide and innocent. “Is it true?”

“Maybe,” Nesta whispered back. “But he wasn’t awake for most of it so I’ll have to tell you the story later.”

Rhys scowled at her, though there was amusement in his eyes.

“I don’t suppose you heard about the heroics of your uncles,” Cassian said, leaning over the back of the couch. “We were pretty cool too, you know.”

“Not as cool as auntie Nes,” Nyx replied, as if it had always been a known fact.

“Definitely not,” Azriel answered, settling into an armchair with a very sleepy Catrin in his arms. “But Auntie Nes isn’t going to teach you to fly, so maybe you should start asking us more questions.”

Nyx gave her a look, as if silently asking for her opinion, and she raised her eyebrows at him, with a little shrug. The grin he gave back to her warmed her to the tips of her toes, and as he settled against her properly, his little legs hanging off the edge of the couch, she knew with certainty that whatever pain she still felt from Koschei’s power was worth it, if only  for the moments like this. 

---

Illyria was cold, damp, and devastating.

The grief was poignant, and Cassian had needed to stop more than once, his own pain at feeling the bond between them snap, no matter how brief, exacerbated by that of others, of mothers and wives and mates who’d lost their loved ones permanently.

He’d woken up screaming her name every night since they’d shared a bed again since that day, and tonight was no different, his voice breaking over the two syllables in a horrified cry, his chest heaving and tears on his cheeks.

And just like every night, she held him steady, letting him cup her face and evaluate every inch of her, before guiding his head to rest over her heart, to listen to the steady rhythm of it.

“I can’t get it out of my head,” he whispered that night, his fingers stroking down her arms as his head was pillowed on his chest.

“I know,” Nesta replied, stroking her own through his hair. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t have time to do anything else.”

Cassian shook his head slightly, letting out a long breath. “I know, sweetheart. I know. I just can’t…”

He still trembled, fiercely, and Nesta squeezed him as tightly as she could. “I’m here,” she said, as she did every night. “I’m not leaving you.”

Cassian slid his hands up to wrap around her shoulders. “I keep seeing the heartbroken faces of those families and remembering what it felt like. I can’t bear it.”

“Let me go with you tomorrow,” Nesta said. “I know you like to do it alone, but if I’m with you, I can remind you that I’m okay. It may help.”

Her mate was quiet for a long while, contemplating, and for a moment Nesta thought he’d been soothed back to sleep, his breaths coming slow and even.

“Alright,” he said eventually. “Alright.”

And so, in the morning, Nesta accompanied him out into the chilly air, bright and early, wrapped comfortably in a cloak. She’d taken her tonics before Cassian woke, wanting to be in the best condition she could manage to support him, and thus was more energized than she had been in days when they stepped into town that morning.

In the time they’d been here, she’d spent most of the days in Emerie’s shop, only leaving when she could feel how acutely in distress Cassian was. But now she’d spend the day meeting grieving families, offering them resources and answers to their questions.

Did they fight with honor?

Did they suffer?

Did they die alone?

Cassian never told them the horrific truths, that many were resurrected by Koschei himself to fight against their brothers or sisters. He always painted them in the most brilliant light he could manage, regardless of their rank or age or any disagreements they may have had. He did so for every soldier’s family he met, taking the brunt of the anger, the shock, the despair many felt at continuing to be the Night Court’s cannon fodder.

Nesta couldn’t blame them, already planning ways to make it clear to Rhysand what needed to change here, more directly than she had in the past. Emerie had been writing notes for days now.

By the time they reached the end of their list for the day, the sun was waning in the sky. The last cabin was at the edge of town, containing only a wife. A mate. They were young, her husband having only been a few years older than herself, while she was the same age as Elain.

But as soon as their small dwelling came into view, Nesta’s heart sunk low into her stomach.

Females moved about the space, dressed in dark clothing, heads bowed. Nesta could feel the emptiness of the space from where she was standing, smell the reason for the commotion.

“Fuck,” Cassian said under his breath, and his hand squeezed her own so tightly it almost hurt.

“General,” one of the older females greeted, wiping her hands on her apron. “I’m afraid you’re too late.”

“What happened?” Nesta asked, though she already knew the answer.

“The grief was too much,” the female replied, shaking her head. “She lost her mate, after all. Mother knows she’s happier now than she would have been here, had it not been for the child.”

“The child?” Cassian asked, brows furrowing. “I heard nothing about a child.”

“Born just a fortnight ago,” another female offered. “Right before we heard the names of the dead.”

“And the mother?” Nesta pressed.

“She was weak after the birth. I thought she was coming out of it, but her grief was too strong. I found the potions this morning.”

Cassian’s heart raced in his chest, and she could feel the depth of his agony, his horror at the truth of it. She hadn’t even considered what he would have done, had she not come back. Would he have followed the same path? Even if they’d left something behind as precious as a…

The child’s cry rang out through the cabin, sharp and sudden. Cassian was moving before she had the chance to process it properly, polite despite his size as he pushed inside. Nesta followed after him with careful steps, determined not to disturb anything that had been left behind. It was a small space, with only two rooms, so reminiscent of a different cabin that she felt a little ill. But the females in the space cleaned it with such care, dusting and packing up the few belongings that remained. The body, she’d learned, had already been moved, and was being prepared to be put to rest.

There was nothing personal left behind, save for a small box, nothing that suggested a budding family had once resided.

The door to what she assumed was the bedroom was cracked open, and Nesta pushed the wood as quietly as she could manage. It was there that she found her mate, his back to her, soft Illyrian coming from his lips in a gentle lilt. A female stood awkwardly beside him, at a loss for what to do with the General of the Night Court’s armies comforting a babe. Nesta offered her a gentle smile of her own, gesturing to the doorway to relieve her.

Trading places with the Illyrian as she passed, Nesta laid eyes on the bundle in Cassian’s arms. There were tears streaming down his face, but his voice was steady, steady and comforting. Placing a hand on his arm, she peered down at the tiny face among the blankets.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Cassian murmured. “Just needed to be held.”

“She is,” Nesta agreed, lifting a hand to stroke her cheek. “Are you alright?”

Cassian shook his head, continuing to rock back and forth as if it were second nature. “I could have been this female,” he said. “Had you not come back. I don’t know if I could have continued without you. I never understood how Feyre and Rhys could have made that idiotic bargain, to die together. But now I do. But gods, to leave behind such a young child. She doesn’t even have a name. Illyrians don’t give one until they’ve survived their first three months.”

Nesta nodded in understanding. “Does she have other family?”

“I don’t know,” her mate replied. “If she doesn’t, she’s as good as dead. There aren’t enough resources here to care for her.”

Nesta continued to stare at the child before her, now sleeping peacefully. Her nose was red from the cold, and a little runny. Peaking out from the bonnet on her head was a single tuft of dark hair. There was such peaceful innocence in her expression, perfectly content to be held by this stranger if it meant she was warm.

“She’d end up like me,” Cassian added. “Alone, in a tent on the edge of camp. If she survived that long.”

Silence stretched between them, and Nesta let the words settle in her chest. There was a question to be asked, one they’d barely begun discussing. But perhaps it felt a little too much like fate, or maybe it was Nesta’s desire to ensure that no one had to suffer like he did. Because in a quiet voice, she said,

“Or not.”

Cassian’s eyes flicked up to hers, brows in raised. “Or not?”

Nesta searched his eyes, evaluating his initial response to the idea. “I mean, she doesn’t have to stay here, does she? We could…”

He was quiet, lips pursed, but then he turned his eyes back down to the child, just in time to see her nestle more into his chest, and Nesta had a feeling it wouldn’t really be a decision at all.

“We could,” he said.

And that was it.

---

Two Years Later

Eliana Rhiannon Archeron was every bit as bullheaded as her mother, even at two years old. Strictly bound to her schedules, be it lunch or nap time, she liked things to be perfectly in order, her way, or else she’d happily show you the side of the mountain.

But she was also as vibrant as her father, endlessly curious and jovial, delighted by every member of her family and their strange ways. Though she was frequently jealous of her slightly older cousin, she was beloved by her aunts, her uncles, so much so that there would never be a moment where she questioned whether she truly belonged, whether blood relations truly mattered.

“Mama!”

Nesta smiled as she observed her daughter in the mirror, perched happily on her father’s shoulders, tugging at his hair. Her own stuck up in wild directions, perhaps a result of too much floor time. She’d have to ask her mate later if he’d fallen asleep on the carpet again, his daughter content to sit in the crook of his arm with her picture books, or her blocks, or her stuffed Pegasus.

“Someone looks happy,” she said, putting her brush down and turning in her chair to face them properly. Her own hair hung in long strands over her shoulder, and her robe was tucked neatly closed. Cassian’s eyes trailed appreciatively over her neck, down her collarbones, but all it took was another tug at his hair for him to be pulled back into reality.

“We just had quite the productive nap,” he said, lifting Eliana off his shoulders to offer her over.

“I can tell,” Nesta replied, cradling the child to her chest.

“Feeling better after a grumpy morning?” She asked her daughter, who looked back at her with inquisitive eyes, the same expression she often wore when Cassian asked her the very same question.

“Mama,” she pressed again, pushing closer. Lifting a tiny hand, she placed it on Nesta’s cheek. “Sick?”

“Not today, my love,” Nesta replied, turning her head to kiss her palm. “I feel good today.”

“Good!” Eliana squealed, content to settle into her chest. Even at two, she was so intuitive. Somehow always aware when Nesta wasn’t well. And ever since she’d learned what the word ‘sick’ meant, she asked every day.

Humming in amusement at her daughter’s happiness, Nesta tried to straighten the girls’ hair, knowing it was a losing battle. Even if they weren’t related by blood, she had a feeling her curls would be just as unruly as Cassian’s, if not more so.

“Have a good visit to the springs with Gwyn and Emerie?” Cassian asked her, approaching so he could lean forward and kiss her softly.

“I did,” Nesta replied, leaning into his touch. “Though I think Gwyn needed it more than I did. Catrin is quite the troublemaker, with her father’s shadows at her disposal, disappearing then re-appearing again.”

Cassian grinned. “Remind me to get dear Gwyneth some of Rhys’ tea for when she starts flying. She’ll need it.”

“I suppose I will too,” Nesta commented, smiling down at Eliana, cupping her face in her hands. “Won’t I, little Valkyrie?”

Eliana simply grinned up at her, content to listen to her mother’s words even if she had little comprehension of what they meant.

“Emerie’s still determined then,” Cassian said with a soft laugh, sinking down to his knees to be properly level with them.

“Of course,” Nesta replied. “Though, she’s competing with Gwyn and Feyre and Amren, who all want to take her under their own wings.”

Cassian hummed, leaning forward to kiss their girl’s head. “I don’t see why she can’t be a Valkyrie, scholar, artist, and the Night Court’s second all at once. She’s far too talented to be kept in one box.”

Nesta smiled. “Quite the overachiever, your papa,” she said, leaning in to nuzzle her nose with Eliana’s, who giggled in response.

“Says the one who has her daughter reading picture books in three languages.”

“She’s not reading anything,” Nesta said. “But it can’t hurt to familiarize herself with the letters for when the time comes. Besides, the books from Vallahan have better drawings.”

Cassian gasped in mock offense, leaning close to his daughter’s ear. “Don’t tell auntie Feyre,” he murmured. “She’ll never forgive your mama for such treasonous words.”

It was true, the stack of picture books personally illustrated by Feyre were beloved staples of the House of Wind, and would never be topped by any other publication, no matter how whimsical their drawings were. Which was why they were reserved for bedtime, where there was no chance of tiny hands ripping at the pages.

“Of course, my mistake,” Nesta acquiesced.

Cassian pressed a kiss to her cheek, her temple, sliding his arm around her shoulder as Eliana sat quietly, fingers reaching behind her towards Nesta’s dressing table, intent on the pretty pins laid out there. Nesta turned in her chair obligingly, letting her take in the blues and greens, the golds and silvers.

“Is this what you dreamt of?” Nesta asked him after a few minutes. “Spending your life in a house full of girls?”

“My girls,” Cassian corrected, kissing her head again. “And it’s more than I ever dreamt of,” he said. “Far more. I’ve never been happier, Nes.”

Eliana held up one of her butterfly clips, decorated in diamonds. Her tiny eyes met her father’s in the mirror and widened in excitement, her hand lifting, her demand clear.

“Even now?” Nesta asked, unable to hide her smile as he accepted his daughter’s gift, placing it carefully to pull some strands out of his face.

“Especially now.”

And though she knew that her mate hated having anything in his hair for too long, she couldn’t help but agree.

Chapter Text

The sun in Illyria burned hot, managing to break a sweat over Cassian’s brow.

It had been a long day of training, of coordinating with Devlon to up the regiments for the females, and to continue work on expanding other opportunities for the fae in Windhaven.

It was slow going, but they were making good progress. Schools had been built, and they had begun admitting Illyrian females to Velaris’ Library, at the leadership of Nesta and Emerie.

But as content as he was with the day’s work, he was anxious to get home.

Azriel had taken Nesta home hours ago, after he found his mate tucked under his brother’s wing, half asleep.

Her body was fighting her today, still recovering from what they thought was one of her irregular cycles but was instead something else.

Barely a pregnancy, not even far enough along for anyone to notice, but enough to knock her off her feet when it failed to thrive. They hadn’t been trying, it had simply happened. But that didn’t necessarily make it easier.

They’d kept it quiet from the family, not wanting to cause an uproar. To them, it was a messy flare up. But Nesta was exhausted, even if she’d insisted on coming to check on the progress of their latest school herself.

“You’re antsy,” Devlon commented at him without looking up from their latest reports. “You should return to your mate.”

Cassian quirked a brow, surprised at the relative softness in the War Lord’s tone.

But in the years since she had defeated Koschei, his disposition towards Nesta had changed. Not quite warm and fuzzy, but…friendly.

“Once we’re finished here,” Cassian said, even if his chest leapt at the idea.

Devlon leveled an unimpressed stare at him from across the table.

“She was unwell this morning. It’s your job to look after her, is it not?”

Cassian’s lips twitched.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you cared, Devlon.”

“Go home, General. Don’t waste anymore time here on things that will still be here when you return.”

It was enough to convince him – not that he needed much convincing. And so, he gathered his things, stepping out into the fresh air, stretching his wings.

“Don’t slack off,” He called, with a small smile. “She’ll never forgive me.”

Devlon did not bother with a response, head already bent back over his paperwork. But it was no matter.

Launching into the sky, Cassina relished the sensation of the wind lifting under his wings, whooshing past his ears, through his hair. It favored him today, as if the universe itself wanted him home too.

He pushed his pace, beating his wings in long, powerful strokes, soaring over the Night Court’s lands. He could have asked for a winnow, he supposed, but the warm weather felt good, and he knew Nesta was in the safest of hands at the House of Wind.

The sun was just setting over the horizon when said home came into view, dim lights within indicating that, while no one was up, he was still expected.

As he touched down, the doors swung open, and he walked through them without stopping, intent on obeying Devlon’s orders.

“Hello, House,” He said kindly, to which he received a soft flicker of lights. (Still a strange phenomenon, after all this time.) “How is our girl?”

There was another flicker, a brighter one, which indicated positive news over negative, though it was all relative.

He smiled softly, padding towards the primary suite. Before he stepped inside, he removed himself of all his weapons – anything that would clank or clatter too loudly.

Pushing open the door, he was met with the soothing scents from the House – lavender, and the gentle warmth. Quietly, he toed off his boots and removed his leather jacket, placing it on a chair before he approached the bed, where Nesta was burrowed under the covers, asleep on her side.

Exhaustion was her primary symptom now, which in turn inflamed her already sensitive constitution. Whether she still had pains in her stomach was something she was always reluctant to share – her upbringing still having a hold over her comfort level with these kinds of things – but by the way the mattress had been heated when he slipped under the blankets, he was able to draw his own conclusions.

Nesta let out a breath as he settled down beside her, a hand lifting back in silent request.

Cassian aligned himself against her, draping his arm over her waist and pressing kisses to her hair, her cheek, her shoulder. She was bare under the sheets, likely too tired to bother with a nightgown, but her skin wasn't sensitive, as it so often was.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said. “How do you feel? Did you get home alright?”

She hummed in affirmation, hand finding his beneath he covers and squeezing. He pressed another kiss to her skin in answer.

“Just tired,” she mumbled. “Better now.”

The knowledge eased the perpetual discomfort in his chest whenever she didn’t feel well, and he smiled, nestling against her.

“The House seems to have taken care of you,” he replied. “Azriel go home?”

She nodded against her pillow. “Gwyn,” she supplied in answer.

His brother and the Priestess were expecting their second child in the next few weeks, much to young Catrin’s chagrin. Azriel was likely just as anxious to be by his mate’s side as Cassian was.

In his arms, Nesta rolled over, to face him. Her eyes were bleary, but her movements were steady as she lifted a hand to cup his cheek, fingers brushing over the stubble.

Cassian turned his head to kiss her palm.

“You’ve got more color in your face,” he said. “Look a bit more rested than this morning.”

“The House is a good nurse,” Nesta affirmed. “But I prefer you.”

He smiled, unable to ignore the pride that swelled in his chest at the notion.

“Well, I’m here now. Devlon all but kicked me out.”

She let out a soft sound to indicate her amusement. But then, quietly she said,

“I miss our girl.”

The warmth in his chest only grew.

“Shall I go get her?” He asked. “She’ll be happy to come snuggle you.”

Nesta smiled, just a little, at the idea.

“I don’t want to scare her.”

Cassian pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her head.

“She knows how you operate, sweetheart. It doesn’t scare her.”

It was a consistent fear of hers – likely leftover from the trauma of watching her own mother deteriorate. But Nesta was healthy, other than her existing conditions. There would be no tragedies here, so long as he could help it. Eliana knew that, and was always determined to help make her mama feel her best whenever she could. 

“I still don’t want to tell her,” She said quietly. “She’s too young to understand.”

Cassian nodded. “That’s alright. She just thinks it’s the usual.”

Leaning forward, he brushed their noses, relishing the feel of her in his arms.

“How are you doing?” He asked. “Really? I know it wasn’t necessarily something we wanted, but it’s still not easy. I want to do everything I can for you.”

Nesta shrugged, closing her eyes for a moment. “It wasn’t a possibility I really let myself consider. Madja said it was unlikely, so…”

“You can still grieve it, if you need to, Nes.”

“Do you?” She asked, opening her eyes again to assess him.

Cassian stroked some hair from her face before sliding the palm of his hand to rest on the small of her back. The warmth, he knew, soothed her.

“I grieve the pain it caused you,” he said. “But I have the family I always wanted. I’m beyond blessed. Anything else would simply be a bonus.”

She pursed her lips, contemplating.

“I didn’t want it,” she replied. “I can't risk it. But there’s still a part of me that can’t help but wonder…”

“I think that’s normal,” Cassian answered. “But we have decades, sweetheart. Centuries. When the day comes that it’s safer for you, for us, then we can consider it.”

“I was worried,” she said tentatively, “that it might have disappointed you. That I failed in giving you the family you want.”

Cassian shook his head. “No, my love. No. Our family is perfect. I wouldn't want anything else, do you understand? The three of us were meant to be together. I don't need anything more.”

She nodded, her fingers tracing his jaw line, absentmindedly.

For several long minutes, he simply held her, rubbing tension from her back, and keeping her at peace. The bleeding had mostly stopped, though he could still smell it. It was another reason they'd had Eliana stay with her aunt and uncle, while Nesta healed. But blood was natural, and he knew their daughter wouldn't question it.

Which was why he was more than willing when Nesta eventually asked,

“Go get her?”

Cassian grinned, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “I’ll be right back.”

He pulled away carefully, tucking her back into the blankets, to keep her warm for the few minutes he’d be gone.

On easy steps, he walked out to the balcony adjoining their room, and launched back into the sky.

It was a quick flight down to the River House, which glowed in a gentle light. The moon had risen, and he had a feeling his six-year-old would be just as sleepy as her mama.

Letting himself in, he kept quiet, the overarching silence indicating that most of the occupants had already gone to sleep themselves.

But he knew his brother. And, more importantly, knew who was attached to his hip.

Approaching his study, he smiled at the light coming from within, the gentle scratching of a pen against parchment. Standing in the doorway, Cassian took in the soft scene, determined to have it painted as soon as possible.

Rhys was seated at his desk, looking over some kind of report or correspondence. But in his lap, Eliana slept with her arms wrapped around his neck, her legs around his waist, in a warm embrace. Rhys’ free hand stroked absentmindedly over her back; his jacket draped over her shoulders.

For several seconds, Cassian simply watched them, leaning against the door frame. As attached as Nyx was to Nesta, the same could be said of Eli to her uncle. It was a perfect sort of irony.

When Rhys finally lifted his head, he was greeted with a soft smile.

“We weren’t expecting you tonight.”

“Nes misses her girl,” Cassian said quietly. “She’s feeling better enough for a visit.”

Relief shimmered in Rhys’ eyes, as it always did when he heard such news. Even with how normalized Nesta’s flares were, his family was full of mother hens.

Approaching his side, Cassian smiled down at his daughter, who had nestled into Rhys’ neck.

“She was being very helpful, learning the ins and outs of trade policy. I think I will make her the Minister of Finance in the morning.”

He chuckled, softly, squatting down to be eye level with her as he rubbed at her back.

“I’m sure she’ll be delighted to hear it. She’ll be in charge of us all sooner rather than later.”

It was true. Eliana may not be of his and Nesta’s blood, but she adopted her mother’s leadership qualities so acutely that she took charge of her cousins even at six. Mother only knew what Prythian had in store when she was older.

“How long has she been asleep?” He asked, dipping his head to meet her eyes as they began to flutter.

“Just over an hour or so,” Rhys replied. “We had a very busy day keeping Catrin busy so Gwyneth could have some peace.”

“I can imagine,” Cassian said, just as his daughter lifted her head.

“Papa?” She asked tiredly, through a yawn.

“Hi baby,” he replied. “Ready to go home?”

She let out a sound of affirmation, even as she nestled back into Rhys’ chest. His brother smiled, dipping his chin to press a kiss to her hair.

“I bet your mama is anxious to see you, little bat,” Rhys said. “You’ll have to tell her all about our adventures with merchant ships, yes?”

As he said the words, he tickled her gently, earning a sleepy giggle.

“Come on, love,” Cassian coaxed, reaching out to take her. “Up we go.”

Eliana’s tiny arms were quick to latch around his neck, filling him with such a sense of rightness it could have brought him to tears. Immediately, her head settled on his shoulders, her eyes closing.

“Nesta’s alright?” Rhys asked. “This was a bad one, I feel.”

Cassian hummed in affirmation. “Getting there,” he said. “One more good sleep should do it.”

Rhys nodded. “Well, you know where to find us, if you need us.

"Of course. Thank you, as always."

"Don't you dare," Rhys said. "Family helps family, always."

Cassian bid him goodbye with another smile, eternally grateful.

Walking back out into the night air, he stretched out his wings, bundling Eliana up tighter against his chest, to protect her from the chill.

“Papa,” she said, lifting her head. “Is mama okay?”

“Mama’s going to be just fine,” He answered. “But she’ll feel better after some snuggles. Think you can help with that?”

She nodded firmly, blinking to try and wake herself up. Cassian pressed kisses to her cheeks, before squeezing her tight.

Pushing off into the air, he made the quick journey back to their house, grateful for the warmth of the summer months. By the time they landed, her head had nestled back into his neck, cozy.

“Remember the rules,” He said gently as they walked through the balcony doors to the bedroom. “Only gentle touches. Be soft with mama like she’s soft with you.”

“I know, papa,” Eli answered, squirming in his arms to be let down once she realized where they were. “I take good care of mama.”

Cassian grinned, following behind her as she approached the bed, where Nesta had dozed back off.

“Yes, you do, sweetheart. The best care.”

His daughter didn’t hesitate in reaching up to place a hand on Nesta’s cheek. The touch had her eyes fluttering open, and he watched the way tension eased from his mate’s shoulders as she took in her visitor.

“Hi mama,” Eliana whispered. “Sick?”

Nesta smiled softly, arm reaching out to wrap around their daughter’s tiny frame. “I’m alright now, my love,” she said. “Much better with you here.”

Cassian watched as Eliana brushed hair out of Nesta’s face with such care and devotion. It filled him with overwhelming joy and affection for his girls, his family. A protectiveness to preserve the safety here, forever.

“Here we are,” he said, moving over to boost her up onto the mattress. “Get cozy with mama and I’ll be in shortly, alright?”

Nesta lifted the blankets, rolling onto her back so that Eliana could snuggle into the crook of her arm. She’d donned a thin nightgown, one that would keep her cool enough throughout the night, and the sheets had been changed, ridding the room of the remaining copper scent. 

Cassian moved into the bathroom, undressing from the remainder of his leathers into his sleeping pants. He brushed his teeth, and put up his hair, before returning to bed, where Eli was regaling Nes with her day.

“Uncle Rhys and I went to count merchant ships,” She explained. “And then we wrote them all down, with what they carried. He says it’s important to know, to make sure everyone has good food. One of the captains gave me a coin from the Continent.”

“That sounds like fun,” Nesta replied. “Perhaps one day you will have a ship yourself.”

Eliana giggled. “I can take you and papa for rides.”

“I’ll hold you to that, baby girl,” Cassian said as he settled down on the mattress. “I expect first class service, with fine food and wine.”

Lifting his arm, he drew Nesta close, pressing a firm kiss to her hair. A moment later, Eliana crawled onto his chest, settling down.

“Your papa wants to be spoiled,” Nesta said, brushing a hand through their daughter’s unruly curls. “What shall we do with him?”

“Make him sleep outside,” Eliana whispered. “Like a real bat.”

Cassian laughed. “If I have to sleep outside, then so do you.”

“Well, I will be sleeping in here,” Nesta declared. “I don’t like the cold.”

“Yeah, but you get to be spoiled, mama,” Eliana asserted. “That’s what papa says, so it’s true.”

Nesta shook her head, nestling into Cassian’s neck and closing her eyes. “Your papa’s head is full of clouds.”

Cassian scoffed. “Your mama is more stubborn than a bull.”

“Shh, papa,” Eliana ordered, suddenly serious. “Mama is sleepy.”

Sure enough, he could feel Nesta's breathing slowing, the heaviness of her body against him. 

Stroking a hand through his mate’s hair, he nodded. “Best get comfy then, Els. It’s our job to keep her cozy.”

Eliana smiled, snuggling under the blankets, her tiny hand reaching out to hold onto Nesta’s which rested on his chest. Nesta squeezed it, gently, and let out a sigh, one that indicated a release in the remainder of her tension.

“Goodnight mama,” she whispered. “We love you.”

He felt her smile against his skin. “I love you too, baby. Very much.”

It was only a few minutes more before both of his girls were sleeping soundly, Eliana’s second wind fading away as soon as she got warm and comfy. He felt the bond humming with contentment in his chest, his mate’s pain eased, and for the moment, all was content.

It was a perfect sort of bliss, to hold them both close. To keep them safe.

They were his family, which was all he ever wanted, yet never thought he'd receive.

And Cassian wouldn’t trade that for anything.