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nestasgalpal · 3 years

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Consequences Part 2

Fixing ACOSF Part 4

Masterlist | AO3

Summary: This is the second part of Consequences, Cassian’s POV, to keep the consistency untill they arrive to the mountains.

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Cassian had gone to the river house.

That had been his third mistake of the day. The first had been how clumsy he’d been in asking about a sword name, prompting Nesta’s suspicion. He hadn’t been able to lie to her, so he’d told her everything.

The second mistake had been letting Nesta hide in her room and not barging in to speak to her. Letting her take a bath, thinking it’d cool her off. He’d done the same, and when he’d emerged, he’d followed her scent to the floor with the exterior stairs, where the door stood open.

He had no idea if she had made it out or if she’d collapsed within, so he’d taken the steps, too. All ten thousand of them, her scent fresh and furious.

She’d made it to the bottom. The door had been left open.

He’d launched skyward, knowing he’d have trouble tracking her scent in the bustling city, hoping to spot her from the air. He assumed Amren was working at the river house, so that was where he’d gone.

Only Amren wasn’t there. And neither was Nesta.

He’d reached Rhys’s study when word came. Not from a messenger, but from Feyre—mind to mind with her mate.

Rhys was at his desk, face tight as he silently spoke to her. Cassian saw that look, knew who he spoke to, and went still. Neither was here, which meant they were probably at Amren’s apartment, and if Feyre was giving a report …

Cassian whirled for the doors, knowing he could be there in a two-minute flight, praying he’d be fast enough—

“Cassian.”

Rhys’s voice was a thing of nightmares, of the darkness between the stars.

Cassian froze at that voice he’d so rarely heard, and never once directed at himself. “What happened?”

Rhys’s face was wholly calm. But death—black, raging death— lay in his eyes. Not a star or shimmer of violet remained.

Rhys said in that voice that was like hell embodied, “Nesta saw fit to inform Feyre of the risk to her and the babe.” Cassian’s heart began thundering, even as it splintered. Rhys held his stare, and it was all Cassian could do to weather it as his brother, his High Lord said, “Get Nesta out of this city. Right now.” Rhys’s power rumbled in the room like a rising storm. “Before I fucking kill her.”

At that, Cassian snapped.

But something new hit him a fraction of a second later, soon enough that his legs didn't have time to move, and he didn't have time to launch against his brother and rip off his head. Cassian didn't know what it was, but it felt like a tangible knot in his head. He could feel his very soul fighting his body, every thought in his head gone, but two that were conraty to each other. His body wanted to respond to his High Lord giving him an order. And at the same time, something stronger than that crackled through that impulse to obey, at the sound of Nesta’s life being threatened.

Panic spreaded through the warrior's head like it had never done in a battlefield where he was surrounded by death and chaos. Not because he didn’t know what to do, but because he didn’t know what would happen to him once he did. The idea of Rhysand’s magic —the suffocating dark mist that was now hovering around him— even comming close to her made his blood boil.

It was a conscious effort to restrain himsef from moving, but it was an instinct to say “You won’t lay a finger on her.”

You won’t lay a finger on my sister. Feyre’s voice resonated in his head at the same time he spoke. She had been listening, her mind conection with Rhysand still open.

Cassian looked at the High Lord —because it was not Rhys, his brother, standing behind the desk. He was the ruller of the Night Court, the Nightmare. His face was a mask of fury, his eyes two infinite voids. Cassian could tell he had listened to Feyre’s warning too. He had understood that his mate’s words were meant for him, not for Cassian.

The warning hadn’t come from Feyre, his friend. No, she had been the Night’s consort, the High Lady who now ruled the Night Court. Rhysand’s equal.

Feyre and Rhys had never given him contradictory orders before.

Where are you? Is she with you?, Cassian asked her.

When Feyre didn’t answer, he glanced at Rhys again. The death promise still glimmered in his eyes. Without a second thought, ignoring the soldier inside him who wanted to fall in line in front of his superior, he run out of the house and launched for the sky.

He went to Amren’s apartment, and from the sky he could see Nesta running down the street. She was not going fast, her steps clumpsy and heavy, as if her head was somewhere else and her body was moving on its own, escaping from the place where it all had happened —not knowing where to go next.

Feyre was right behind her, not running either, but walking fast enough to make Cassian speed up. He had to take Nesta. Take her away from Velaris. Take her away from Rhysand’s reach.

Even if he wanted to, he knew he wouldn’t survive a fight against his powers if he unleashed them. And he refused to die like a proud fool and leave her to face him alone.

Cassian was so close he could see the tears coming down Nesta’s pale face.

But Feyre was faster, and both females vanished before his eyes.

Cassian landed with a growl. They were nowhere to be seen. Amren was on the door of her building, Varian by her side, naked and with wide eyes fixed on him. The tiny one had that threatening glimmer of hers in her pupils, but it didn’t scare Cassian one bit.

We should have never voted something like this. We shouldn’t have voted anything regarding Nesta’s future. We can’t keep this kind of things from them, Rhys. Cassian let the words float in his head, hoping that his brother was listening. He was enraged, the Lord of Bloodshread in him battling to come out. The same rush of adrenaline he felt in battle pushing him to move, to find her, to fight him.

Rhysand was furious too, but it was not the same. Rhys had been the one to order them not to tell Feyre. He was paying for his own mistakes. Cassian had always wanted to tell Nesta. It was not fair, that he got to make decisions for everyone and then they were the ones paying for it too.

Cassian wanted to go to the river house and make his High Lord pulp, but he forced himself to cool down —to think.

It took him a while. It was not a rational thing what moved him, but something primal, something that somehow felt as natural as breathing.

Between all the mess, his High Lord’s rage, his High Lady’s sorrow, Amren’s madness —he only wanted to find Nesta and take her home. He didn’t want to keep anything from her ever again. He wanted to share everything he had.

Cassian run his fingers through his hair, taking deep breaths, relaxing the tight muscles of his neck.

I know, Rhysand said at last.

When his brother deigned to answer, Cassian was still in the same spot on the street where Feyre and Nesta had disappeared. He had figured out by now where they were, but he didn’t dare going. Cassian knew Rhys wouldn’t dare either, so he gave the sisters the time they clearly needed and wanted, and told himself Nesta was not in danger.

He wouldn’t allow it.

When the sun started to set, Cassian finally made his way to Feyre’s painting studio in the city. He walked, needing to get lost in the bustle.

Cassian, Feyre’s voice was again reaching for him. He let his mental shields down so she could come inside. What do we do?

What does she want? He answered.

To disappear, it seems. Her words hurt. Because he knew they were true.

Just then, Cassian had an idea. He told Feyre everything.

For the last stretch of the way to Feyre’s painting studio, Cassian launched skywards. In the air, he discerned Rhysand's figure heading for the same place. They didn’t speak as they landed simultaneously. Cassian could scent both Feyre and Nesta inside the studio, as could his brother.

The High Lord’s mask of anger was gone, thought he remained serious, his face tight. He didn’t glance at Cassian. It was probably for the best. Cassian didn’t look in his direction either.

They had to wait for a while longer than he had anticipated. Cassian was anxious. Not enough to knock on the door or send another mind message to Feyre, but enough to annoy Rhys, apparently. His brother finally knocked on the wooden panels.

Cassian could tell Nesta’s scent shifting at the sound, but besides her anger and her arousal, he still had trouble discerning what any of those nuances meant. She surely knew who were waiting outside.

The door opened, and Feyre came from inside the studio. Nesta was right behind her, but even if it was Feyre leading the way, Cassian saw Nesta handle herself as she had been doing the day they first met. The crying female he had last witnessed in the street, nowhere to be found. She had her shoulders back, her chin up, and that look in her eyes she yield against every soul who dared looking into Elain’s direction in the past.

Only that threatening glare was now shielding Feyre.

From Rhysand, he realized.

“Let’s go home” his brother said. “I’ll explain everything.” He was not begging, his voice absent of emotion, but his eyes were.

“You really didn’t plan to tell me” Feyre’s tone was accusatory, yet her pain was undeniable.

Cassian eyed at Nesta. If she had seen him, and she must have, because he was only six feet away from Rhys and her sister, she was doing a pretty good job pretending she hadn’t. Did she know that he had been about to fight his High Lord for her?

“I was looking for a way to save you life. I thought I would find something to calm your fear, so we would have something to hold onto when I told you.”

Had Feyre told her sister that he had disobeyed a direct order from his High Lord to go find her? His voice, the death promise in his tone. Cassian had never before, in over 500 years, been the target of it. But only in that moment, watching her stand besides her sister, unmoving, as Feyre faced her mate, he realized that Nesta had, in fact, endured Rhysands’ tone before.

It had been months ago, when they told her she was being sent to the House of Wind with him. Rhysand had disobeyed Feyre’s order to remain quiet and leave her sister to her, and he had used not only his voice, but his dark power on her —and Cassian had done nothing about it.

Cassian had only asked him if his misconduct would get him in trouble, and his brother had laughed, knowing that he only had to take Feyre to their bed to earn her forgiveness.

The chill in his bones when Rhys used it on him still resonated in him. How had Nesta felt?

He barely heard what Feyre was saying, what Rhys was answering to defend himself from what she spat at him in anger. Their conversation was just an echo in the back of his head, as he just got lost in his own thoughts and kept looking at the female who occupied them. The times he had failed her.

“We could have done that together” Feyre was not giving in one inch. She was mad, and no compliments and necking would get her mate out of this one. “I can’t believe I had to find out like this, Rhys. I thought I could trust you.”

Every word from her mouth cut a little deeper into his defenses. He hadn’t cooled down entirely before coming here, and it showed.

“She…” He signaled Nesta with a graceful movement of his head, but each syllable contained poison, disdain and disgust “only told you because she wanted to hurt you, Feyre”.

“I expect my sister to be hurtful. I didn’t expect your lies” Cassian could see his brother’s heart breaking so clearly, he felt it too. “Leave her out of this, Rhys, or you’ll only make it worse for yourself.”

Rhysand said nothing, his arms crossed over his chest, defensive. Proud. Cassian knew his brother was in pain, and Feyre knew as well, but he said nothing, and took in his mate’s words, not arguing with her —not questioning her authority to tell him off and be mad at him.

“We’ll talk later. At home.” Rhys nodded, the dip of his head almost unnoticeable. That was enough for him to know that, angry as she was, Feyre would still go back to the river house —to him. Feyre hesitated for a second, lost in her mate’s eyes. Cassian knew they would talk things out, comprehension as their banner. She would talk to him, he would talk to her and they would get over it. They would open to one another, as they always did, and that blind trust they embraced when bearing their feelings would be the key to remain together, stronger every day.

He doubted it would be easy, to get over such a delicate situation, but he was confident they would.

Because if they couldn’t solve their problems, then how could he—

Come in, Feyre said into his head. She went back into the studio, leaving the door open behind her. Nesta followed.

Cassian obeyed his High Lady. He closed the thick wood doors, daring to glance one last time at Rhys. The death that had cloaked his eyes when they met in the river house was gone, regret filling his pupils now. With his own heart aching, not only for him, but for Feyre… for Nesta, he left him outside.

As he entered the room, Cassian knew this was about to be a breaking point for Nesta. For both her and for him —for their relationship. What she wanted to do with herself —what path she wanted to follow, for better or worse— was her call, and him and Feyre could only help her see her options and stand by her side while she made it.

Keep reaching your hand.

She was sitting in a fancy couch in the opposite corner of the room when he made it to the sitting area. Her back was straight and stiff, her inner walls up to the sky.

He waited for Nesta to look at him as he approached, but she didn’t. Her eyes were on the door behind him, her expression unreadable. Her face was blank. There was nothing in her posture, either, that could tell him where her thoughts where.

Somehow, Feyre could read her sister better than him. “He is not going to hurt you”, Feyre whispered, sitting beside her older sister.

Rhys.

“This time” Nesta’s voice was raspy, hatred tinting every syllable.

He said nothing. Cassian himself had hated him that same evening. Nesta had opened up about Rhys only once to him, her rage coming out of every pore of her body with such fierce that even Azriel had prepared his shadows to attack.

Not to defend. To attack.

She had made her point clear enough. He didn’t need a reminder of her reasons.

Cassian’s answer was quick, his words sure “Ever. We won’t let that happen.”

Nesta finally looked at him. Those grey eyes piercing through him like he was made of clay. There was no hiding from that stare that sometimes simmered with the hottest fire and others burned like ice.

The female in front of him was looking directly into his soul, looking inside his heart, trying to find any trace of lies in his words —And found nothing. He was telling the truth: he wouldn’t let Rhys or anyone, hurt her.

Something like sadness lit her eyes for a moment so brief he doubted if it had actually been there.

“We were discussing my imprisonment when you two arrived” she said, her tone flat, unbothered. Designed to hurt him and push him away.

Had she thought, maybe, that he had been accompanying Rhys there? That he had been waiting outside for half an hour for him, and not because he was dying to see her?

To realize that she didn’t trust him —that he hadn’t proven himself worthy of her trust when it came to his High Lord, hurt more than her words could.

“We were discussing how we were wrong in our methods, yes” Feyre corrected the phrasing, her own words careful.

“I thought you liked the House” She even talked to it, she couldn’t deny how comfortable she was now between those walls.

“I like it there now. I only wished you hadn’t forced it on me.”

“You wouldn’t have agreed to it.”

Feyre’s entire body shifted to face him. The warning in her eyes —not a threat, only a warning so he knew not to touch the subject— was not needed. He knew he shouldn’t have said that hallway through the sentence.

“No, I wouldn’t, but that would have been my choice.” Nesta’s voice remained the same note, to all appearances unaffected. “It doesn’t matter how much you… think your crafty plans can help me, you still can’t make choices for me. You can’t discuss me like I’m a tool, a piece of the Trove, or the Cauldron. Like I’m an item to be careful with. To use to achieve a goal.”

Nesta refused to acknowledge him, her beautiful eyes on Feyre, as if the two of them were still alone and she had been answering to a question made by her sister.

“We aren’t using you, Nesta”

“It feels like it.” The way she refused to look at him, the obvious tension between them that she was creating, only made her words reach deeper into him. She blamed him, too. Of course she did, he had been part of it… still was. “You are moving me around like a puppet to make me fit into the ideal life you all want for yourselves. I’m not taking that bullshit anymore.”

It was not a question, and it didn’t matter how strongly Feyre resorted to her High Lady voice, the aura of power she could conjure around herself: Nesta was not asking them for permission, she was informing them of how things would be from now on. She was drawing a line in the sand she would not cross.

Cassian nodded in agreement, not sure if she could see him, but knowing she was perfectly aware of his presence besides her.

“Does that mean you want to quit your training? The library?” He asked.

“I’ll keep going to the ring everyday as I do now and attending my chores for Clotho. For my friends who joined me. And for myself.” Her words were sharp, letting him know that he had nothing to do with her decision. She was still trying to push him away. It didn’t work. “But from now on, these decisions have to be mine. I choose.”

Feyre reached her tattooed hand to her sister. Nesta shook it, sealing the deal. Not a bargain, though. There was no need for magic here. This agreement rested only in the trust they had built. Cassian had to resist the urge to smile at the gesture, the progress.

“So…” Feyre started speaking again “Cassian’s offer. Shall we do it?”

Nesta said nothing, but without looking at him, she nodded once.

After the war he hadn’t soughted her, they had all agreed to give her space. And by the time he realized it was not working, it was already too late. She was taking males to her filthy apartment almost every night, drinking too much, eating too little. Cassian hadn’t known how to come closer again… so he hadn’t tried at all.

He was trying now.

He only hoped he wasn’t too late.

That nod was all Cassian needed: her approval to the plan. One more chance. He wouldn’t screw up again. He would remain by her side this time, and then remain there forever until she was out of the pit she had fallen into.

It took an afternoon speaking to her sister to find the one bridge between them none of them had burned yet. Cassian would have days. It seemed like a lot, but he could only pray to the Mother, so all the time they would have alone in the mountains was enough for the two of them.

“Have you ever gone hiking?” He asked with a grin.

Nesta opened her mouth, her grey eyes still avoiding him, but Feyre was quicker with her answer. “She has.” Cassian’s attention were fixed on Nesta. He was not looking at her either as Feyre spoke, but he knew her hands became fists, the rest of her body halted at her sister’s words. “She went all the way to the Wall for me, back when we lived in the Mortal Lands. To save me from Tamlin.”

Cassian had never heard that story. He didn’t know Nesta had tried to rescue Feyre.

He remembered the painting Feyre was finishing the last time he had been in this exact same room, the too thin body of a young girl, the ribs showing through her skin. That had once been Feyre, the brave huntress that was now part of his family. But it had also been Nesta. Yet she had found the courage to go all the way to the Wall.

A coward. Nesta was terrified of going down in history as a coward. But she had never been. She had only been a frightened young girl.

The two sisters shared a stare as intense as Nesta’s silver fire. Feyre’s eyes glimmered full of feelings that Cassian couldn’t even pick out… they were not for him. Whatever was going on between them, through that stare, it was not for him to witness. It was not for him to interrupt.

Nesta’s eyes finally drifted to him. Cassian held out his hand for her, and she took it, her fingers cold as death. Her grip was light, but his was not. Cassian held Nesta’s hand tight, as if he was afraid she would vanish again if he let go of it.

He helped her get up from the couch. Nesta shook her hand free from his as soon as she was on her feet.

At that, he said nothing.

“Take your time out there. Come back when you are ready. I’ll be waiting for you, Nesta.”

“I love you.” The sudden words aimed at Feyre took him by surprise.

They didn’t shock her, though. Feyre gave her a wide smile, showing her teeth. “I love you too, sister.”

Nesta walked out of her sister’s studio as if her legs were too heavy for her body to move them. Cassian followed in silence. He put an arm on her back and the other behind her knees, took her in his arms, and swept them into the sky.

She didn’t fight him, didn’t say a word. Just lay in his arms, her face cold against his chest.

Cassian soared over the House of Wind to find Azriel there, hovering in place, a heavy pack in his hand. Whether that had been from a separate warning from Feyre, or Az’s own shadows whispering, he didn’t know.

Cassian grabbed the pack, looping it around a wrist and grunting against its weight as he kept hold of Nesta. Az didn’t say anything as Cassian careened past, into the autumn skies.

And did not dare look back at the city behind him.

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