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theladyofbloodshed · 2 years

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(Day 1 for @nerisweek - Angst/Forbidden Love) A Court of Tangled Flames - Chapter 1 This story will diverge from canon ACOSF. It begins when Cassian takes Nesta on the hike.

An ancient and wise voice whispered to keep going. One more mountain. Just one more. Nesta had proved to be stubborn. He wouldn’t have forced this hike on her if she could just face what she ran from, but she was too damn stubborn. Cassian’s instincts had been roaring at him to put a stop to it. He hated to see her hurting. But he knew what she needed. One more mountain.

In the days that they’d spent hiking through the foothills of the mountains that straddled Illyria and Velaris, Rhysand’s fury might have dulled slightly but he wasn’t about to risk Nesta with a high lord who had a pregnant mate. When Cassian returned Nesta to Velaris, she would no longer be in the firing line. Feyre might have forgiven her, but Nesta had gone against an order for no reason except to be malicious. It would take a long time for Rhys – or the others – to forgive Nesta. But she had to forgive herself first. The silence that had trailed them was evidence she was not yet willing to do so.

She had fainted that day. All bones and hatred towards herself. She’d collapsed in a heap near a boulder, sheltered from the wind. Cassian had fought his desire to wrap her up and tuck her safely into the tent. Nesta needed to draw herself out of this, not him.

As dawn filtered in, Cassian crawled from the tent, ready to light a small fire and cook.

His heart ruptured.

Nesta was gone.

The plate of dinner he had left for her was still there untouched. A quick search confirmed that she had not taken a single item, not even the canteen of water.

Blood roared in Cassian’s ears. There were no signs of a struggle. This area was relatively safe. He would not have slept through something. Unless that something was Nesta herself. He had seen that vacant look in her eyes too many times now, had thought that this hike might coax that spark in her heart back to life. Her scent was faint, but it faded uphill – away from the river at least. He couldn’t think straight.

‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’ He broke a toe kicking one of the bags across the camp.

The more time he wasted here, the worse it could be for Nesta. Cassian swept the area, hoping to find a glimpse of her. If she had ran from him, she couldn’t have gone far despite her iron will. Fuck. She had fainted yesterday. Cassian had been fixated on the route, mulling over his own beginning in life, that he had not spared a single look behind until he had heard the clacking of stones as she fell.

There was no trace of Nesta. Not on the craggy face of the mountain, not in the shallow streams that they’d collected water from. He tracked back and forth, sweeping the area over and over.

With every beat of his wings back towards Velaris, bile rose in his throat. What had he done?

‘Is she here?’ His voice was raw from screaming her name over the mountains.

‘What?’

The group had been tucked together in Rhys’ study. Mor’s head had whipped up first at the sight of him. He knew he looked bedraggled, knew that his siphons were flaring dangerously. His heart was being torn from his chest.

‘Nesta.’

Amren’s face tightened at the mention of the female she had tried to befriend. Cassian didn’t miss the grit of Rhys’ jaw either.

‘I woke. She was gone. If she’s hurt…’

Rhys flickered his eyes using his daemati powers to hunt her.

His entire body was tense while Rhys worked. A silent prayer was said to the Mother that Rhys would have good news. Each second was a drawn-out ache. Mor’s hand linked with his, squeezing once in solidarity. Azriel saw it and turned his face from them.

‘I can’t find her.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It could mean a lot of things,’ Rhys said delicately. ‘That she has mental shields up, she’s too far from range, someone is shielding her.’

‘Or she’s dead,’ supplied Amren.

Cassian snapped. His body barrelled towards the creature that had once been the most terrifying being in Prythian. If he got his hands on her, Cassian would strangle her.

Rhys covered her with his body while Azriel and Mor fought to hold Cassian back from ripping her apart.

‘Stop,’ Rhys called, power seeping through the room, wrapping Cassian in a night-chilled mist. It tangled around his limbs, constricting them to his body. ‘Az, assemble a team of Illyrians to sweep the mountains. Have every cave checked – rivers too. Mor, check any arrivals into the city. Trade wagons, anything, in case Nesta has stowed onto one. Someone might have seen her and given her a ride in. I’ll go to Windhaven. It’s the closest camp. We don’t tell Feyre until we know Nesta is safe.’

‘Isn’t that how we’re in this situation?’

The glare that Rhys turned onto Azriel was lethal. Az turned his head away first, but not after holding the stare for a few heartbeats.

‘Cass, stay here with Amren.’

‘Stay here? I’m finding her.’

***

The warrior carved from stone snapped at her. ‘You should have been drinking water throughout the day.’

There had been no time to stop. No energy to call for it. If she had stopped, she would not have started again. Nesta had been marching for days. Stomach empty. Head ringing with insecurity. She had barely slept each night on the cold ground, stones digging into her thin body.

‘We’ll camp here tonight,’ Cassian barked, voice lacking any warmth.

He coaxed her another twenty foot up a riverbed to a flat expanse of ground, but it felt like climbing another mountain. Nesta was so tired. A tiredness that gnawed at her bones and drove away any motivation she had.

She couldn’t remember falling asleep. Couldn’t remember Cassian cooking or the crackle of the fire that she detested so much.

It was dark. A plate of food had been left near her. Something cold and wet snuffled at the back of her neck.

Her body stilled. Nesta wasn’t sure what creatures lingered in these mountain passes. They were camped close to a river and memories of the kelpie rose to the surface. If it killed her, she wouldn’t care this time. She was past saving.

Nesta shifted on her hip, raising her head slightly.

A dog sat beside her. Its tail thumped once on the ground as if it couldn’t help itself before reigning in its training. It pushed his nose towards her. That was what had buried against her neck while she slept. From the corner of her eye, Nesta caught a glimpse of fire sweeping through the air in an arc.

A male stood atop a stone, another dog at his heel. Eris Vanserra. He pressed a finger to his lips then pointed at Cassian who slumbered peacefully in his tent beside a dying fire.

Eris gestured for her to come forwards.

Nesta knew to tread lightly – as silently as she could manage on shaking legs. The dog followed behind as if escorting her to his master. Once she was close enough, the muffled feeling of a shield came around them, cutting off the wind.

Eris’ fingers flexed as he moved a hand almost to hold onto her arm then thought better of it. His amber eyes weighed every inch of Nesta; the too thin face, the shadows beneath her eyes, the dry, cracked lips. Her body was coated with a layer of grime that splashes of river water couldn’t scrub off, the leathers she’d been forced to wear had been on her body for days through hours and hours of sweaty hiking. Eris swallowed.

‘The belongings at your camp. Do you need any of them?’

His voice was tight. It wasn’t the cold, deep ripple that she’d encountered in Spring Court. This was full of leashed fire that begged to seek purchase.

‘I- No. I just carry it.’

The joyless depths of his eyes flared with golden flame.

‘Nesta, I want to take you to a safe place where you will not be hurt. Can I do that?’

Nesta turned to face the camp Cassian had made. She thought of the fear that had rocked her entire body the moment the words had spilled out to Feyre. She would die. Her son would die. Rhys had made them keep it from her. Rhys would have killed Nesta. She likely would always be a target. Whatever tense link they had shared was now irreparably broken. The carefully built trust that had developed with Cassian had been shattered. Nesta knew this male would not protect her from Rhysand; she would always be second place to him. That was evidenced by days spent hiking until her body failed with fatigue.

‘Yes.’

The world fell away. Nesta tipped forwards until her head curled against Eris’ neck. His arm came around her as they winnowed from the Night Court.

There was vague awareness of Eris removing his cloak and draping it over her as he lifted her into his arms. A sturdy hand curved around the back of her legs, but the one around her shoulders, stroked her gently. It was the first gentle touch Nesta had felt in days.

He gave a low whistle and one of his dogs streaked past them. They waited. Nesta glanced up, cataloguing the tall canopy of oaks above their heads. If she cared, she might have asked where Eris Vanserra was taking her.

‘Stay quiet a moment,’ he murmured against her hair.

Then boots traipsed through the forest, careening after the dog who was far too quick to be caught. Eris seized his chance and made for the gates to a manor that was now without sentries guarding it. He managed a gentle jog with Nesta still near him as he moved to the back of the house. He rapped his knuckles hard on the door.

A female answered. Her dark, curling hair fell untidily past her shoulders. She’d drawn a cloak around herself too, but Nesta peeked the hem of her nightgown.

‘Eris, do you know what time it is? Who is that?’

‘Shh,’ he replied, pushing past her into the kitchen. ‘This is Nesta. I’ll be back in the morning. Keep her safe tonight.’

‘Is she in danger? What trouble are you getting me into now?’

Eris carefully lowered Nesta so she was standing without his support. ‘Sorry,’ he said, removing the cloak and pulling it back around himself. ‘She is not the danger. Orla, please. Just look after her. I will be here in the morning.’

Unusual for him to appear rattled. Nesta had only ever seen the heir to the Autumn throne calculating and calm. He gave Nesta a searching look then, ‘You’re safe here, Nesta.’

***

The trick in not being caught was to never deviate from routine. Never give anyone a reason to be suspicious. It was a mantra that Eris lived by. Take a stroll late in the evening, not returning until it’s dark once, and it rouses attention. Take that walk most nights, follow the same route, same times, become a creature of habit and none bat an eyelid. Ensure people overhear your conversations with guards that the youngest smokehounds needed training in the dark, insist to your mother that they needed to be able to track in the deepest parts of the forest, be resolute that only you can train them. Give them no reason to doubt your motives.

Eris followed his usual pattern, heading for the woods, making a show of calling the dogs to him. He had taken all twelve tonight. His father’s guards had to see him leave the Forest House. He walked on, always mindful of the eyes that might be on him.

The first few times, his father’s soldiers had followed him for the entire duration. They kept out of sight, so Eris made the walk as long and boring as possible. Then he repeated it, night after night, until Beron must have been irritated by the reports of the sentries that stated Eris merely walked and trained his dogs for hours. The soldiers dwindled in number, they followed him less, some remained at the odd outpost to confirm to Beron that his son was – yet again – training his damn dogs, until it was not worth Beron’s efforts to monitor him too closely. With three other sons in the Forest House, his attention was better spent on them. At least, that’s what Eris had convinced him. He was the organised, regimented child. He’d always been a stickler for routine so played into it. A word in the right servant’s ear about who Uther was spending time with or a bribed guard commenting that Phelan had been spotted speaking to a lesser fae female in a nearby village kept Beron’s eyes firmly away from Eris.

The sun scattered the forest in golden warmth as it drooped in the sky. One of his hounds had made for a cave. He called for it with no return. More evidence to any hidden sentries that the young pup needed firmer training.

‘Three hours?’

The trick to not being caught was to always be where you were supposed to be. The male waiting in the cave, Ashur, examined Eris’ clothes, ensuring his matched. They looked similar enough from a distance. Both the same height. Ashur was perhaps slightly more rakish in build, but it was hidden well-enough by the clothing for it not to be detected. They had long played this game. Ashur was his double whenever Eris needed a moment away – but also needed an alibi. Beron would never admit to having his son tailed by sentries, so they never came close enough to notice that it was not Eris walking through the woods. Eris had quirks, minimal enough that they did not cause issue or raised much attention. He liked to have the tailor make two of each garment. He was so fussy with his clothes, he said, and the same elderly fae had served long enough to not question Eris. A set always went to Ashur with strict instructions on when to wear them.

‘They’ll be on the northern crest, prior to the bridge. Just two sentries. Have Artyom thrash about in the shallows to give you pause. Tomorrow, their post is at the glen with the overhanging boulder.’

Ashur nodded, drawing his cloak up around his chin and melding into his role of heir to the Autumn Court throne as he departed the cave, dogs trailing him. Ten smokehounds moved far too quickly; sentries would count twelve of them. They were seamless in their transitions now. In the dim light, none would know the difference, not even Eris’ own father. Ashur would replace Eris for a number of hours, roaming through the forest, pausing at the places where they knew sentries would linger to confirm to Beron he remained in the woods. It gave him time and space to further his agendas.

The Night Court was his current agenda. An alliance was building between them, but Eris did not for one moment trust them. He could count on one hand the people he could trust; his mother, Orla, and Ashur.

The Night Court was tight-lipped on the subject of Ramiel. No books or scripture could give Eris any hint of what might lurk beneath the mountain. The monolith on top was sacred to Illyrians for some long-held, long-forgotten reason. There was a reason why Amarantha had built her court so close to it. There were always reasons, always patterns. That was the order of things.

Eris had been exploring the land around Ramiel, journeying further south each night to an area that was unmarked on any map. He had even managed to obtain an Illyrian map, but the area that he approached was unmapped entirely. Something was there, heavily warded. The Night Court would not leave such an expanse that wasn’t craggy untouched. It could have been a secret camp for the Illyrians, but Eris doubted that.

On the rare occasion that Eris arrived slightly too early for their meetings at the Hewn City - by accident, of course - Keir or a sentry would let slip they were waiting for the high lord’s arrival. He didn’t reside in the Court of Nightmares, Eris had surmised as much, nor in Illyria. Mor wouldn’t stay in her father’s city either. Eris had not pushed it; that was another secret. Never seem too interested in something because that raised suspicion too.

He’d be punctual for a handful of meetings then arrive early to another to test his theory. None of them were ever there. No shadow singer or high lady. They all arrived together.

Currently, he was more curious about the seemingly empty area of the Night Court with such heavy wards than Ramiel, Eris could taste the magic on his tongue. It hurt his eyes to stare at the blank space for too long. They'd blur and sting.

A night earlier, he had been in the shadows of a cliff, when he had spotted an Illyrian. The hulking form of Cassian could not be missed. His gait was heavy but not labouring as he wended along the curve of the river. Behind him was Nesta Archeron. The brute had shown his cards in the Spring Court when he placed a hand on the small of her back. A pity for her to be aligned with that male. A waste, even. For putting Beron in his place in front of the other high lord’s and not backing down, Nesta Archeron would always hold a special place in Eris’ heart. He hadn’t been able to forget the sheer shock on his father’s face that a female had dared use such a tone on him – and with an audience.

Eris had kept his eyes on them. Cassian stormed ahead, not noticing each time Nesta fell behind and had to scurry her legs to catch up. He caught the slump of her back from the weight of the bag she bore. She looked exhausted. Eris barely knew her, but he hadn’t considered her the type to want a hike in the Illyrian countryside.

That night, he had followed them until the very last minute before he had to return to Autumn. His stomach had roiled at the way Nesta had fallen onto her knees and used the last of her strength to peel the bag from her body. It had taken all of his willpower not to snatch her away there and then after observing Cassian ignore her. The Illyrian had cooked, thrust a plate of food at her unmoving form then crawled into the comfort of his tent.

The entire day, his thoughts had been entwined with Nesta Archeron. He ran through every meeting he had with that female who was forged from iron. Plucked every memory, every story he knew of her. She wasn’t weak-willed, wasn’t cowardly by any means. The female that had trailed Cassian had been utterly broken. Eris had tried to reason it; maybe she was sick, maybe she had wanted to hike. All of it was ashes on his tongue. Sunset could not come quick enough to him. He had prayed to the Mother to bring the sun down earlier to give him that cover to escape the Forest House. He had said another prayer that he would not see Nesta again. That she’d have been returned to somewhere safe. Even as he thought of those words, Eris knew it to be false. He had seen that same look on Nesta’s face as he saw on his mother’s every day. Tread on her enough times and she will eventually stop fighting you. Break her so thoroughly that she believes she deserves it.

With two dogs accompanying him, he kept his vigil on the pair, biding his time until the oaf went to sleep. Eris would have to be fast. Swifter than he’d ever been. He couldn’t get too close or he’d be scented. That was if Nesta said yes. Hearing her say yes mattered to Eris. But he hoped it wasn’t too late. Nesta deserved more than whatever life she had here in the Night Court – and he hoped they hadn’t robbed her of that awareness.

When Nesta had fainted, a white-hot fury seized his limbs. He’d nearly shouted that she was falling, desperate for the brute to save her before she was hurt. He’d screwed his eyes shut before she’d hit the ground, unable to see it. There had been worry, yes, from Cassian, but not enough. He still forced her to walk, still made her carry the pack until they camped for the night.

Artur was sent, once the fire dimmed. The dog did a loop of the camp then another, closer to the tent. He made enough noise that if the Illyrian was awake, he’d have heard. If he was awake, surely he’d have checked on Nesta’s wellbeing with an animal near his tent. Nothing.

In a terse silence, Eris watched Artur nudge Nesta. The dog was gentle, mostly. The safest option not to cause her alarm. He nuzzled against her neck until there was movement.

Do not scream, Eris thought, nails digging into the flesh of his palm.

He sliced a ribbon of fire through the air to catch her attention. Almost held his breath as she approached. Her steps were wobbly – and not due to the rough landscape.

‘The belongings at your camp. Do you need any of them?’

There was a bruise above her eyebrow where she’d hit the ground. The grey pockets beneath her eyes were haunting. He had never seen this female dishevelled. Nesta was always perfectly preened like a high-born female. This was degradation. Grinding her down until she was what the Night Court wanted her to be.

‘I- No. I just carry it.’

He would kill them. All of them. He could not look into those eyes without seeing his mother staring back at him. If he could help Nesta, could take her away from her pain then there was hope for his mother.

‘Nesta, I want to take you to a safe place where you will not be hurt. Can I do that?’

Eris knew she had no reason to trust him. The reputation he had coveted had been built over five hundred years. It was an empire of cruelty. His only hope was that he was the better option than the male asleep yards from them.

‘Yes.’

Swift as a fox, he’d distracted the guards at Orla’s, deposited Nesta as if she was no more than a delivery of goods, and was back in the forest swapping places with Ashur. He had needed to sprint to make it in time. Ashur had given him a warning glare as they traded places; Eris stepping out from behind the boulder where he’d been waiting. Ashur would remain there until the forest fell silent once more.

‘Almost midnight,’ he said to one of the sentries on the main gates, glancing up at the moon. Even if it was past that time, a lowly sentry would still recall the heir of Beron strolling through unhurried prior to midnight. He didn’t need to be a daemati to implant memories.

The memory of Nesta’s face would trail him that night. Not the injuries, not the physical appearance, but the lack of terror, the lack of anything. He remembered that look in his mother when Lucien had been exiled. Remembered it when word came that same night that one of her sons and the high lord of Spring had murdered two of her children. She had wanted to give up so badly then. And Eris had been terrified to ever give her a moment alone in case she seized her chance. Like a phantom, he had stalked his mother for months until he was sure – certain – that she wanted to see another sunrise.

To any watching eyes, it would appear that Eris had taken his usual stroll through the forest with his beloved smokehounds and was returning to the Forest House, a little weary but with the dogs given a good run out. When any would ask how he had trained them so well, he always answered simply that it was routine. More than freedom, more than time to himself, he had an alibi. But like a thief, he had swept into the Night Court and stolen the high lady’s sister. For now, Nesta Archeron was safe.

#a court of tangled flames #neris #nesta archeron #eris vanserra #nesta x eris #the superior ship #i am the captain of this ship #and i will go down with this ship #nerisweek #nerisweek2022

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