#inner circle can choke feyre can live | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wildlyglittering · 3 years

Text

The Space Between

I have a few pieces of Nessian fan fiction already pre written so I’m just going to drip feed them into my feed every Sunday.

Enjoy (I hope!)

***

Cassian left Velaris far later than intended.

He meant to fly at first light but with the previous night’s send-off drinks for the Inner Circle, all due to go their separate ways for the summer, that first light turned into the hot midday sun.

For Cassian, his departure was routine. It was a regular schedule now, this constant flying back and forth between Velaris and the Illyrian mountains. Rhys kept him busy but the camp kept him busier, so much so that at times he was more a creature of the sky then land.

The prior evenings political discussions of Rhys, Feyre and Az’s imminent stay in the Dawn Court was mindless chatter to Cassian’s ears and he tuned them out with political thoughts of his own. How many recruits did the camps have now? Was Devlon training the females? Were the rumours of an uprising true?

All throughout, one thought was stronger than the others.

Nesta.

Always, Nesta.

Between the mountains and Velaris lay the expansive wilderness where Nesta made her home. Part of Cassian’s schedule was to visit her on his flights between places but it had been months since he’d last seen her face.

Distance, he'd once told her, only makes my heart grow fonder. She'd rolled her eyes at the saccharine sentiment but a delightful blush spread on her cheeks which indicated she wasn't as stone-cold as she'd have others believe.

It was a half-truth on his part.

To say he longed for her was an understatement. Nesta occupied his mind continually and she now owned a space in his heart he once didn’t have for anyone. Distance made him yearn but it also made him cautious.

Nesta’s decision to live away from Velaris was something Cassian once thought as an attempt to distance herself from him. She wouldn’t return to the mountains, he understood why, but it was her refusal to come back to Velaris that surprised him as he thought she’d found some peace with the city.

Her refusal hadn’t been about Cassian, he understood that now. There had been an opportunity for her to regain her independence and, though she never expressed it aloud, a way for her to establish a new identity for herself in this world.

She took it.

Despite this, Cassian hoped she would eventually come back with him to Velaris. He hoped that this new version of Nesta was transferable and that she could thrive on the cobbled streets next to the shining river of his city as she had amongst the expanse of wildflowers.

It ate away at him, Nesta, however powerful, out in the nothing all alone. Still, if that thought ate at him than others consumed him, the gnawing set into motion by others he loved.

Will the bond last? Mor asked. It's uncommon for mates to be apart like this and unfair for one mate to deliberately part themselves from the other.

Nesta isn't a wing, he told Mor. Without her physical presence he still functioned and besides, the emotional connection was unbreakable.

I worry about you my friend; Rhys said. If I can't be with Feyre within minutes I don't know how I would bear the day.

Cassian deflected their words with a smile and a wave and clad himself in invisible armour.

He’d landed, finally, although hours later than he wanted. Sweat tricked down his back and face, his leathers clung to the thick muscles of his arms and thighs. The journey was over half a day’s flight from the city but he always made it in less.

The mountain peaks were visible from the wilderness but only barely, appearing so small it looked like an ant could crush them. There was a small forest and stream within walking distance but aside from those and a cottage it was nothing but thick stalked wild flowers for miles, colouring the landscape with pinks and yellows.

It was a combination of summer heat and protection spells which caused the cottage to shimmer.

Cassian had landed a slight distance away, wary of the protection magic that was always a little too keen to exert itself, and wandered through the flowers to the grey stone building ahead. Mor had expressed incredulity that Nesta hadn’t demanded a mansion with servants while Rhys joked, she was too sour to keep them even if she did.

Cassian ground his teeth but said nothing. Nesta’s experiences weren’t his to share, he justified.

Despite the poverty, despite going to bed with an aching belly and fears of starvation.0 the memories Nesta held of small cottages remained untainted. In mansions, she’d been dragged from her bed and forced to watch her sister drown before water then filled her own lungs. In palaces, she was made to recount those events to eager eared strangers. In tents, she listened to the screams of the dying.

It was those places where she’d started to lose piece after piece of herself until nothing remained.

It was this place, this small cottage, where Nesta found herself once more. The old Nesta flared again, a small spark which turned into wildfire.

Cassian let himself in, the latch opening to him easily.

The main living space doubled as kitchen and comfort. An overstuffed sofa sat in front of an oversized hearth with a butcher’s block next to it, complete with mortar and pestle and the fresh herbs Nesta gathered from her garden. Three rooms branched from this one. The first was the bathroom, the second Nesta’s bedroom and the third was empty.

There was no sign of Nesta and a glance through the window towards the garden showed Cassian that Nesta wasn’t there either. It was likely she’d grown impatient of waiting and had wandered to the woods to gather supplies.

Cassian weaved around the stacks of books, one pile fast becoming as tall as himself, to go find her when a heavy clunk of a handle sounded behind him. Nesta appeared from one of the smaller rooms, it just surprised him to see which one it was.

"Hey sweetheart," he drawled, "what were you doing in there?"

Something moved down the bond but Nesta had muted it somehow and Cassian could sense a sheer kinetic energy rumbling outside of his reach. She said nothing but took a deep breath before standing aside, leaving the room behind her open to his view.

***

The third room was no longer empty.

Cassian stood in the middle; every muscle tensed for battle; his wings snapped taut behind him.

Nesta had opened the window to clear the lingering musk and the beginnings of a soft summer breeze drifted in ruffling the delicate lace curtains that now hung from the frame.

The lazy dancing curtains were the only movement in the room. Cassian remaining locked in place with Nesta just as rigid beside him.

His heart started pound on the bones of his ribs, and he imagined it bursting straight out of his chest to land in a bloody heap on the floor.

The walls had been painted a soft yellow, reminding Cassian of the pats of butter served in small dishes when Feyre and Rhys had 'proper company.' The new bookcase and shelves, both empty, were a thick, rich cream.

His pulse beat out a rhythm on the roof of his mouth.

A rocking chair draped with a downy feathered blanket sat in the corner but the most prominent feature, positioned against the wall, stood the crib.

Waiting.

The pulse was behind his eyes now, the objects in his vision dancing as he heard the whispers that travelled down the bond. Nesta hadn't moved but those sharp blue-grey eyes stared at him all the same.

Were his legs always this clumsy? he wondered. Did he often give full control of his body to something else? Cassian was moving but they weren't his feet. He loomed over the crib like a grotesque gargoyle and touched a giant, calloused hand to the wood before reaching in to grasp at the blanket.

These weren't his hands, he decided. His were designed to clutch the handles of blades, to wrap around throats and squeeze until faces turned blue. They weren't meant to touch small blankets embroidered with bees.

I can rip this with both hands, he thought. Turn it into shreds within seconds. I am the Lord of Bloodshed and I tear things apart.

His pulse pounded in his ears now, his tongue feeling like it had engorged in his mouth ready to block his windpipe and choke him like he'd choked many others. Nesta was glaring and throwing her panic at him until he swallowed it down.

His knuckles had turned white clenching the blanket. Cassian envisioned a small body, sleeping and breathing and dreaming in this bed, relying on Cassian's hands to hold it, to keep it safe.

There was no more air in the room, no more breath in his lungs and his ears were filled with the beat of his own heartbeat, and Nesta's, and now one other joining them.

***

The later afternoon sun had dipped and outdoors had cooled significantly which was welcome, the open blue sky more so.

They were in Nesta's small garden, amongst the vegetables and flowers, and yet it wasn't obvious to Cassian how they arrived.

His chest hurt, he remembered that. His lungs were burning like flames had leapt down his throat and scorched everything they touched. He'd been grasping at his skin, digging his nails into the hollow of his throat to claw a way for the air.

Cassian walked out here. He must have. Nesta following.

She stood in front of him, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, the pulse in her wrists jumping. Cassian viewed every beat so clearly from his vantage point on the ground, the solid hard ground where he'd crumbled.

The breeze, the one which had danced around the curtains in the nursery -- dear Mother, the nursery -- was as welcome as a kiss from a long-lost lover as it caressed across his wings.

Come, it sang, fly away. The sky is yours.

Something else was singing, no screaming, down the bond but Cassian pushed it down. Panic had emanated from Nesta, rolling off her in waves and he thought he could handle it. But now, after he fled from the cottage, she was drowning him.

On the surface she appeared ready for battle, her face as sharp as one of Cassian's blades and as deadly. Had she spoken? Her voice was small as though she wasn't close at all but standing miles away, the words travelling through wind and across the mountains.

From their positions, his knees digging in the dirt, his face was level with her stomach. One glance was all he allowed himself before his eyes darted away.

Nesta still looked like Nesta. There was no glow or scent to her skin, no softness to her face or additional roundness to her already full curves. Her abdomen remained flat, giving no sign of the life existing within, the life that Cassian helped create.

It would be smaller than one of my fingers, he thought and his wings twitched. The breeze and the sky calling him to freedom.

She'd seen.

The noise fogging his mind was cleared away by a sudden blast of magic.

Nesta's voice reached his ears clearer this time.

"What exactly are you intending to do?" Her tone was so chilled he was amazed his flesh didn't blacken from frostbite.

Cassian dug his hands into the ground before lifting them to cover his face. The fresh grass and earth lingered on his fingertips, and he inhaled deeply in an attempt to tether himself.

What did he intend to do? His thoughts splintered, images and names racing through every possibility he considered. Fly away, he told himself, fly to the mountains, fly home to Velaris, fly, fly, fly.

Rhys would know what to do.

Rhys always knew what to do, as did Mor. He would seek them out and get them to decide what was best. Their presence would be a soothing balm for him and while not quite as soothing for Nesta they had an authority she would have to acknowledge. Rhys and Mor would know what is best, he thought. Nesta wouldn't think so at first but they would want to be involved.

Everything would be easier for all of them this way.

He wanted to explain but it was hard to concentrate, the whirling tornado of his mind pierced with the frozen shards of Nesta's. The more he thought of Rhys and Mor, the more the breeze turned into a wind whipping across his wings.

"We can't do this," he found himself saying. "I can't do this; you can't do this." Here. Alone. That's what he meant to add but his voice cracked and the words wouldn't come.

He dropped his hands and glanced up at her, his Nesta. On her face she wore something close to devastation, not even an expression he'd seen after the Cauldron when she was trying to bathe again, laying sprawled and soaking on the floor of the bathroom.

Her words came without hesitation.

"Get out," she hissed. The sharpness she pushed through the bond at him was done with intent. If she had been ice before then Cassian couldn't describe this now, other than a swift stab to his gut with a spike.

The link between them was now blocked.

"Nesta...." he trailed off. The wind hurt now, cold and stinging against the membranes of his shivering wings. There was a violence, an unnaturalness to it, and Cassian understood underestimating Nesta was a dangerous thing.

The surrounding torrents blew stands of her hair from her braid and ruffled her dress but didn't make much else of an impact, her body remained upright and unyielding while Cassian's began to bend.

There was a chance to stop it. Nesta's magic could have been blocked with his siphons, and he could have stood, placed his hands on her arms and told her all this was a misunderstanding.

He didn't do any of them.

Nesta had offered him an opportunity to flee and so, while her storm raged around her small garden, Cassian opened his wings and let it carry him off into the sky.

***

It was evening when Cassian returned.

The brilliant blue of the mid-afternoon sky had turned into a deep navy with streaks of ruby from the setting sun.

Everything was silent, that silence extending to their connection through the bond.

Now, when he reached out it was as though he were touching the abyss. Whatever else she might do from this point onwards; retreating from him and blocking the bond was something Nesta had already done.

Earlier, when he'd left, he'd flown over the wilderness and was halfway back to Velaris when he changed his mind. His flight was half to clear his mind and half to flee to sanctuary.

He couldn't complete his journey and continuously turned round over and over in the sky, battling with himself. To fly forward or back was the question he struggled to answer.

Could he not do both?

Now he was calmer he would explain to Nesta it was more dangerous for her to be alone during this... situation. Perhaps what happened in the garden was a lack of control, her hormones playing havoc on her abilities.

He couldn't leave her here, unable to defend herself properly if the need arose. She couldn't go with him to the Steppes, not now, but maybe he would be able to convince her to be under the protection of Rhys and Feyre.

Nesta wouldn't love his plan but this was a plan put in place because of how much he loved her.

That was the intention.

He'd landed heavier than before, an extra burden pressing down on his shoulders. Everything remained unchanged from earlier aside from when he neared the cottage and he felt a new pressure on his body.

His wings flared on instinct, to brace himself against an invisible enemy’s onslaught but none came. Each step was as though he was trudging through mud, each one clunkier than before. When he reached the border of Nesta's boundary he realised he could no longer move.

When Cassian turned to walk back where he came, the strain lifted and, along with it, so did his feet.

He tested this a few times, the weight growing with every effort he made towards the cottage until he had to give up. When he did and turned back, the feeling his spine was going to snap into two melted away.

Nesta’s shields were always up but until this point her magic had never extended to Cassian.

She'd blocked him from reaching her, physically and through the bond. He stood outside staring at the grey stones of her walls wondering if she knew he was here.

She knows, he thought. She just doesn't care.

He'd left her for a moment, for a stupid moment, and now she'd rejected him absolutely.

Cassian convinced himself Nesta’s powers were unpredictable and this was adding to the evidence she should be among others. He was sure when she realised, she would lift her barriers and come to him.

So, he waited.

She never came.

***

The summer in Illyria had been brutal and so had Cassian. The sun scorched his skin and he fought through sweat soaked leathers, pounding his knuckles into the flesh of other Illyrians, his brethren, until the heat made his head throb.

It was only when the trainees were on the verge of collapse did he allow them to rest.

His reputation of fearsome was fast becoming one of cruelty; but he didn't stop, couldn't stop, until one day he observed an Illyrian child watching him, all skinny scabbed knees and curious eyes.

Cassian reached out a bloodied, bandaged hand as a gesture to show the boy some defence moves only for the child to flinch and curl his small, developing wings around himself as some form of meagre protection.

At that point, Cassian knew he had to temporarily turn the reigns over to Devlon, however reluctantly. His head wasn't where it should have been, thoughts of Nesta and the long silence between them which now lasted over a month had taken prominent place.

He hadn't attempted to reach out to her.

It was best, he decided, to leave everything until she was ready. This situation’s resolution had to be on her terms. But there was something else stopping him. He didn't want to discuss what they evidently needed to discuss, and he was scared, that if he tried to connect with her, she would refuse him again.

He would protect himself for the pain of her rejection by not giving her the chance to reject him at all.

Cassian had arrived back in Velaris in the afternoon, the new autumn air holding the residual warmth from summer within the city. He stood on top of the House of Wind, letting the breeze drift across his wings. He'd arrived without notifying anyone, not that there were many to notify. Feyre, Rhys and Az remained in the Dawn Court and Amren had decided to live out an eternal summer in the Summer Court itself.

He didn't mind. He wanted to take a moment, to gaze out on the place he called home and feast upon the red brick rooftops and shining surface of the Sidra without interruption.

Velaris was always a welcome sight and returning was the equivalent of someone throwing a blanket over Cassian’s shoulders to ward off the chill. This time though, it was as though the cold wind he’d experienced at Nesta’s had stalked him via his bones.

Something was disjointed now. He was happy to see his city but Velaris didn't hold the same thrill of excitement he usually experienced. Now it was as though it was a muted song, still remaining a pretty melody but harder to hear.

Was this how Nesta experienced Velaris? Or did she view it with more ambivalence? Was the city received with vitriol? Less a song and more a scream.

He thought of her, as he always did, alone in her cottage but now not alone. He'd learnt to turn the thoughts off quick; the pang in his chest made him want to cry.

Perhaps his sadness radiated outwards or maybe there was a part of him which called for help without realising but as he stared outwards, a soft and warm hand slid through his unwinding his clenched fingers.

"Hello, you."

Cassian looked down to see the golden hair of his best friend as she rested her head against his arm.

"Hello, Mor." His voice didn't crack but it was close.

She raised her face, her smile slipping into a frown. "Oh, my darling," she said. "I sensed you were back in Velaris but thought it was strange you didn't come to say hello."

Mor studied him for a moment, those deep brown eyes of hers absorbing every inch of his face, seeking out the truth which wouldn't take her long to find.

"You've had a fight with Nesta. A serious one."

It wasn't a question, Mor already knew the answer.

The years had melted away some animosity but it would be a lie to say it had disappeared. Time had patched over the intensity but was unable to purge the resentment completely.

Nesta removing herself from Velaris had gone some way to soothe the mutual dislike but the resolution was more a case of ‘out of sight, out of mind’ than any deeper healing.

Cassian knew Mor had felt a sting of rejection when he and Nesta had bonded and on some level, she had taken it as a strike to their friendship. Mor had advised him all those years ago to not accept the bond, and he'd proceeded regardless. Her fear, she told him, was that Nesta would burn him out with her anger.

Mor's concerns were from a place of love, but he'd accepted the bond from a place of his love. Besides, there was a kernel of truth in Nesta's statement to him that Mor didn't want to lose the life she'd spent centuries crafting and how Cassian was part of that.

Even though, regarding him and Nesta, there was part of Mor waiting for what she deemed inevitable but Cassian chose to ignore the tinge of hope he heard in her voice at her statement.

"Yes," he replied, "but it was my fault. I didn't respond to the news particularly well."

"What news?"

The truth would out, how could it not? Before his cowardice crept in again, he told Mor everything and watched as her eyes grew wider.

"Cas," she breathed and stepped in front of him, her arms stretching around his body, her cheek pressed against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her as tight as he could. He needed this; he needed a friend.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he confessed. "I don't know if I want to do this at all."

The memory of the small child he had once been morphed into the image of the boy he had inadvertently terrified at the camps. That image warped again into something smaller and more precious, an image he quickly discarded.

"Death and destruction are my talents; I doubt I'd be soothing anyone's pain away with kisses and cuddles." He let out a mirthless laugh.

Mor pulled back, standing on her toes, so she could reach her hands to his face and positioning him to look at her. "You're the best of us, Cass. You have so much love to give anyone. You love without question, defend without question and you'd die for those you love. I don't expect you'd do anything less for your child."

She squeezed his cheeks together until he grinned at the ridiculous expression she was making him wear. "You'll make a wonderful father; I know you will."

Mor let go of his face and stepped back into his arms for another hug. Cassian held onto her words as tightly as he held onto her.

"I wish Nesta were in Velaris," he sighed.

Mor tensed in his arms.

"Oh."

"She's strong but the wilderness is no place for a pregnant female. I don't think isolation is the best place for her right now. Or for a baby."

"I agree," Mor said. "So, bring the baby here. We have space in every one of the houses for a nursery, two nurseries if you want. And we have Nuala and Ceridwen on hand. Plus, the rest of us will dote on it and when you need to go to the camps any one of us will protect it with our lives. Can you imagine such a fantastic life in Velaris, with all these aunts and uncles around?"

Something wiggled its way through his stomach, an unease which twisted like a worm. Cassian let his arms loose from Mor's body. "And Nesta."

"What?"

"Nesta will need to be here too."

Mor stepped back with a look on her face that told him she'd tried to forget Nesta was part of the equation and didn't want to be reminded. It disappeared fast into a practiced smile. "Of course," Mor waved her hand in the air like she was batting away a fly. "And Nesta, of course."

"Except I don't think she'd come," Cassian continued, watching as Mor marched to the roof edge to look down. Her body was as rigid as Nesta's had been when he had last seen her.

"Make her."

"Mor..."

"What?" Mor turned to face Cassian. "It's not just her anymore, is it? If she wasn't so selfish, if she wasn't so..." she trailed off.

Cassian's skin began to itch, like he had grown too large for it and now it wanted to split open. His tongue pressed upwards against the ridges of his mouth where his pulse began to click.

A forced smile slipped onto Mor's face. "I just mean, she's renowned for being stubborn but sometimes, in the past, her actions haven't exactly been beneficial for her, have they? Right now, she's being stubborn and though that may benefit her, it's not benefiting you or the baby. It makes sense for her to be in Velaris at this stage, so she has immediate access to healers. You just need to convince her this is for her own good."

"Even if I do, she won't stay."

"Don't make her."

His head began to hurt again, the heartbeat a pressure against the back of his eyes. "Mor, you're not making sense. First you're telling me to make her come here and now you're telling me I can't make her stay."

"Once she's here and can see how much better it would be for the baby to be in Velaris she might stay," Mor's voice conveyed enthusiasm even if her face didn't. "But if she decides she doesn't want to stay she doesn't have to. Nesta may realise it would be better for everyone if the baby was here. Think of all you can give it; think of all we can give it. What can Nesta provide in her hovel in the middle of a field? If she wants to go back let her, but she shouldn't be allowed to force that life on your child."

What he experienced with Nesta in her garden came back in an instant. His heart beating hard against his ribcage, the pulse reverberating into his skull, while his breath squeezed from his lungs.

There was an emergence of something he hadn't felt towards Mor before, something which itched and crawled in his skin the more she spoke.

"I can't begin to fathom what she'd be like as a mother, Cass. You would have all the love in the world for your child, but would she? How fit is she? Do we want to wait to find out?"

If there was a spark which existed in Nesta that turned into the occasional furnace then it was true the same could be said for him. The difference was Nesta was ice until she became fire, Cassian was warmth until he became flame.

In Cassian’s mind lived a million images of Nesta but there were always ones he visited first. She'd held his hand once on a battlefield, tended to his wounds with gentle fingers. She'd pressed her body against his ready to die with him.

When he'd been poisoned in the Illyrian civil war, she'd stayed with him when the troops moved camps, knowing he was too ill to fly and too weak to fight.

During one of Cassian’s first trips to her cottage she spoke about her plans to make a little garden all the while chopping vegetables for a broth that was his favourite.

Her cheeks blushed a dusky pink and her hair looked orange against the firelight. Cassian thought if Nesta had any siphons that would have been their colour, flame for a creature of heat and warmth.

His siphons, the seven red ones, were now glowing.

"Cass?" Mor's voice was concerned.

Mor’s words had pierced his skin like poisonous barbs and though the venom wasn't intended for him, he was not immune. Still, it alarmed him, that some primal part existed within to trigger his power. It was only his reflexes caused the surge to mute.

"What's happening?" Mor's voice was small and croaked, the verge of a teary outburst imminent. He wasn't the only one alarmed at the indication that some part of him wanted to blast his lifelong best friend from the rooftop.

"I think we're done."

Nesta, while never fond of Mor, hadn't said a word about the other female since moving away. Part of her healing was to let go of what caused her pain, and she had deemed Mor something to let drift away.

These words Mor said freely stung him. Cassian and Nesta had chosen to honour the bond and so when Nesta was struck then Cassian must also suffer the blow. Although there was a consequence of their love living in Nesta's body that he didn't want to face, it didn't negate his love for Nesta.

"I have to go."

"Cass, please... wait!"

The siphons had dimmed, back fully under Cassian's control and Mor ran forward, clutching at his arms with wide eyes as the ripples of her panic spread thick throughout the surrounding air.

Mor called after his retreating back even as he took to the sky. The irony didn't escape him, that for the second time in several months Cassian flew away from a female he loved.

***

Every morning Cassian was drenched in sweat like he’d been fighting through the night.

Screams echoed in his mind along with the splashing of water as Nesta sank beneath the Cauldron, Hybern’s leering face never far away. Dreaming of memories was nothing new but now as the images raced through his mind, he dreamt Nesta with a swollen stomach and as she screamed it was followed by the shriek of a baby’s cry.

Cassian had tried not to dwell on what Mor had said, the questioning of Nesta’s ability to mother, although those images also came unbidden. He saw an empty crib, a baby lying on the cold ground while Nesta walked away and Cassian remained absent.

He shook those thoughts away and sharpened his anger at himself and at Mor for forcing these thoughts into his head.

Cassian had managed to flee from two females but now, three weeks after his encounter with Mor, he actively sought out a third.

Elain lived on the estate of Feyre and Rhys’ river house and had done so for decades.

There was a complicated history between Az and Lucian, of which Cassian didn’t know the full details. Whenever he’d asked Nesta, she pursed her lips like she was sucking on something sour and refused to say a word.

Cassian assumed Nesta was upset that Elain chose to reside so close to Feyre and Rhys, that she hadn’t wanted to forge ahead with her own path. But Cassian never understand why Elain would want to be anywhere else when everything she needed was at their doorstep.

A cottage had been built for Elain in the gardens, some considerable distance from the house to allow for privacy for all residents. Thick trunked trees and tall flowers took care of the rest and the walls were draped with wisteria, covering everything aside from the windows and doors. If you weren’t looking, you wouldn’t have known it existed.

The door was wide open, as if she knew he would come, and Cassian stepped inside the stone floored hallway and followed Elain’s humming to where she stood in the kitchen. Her back was to him, her golden-brown hair so like Nesta’s, loose down her back and scattered with greenery. Elaine didn’t turn to greet him, concentrating on arranging flowers in a vase even as she spoke.

“Shame you and Mor still aren’t speaking.”

Cassian hadn’t spoken to anyone about their argument and to his knowledge, neither had Mor. He shouldn’t be surprised that Elain knew, Elain had a strange way of knowing everything but she sounded far too pleased about the development for her sympathies to hold true.

“Mor spoke out of turn.”

“Doesn’t she always?”

“Yes, but...” Cassian trailed off. Yes, but this time she went too far. This time. This time. To say it was a sad acknowledgement of the other times and the shameful fact he’d let them slide.

Elain turned, waiting for the completion of a sentence she knew he wouldn’t finish.

She was usually the gentlest of the sisters but there was nothing gentle about Elain at this moment. Out of the Archeron’s, it was Nesta and Feyre who looked most alike but there was something currently hard and cold about Elain that reminded him of his mate. His chest ached.

“Why are you here?” Elain’s tone was sharp, dismissive as though Cassian were a greenfly on her rose bushes she needed to squash out.

“I need your help.”

Elain raised a delicate eyebrow and leant back on the wooden table behind her, her fingers trailing through the flowers laid across it. “Go on.”

“I’m worried for Nesta, she’s all alone in her cottage and too far from help if she needs it - not that she’d ask for it, which is a concern itself.” He sighed at Elain’s immoveable expression. “I just want her to be someplace safe, just in case.”

“Just in case what?”

All the images rushed in at once, all his fears. Just in case someone breaks in and drags her out of her bed, just in case someone throws her into the cauldron, just in case someone tries to poison her, tries to set her cottage on fire, just in case she gets ill.

“Just in case she can’t cope.”

“You think you can’t?”

Cassian groaned and tugged his hands through his hair. “I don’t know! But at least if she can’t and she’s here then she’d have you and Feyre. Well at least you, Feyre is barely here.”

“And you?”

“What?”

“And you? You’ll be here and ‘not away.’”

“Yes, yes of course. And me.”

Elain picked up a flower, a cream one with splashes of pink, and twirled it. She seemed to be fixated on the petals as they spun, round and round, as the silence grew in the room. Eventually she spoke.

“You want me to convince her to come here and you think she’ll listen to me because it’s me.” It was almost a whisper how soft she spoke it.

The scene changed so fast.

Splotches of crimson appeared on Elain’s neck and Cassian watched her fingers tighten around the stem of the flower. “It’s history repeating all over again. Drag us to Velaris because you want it, exile us to the camps because you want it.” She scoffed. “And so, she comes to Velaris, for what? Nesta will watch as Feyre and Mor and Rhys cluck over the baby because it’s yours while they try and forget that Nesta had anything to do with it.”

Cassian’s mouth dropped open, a void had formed between his brain and mouth and no words took shape.

“We can’t just be shuffled around like pieces on a game board for whenever suits the High Lord.”

“I haven’t.... I don’t.... I haven’t spoken to Rhys about it. I don’t even think he knows Nesta is even.... it’s my idea. Mine. To keep her safe.”

Elain let out a shuddering breath and released her fist. The flower, its stem now a green pulp, slid from her hand and landed on the floor. “Do you believe that Nesta isn’t safe where she is?”

Cassian thought of the expanse of blue sky over Nesta’s head, the mountains looming in the distance and the dark green tops of the woods. The fields were filled with nothing but wildflowers and aside from her little stone cottage and garden there was nothing for miles and no one but Nesta.

He could imagine the sound of the wooden door breaking, the splintering as the wood split as fae forced their way in. It hadn’t happened but ‘yet’ was never a word far from his mind.

Her magic was strong though and her will greater.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully, “but I do know I want her here.”

“That’s even worse,” Elain said looking him straight in the eye, her voice taking a harder quality. “No. Until Nesta herself wants to come back I won’t be involved in asking her. I’m not going to conspire with you or with anyone to take away her freedom no matter how desperate you are.”

She grabbed the vase and pushed past Cassian, “I’m grateful she was even able to get out.” She placed the vase on a ledge and stared at it for a moment before facing Cassian again. “Do you want this for her?” She gestured around.

Cassian couldn’t understand what was wrong with ‘this.’ A home, safe in the grounds of their High Lord and Lady. Constant protection and constant company. If they built a cottage next door to Elain than all sisters would be in the same place. Nesta didn’t even need to live in the house if she didn’t want.

He sighed, the truth edging free. “I don’t. She’d hate it.” He scrubbed a calloused hand over his face, “I just don’t know what to do. Maybe Rhys and Feyre will tell me, they always know what to do.”

A snort, far from ladylike, emitted from Elain. “They would bend everyone to their will if they could, trap everyone in this place until it suits them.” A faraway look entered her eyes, “I should be with Lucian, in Spring, Day and Autumn, floating between them all like a butterfly. They have such beautiful colour.”

There was another moment of silence, wherever Elain was she was no longer with Cassian. “Elain,” he asked, “why are you here?”

It was an assumption on his part that she loved living in the Night Court, that her heart was here along with her body.

His question snapped her back to him and she scoffed again. “I’m a piece of the game they play with Lucian, of course. An heir to Autumn, an advisor to Spring and the sole heir to Day? Mother forbid he decides to not play nice with Rhys.” Vitriol spilled from Elain’s tone. “Feyre, sweet childish, Feyre thinks I want to be here because that’s what Rhys has convinced her to think and your precious Morrigan lost her best buffer between her and Az so she needed another one. Don’t think I didn’t hear her egging Rhys on to keep me here.”

He didn’t know. Truly didn’t. That Elain was held in a prison of flowers and pleasantries. Cassian knew that her and Lucian hadn’t an easy start to their mating bond, there was some entanglement with Az yes, but this was always her choice.

It worried him how little he knew.

Maybe Elain detected something in him as her eyes softened. “People respond in extreme ways when they’re scared,” Elain continued. “You and Nesta have that in common. Unfortunately, she’s significantly more stubborn than you.”

Elain took one of the flowers from the vase and crossed over to where he stood, tucking it into a band of his armour, the peach petals a strange sight against charred black leather. At least he wasn’t completely without Elain’s grace.

“Have you tried to contact Nesta?” she asked him. “Really tried?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Then I don’t want to see you again until you have.”

***

Immortality and time were complicated bedfellows. One moved quick and left the other one floundering. What were years when there were so many decades? What were decades when you could live centuries?

Months were nothing. Weeks even less.

Feyre, Rhys and Az had arrived back from Dawn at the full change of the season. The greens of the trees had long turned gold and red and now, another cusp awaited. The trees grew barer and the petals had long since fallen from their stalks.

This was the longest he’d gone without speaking to Mor and he hadn’t tried to approach Elain again.

This was also the longest he’d gone without Nesta and Cassian believed he would have suffered less if someone slid a blade between his ribs.

He trained at the House of Wind; he ambled through Velaris. His body was one place and his thoughts another. He was in the training arena when Rhys returned.

“I’d say congratulations my friend but I don’t think that’s what you’d want me to say.”

Rhys was leaning against the wall, a grin on his face. Cassian sighed. He was in little to no mood for one of Rhys’ cocky moments.

“I don’t think I deserve a congratulations.”

“Well I’m sure you had some involvement in this escapade.”

Cassian grit his teeth. The conceiving of a child between mates wasn’t something he would refer to as an ‘escapade’ but he could hardly defend himself.

“Funny,” Rhys continued, “how the Mother works. Some she blesses with the joy of motherhood and some she curses with a joyless mother.”

That feeling wormed its way again into Cassian’s stomach, irritation? Frustration? Whatever it was, it was an ever-increasing desire to take his knuckles and smash them into Rhys’ sculptured cheekbones.

“How was your trip?”

It was deflection at its finest and Cassian watched as Rhys’ face sparked. “Excellent. We managed to get what we wanted and Feyre decided to-”

Cassian let Rhys’ voice drift into one ear and out the other. He didn’t care about the trip or negotiations or whatever wealth Rhys managed to accumulate for the Night Court. He didn’t care for what silks and jewels Feyre was now re-gifting. He wanted to ask his friend, his brother in all but blood; ‘Was the Cauldron wrong in choosing us? Will I make a good father? Will Nesta be a good mother?’

He couldn’t. He couldn’t show his High Lord that Cassian, General and Commander of his armies, was scared of something he could cradle in the nook of his arm. It was like a dying dog showing its bare throat to a hungry wolf.

“I’m disappointed to hear from Mor that you aren’t speaking to her though.” Cassian snapped back into the present.

Cassian shrugged and leant on the wall opposite. “We had a disagreement,” he said as disinterested as he could.

“Well she’s upset. Make it better.”

There, Cassian’s skin prickled again, his blood burning hot in his veins. Rhys not knowing, or worse, not caring why the silence occurred in the first place. Cassian’s feelings were irrelevant in this situation and what Mor said about Nesta seemed to be no concern.

Rhys had moved the conversation on again, such surety that Cassian would call to heel. Cassian thought of Elain slowly crushing flowers.

It was at the mention of Nesta’s name that Cassian dipped back in.

“They had a ‘disagreement’ too and now she won’t speak with Feyre either. Whatever slim thread of rationality that your female had has now completely gone and Feyre is distraught.”

Of course, Feyre had made this about herself. Of course, she has. Cassian’s thought was so like Nesta’s voice that he wondered if Nesta had re-opened the bond, even for a minute, to listen to his conversation. But the walls were still up and it was just his own voice inside his head.

“I told Feyre being ignored by Nesta isn’t such a bad thing,” Rhys chuckled and then stopped at Cassian’s look. “Sorry, my friend.” Rhys leant across and rested his hand on Cassian’s shoulder. “I jest.”

Yes, and he always did. Joke after joke. Time after time. Small barbs of poison like Mor’s that landed on Cassian’s skin and sank into his bloodstream.

“She tried to convince Nesta to come to Velaris. Feyre’s also tried to convince Elain to get involved because she’s the only one Nesta is speaking with. Elain wouldn’t have it,” Rhys shook his head. “She’s becoming more like Nesta each passing day.” He let out a sigh. “Were it the other way round.”

Would Rhys want that? Cassian pondered. Nesta stuck in a cottage on his estate, nursing an infant at her breast and glaring at him as he approached. It would be more than flowers Nesta would be crushing. Cassian suppressed a grin at the thought.

“I wouldn’t want that for her,” Cassian said.

“What? You wouldn’t want a safe, contented life for her? Not that she’ll be content with anything.”

Cassian thought of the turn of last autumn and Nesta joyfully showing him a full basket of berries she’d picked and how she planned to turn them into jam. There was a sharp tug, right under his rib cage and he brought his hand up, pressing his palm against it.

Rhys had noticed the movement, the arrogant smirk finally sliding from his face. What little love he had for Nesta, he still had volumes for Cassian and his friend in pain wasn’t something Rhys would revel in.

“I can bring her into Velaris if you want?” His voice was solemn. “Talking her into it won’t work but I can command her as High Lord and she wouldn’t be able to refuse.”

There was a part of Cassian that leapt at the offer. Nesta would be safe among the Inner Circle, she would have Elain as company and eventually she would speak to Feyre again. She’d be safe.

She would also hate Cassian for the rest of their lives.

“No,” he replied, “I couldn’t do that to her.”

Rhys shrugged. “If that’s what you want. If you change your mind, let me know. I’ll do it for you and Feyre. And for the child. I can’t be entirely convinced Nesta wouldn’t eat her own young.”

***

Cassian was really living up to his reputation of violence and brutality. The blood, not his own, that he washed from his fist turned the water a pale pink at the bottom of the bowl. It had been an hour, maybe less, since the rooftop ‘conversation’ with Rhys.

There was a soft noise from the corner of Cassian’s suite, an exhalation of air that could have been either a disappointed sigh or restrained laugh. “So, you’re getting into fights with Rhys now?”

“Yes,” Cassian replied, “and once I’ve cleaned up, I’m going to go back to the roof to continue my brooding before I was so rudely interrupted.”

There was a definite chuckle and Az stepped from the shadows, a smile gracing his mouth. “Don’t go swapping talents with me now, I’d hate to have to go around punching my High Lord in the face.”

“Rhys has a nose like a rock, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

The smile slid from Az’s face as he came closer, stepping next to Cassian in the designated wash corner of his room. The ornate mirror, some monstrosity chosen by Rhys or Feyre, hung above the basin and Cassian could see both his and Az’s reflections on the surface.

“I’m worried about you, brother,” Cassian watched and then felt, as Az’s scarred hand came to rest on Cassian’s shoulder with a comforting squeeze.

Cassian felt his jaw lock into place, he didn’t want to engage in another discussion today that wouldn’t go well for either party. “I’ll warn you now, if you want to be dismissive about Nesta this won’t go well.”

Az raised his hands in surrender. “Why would I be dismissive about Nesta? She’s your mate and soon to be mother of your child. Besides,” he said with a grin, “I’m not stupid.”

Cassian snorted and turned, giving Az an affectionate thump on the arm before picking up a dry cloth and walking over to his bed. He sat on the cover, scrubbing his hands dry, minding the broken skin on his knuckles. “Go tell that to Rhys and Mor.”

Az’s grin slipped away and he walked to sit beside Cassian. “Rhys knows he crossed a line and that you were defending your pregnant mate. I’m sure that’s why he didn’t hit back.”

“It was a long time coming,” the words were a truth that Cassian had taken an even longer time realising. He was filled with shame at how long.

“Yes,” Az replied, “it was.”

Cassian didn’t hide his flinch.

“Mor however doesn’t understand what she’s done wrong.”

Cassian buried his face in his hands. “Of course, she doesn’t. I’ve let her get away with comments about Nesta for years, decades even. But they’re questioning Nesta’s ability as a mother now, damning her before she’s even had a chance to prove them wrong.”

“You’re sure she’ll prove them wrong?”

“I know she will.”

“Then why not wait and let the evidence speak for itself?”

“Because I know Nesta wouldn’t want them thinking this about her, I don’t want them thinking this about her.” The next part came out as a whisper, “I don’t want to think this about her.”

Az raised an eyebrow, “You’ve thought she’ll make a terrible mother?”

“It’s crossed my mind but then I don’t think I should be anyone’s father.” He paused. “We shouldn’t be having a baby.”

There. It was what on been on his mind the second he knew about its existence.

Never mind the enemies they’d collected over the years, what if he and Nesta managed to emotionally damage the child beyond repair? What if they hurt it physically? What if it died? What if Cassian died and left it fatherless the same way Cassian had been?

He couldn’t hide how much he lived for war. It called to his blood. In times of peace he worried he was bored, worried the bloodshed was too invigorating. That’s why he craved Nesta’s company and the eternal battles using their words.

Nesta never tried to turn him into a creature of peace but instead provided an outlet for his energy, even their card games by the fire turned itself into fierce competition where only one would hold ultimate dominion.

They were happy. It just wasn’t an environment for a child.

“You won’t be ‘any’ child’s father though Cass,” Az said, “and Nesta won’t be ‘any’ child’s mother. It’s a child of you both, it will exist as part of you both.” It was like Az had read his mind, “Whichever way you raise it will be the right way – for you both and the baby.”

“I ran from her.”

“You can run back.”

“I wanted her to come here.”

“Are you going to make her?”

Cassian shook his head with vehemence. “Never.”

A hand clapped him on the back. “My friend, you’ve known for a long time what needs to be done, now you need to stop avoiding Nesta and face your future. It’s a glorious one.”

“Our resident seer has seen that has she?” It was a joke said with a smile, a way to lighten the tension of the room but Cassian saw Az’s face grow sombre. Az once loved Elain, maybe still did, but he clearly had his own issues he’d been avoiding.

“You could ask her. Even better, you could make it happen itself.”

“I need to talk to Nesta,” Cassian said, “truly talk to her.”

“You have this,” Az told him, “both the conversation and fatherhood. Nesta and you, you’re well matched. It’s agony to be around at times, but you’re well matched.”

Cassian clapped a hand onto his friends back, “You are my favourite Az, just don’t let any of the others know.”

***

The feeling was like someone had come along and removed rocks from his shoulders. Purpose, Cassian decided, gave you strength.

His leathers were on, his windows wide open and Cassian had finished wrapping his newly retrieved bundle into the satchel on his bed when Elain walked in.

He started, amazed at how she trod so gently that his fae ears couldn’t hear her approach.

Elain’s hair was bundled into a messy bun, sprigs of mistletoe decorating the strands. She’d switched to winter clothes, thicker material but still softer colours and it was jarring to see the pale pastel blues against the dark wood of Cassian’s rooms.

Cassian hadn’t thought that Elain even knew where his rooms were.

“Can you give Nesta this? She’s got back ache and I told her I’d send her some Scia Root.” Elain held out a lumpy muslin cloth tied with ribbon.

Cassian frowned as he took it. He’d realised after his conversation with Az that he was ready to go to Nesta, to grovel and beg her forgiveness. He would have thrown himself down at her feet if he needed to but he’d kept his intentions to see her quiet, telling no one.

“How did you-,” he trailed off. There was no point in asking. Elain just knew what Elain knew. He felt a sliver of something along his spine, maybe there were other reasons Rhys didn’t want Elain and Lucian together. All that power. All those Courts.

It wasn’t his concern. Elain’s comments about Nesta’s back ache however was and he shoved the roots into the side of the satchel. There was much he missed and Nesta’s body changing and the baby growing were two of those things.

Elain stood at the end of his bed, head cocked and smiling. “The baby will have your eyes you know.”

His breath stopped short, hands stilling on the strap of the satchel that he was adjusting to fit his width.

“And Nesta’s smile,” Elain continued. “I know that seems a contradiction but you’ve seen it, she has a beautiful smile.”

He had. It was. Rare but like most gifts, the most precious were rare.

He knew that there would be a baby. Obviously. His focus had been on how small, and fragile it was, how him and Nesta had unlimited potential to let it down. He’d just never really considered it as a separate entity, one comprised of him and Nesta and a whole component that would be uniquely its own.

He swallowed over the lump in his throat. “You’ve seen a vision of the future then?”

“Oh yes,” Elain replied and Cassian watched as she ambled about his room looking at every artifact she could see, her fingers touching every surface.

“Is she smiling in this vision of yours?”

“Nesta? Oh yes. The baby smiles a lot too. It’s very loved.”

“Good, that’s.... good.” He said the words flippantly, as though his heart weren’t pounding in his chest again, as though the spots of light hadn’t re-entered his line of vision. “Am I in this vision?”

Elain stopped in her meandering and turned to face him, those deep brown eyes of hers, bottomless with what they could now see, scanned his face. “It depends Cassian.”

“On what?”

“On whether you want to be.”

He’d had enough debates with Rhys and Az on fate versus free will to last him a thousand lifetimes over, often with him arguing the power of the Mother. In this moment he would argue the other way. The future was in the hands of those who would carve it out for themselves.

“Yes, I do,” he replied. “It’s taken me too long to realise it.”

“It took the time it needed.”

Cassian wanted to reassure Elain that he was ready and if there were times he wasn’t then he would make himself ready.

He wanted to say that he would always defend Nesta, he should have always defended Nesta and that he would murder and maim before he let anyone rip Nesta and their baby away from the place Nesta considered home and that included those he considered family.

He didn’t say all this because he suspected Elain already knew and besides, those words needed to be for someone else.

Before he left, he turned to Elain as she stood, having moved to the window next to him to watch the first flakes of snow.

“I hope-” he began and trailed off. “I mean for you and Lucian that-” again he stopped. Words weren’t his strength. Elain didn’t turn around but he saw her nod and a slight smile in the reflection of the glass.

It was a smile that spoke of war yet to come.

***

The wilderness was covered with blankets of thick white snow and spiked patterns of frost. Icicles hung from the branches of the forest trees and the ground was long in its sleep, not a trace of life to be seen.

The flakes that swirled around him as he flew caught in his hair and eyelashes until all he saw were blurs of white.

To say not a trace of life was incorrect because life bloomed in the cottage in front of him. Smoke billowed from the chimney and lights shone from every window lighting up the place like a solstice tree against the darkening sky.

Cassian squeezed the satchel strap until his knuckles turned white before he took a deep breath and strode forward. He felt himself pass though the magic barrier, the one that shielded Nesta from unwanted visitors, the one she’s turned on him all those months ago.

He didn’t know whether the shield for him was down recently or had been brought down months ago. He was too ashamed to ask.

The air shifted as he neared the cottage, she knew he was here, probably had done since he landed. It was possible she knew the second he left Velaris. As he neared it, he could see the door was slightly ajar. Nesta may not be greeting him with open arms but in her way, this was gesture enough.

Much had changed inside.

The piles of books that threatened to crush a fae under their groaning weight had been cleared away and stacked onto bookshelves. The knives that casually adorned the butchers block had been tidied away out of sight.

The fire crackled and spat behind an iron gate and a pile a green wool lay strewn onto the sofa, two knitting needles embedded into the skein. Part of the wool had already transformed into a bootie for a foot and the shape of a leg was forming.

Cassian wandered over, picking it up between his fingers and marvelled at how soft it was against the calluses of his fingertips and how small it sat in the palm of his hand. I’ll protect you, he thought, me and your mama and there’s no one more formidable.

Maybe his thoughts were a beacon for all to hear but there was a clunk of a door latch and Nesta once more emerged from the room that was now the nursery.

If Cassian thought the cottage was much changed, it was nothing in comparison to his mate before him. Nesta’s hair seemed longer but that could have been because it was loose down her back and not braided into its usual coronet.

Her hair tumbling in waves also made her face appear softer and rounder or at least that’s what Cassian thought until he realised that Nesta’s face was softer and rounder. Her sharp cheekbones may have been less pronounced but her skin glowed as though a flame was lit within her.

The greatest change was, of course, her stomach.

Even if Cassian had wanted to continue avoiding the evidence of his impending fatherhood he wouldn’t have held much of a chance. Nesta’s stomach protruded from her slight frame and straining against the fabric, the impression of her belly button pressed against the material. Cassian found himself fascinated at how glorious it looked.

Something else was edging its way in now, pushing down the shame and fear. The primal, ferocious part of him that existed was screaming to snatch Nesta away and carry her somewhere even more secluded then where she currently was.

He was still staring at her belly, still holding the woollen sock when Nesta’s hand came to rest on her stomach followed by a not so subtle cough.

Desperately shoving the nerves down, he looked back at her face. The softening of her face and glow of her skin hadn’t dampened the sharpness residing within. Her eyes were tired but not sad, a resolve existing in them that whatever happened with Cassian, whether he was there or not, she would be.

Cassian opened and closed his mouth like a fish gulping in the air unable to find the words that would ever convey how sorry he was.

Nesta just fixed him with a stare before she spoke. “I was going to make some stew. Are you staying for dinner?”

He stammered out a confirmation and watched as Nesta’s eyes flitted down to where he still clutched onto the sock before she turned away.

Though the cottage was small and the physical distance between them minimal, Cassian felt the gulf.

Sorry, he wanted to say. Please forgive me, was the other. If she wanted nothing to do with him or if she wanted him to have nothing to do with their child it was within her right even if both those decisions would smash what was left of his heart.

Nesta began chopping vegetables in silence and Cassian finally put down the sock and the satchel and turned towards the nursery.

From the corner of his eye he saw Nesta pause as he approached its door.

“May I?” he asked and she nodded without looking, continuing with her task.

The room had been filled with more items than when he’d last seen it. The lace curtains still adorned the window but now fae lights twinkled around the pane and Cassian could see snowflakes as they danced and twisted in the air.

The rooms dusty, unlived smell had completely disappeared to be perfumed with both with Nesta’s scent and that of a bouquet of flowers sat on a table and enchanted to permanently bloom.

Cassian recognised it from Elain’s kitchen, the very ones she was arranging when he visited. He thought of the peach petals of the flower she gave him and how vibrant and alive it looked next to his leathers.

The bookcase was now filled with books, all bound in cream, yellow and green and clearly recognisable as children’s stories from the Night or Day Court. There were a few that Cassian didn’t recognise but he knew enough to understand they were from the Mortal Lands.

The ones that had a shelf of their own; bashed and burnt edged, tarnished and worn with dark brown leather trims were unmistakably Illyrian.

Even though she couldn’t be sure that Cassian would be there, even though he couldn’t have been sure he would, Nesta still found a way to secure items from half their child’s heritage.

The rocking chair was now prepped with a cushion and the crib, still the most prominent feature in the room waited patiently for its impending occupant. A mobile of stars and winged creatures hung down above the centre and swayed when Cassian trailed his fingers over it.

He’d missed so much already; he’d almost missed so much more. The fear was there but next to it, deep in his belly, now lived something else. Excitement had started to take shape.

When he returned to the kitchen he strode to where Nesta stood as she buttered bread and pretended to ignore him.

“Nesta,” he murmured and she paused. Her face had affected an air of disinterest but her hand trembled as she held the knife and he remembered months ago when her clenched fists did the same.

How had he been so stupid? In his previous terror he mistook those signs for rage and yes, she had been angry, but there was the undercurrent of something else. She’d been terrified too, still was, and he’d let his own fear confirm hers.

“Nesta,” he said again and turned her so that she faced him, their bodies so close that her full belly brushed against his. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, instead choosing to focus on a point on his chest.

But she wasn’t pulling away.

“I’ve been such a fool,” he said and reached forward to cup her face in his hands. Nesta closed her eyes and a solitary tear slid down her cheek. “Such a fool,” he repeated as he wiped it away with the pad of his thumb, caressing it against her cheek.

Nesta let out a shaky sigh and nodded and that seemed to break her, a sob wrenching its way free from her mouth.

He pulled her closer, wrapping her in his arms and revelled in her presence, her scent, her everything. Another sob came from her mouth, pressed against his chest and he heard her muffled voice, “Stupid hormones.”

***

They sat side by side on the couch in front of the fire. Their bowls lay empty on the floor and Cassian’s bare foot rested against Nesta’s as she tucked herself next to his body. He played with a strand of her hair, twisting it in his fingers and watched as her eyes grew heavy until they closed, her hands resting on her belly.

The only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire and although he didn’t want to interrupt their fragile peace, he knew he needed to.

“Nesta,” he began and felt her tense by his side. “I need to-”

“It’s fine,” she said sharply, cutting him off. Although she had let him back into her home there was still ice left to thaw. He could leave it, accept the battle was done but he knew the hurt he’d caused would fester. Someday, maybe not soon, but someday, the wound that Nesta hastily patched up would only re-open.

As Cassian was the cause of that wound he needed to ensure he healed it.

He cleared his throat. “I didn’t know my father. I imagined to myself that he was an exalted Illyrian warrior, maybe even Illyrian royalty, and it was war or some other disaster which tore him away from the female he loved. I convinced myself he’d died, either fighting or fighting to get back to her.”

Nesta remained silent but Cassian continued.

“I also managed to convince myself that he would have thought my mother’s pregnancy the best thing that had ever happened to him, that he was overjoyed with his peasant female and the son she would give him. I always hoped, if he had died, his dying thoughts were of us.”

Cassian stared into the flames behind the grate.

“They were the wishes of a child. My father either didn’t know she was pregnant with his bastard or didn’t care. It wouldn’t have mattered if he was one of the best warriors we’ve ever had, he fucked a launderess in a camp and that’s where it ended.” Saying the words out loud caused a different kind of ache in his heart but to move forwards, he had to close the past.

“If he knew she was pregnant,” he continued, “then it didn’t matter - he left us. I told myself I would never do that and yet, that’s exactly what I did.”

Nesta let out a shaky sigh. Cassian continued to let the strand of hair twirl between his fingers, the firelight shading it a brilliant copper.

“I don’t know how to be a father,” he admitted. “I was scared – am still scared – that I’m going to ruin both your lives. I shouldn’t have run. I still don’t know how to be a father but I’m not going to run again.” Cassian placed a kiss on the top of Nesta’s head. “I will always be sorry.”

Nesta let out another sigh and turned in his arms to face him. “Cassian,” she began and glanced away to take a breath before facing him again.

“You’re not the only one who’s scared. My parents were present but they were never really there. You know about my father and my mother – she loved my father deeply but she resented having children. I’m scared that I’m like her and the way I was with Feyre...” she trailed off and Cassian saw her throat bob as she swallowed.

“You were a different person then. You and Feyre have made amends.”

Nesta shook her head. “When she sent me to the camps, I hated her. Hated her. Back then I would have done anything to tear her life apart.” She looked at him, reaching forward to clasp his hands in hers.

“That feeling’s gone, I’m just so tired now. Except...” Nesta took another breath. “It was something you said, about needing to speak with Rhys. I was terrified that Rhys and Mor would take my baby away. I was scared you and Feyre would let them.” She looked away again, her eyes someplace other than the room. “I knew what I would have done to you all if you tried.” A smile briefly touched her face.

Decades had passed since Cassian watched her hack at the neck of Hybern until the gristle and bone finally snapped. She’d held the severed head in her hands, her face splattered with blood and a smile, wide and ghastly, stretched across her face. It was the shadow of that smile that appeared now.

Cassian thought back to the recent conversations with Mor and Rhys, how Rhys was willing to use his authority as High Lord to bend Nesta to his will.

Even though Cassian had once wanted her in Velaris, had tried to convince her it was the right place, had considered that her and the baby should be made to live there, he would never have allowed it.

Nesta never would have allowed it.

He looked down at his hands, currently clutched in Nesta’s. His own blood had run down his knuckles and into the ground. He had wrapped those hands around the throats of traitors, had used those hands to wield blades, slicing them into the guts and hearts of enemies. His first kill was a throat split so wide he’d almost severed a head himself. He pictured the faces of his friends, the fae he had called family. If any one of them had tried to take Nesta’s baby away from her, Cassian wouldn’t have just let the rampage happen, he would have joined in.

“You’re not your mother,” he told her, flipping their hands so hers were now clutched in his. His calloused thumbs caressed her soft skin. “I’m not my father. This baby is ours, no one else’s.”

“I know,” she looked at him with fierce eyes, “I would take down anyone who would try and take it away from me. Even you.”

“I would never do that,” he said, “I promise.” He kissed the top of her head again and she let out another sigh, this one so soft it was barely audible. Cassian took a moment to breath in her scent before shifting to the satchel he brought with him, his stomach twisting.

Nesta slid away, so that she faced him, eager to see what he was doing.

The leather was old and worn but it was sturdy, protecting its plethora of contents over numerous centuries and now protected the precious gift Cassian had brought back with him from Velaris. The parcel he pulled out was misshapen and wrapped in plain linens tied with brown string but he hoped the contents would be significantly more impressive. He cleared his throat and held it to Nesta. “It’s for you,” he said. “Well actually the baby.”

Nesta took the parcel from him and unwrapped it with careful hands, a gasp escaping her. Cassian knew that Nesta was intrinsically aware of what this was, of what this meant to him.

Even after all this time the blanket was soft. The edges may have been a little frayed but nothing that was detrimental, it was still a good blanket. The colour was a light dove grey and, embroidered in a dark thread, were the symbols for growth, strength and health.

“It’s an Illyrian baby blanket,” Nesta breathed.

Cassian nodded, his eyes not leaving her face. “Yes, mine.”

It was the only item his mother left with him at the training camp. She’d given the instruction to hide it and hide it well as the others would assume it as a sign of weakness. Cassian did exactly as he was told, burying it beneath a tree and only digging it up when the training camp moved to new ground.

For him it wasn’t a sign of vulnerability, it was a vestige, the last sacred remnant that someone had loved him. Now it was to be gifted onwards, now he had someone extra to love.

Nesta’s smiles were delicate things that could be snared by a passing doubt or remembered fear and which left her face almost as soon as they appeared. This smile, this wonderous smile now present, would be etched into Cassian’s memory forever.

“I don’t want the baby growing up without experiencing some of Velaris,” he said, “and I want it to see the Steppes but it’s going to be spending a lot of cold winters here. Even early spring has a bite so I decided it needed something warm.”

Nesta bundled the blanket up and touched the fabric to her face, rubbing it against her skin as if to test the softness.

“I want the baby to live where you’ll be most happy,” Cassian continued. “I would like to live where you’ll be most happy. Perhaps I could, in time?”

Nesta shot him a sly look. “Perhaps,” she said, “in time.” Cassian watched as she buried her nose in the blanket, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. “It smells of the sky somehow,” she said, “and the woods. It smells like you. Thank you.”

Nesta put the blanket down and leaned forward, kissing Cassian gently. His heartbeat raced in his chest like it always did when their lips touched.

She reached forward and took his hand placing his palm over the girth of her belly, resting hers on top. When she pressed in slightly there was a movement in response, a shifting of life that had been disturbed and so it kicked out in protest.

Cassian gasped. “That’s....”

“A foot,” Nesta continued, “she’s a kicker.”

Cassian grinned as he felt the kick again imagining small toes pressing against the inside of Nesta’s belly. “Wait,” he said as Nesta’s comment dawned on him, “she?”

“Yes, we’re having a girl.”

There was nothing he could say to that. A new fear now existed, to be a father of a daughter, to have two strong willed females in his life who would present him with new challenges that he couldn’t begin to fathom. The fear was part of the process, he knew this now, it would make him work harder.

Cassian would let fear sharpen him, make him stronger.

“We’re doing this,” he said, “we’re doing this together.”

Nesta smiled again, her fingers clasping round his.

“Yes,” she confirmed, “together.”

#nessian #fanfiction #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #i wrote something #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessianfic #nessian fic #nesta x cassian

58 notes · View notes

thesurielships · 5 years

Text

We are golden stars upon silver seas

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: Feyre hates Rhys. She ruins his chances with the new girl.

Masterlist

Feyre Archeron wasn’t drunk. She was in her favorite bar, in her favorite seat, served by her favorite barista, in her best drinking gear, and she was not drunk. Nor drinking.

Why, then, wasn’t she drunk?

Raucous laughter reverberated through the bar. Feyre glared at the bane of her existence, whose sheer presence made everything - including the wine in her mouth - turn sour.

Rhysand was guffawing with his Inner Circle. He seemed to be telling a story so funny that they dissolved into laughter every two sentences. Of course, he would be the life of the party. Of course, he would choose this bar to have his party at. Of fucking course.

‘You’re staring,’ Alis chided.

‘He’s an eyesore,’ Feyre sighed.

‘Sure he is,’ her friend chuckled. ‘Oh, there is Viviane.’

Feyre looked up, and sure enough, the new girl had just entered the bar. She had porcelain skin and white blond hair, her eyes a striking icy blue. In short, she was beautiful. And, Feyre noted regretfully as she watched her eyes zero in on Rhysand, interested in that asshole.

Feyre let out an all suffering sigh. ‘Here is to another girl who’s about to get her heart broken,’ she toasted Alis, then took a ravenous sip of her drink.

Alis merely shook her head, an indulgent smile on her face. She was used to Feyre ranting about everything related to Rhysand, be it fact or speculation or merely something she conjured from her imagination.

‘This happens every time,’ Feyre went on. ‘New girl falls for Rhysand. He takes her on a couple dates, has his fun, then dumps her ass. How many more times do I have to watch this scenario unfold? How many more times am I going to sit on my ass while a girl gets her heart broken by the devil?’

Something suddenly occurred to her. To get to Rhysand, Viviane would have to get past her table.

‘But maybe I can do something this time.’

‘Oh, no.’

‘Maybe I can be this nice, sweet girl’s salvation.’

‘Feyre, stop.’

‘Viviane,’ Feyre called, standing on her seat, waving her arms enthusiastically.

Alis covered her face with her hands. ‘You’re embarrassing.’

Feyre paid her no heed. ‘Viviane!’

Viviane looked at her, confused. To be fair, it was their first time talking.

Oh whatever, Feyre thought, heroes never bother introducing themselves.

‘Hi, honey. You’re the transfer girl, right? I’m Feyre. I’m an art major, too. We’ll probably have many classes together. And this is Alis.’

‘Hello,’ Viviane said, nodding shyly to both of them.

‘What do you think of our town so far? I can show you around, if you’d like.’

‘Thank you so much, but I wouldn’t want to be a bother.’

‘Bother? Oh, not at all. Did you know that when I first came here, my family had just gone broke, my sister had run away to someplace, and my other sister had gone sick with shock?’ Feyre was a very chatty drunk-even when she was only slightly buzzed. ‘It was awful. Thank God I met Alis to show me around the town, or else I would’ve wallowed in misery in my dorm room forever.’

Viviane’s eyes had drifted away about halfway through Feyre’s monologue.

‘Viviane?’

She let out a dreamy sigh.

‘Viviane!’

‘Oh yes. Feyre, was it? I’m sorry, it’s just… he’s so hot.’

‘Who?’ Feyre turned around, then back. ‘Oh, you mean Rhysand?’

Viviane nodded, still staring at him with moony eyes.

‘Yeah. It’s amazing how all the hot ones turn out to be gay, right? You should see his boyfriend. He has these gorgeous lashes and - ’

Viviane’s eyes snapped to her. Well, that got her attention. ‘Wait. What did you say?’

Feyre barely managed to hold back her smirk. ‘His boyfriend has - ’

‘You mean he’s gay?’

‘Oh. You didn’t know. Sorry. But I guess better hear it from me than from him, right?’

Viviane had gone very red. Feyre was getting worried. ‘Viviane?’

Suddenly she grabbed Feyre’s glass and chugged it down. Then she grabbed Alis’s glass and chugged it down. Then she started crying.

Feyre looked at Alis.

Alis looked at Feyre. Told you so, her look seemed to say.

What do we do now, said Feyre’s.

Alis shrugged.

They both let out a sigh, then grabbed a shoulder each and welcomed Viviane into their little group.

***

Viviane, it turned out, was an even chattier drunk than Feyre. She was also much more morose. Once the dam had broken, she told them all about being unhappy in her former uni and major, and having trouble to transfer as she was a few years older than them. She had struggled to take the leap and switch to art as, though it had always been her dream, 25 seemed like a bit too old for a beginner artist. This, Alis and Feyre were quick to reassure her, was not at all true. Many people started college at 25 or more, and they knew a middle aged couple in their class who were having the time of their lives exploring their artistic abilities.

‘And Kallias,’ she sobbed, her tears starting anew. ‘I love him and now I will never get to tell him.’

‘Kallias?’

‘My best friend. I’ve been in love with him since I was sixteen, overweight and desperate to grow some self confidence. He went on a diet with me so I wouldn’t feel alone. He picked me up on his way to school for basically all four years of high school because I was too scared to get a license. He always left secret gifts in my locker when he knew I was on my period, or took me to my favorite bakery. And when he found out I wanted to do arts instead of political science, he became my number one supporter. He even mailed my application for me. How was I supposed not to fall for him?’

‘Wow. That’s really sweet.’

‘I know! He’s such a sweet guy. I’m sure his girlfriend agrees,’ she sighed dejectedly.

Alis and Feyre exchanged a panicked look. They simply could not sit through another bout of tears.

‘He has a girlfriend?’

‘Well, not exactly. There is this girl in his class, Adrienne, and they meet up a lot to study.’

At Alis and Feyre’s raised brows, she groaned, rubbing her face with both hands.

‘But you should see them! They might as well be dating. She texts him a lot and he always remembers her birthday, when it usually takes him like five weeks to remember people’s names.’

Feyre was dubious. If anything, Kallias seemed to have feelings for Viviane, not whoever this Adrienne girl was. ‘Okay…’

‘Oh, and she has this nickname for him that’s just ridiculous. Kally Bear. Who the fuck comes up with such a stupid nickname? Actually, no.’ Viviane straightened, composing herself. ‘I shouldn’t act like this. I really like Adrienne. She’s nice and she always asks me to come with them when they hang out.’

Alis shrugged. ‘I don’t see why you mind them being together, since you’re always there too.’

‘Oh, I never actually go with them.’

‘What? » Feyre asked incredulously. ‘Why not?’

‘It’s not like she means it. I’m sure she just invites me to be polite. So I tell them to have a good time and send them on their way.’

‘Viviane,’ Alis started carefully. ‘Are you sure Kallias is even interested in Adrienne?’

Viviane pursed her lips. ‘Pretty sure. One time, we were playing truth or dare and I asked him if there was anyone he liked. He said yes, but he didn’t know how to ask her out. He was afraid she would say no and ruin their friendship.’

‘But that could be any friend of his,’ Alis pointed out, her voice blank and ever so careful, the tone she would use on a deranged animal she didn’t want to spook. Or, in this case, a lovesick drunkard she didn’t want to encourage with false hope.

‘She’s his only female friend. Aside from me, that is.’

Feyre had no such qualms. ‘Could be you, then.’

Viviane’s shoulders slumped. ‘No.’

From the way she finished the rest of her drink in one shot and called for seconds, studiously avoiding eye contact, Feyre guessed the conversation to be over.

‘Gotta go powder my nose,’ she said as she stumbled away to the loo.

Oh, how she loved British expressions.

She chuckled on her way, trying her best not to bump into people, and failing miserably as she collided into a deliciously muscled chest.

‘Archeron.’

She looked up at her nemesis. Oh, she had gotten him well.

She couldn’t stop the smirk that bloomed on her face as she replied, ‘Rhysand, darling.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Darling? What did you do?’

‘What, so you’re the only one allowed to call me that?’

‘You hate it when I call you that.’

She tapped a finger against her chin. ‘True. But I like it when I call you that. You are such a darling,’ she giggled - actually giggled. ‘Especially when you don’t know what’s coming to you.’

Rhysand’s voice was stern. ‘Feyre.’

‘Feyre? Oh my, what a special day it is when Rhysand Fahrenheit calls me by my given name. Did you run out of sarcastic endearments?’

‘I saw you with the new girl.’

Her smirk grew infinitely wider. ‘Did you, now?’

‘What did you tell her?’

‘Nothing you haven’t heard before, I’m sure.’

‘Feyre.’

‘You can keep gritting your teeth till you choke on their dust, and I won’t tell you.’

He breathed deeply, loudly. Once, twice.

‘I can’t deal with you while I’m still sober.’

‘Then go get yourself a drink. And while you’re at it, maybe get one for your boyfriend, too.’

He froze in the middle of turning around, his violet eyes flashing in the dim light of the bar. Oh, how she longed to paint this moment. The Devil Defeated, she would call it.

‘Wait. What did you say?’

‘Funny. Those are the exact words Viviane said when I told her you were gay. A match made in heaven, the two of you. Too bad it’s never going to happen.’

‘You… what?’

‘Are your ears going bad, Rhysand? Are you already that old?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘I am two years older than you, Feyre. And what. the. fuck?’

‘I wasn’t going to let you break another girl’s heart, was I?’

He tensed, anger swirling in his eyes. A second later, he changed. His tense shoulders slowly loosened. He tucked his hands in his pockets, and tilted his head roguishly. His eyes sparkled with devilish amusement, and his favorite smirk perched on his lips. It was not a noticeable change, not if you didn’t know what to look for. But Feyre was a pro in Rhys metamorphosis, as she liked to call it. She watched it all unfold in less than a heartbeat, trying in vain to catch all the details. Somehow, she could never capture it on canvas. Her paintings never had the same vibe-or enough flair.

‘What business is it of yours, Feyre darling, which hearts I choose to break?’

His sensual voice reminded her of silken sheets and sinful touches, and ironically startled her awake. ‘Unlike you, Rhysand, I do happen to care for the common good.’

His smirk was insufferable. ‘You don’t strike me as a selfless person.’

‘Maybe I should strike you, period.’

He leaned forward. ‘How about we strike a bargain instead, darling. You stay away from my business, and I try not to break your heart next.’

She crept forward as well, unwilling to lose the unspoken game, even as her heart beat a tattoo in her chest. He was so close she could touch him. If she dared.

‘Break my heart, Rhysand. I dare you.’

His breath caressed her own when he spoke next. ‘Is that a challenge?’

She snaked a hand between them and laid it flat on the center of his chest. His heartbeat ricocheted against her palm. She smirked. ‘Is it?’

His pupils flared. She gazed into his eyes for what felt like an eternity, transfixed.

Cauldron, she hated his eyes.

She flipped her hair defiantly as she sauntered off, hips swinging, reveling in the way his eyes trailed her the entire way to the bathroom.

Tag list: @joyceortiz13 @bailey-4244

120 notes · View notes

lady-therion · 5 years

Text

Lost With You: Part 4 [Nessian]

Summary: Cassian and Nesta struggle to fix all the broken pieces between them.

(Post ACOFAS. Spoilers. Slight NSFW).)

A/N: At long last, we’ve reached the end. Thanks for coming along for the ride.

It’s easy to break things. Putting them back together? That’s harder.

Cassian knows this better than anyone. It is one of the first lessons of combat. The second is that war is only the beginning. Treatises may signed. Accords may be struck. But to rebuild a new world in the wake of the old…

Has anyone ever done such a thing without bloodshed, without tears, without loss?

His thoughts lead him to Nesta—always Nesta. The most impossible mortal he has ever met. If anyone can alight the universe, it would be her. He knows it deep in his bones.

He just wishes she did too.

***

Nesta wakes first.

Through her half-dead haze, she watches Cassian sleep beside her. His breaths are steady and his heartbeat is strong. She can feel it through his tunic, just as she can feel the simmering heat of his body.

He cradles her in the circle of his arms, his wings an even warmer shroud, and it fills her with both reassurance and unease. There is a feeling that she’s right where she’s meant to be. But there is also a feeling that whatever happens after is out of her control.

Perhaps she doesn’t need control anymore. Perhaps she just needs to let go, as she did in the park when they held one another.

She blinks and memories return in pieces. She remembers the storm and the crack of the earth, like bones splitting. She remembers the silver-white fire and a red bolt of power, rending apart the seams of the sky. She remembers Cassian most of all. The way he called for her. Desperate. Beyond desperate. It was almost mad—the way he chased after her in the dark.

He is always chasing after her…

She drinks in his face. Asleep, he looks boyish. Almost sweet. His lashes are thick and his lips, when not curled back in arrogance or swagger, look soft and plump. She imagines him pouting all the time as a child and the image almost makes her grin. This is what he would be, she thinks, if he was not raised in the killing fields.

Eventually, he stirs. “Nesta? Are you—?”

“You terrify me,” she says.

This is how Nesta is. She cuts to the heart of things, swift and without warning. Her sisters often compare her to a blade freshly forged or a pillar of steel, daunting and unmovable. Perhaps there is something to that. Still, the thought sparks a pang in her chest. All she excels at is wounding. But she knows nothing else, except to move forward and strike.

Cassian raises a brow. The scarred one. The urge to press her lips to it is unbearable and she hopes he cannot sense it. Or if he does, she hopes he will not embarrass her over it.

“I terrify you?” he says, finally.

Relief sets into her shoulders. Unlike most people she meets, Cassian is used to counterattacks. He does them well. Years of training and discipline have made him formidable. There are enemies who quake at the sound of his name. But she will never quake when he draws near. At least, never in that way.

“You terrify me more than anything,” she says.

He thinks on this. Then reaches for a strand of her hair, a curl that wound itself around her ear. He does it slowly, so that she has time to say no. When she doesn’t, he rubs it gently in between his fingers—fingers that have spilled blood.

“You aren’t the first to lay siege to the walls I’ve built,” she says. “I’ve built them carefully, brick by brick. Iron, ice, steel. But somehow, you found a way. A hole. A chink. A weakness. I keep trying to think about when it first happened. If I had to go back to the beginning, it would be that night.”

The night at her father’s house. He stills. “I’m not proud of what I did. How I acted.”

“Likewise.” She draws a breath. “I used to feel things all the time. Every passion, a death sentence. Then one day, I didn’t feel anything at all. That is until…”

She doesn’t need to say any more than that.

He shifts and places her head beneath his chin. Her nose is pressed against his collarbone and she can see the whorls of his tattoos. She is very thankful he cannot see her.

“I’ve never known you to be afraid of anything,” he says.

“I am,” she says. “All the time. I just don’t cower.”

He laughs and it warms her better than the hearth. “That is very Illyrian of you.”

“Is that a compliment?”

She coughs before he can answer, seawater still churning in her lungs. There are other nuisances. Her head spins if she moves too quickly and all her muscles ache as if she has been squeezed through a sieve. Cassian touches her forehead, his eyes drawn with sharp concern. There is a deep furrow there, between his brows, that she hasn’t really noticed before. She does not have a fever, or at least she doesn’t think so. But he isn’t pleased by whatever he sees. So he fusses, rising from the pallet to fetch her draughts and medicines. Even his wings are twitching in agitation. It’s both awful and endearing.

“I know you don’t like it,” he says as he watches her drain her tea. “Being taken care of.”

“It’s...tolerable when you do it.”

“Just tolerable?”

“It’s far better than when I had to do it myself.” She sets the cup aside. “Did you know I couldn’t bathe in a tub for months after the Cauldron? I had to use buckets. Lighting fires are hard for me too. It’s the sound…” The sound of necks snapping. Her father’s dead eyes staring at her.

Shocked silence. “What?”

His exclamation surprises her. Didn’t Feyre tell him? Or Morrigan?

“Surely,” she began, “You had some idea? The Inner Circle…they did not say anything?”

He flinches. Confusion clouds his thunderous expression. “I…they...”

Ah. Well. Nesta waits to feel smug or righteous. Her old self would have relished it, twisted the knife deeper. It seems the pedestal you set them on is not so golden after all. There is a temptation to say it; she cannot deny that. To fling those cruel words at him and watch him recoil. But it fades as it soon it crosses her mind, like a shadow of a cloud passing over a winter field. What good would it do to hurt him so? What good would it do to shatter this fragile peace between them?

Cassian looks like he might be ill himself. He keeps opening his mouth, struggling to form words. But there are none. Perhaps there never could be. His loyalty to his family is deeply rooted and immutable. No matter what he feels for her, he will never turn his back on his family. She envies him a little for that. Had she ever pledged her life to anything with such devotion? Even her ties to her own sisters have their limits.

Then she remembers lying over his body at the end of all things.

Together…

She surprises herself when she takes his calloused hand in hers. “I heard you. In the sea. I could...feel you.” She rubs her thumb across his palm, feeling the ridge of a scar there, as though he had fended off another sword by holding it. It’s likely he had. She snorts. “You went after me again. The ever gallant brute.” There’s no sting in what she says. It’s a jest, but it’s also a truth. “You really can’t stay away, can you?

“No,” he says, and he closes his palm over hers. “I really can’t. Even if you terrify me too.”

“Oh?”

“I’m Illyrian,” he says. “So I don’t cower, either.”

They sat, facing one another, saying nothing.

They are waiting. As always, Nesta strikes first.

She kisses him, hard and fierce. It’s without finesse; raw and eager. There is a pause in which Cassian is too stunned to react. “Wait,” he tries to say. “Wait. Should you...should we even…?”

“Yes,” she says, though it comes out like a gasp. “Yes, we should.”

He does not look convinced, but also does not resist when she rolls him beneath her. She grips his wrists to steady herself. There is less pain and dizziness than before and she is still recovering and there is so, so much more to be said between them. An ocean of atonement and explanations.

But then, there is also this. And though they could both live on for centuries, moments like this seem to be far and few between. “I would like to be with you,” she said, leaning forward, mouth coaxing his open. “Without the threat of dying for once.”

A flush appears on Cassian’s cheeks. He is hot and shivering all over. To have such power over him is heady and makes her feel brave, daring. Like she can do anything. But there is also a reluctance in him, as palpable as a chain. He is keeping himself back.

“What is it?”

He turns his face away, making a sound like choking. Then, she realizes. “You’re not like the others I’ve...,” she says. “I would not discard you. Or regret you. I would not leave you behind. Ever.”

She says this with fire, with conviction, as though she is swearing an oath. She watches him intently as the doubt clears from his eyes. But still, he lies prone beneath her. Unsure of what to do next. Could she ever have imagined such a thing? The General Commander of the Night Court Armies...unsettled, hesitant? And yes, she sees it now: shy.

So she does something on instinct, and bares her throat to him.

His pupils grow wide and dark. She is giving her permission. But she is also rectifying a mistake—the last time he had kissed her throat at her father’s house, the gesture did not end well. This time, she thinks, it can be different.

Cassian seems to agree. Something unleashes in him and he mouths at her there, sucking and kissing and marking. She feels the points of his teeth. Gentle and insistent and oh so very delicious. She feels his hands—their hands—running over each other as they pull apart their clothes. There is a driving need to get closer, to feel skin on skin.

“Why there?” she asks, her breath hitching. “Why always that?”

He nips at the crook of her neck, then soothes it with his tongue. “This,” he says, his voice heavy. “This is where I would claim you if…”

“If?”

He does not look at her. Instead he stops, then buries his head against her shoulder. “If,” is all he answers. It’s all she needs to know.

Then, suddenly, a tug. A thread from her rib to his, pulling taut. It did not snap, but it made itself undeniable. They say each other’s names, over and over and over again as they explore each other half-dressed and sweating. They are senseless in one another now. She is fascinated by his hardness, by the way he croons and cries and shakes when she puts her lips around him. She does the same when he puts his lips...there, drinking her down as if she were the finest of wines. Nesta has taken her share of pleasures before. But this is something different. This is a revelation. A dawning.

“We should eat,” he says, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. He kisses her and it is all she can do to not take him inside. To feel his fullness rock within her.

“I would feast on you instead,” she said.

“I have no doubt,” he says. Despite their arousal, they are tired and coiled around each other. Bedclothes strewn everywhere. “But when I take you...and when you take me...I hope to honor you by bringing you some place nicer than this. Where there’s a featherbed and silk sheets and no one else to bother us about some armageddon.”

“Hm. That would be nice.”

He hums into her hair, now wild and tangled and unbound. “We’ll take it slow.”

“Slow is nice too,” she says.

A pause, and then a whisper: “Come with me. Come with me to the Illyrian mountains.”

She knows what he is really asking and is almost too overwhelmed to speak. She can feel that ever-present tug, growing stronger and more absolute with every shared moment. If she jumps from this precipice, she can never go back.

But what, really, does she have to go back to?

“I would like to spend more time with you,” says Cassian, “Knowing you in this life, finding you in this life, and losing myself in you in this life.”

Tears fall. Both hers and his. She holds his knuckles to her lips and kisses them. Something in her catches, then releases.

“When do we leave?”

***

Thank you for reading, my loves.

Tagging these baes: @missing-merlin, @rosehallshadowsinger, @queen-archeron , @mariamuses, @jemma-nessian-and-elriel, @illyrianbeauty, @queenofillea1, @sunsummoner, @stardustsroses, @urbisie, @hikari274, @dreaming-of-bohemian-nights, @ashlightgrayson, @my-fan-side, @ame233, @vicisbookishblog, @thebitchupstairs, @sannelovesreading, @wearestarseternal, @moonbeammadness, @wolffrising, @a-trifling-matter , @writer-reader-traveller, @tntwme , @fucking-winchester-trash, @voiceoftheroses, @verifiefangirl, @photofeesh, @maddieimhot, @awesomethreedragons, @fantasy-faes, @mydarlingwhitethorn, @thenameisjaida-blog, @alexisnm95, @leulivy, @managingmischief007, @goldbooksblack, @hashtolanashoba, @wewhohavefailed, @highladyjel, @nerdperson524, @sarcasticsashimi, @tswaney17, @acourtofrosesandbooks, @beelezebub, @rowanismybae, @starlightheir, @city-of-fae, @arwenbk3, @aelins-fire-queen, @azriels-forgotten-shadow, @abillionlittlepieces, @rairrai, @aclass-trash, @cf-mist-and-fury, @maastrash @gabi422, @trmblinghnds, @tea-drinker25, @court-of-fandoms-and-art, @soitsgorgeous, @fireheart-queen-of-ships, @xinyourdreamsx, @feyaelin-rowsand, @heleneisthehottest-torch, @dreamerforever-5, @mightymorphingayagenda, @theogvodkaaunt, @sjmsstuff, @illyrian-bookworm, @empress-ofbloodshed, @lordof-bloodshed, @faequeenaelin, @secret-lil-rendez-vous, @catwomancabello

If you’d like to be tagged, untagged, or if I forgot to add you because I’m silly, drop me an ask!

Other chapters be found in the Masterlist in my Bio / I am Lady_Therion on AO3

#nessian #nesta x cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #lost with you

191 notes · View notes

azriel-is-my-cinnamon-roll · 5 years

Text

"The new beginning"- Chapter 11

“You're one Archeron sister behind, brother” In this chapter: Azriel and Elain tell the inner circle about their relationship. A lot of teasing from Cassian.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10.

They spend their day lazily laying, laughing and enjoying each other's company. The high lord and high lady didn't look for them because of Azriel. He asked Nuala and Cerridwen to say that he and Elain had plans, and be back by the evening.

Neither Azriel nor Elain liked being the center of attention so tonight will be challenging for both of them. They wouldn't be able to keep their relationship a secret for long anyway. Azriel would have to glamour their scent, and the moving in part was not possible without telling them. Elain could already imagine what a fuss this will get them in. At least Cassian and Nesta weren't in Velaris, thank the Cauldron.

Now Az and Elain were sitting on the couch after they had their lunch. She said that she could make him food, but Azriel insisted on cooking. And like in everything, he was amazing at it. Now it was just a matter of minutes before they would have to fly to the townhouse.

"What is it, you look uneasy?" Azriel asked stroking her arm lovingly. "It's just, telling them- " She shook her head. "It will be a real fuss, just think of all the things they will say. They're family, and they mean well it's just..." Azriel nodded in understanding and said "A lot. I know. But, hey, at least Cassian won't be there. " He smirked. She smiled back "He will get to tease you for this later." He kissed her nose and nipped her ear playfully, and she squealed. "Go get dressed, or else we might get distracted again." he murmured. Elain closed her eyes "I wouldn't mind that." Azriel chuckled wickedly "Oh, I'm sure you wouldn't. But, we need to go. The faster we go, the faster we're done with them, and then we can continue." At this, her core heated, but he was right. They had to go, and when they're back, they can have their fun.

She went to his bedroom. Their bedroom now and took his shirt off. Her dress from last night was dry, and she put it on. She let her hair lose and went to the living room where Azriel was waiting, already with his Illiryan leathers. His expression was weird, "What is it?". He looked at her and opened his mouth "Rhys just contacted me, he said that Cassian is back for the evening." Azriel was a little bit pale, and Elain swallowed "Well, then we'll get it full force." Azriel tried to smile, but it looked more like a wince. He took Elain in his arms, and they started flying.

Azriel looked worried during the fly, and Elain said: "Don't worry we will survive them." Azriel looked at her and smiled "It's not that. It just- when a male mates he becomes territorial. Today will be a challenge for me; I wasn't too worried about Rhysand since he is mated... But, Cassian, I might be on edge so please understand me Elain." She took his face in her palm "I understand, but remember that I'm yours, and yours only." He kissed her at that.

They landed on the balcony leading to the living room. "There we go." Elain murmured. They opened the doors and went in. There were only Feyre and Rhysand in the room, no others yet. When they saw them, Rhys opened his mouth to say "There you are I've-" He trailed off, sensing them. The grin on Rhysands face was nothing less but wicked and a moment after Feyre joined him.

"Finally! " She squeaked. "I've been waiting for this, for three years now," Azriel looked uncomfortable, and Elain asked, "You knew that we-?" Feyre interrupted "No. I'm not a seer. I was just hoping; you two are made for each other." Rhys nodded his agreement and clasped Azriel on the back "Congratulations brother I hope you two will be happy." Azriel smiled at that. When Rhys hugged Elain, he tensed and gripped her hand. Rhysand just laughed and let her go quickly "Sorry Az forgot about that." Azriels eyes softened, and she could tell he felt sorry, she squeezed his hand in reassurance.

That's when Cassian and Mor came in. Mor just smiled and repeated the same that Feyre has said "Finally. You know how annoying it was for me to know you two love each other and watch that you won't do anything about it." Elain blushed "You knew?" Mor just smiled at Elain "My gift is true, dear."

"I bet it was Elain who took the first step" Cassian eyed her, he was grinning like an idiot. Azriel tensed again, as Cassian's eyes landed on Elain. It has cost him a lot of restraint not to leap on his brother for looking at her; she knew that. So Elain just moved in front of Az and wrapped his arms around her middle so he would remember that she is his and Cassian is not a threat. He relaxed at that, slightly.

They spend the evening chatting and eating. Amren joined them later on and smiled warmly at Elain for the first time. At least one person wasn't making a fuss. When Cassian wasn't teasing them, he talked about Nestas progress. How she trained with other females but still cursed Cassian every day. No improvement there it seemed. Elain felt pride that Nesta was training and finally not wasting her life on males and drinking. "Speaking of Nesta," Cassian began and grinned again looking at them. "How are you planning to tell her? Because I'm not doing that. I like living" Azriel winced at that "I don't think she will mind when she sees how happy I am, besides I love my sister, but it is not her concern," Elain said looking to Feyre. Feyre just gave her an innocent look back.

When they were about to finish eating, Azriel announced that he and Elain are moving in together. Feyre just clapped her hands in excitement. Rhys and Cassian smirked for the hundredth time that night. Mor said that she would help with moving and decorating. "Will we finally get to see your home, brother?" Cassian asked. Azriel just rolled his eyes. "Yes, but only when we settle down." Cassia wiggled his eyebrows "And by settling down you mean?" Azriel groaned.

The rest of the night went like that. It was getting late, and Elain was tired of her family for the evening. She could see in Azriels eyes that he was tired too. She kissed his cheek and stood up, Azriel followed. "I think we will go," Cassian replied, "Tired already?" Elain smirked at him; she was getting better at this too "Well, we didn't get much sleep last night, so yes." Cassian choked on his wine and Azriel smiled in approval. He came behind Cassian clasped him on the shoulders and said: "You're one Archeron sister behind, brother." the rest of the inner circle laugh at that.

He took Elain in his arms, and they flew back to their new home.

#tag #elriel fluff #elriel #acotar #fanfic #elain x azriel #cassian #feysand #i love azriel

90 notes · View notes

vintagesewingmachine · 6 years

Text

The Shadowsinger - Azriel Fic - Part 6/?

Azriel struggles to contain his feelings - for Elain, for Mor, for himself- and a jewel thief is running around Velaris, causing confusion. And with Cassian in Illyria, Azriel feels alone in his darkness. Into this mess waltzes a stranger, an enigma who calls herself Amuten with a mysterious past and connection to Amren.

Warning: angst, depressed thoughts, self-loathing, dark azriel, cold azriel, anxiety, graphic depictions of violence

dont worry there is happy Az too

<<First -- Next>>

Also note: part fives being a jerk so youll just have to search my blog for it. it wont link up so i linked part one instead

The lake was deep and clear, so clear you could see the bottom. It was tucked away in another small valley, and surrounded by evergreen trees. Azriel landed on the rocky shore, did a quick scan to make sure it was empty, and then winnowed to a cafe in Velaris to await Amuten.

******

She was several minutes late. But she was wearing Illyrian leathers that fit perfectly. They were in very good condition, but looked old nonetheless. She had thick black hair in a long braid, tanned skin covering Illyrian features, and purple eyes. And wings. Azriel stood when he saw her. He nodded in greeting, and she replied, "Good morning, Azriel." He held out a scarred hand. "Let's go." He whisked them away in darkness.

*****

"What a stunning location," Amuten murmured when she opened her violet eyes. The shadowsinger nodded his agreement. He did love this lake.

Taking a quick scan of her folded wings, he said, "Can you unfold your wings please? I need to take a look at them."

"Of course," the female chirped, eyes twinkling. "Just don't feel put out when they're bigger than yours." Azriel's eyes widened slightly as he raised them to look into her mirthful orbs. A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest.

"I promise not to be put out, Amuten. I've had five hundred years of having a larger wingspan than my brothers, to their unending frustration."

Her laugh rang out, loud and clear. Then she snapped her wings open, a whoosh of wind ruffling his hair. Mild surprise rippled through him; they were... well, for lack of a better word, perfect. Smooth black velvet covered more muscle than he was expecting, and they were indeed large, though it was questionable whether or not they were bigger than his. And unlike Feyre's, where he had had to correct and direct her shaping them, they were flawlessy natural. Unaltered by Amuten's shifting abilities, and unmarked. Azriel circled her slowly, inspecting. Her wings didn't tremble or droop as she held them out, and she seemed relaxed. Finally he came to a halt in front of her. "Have you excersised your wings without actually flying? They are well muscled and you seem to be comfortable with holding them aloft."

"Yeah," she said. "But you can't fly."

"Yeah," she said, quirking an eyebrow. "Got any new information?"

Azriel's lips twitched. "Plenty."

Amuten gave a quiet chuckle. "But seriously, how are we gonna start?"

Azriel tilted his head, considering. She was already more advanced than Feyre, having always been half Illyrian, and knowing how to move her wings. "You're going to jump off that rock."

Her face split into a grin. "Sweet." Now it was the spymaster's turn to raise a brow. "You're excited to jump off a giant rock?" "Heck yes! Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to fly? I mean, I've been airborne before, and I have a basic understanding of how it works, but I've never truly flown," she said fervently. "And I cannot tell you how much it means that you'd be willing to teach me." Azriel just nodded his head. "Well, better start then."

*****

Four hours later, they were both ready to stop. Four hours of hard work on Amuten's part, mixed of course with sassy and innapropriate comments, and unending patience on Azriel's end.

Strands of curling hair stuck to Amuten's light brown skin, and a small bead of sweat dripped down the side of her face. But she was grinning like she had just recieved a large box of her favourite chocolate. Azriel was happy too; the female's enthusiasm and determination was so, so contagious. With strong wings already, Amuten had been able to keep up very well. And he suspected that after only two or possibly one more lesson, she could be well on her way to being an amazing flier. Amuten huffed a breath of cool mountain air. "Man, I haven't worked like that in a while. I've become a slacker." She hummed as she stretched her wings before folding them up behind her. They say down on the pebbly lakeshore and stared out at the water. Azriel tossed a small stone into it, watching the water erupt upwards, then fall back down and rejoin the body of liquid, causing ripples that lapped at his boots. For a moment, the sun had lit the airborne water, and something about it made Azriel feel... well, he didn't know how to describe it. Quiet wonder? Shifting rocks drew his notice to the female sitting beside him. Amuten had changed into a cross-legged position and was eyeing the lake. Without looking at him, she asked, "Can you swim with wings?" Azriel blinked. He had not been expecting this. "Yes." His answer satisfied her, and she laid back to stare at the sky. Azriel turned his attention back to the water. ***** Dinner with the Inner Circle was quiet. Azriel was baffled. Mor seemed distant, Nesta and Cassian kept glancing at eachother and smiling like lovesick fools, Rhys was frowning, Feyre was frowning at Rhysand frowning, Amren was staring at nothing, and Elain seemed absorbed with her food. The silence made him uneasy, but he took another bite of stew instead of saying anything. "So, Az," Rhys started. Azriel's stomach dropped at the tone of voice. Another suspicious questioning. An unpleasant emotion started boiling in his gut. Couldn't he have his own life without being questioned? Rhys continued, "I haven't seen you all day. Where've you been?" Azriel set down his spoon, and shadows started snaking around him. He looked right into Rhysand's violet eyes with a challenge and said chillingly, "Out." The entire room went taut with shock at Azriel's response. Nesta and Cassian exchanged glances, Feyre frowned at him, Amren turned her silver eyes to him, Mor tilted her head, and Rhysand stared at him. Azriel did not turn away, even when Elain's fork clattered slightly as she set it down. Suddenly the image of water popped into Azriel's mind. Like that pebble, his one word had caused needlessly large ripples. He had no reason to be so confrontational. What did his feelings matter? It wasn't as if he really had a life to be questioned about. His family deserved better than this attitude. Better than him. So he swallowed his emotions, broke eye contact with Rhys and picked up his spoon. "I was out. With a... friend," he said quietly. The tension abated a bit, but remained uneasy. Nobody said anything else, and Azriel felt consumed with guilt. Why did he have to screw everything up? Rhys - his brother - had just been asking about his day. Why was he so on edge? The war was over, the Illyrians settled. Aside from some normal issues, it was peaceful. So peaceful, in fact, that he had heard from Nuala and Cerridwen that Rhys and Feyre had stopped taking tonics. Cauldron, he had some issues. He was so broken. It took a moment to realize that Azriel hadn't actually been eating his stew, just staring at it intently. So he choked down another mouthful, his shadows starting to cover him, and left.

*****

Elain was sitting in Feyre's living room with her sisters, chatting like sisters do. There was still some tension between Nesta and Feyre, but they were working through it. And with Nesta's wedding, the three and Mor were very excited. Azriel refused to think that he was creeping. He was just... observing. Without their knowledge. Not creeping. His shadows allowed him to remain undetected as he... observed... from his corner. Elain's voice was full of happiness as she asked, "When should the wedding be?" "Well," Nesta said slowly. "Originally Cassian and I were just planning to be officially declared mated and then have a little party. Not like a huge human wedding." "Oh," said Elain at the same time Feyre said, "That makes sense." "But of course you'll be there," Nesta said quickly to her sisters. Azriel admired how much she was trying to mend the damaged relationship with them. They talked about Elain's gardens for a while, and then Feyre asked slyly, "Hasn't Az been helping you?" Elain blushed. Azriel grew uncomfortable in his shadows. Okay, maybe he was creeping. Just a little. But he was too curious to leave, even though he knew he should. "Well, yeah," Elain replied. "Sometimes he helps me. It - it doesn't mean anything though. He's just being nice." Azriel frowned. Was that what she thought? He watched carefully. Wow. Now he was in full on spy mode. Nesta and Feyre exchanged glances. "Sure," they said. "The spymaster of the High Lord of the Night Court helping you plant flowers doesn't mean anything." Elain blushed more. She was adorable when she blushed. Wait, what? Azriel wanted to growl in annoyance as his shadows seemed to chuckle at his thoughts. "It doesn't!" Elain protested. "I mean, he hasn't really even talked to me in a while. He seems so busy all the time." Her voice grew sad, and Azriel grew appalled. Did Elain think he didn't want to spend time with her?

Well, you have been avoiding her.

Real helpful. He repressed the urge to swat at his shadows. Feyre sighed. "Look, we all have our days. I do, Rhys does, you do. I'm sure Azriel will brood for a bit and then come to his senses and take you on a date." Elain went flushed profusely. So did Azriel. "A DATE?" She squealed. "We - I mean - He doesnt-" Even Nesta raised her sharp eyebrows. "Elain, he helps you plant flowers for Mother's sake. And don't think anybody misses the way you look at him during training. I'm honestly surprised you haven't jumped him yet." A violent shade of red covered both Elain and Azriel's faces. Nope, nope nope. He was leaving. Right now. Azriel winnowed away. But... A date. Ideas swam in his head.

*****

A date. With Elain. He fidgeted with the paper he had written ideas on. His shadows were nowhere to be seen at the moment. Did he even have a right to take her on a date? But she had seemed so crestfallen. It didn't even have to be real date. He could just take her out for some fun. They were friends, after all. Right? Azriel sighed and rubbed his face. A headache started to form, and he groaned at his muddled thoughts. Cauldron. He was a mess. In a sudden flare of frustrated anger, he shoved away from his desk with a growl. Standing, he stalked into his kitchen and grabbed the kettle, filled it with water and set it on the stove. Leaving it to boil, he opened a cupboard and grabbed a mug. After he set that down, he opened a another cupboard and rifled through a couple of different teas before settling on chamomile. The kettle started whisling, adding to his headache. He took it off and poured the steaming water into the mug, letting the tea steep as he looked for some honey. He added generous amounts of the sweet amber substance. Azriel took a cautious sip, letting the hot liquid sear his throat. He blew on it, then took another sip, still standing beside the counter. The chamomile soothed his headache, and the shadowsinger took a seat at his old, small table. He studied each mark, each nick in the dark wood, trying to remember how each one had gotten there. Nursing his tea, he thought back to when he had first acquired the apartment, and why. It had been centuries ago, not too long after Rhysand had become High Lord, the war ended. The Inner Circle had had a less than pleasant meeting, leaving Azriel much more upset than he let on. He had loathed the thought of returning to the House of Wind, and he craved privacy and solitude from his obnoxious brothers, and Mor. Mor. The female he had loved for countless years, and still did. Her name sent waves of sickening feelings through his gut. Azriel took a long draught of tea. So he had decided to buy himself a private residence, one that the others wouldn't know about. He subtly moved most of his possessions there, and had purchased some simple, minimalist furnishings. Including an adequate bed, a sturdy desk, a dresser, a chair, and this table. The shadowsinger thumbed one mark, a deep gouge. It had been left by Truth Teller. The night Rhysand had been trapped Under the Mountain by Amarantha. Azriel had needed to get away from Cassian and Mor and Amren, had needed to release his pain far from their prying, concerned eyes. In his rage and anguish, he had plunged the dagger into the center of the table. The dagger that was supposed to tell truths, to drag them in screams of agony out of those who wished to harm his Court, his family. It had failed him that night. The only night in over five hundred years. So he had almost destroyed the table with it. Other memories swam before his eyes, tied to other marks. A carved mark with remnants of stained blood led to images of a difficult night of torture. He had come home, hands slick with blood, still clutching Truth Teller tightly through the slippery liquid. He had leaned down, putting all his weight onto his hands, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to calm his breathing. The dagger had accidentally scratched deeply through the wood. Azriel did not remember who or why he had tortured that night. Only how. He had sliced tendons, and broken bones. First crushing the foot, then snapping the fingers. Cutting open the back of the other ankle, stabbing just under the kneecap. Whoever it was would have crumpled had it not been for the chains suspending them. The spymaster swallowed, and drank more tea. A cluster of small nicks. That had been caused by idle boredom, at one point in time. Azriel was foggy on the details. Perhaps it had been long ago, maybe only months ago. After almost six centuries, memories tended to blur together, or be forgotten entirely. Dangerous for one who's job was gathering information. He sighed and set down his cup. Elain might like to go see a flower shop. There was one full of foreign plants down on Main Street. Weary beyond measure, Azriel divested himself of clothing and collapsed onto his bed. His groan was muffled by a pillow. Tomorrow would no doubt bring some new thing to make his life more miserable.

*****

Azriel's joints cracked as he stretched sleepily. He twisted his torso and reached towards the ceiling. More bones creaked. He wondered if it was because he was old, or just the amount of abuse his body had endured over the years. Probably both, he thought grimly. His shadows swirled around him, chipper and full of information. Their whispers filled his mind. An emerald bracelet has been returned to its place, the shop on 3rd street.

The High Lord plans to visit the Court of Nightmares soon, in a few days.

Cassian and Nesta are already up at the House of Wind training, at least thats what they had planned - they're up to something else now.

Lucien is almost finished with Jurian and Vassa, and plans to visit the Spring Court before coming to Velaris.

Feyre and Rhysand are still sleeping.

The Tiny Ancient One is also sleeping.

Elain is awake, and anticipating your presence for breakfast at the High Lady's mansion.

Azriel silently took it all in, going through his daily morning routine. Casual attire, or leathers? What were his plans for the day? Ask the flower-grower on a date. His shadows danced around him. Seek information on the emerald bracelet. Leather first, and then he could change. If Elain said yes.

*****

Anxiety pricked at Azriel as he struggled to keep steady while eating his breakfast of oatmeal and brown sugar. Would she say yes? What if she said no? He wouldn't blame her, of course. But it would still hurt. The shadows animated his nervousness by scittering around at his feet, behind his back, at his shoulders. He snuck a glance at the source of his anxiety. Elain sat, honey coloured hair cascading down her shoulders, in a sapphire blue gown. She ate sliced fruit, and he couldn't help but stare as a strawberry disappeared between full, pink lips. Azriel shook himself internally. Get a hold of yourself. He took another bite of milky porridge. Friendly chatter filled the room, so different from last night.

"Any plans today, Az?" Cassian asked casually.

Azriel nodded. "I must find out more about the emerald bracelet that was returned to its spot last night." And ask Elain out on a date. "We could train later, if you want." Cass grinned. Raising an eyebrow, Azriel replied smoothly, "The same way you and Nesta trained this morning?" His brother choked, and Nesta looked outraged. Rhys snickered with Feyre, Amren rolled her eyes and Mor laughed outright. She had a wonderful laugh. Elain just looked confused. Nesta glared at him, but said nothing. Breakfast resumed.

*****

The emerald bracelet was a dead end.

Azriel groaned when he reached his apartment to change. He still had to see Elain. All day, apprehension had brewed with excitement. Now it was reaching a peak as he landed in the gardens, where he knew the female was tending to her flowers. She looked up as he landed, smiling at him. His breath hitched. She was exquisite, soft and warm. "Hi, Azriel." "Hello Elain." "Can I help you?" No. Yes. Azriel took a steadying breath. Here it was. "I was wondering... Would you like to into town tomorrow? There's a fascinating flower shop down on..." He trailed off, unsure what her expression meant. Her eyes were wide, and pink dusted her cheeks; her lips were slightly parted. "Elain?" Azriel asked, worried. Had this been a mistake? "Yes!" She exclaimed, then cleared her throat. "I mean, I would love to." The smile she gave him melted his heart into a puddle. What was this female doing to him? Mor used to give him this feeling. Used to. He smiled back. "Then I'll see you tomorrow."

*****

There was a note in his office. I leave for the Court of Nightmares soon. I'd appreciate your presence. -Rhys Azriel's shadows crept around him, the black smoke thickening. Their voices grew cold and they hissed into his mind. Darkness. Evil. Destruction. Agony. Azriel really, really hated the Court of Nightmares.

*****

thnx for your patience. and also im excited to destroy everyones happiness in the coming chapters. you think elriels gonna happen that easy? hahahahahhahaa. also the court of nightmares is gonna be fuuuuun. also im sorry for the poor editing and if i forgot to tag you. the different format is because im writing on something else and then copy and pasting .

Smiles, Holly ;)

@rosehallshadowsinger @rhysanoodle @julesherondalex @marnz @illyrianbastards @laurannasbooks @acourtofbrainstormingandideas @samaracuda12345

#azriel fanfiction #just azriel #azriel fanfic #the shadowsinger #oc #amuten #acofas #acotar #acomaf #acowar #inner circle #fanfiction

28 notes · View notes

adriata-archive · 6 years

Text

standing on my own two feet

in honor of it being February aka the month of Cassian who is (along with the rest of the inner circle, let’s be honest) my sweet summer child. y’all can thank @helloetherealsunshine for this

also much thanks to @swishandflickwit for being a general ray of sunshine and source of encouragement

Summary: Cassian’s used to making people laugh when trying to comfort them, but what can he do when his mate refuses to smile? ft. (what I hope is) eloquent Cass Genre: comfort/angst?? Rating: T Word count: 1.8k

Cassian woke before Nesta did, her muffled whimpers and twitching limbs alerting him to her distress mere seconds after he had felt a pull on their bond, a pull he knew to mean that something was inexplicably wrong. He knew better than to reach out to Nesta physically - had learned not to the hard, way, actually, and still had the bruises to prove it - and instead tugged on the mating bond. He did it gently, the first time, and the second, but when his mate remained unresponsive next to him, he yanked.

Nesta sat up with a gasp, her hands flying to her mouth as she tried to choke back her sobs. It pained Cassian to see her like this, hurt him in a way that no amount of battle wounds ever could, but he would be patient. For Nesta, he would be patient.

“I - she - I couldn’t save her.” Nesta’s words came out in pants, her breathing labored as she tried to hold back her tears. He had tried, time and time again, to convince her that it was okay to cry, okay to let go, but his mate was of the stubborn sort.

“Save who? Elain?” Cassian asked, his voice gentle as he dared to place a hand on Nesta’s back. When she didn’t recoil at his touch, he started to rub slow, small circles up and down her spine, comforting her in one of the few ways he knew how - one that he had learned from Rhys’ mother.

Nesta shook her head and choked out a single word: “Feyre.”

It had been Feyre who told him what Nesta had done. How, when Tamlin had taken her and cast a glamour over her family’s minds, it had been Nesta who had resisted, Nesta who had mounted a horse and raced after them into a forest. Nesta who had dared approached the Wall in order to get her younger sister back.

Nesta who, weaponless, had risked her life to save her family.

“Feyre is safe. Elain is safe. You are safe.” Cassian repeated this over and over again, the mantra that would draw Nesta out of her nightmare and back into the present, that would hopefully make her realize that she was in their house overlooking the Rainbow, and not in whatever hell her subconscious had plunged her in.

Overlooking the Rainbow, for Feyre, Cassian realized as he watched his mate. To remind her of what she fought for.

A reminder to be strong.

His mate was a warrior, whether she knew it or not. (Cassian would bet that she did.)

It had been a few years since Nesta had (finally) accepted the mating bond, but rarely did she accept being comforted. It was when she did that Cassian truly worried. He was the sort to rely on humor to make his friends laugh, or to act as a punching bag if they needed to knock their demons down with fists. He wasn’t like Mor, or Feyre, like Rhys or even Azriel.

What kind of male didn’t know how to comfort his own mate?

Cassian knew what people thought when they saw him with Nesta, knew the automatic response of the males during meetings, where they would address him instead of her, their eyes flitting over his mate dismissively. They saw a former human girl with the Commander of the Night Court armies, and thought that Cassian was the one who held all of the authority - but oh, how wrong they were. In time, they would learn not to underestimate Nesta, and Cassian, along with the rest of the Inner Circle, would watch with amusement until that day came.

For now, though, he just wanted to be able to do something to make the nightmares stop. Never had he felt so useless.

As Nesta continued to cry and Cassian slowly drew her to him, he shut his eyes tight and tried to channel his friends. He thought of how he, along with everyone else, always insisted that Nesta was strong. They praised how infallible she was, how she had an iron will and a fierce determination, and how those things were the source of her strength. But then he thought of what Rhys had finally admitted to them after he had returned from Under the Mountain: once the battle was over, it was okay to not be strong.

Now if only he could find the words to convey this to Nesta.

But, as was common in their relationship, Nesta surprised him by speaking first.

“You once asked me how I could let Feyre wander into the forest to provide for our family. How could I sit idly by when my malnourished, illiterate sister tried to prevent all of us from dying? Why didn’t I feel the same need to protect her that I did with Elain?”

Cassian tried to protest - he hadn’t known her then, hadn’t know the lengths to which Nesta had gone trying to get Feyre back, but his mate continued speaking.

“She was always the strong one,” Nesta said, her voice quiet but steady as she stared into the darkness of their bedroom. “Feyre, I mean. She still is. I don’t know why everyone keeps insisting that it’s me. This comes naturally to her. She’s a good person, Cassian. Valiant. Kind. Courageous. She took care of us when we weren’t her responsibility. She deserves much better than a sister like me. She deserves an apology.”

“Then you can give her one. You care, Nesta, more than people realize. You deserve to have people see that side of you.”

“It’s not that simple. Any apologies I would make now are pointless. The damage has been done. I can’t give her her childhood or her innocence back, so what good would apologizing do?”

Nesta took a deep, shuddering breath, and Cassian held his tongue.

“You all - you expect me to...I’m not strong like you. Like Feyre. And I have this fear, that if I give in, that if I’m not strong and brave and selfless and all of those other annoying qualities you all seem to have, that I won’t…” She trailed off, her words barely a whisper at the end.

It was a struggle for Cassian to finish her sentence. “That you won’t belong?”

Nesta’s almost imperceptible nod was enough to break Cassian’s heart.

“Nesta, look at me.” She did - slowly, hesitantly, but her gaze was unwavering. “I can’t speak for the others, but, more often than not, I am anything but strong. No, listen,” Cassian continued when Nesta tried to correct him, “I’m not. I draw my strength from the others. Without them...I don’t think I would be able to live with all of the terrible things I’ve done. The things I’ve had to do.

“Mor has this thing she says - she said it to Feyre, when she first came to Velaris, and I’m willing to bet that she’s tried to say the same thing to you. And knowing you, and how literal you are,” Cassian said, ignoring Nesta’s indignant scoff, “I can tell you right now that not letting the hard days win doesn’t mean what you think it does. It doesn’t mean not letting those days faze you, or walking away unscathed. Winning against the hard days is being knocked down so much that you feel like you can’t get up again, but you do it anyways, because you’re holding out hope for something better.”

Cassian let out a sigh, daring to brush Nesta’s hair away from her face and relishing in the small act of intimacy she wouldn’t have allowed in the early stages of their relationship. “You don’t have to be strong for us to love you. For me to love you. All of us break down, and we let everyone else build us back up again. None of us fight these battles alone. Let me, at least, do the same for you.”

Nesta made a disbelieving sound, doubt evident in her eyes, and said, “You can’t possibly expect to fight my battles for me.”

“We both know that I am well aware that you are perfectly capable of fighting your own battles,” Cassian retorted, rolling his eyes. “What I’m saying is, let me fight with you. You have your own strength, yes, but when it fails - because no one is perfect - I want to help. But you have to let me.”

She stifled her sob, tears rolling down her cheeks, but this time, Nesta reached for Cassian.

“Okay,” she whispered.

The nightmares came back the very next day. They were usually generous enough to provide Nesta some sort of reprieve before she had to suffer through another, but the Fates had never been kind to her. This time, she lived through something she had only ever heard about, and found herself surrounded by a crowd of strange fae as she was forced to watch her baby sister’s neck crack.

She was aware of how Rhysand, even while pretending to be a foe, had screamed Feyre’s name and lunged for the she-demon who killed her, but in her nightmare, it was Nesta who cried out and tried to get Feyre to hold on - only she didn’t have a bond for her sister to hold onto.

Nesta. Wake up, please. It’s a nightmare - just a nightmare.

She reached for the bond, for Cassian, and let him guide her back into consciousness, her cheeks wet with tears as she tried to gain her bearings. Nesta turned to look at her mate, patient and steadfast even in the face of her worst moments - which were, if she was being honest, the majority of her moments - and bade herself to trust him. Trust him with her secrets, her fears, her heart. Trust him the way she had forbidden herself to trust anyone for so long.

So she told him about her nightmare, and the one from the night before, and even the very first, when it had been Feyre who was dragged to the Cauldron, and who hadn’t been able to reemerge. It was a slow process, with Nesta stumbling over the words and her breaths, but eventually they settled back into silence, and even though Cassian said nothing, she could feel his love and reassurance singing through their bond. She let those feelings call to her, to soothe the aches of her weary soul and soften the edges she had carved to protect herself from the world. And she started to believe, for the first time since Feyre had vanished into Prythian, that she would be able to stand on her own two feet - so long as she had her mate beside her.

#acotar #nessian #acotar fan fiction #nessian fan fiction #my writing #trying something new??#does this count as angst lmao #just a short drabble to test the acotar waters #weareacotar #*writing

135 notes · View notes

aelin-and-feyre · 6 years

Text

Santa Rhysand

Holiday Fic Collection #3: Feysand - Baby’s First Christmas

Requested by Anonymous

Cadewyn is baaaacckkkkkk !!!!!

Feyre wakes up Christmas morning to the same sound she has woken up to every morning since May—the sweet sound of her child crying. She's about to crack her eyes open and crawl from Rhys' arms when she feels a soft kiss laid across her eyelids. "Sleep, darling, I'll get him," her mate murmurs, sliding from the bed.

The High Lady of the Night Court nestles down into her pillow, fetching a few more precious moments of sleep in her warm bed. When Rhys returns, he is holding their little bundle of joy, rocking him lightly with a soft hum. Feyre finally rolls over and smiles up at her husband and son.

"Merry Christmas, boys," she greets quietly. She reaches her arms up and Rhys gently sets Cadewyn into her waiting hands. The baby smiles sleepily when he sees his mother's face. Feyre pulls him to her chest and he lays there happily, his tiny wings fluttering a little as he relaxes into her. His father settles down next to them, the sweetest of smiles gracing his features and Feyre would do anything to see that peace and happiness on his face every minute of every day.

Rhys places a tender kiss on his son's head. "It's your first Christmas, Cade," he says, excitement beginning to light his eyes. "Should we go see what Santa left you?" The baby gives him a half-lidded look but one side of his mouth tilts up and Rhysand takes that as a yes. "Fantastic, let's go!"

Feyre laughs as her mate scoops up the child and stands, practically running for the door before he stops and looks back at her expectantly. "I'm coming," she insists, finally pulling her legs out from the blankets and realizing that she's only wearing Rhys' shirt. "You go on ahead, I'll meet you." Her husband practically whines. "I think your brothers are down there and unless you want them to see me like this–" she gestures to her half naked body "–then I think you'll wait for me down there."

Rhys' eyes drop to her bare legs and he nods once. "Don't take too long, I think I smell Cassian's pancakes." The High Lord grins, turns to his son with an excited gasp—prompting Cadewyn to clap his hands adorably—and takes off down the corridor.

Feyre shakes her head with a little laugh. Those two are her life. Ever since Cadewyn was born eight months ago, they have been the happiest little family and it feels like nothing will ever change that. The Inner Circle fell in love at first sight with the new little half-Illyrian and are all taking their jobs as aunts and uncles very seriously. In the weeks leading up to today, the entire gang (even Amren) has been making sure that Cade's first Christmas will be fantastic.

Smiling to herself, Feyre pulls on some of her comfiest pajamas and makes her way downstairs where chaos reigns. Cassian is standing at the stove, pancake batter in his hair and flour all over his 'Kiss the Bat' apron. Amren and Nesta are scouring the presents under the tree, sorting them into piles which are scattered all over the living room. Elain is pinning a red and green bow into a very disgruntled looking Lucien's hair. Rhys and Mor are cooing over a crying Cadewyn as they struggle to strap him into the booster seat.

Azriel appears from the shadows next to Feyre with his arms crossed. "I told them not to." Feyre's not sure which pairing he's referring to, but she sends him a long-suffering look nonetheless.

"I'll take the baby, can you please make sure Cassian doesn't burn anything?" Azriel nods and moves swiftly towards his brother. Feyre marches over to her son, who calms down as soon as he sees her and both Mor and Rhys rush to buckle him in while he's momentarily distracted.

"Success!" Rhysand exclaims when Cade is securely fastened. "I told you I could do it!"

Mor doesn't look impressed. She sees Feyre and a huge smile overtakes her face. "Merry Christmas, Feyre!" Her words catch the attention of the others in the room and everyone repeats the sentiment. Mor envelops her in a hug. "The costume is all set," her best friend whispers in her ear as she gives Feyre a squeeze.

"Thank you," she murmurs back as they part, "Now I just need to convince him to put it on." Feyre smiles at her sisters in greeting but walks right to her son, sitting down in front of him. "Hey, Cadewyn, are you hungry?"

"What about today? Do you think he's ready for Christmas cookies today?" Cassian asks from the stove for the dozenth time. Azriel shakes his head resignedly.

"He barely has any teeth yet," Nesta reminds, "I don't think he could get through a cookie." Cassian opens his mouth to say something more but his mate beats him to it. "And no, we are not going to chew it up before giving it to him like a mama bird."

Cassian pouts playfully as he finishes up the breakfast and Nesta and Azriel try to pick drying batter out of his hair. Amren walks over to Feyre and hands her a small bottle with a bow wrapped around it. "The little monster's first Christmas present of the day," she informs. Feyre exchanges a glance with Rhys and Amren scowls. "It's not poison or blood. It's actually more of a gift for you two. The potion is mostly milk—with a couple additives—and it will keep him happy for the rest of the day."

Feyre is still skeptical but she knows that none of the Inner Circle would do anything to harm Cadewyn, so she hands the boy the bottle and he drinks it gladly. "Thanks, Amren," Rhys says. The ancient just shrugs and walks back to her task below the tree.

Cade finishes the potion in record time and it takes effect right away. A subdued smile stretches his chubby cheeks and his right dimple deepens. Rhys just chuckles and unbuckles him, lifting him from the chair.

"Present time?" Elain asks excitedly, coming over to grab her nephew. Rhysand hands him over easily and grabs a pancake for both him and Feyre. Everyone gathers around the tree and Cassian passes around the platter of pancakes for breakfast.

Amren sits next to the biggest stack of gifts and grabs the one from the top. She hands it to Cadewyn in Elain's lap and Mor helps him rip open the wrappings to reveal a set of plastic training knives from Azriel and Cassian. Both Illyrians are grinning wickedly.

"Never too early to start with the knives," Azriel defends, casually twirling Truth Teller as he and Cassian elbow each other jokingly.

Feyre just rolls her eyes and takes the knives from her son. "I'll give them to him when he knows how to walk." The brothers aren't even listening anymore as they begin a contest on who can stuff more pancakes in their mouths.

Amren passes the next present to Elain for Cade to open and Feyre slinks back to stand with Rhys. He slides an arm around her waist and pulls her close. "I love this," he murmurs next to her ear.

"Me too," Feyre replies, leaning her head against his chest and smiling happily. Then Feyre remembers her plan. "Follow me," she says while everyone admires the set of booties Mor gave Cadewyn. The High Lady grabs his hand and starts pulling him from the room, Rhys following completely confused. They enter one of the guest bedrooms and—a Santa costume is laid out on the bed.

"No. No way," Rhys exclaims right away, already backing towards the door. Feyre clutches his hand tightly, pulling him towards the bed. "Cassian and Azriel will never let me live it down!" He pleads.

"Cassian is gonna wear it next Christmas and Azriel the one after that," Feyre counters. "You all get a turn." She picks up the red pointy hat with a white fur puff ball on the end and pulls it over his head. Linking her hands behind his neck, she leans up to kiss his pouting lips. "If you be Santa for the morning..." Rhys raises an eyebrow and she leans up to whisper in his ear, "I'll be Mrs Claus tonight."

Her husband shivers as she lightly scraps her teeth along the shell of his ear. "Fine," he grumbles, stealing a kiss from her lips before extricating himself from her hold and marching over like a dutiful soldier to adorn the costume.

Feyre smiles proudly and goes back to the living room to wait. Ten minutes later, Rhys appears from the shadows of the fireplace in all his Santa Claus glory—beard, belly, and all. Cassian literally chokes on his mouthful of pancakes when he sees his High Lord. Azriel thumps him on the back while he just stares in wonderment.

Cadewyn, however, smiles brightly, clapping his hands. Rhys tromps over to him and grabs the last present from the pile. He takes his son from Elain and sits him on his lap, placing the present in his tiny hands.

Rhysand catches Feyre's gaze and rolls his eyes, though she can still see the joy and laughter in his shrouded features. "Ho, ho, ho!" Her mate proclaims, causing Cadewyn to giggle while he tugs on the long white beard. "Merry Christmas, little boy, look what I've brought you!"

Feyre walks over to kneel in front of them, helping Cade to pull out the tissue paper. She reaches in the bag and pulls out a 'Baby's First Christmas' ornament. She hands it to her son and he inspects it with comical concentration.

Feyre had painted the ornament herself, after Rhys cut out the shape. It depicts the three of them inside a star frame. It has his name on the top and a quote on the bottom that says, 'Always dream, the stars will listen'. And on the back—which Rhys hasn't seen yet—Feyre wrote with ink, 'First Christmas, with a thousand more to come'.

Rhysand reads the quote over his son's shoulder and looks up at Feyre with tears in his eyes. They have so much time that they never thought they would have—with each other and with their family. Neither Rhys nor Feyre forget how lucky they are every single day to be alive, to be together, to be happy.

Clearing his throat, Rhys turns back to his son. "Let's hang that on the tree, shall we?" He lifts Cadewyn up and carries him over to the pine tree, already sagging with the weight of half a millennia worth of ornaments and decorations. Their family gathers around and starts to point to places it could hang. Finally, Rhys directs Cadewyn towards a small opening near the star topper.

It takes a couple of tries but the baby finally gets it hooked on a branch and everyone cheers. Mor takes Cade to watch the snow falling outside and Rhys lopes back over to Feyre. He nuzzles her cheek with his rough beard. "I love our family." He places a kiss on her right cheek. "I love our son." Another on her left cheek. "I love you," Rhys murmurs against her lips and Feyre can only imagine the countless Christmas's they have ahead of them, and the endless love they will share together, with all their children yet to come.

Holiday Collection Prompt List

Holiday Masterlist

Tagging: @aelinthemaassassin @eternally-reading @poisonbooknerd @pineandsnowandstars@rowanismybae @kaliejane26 @lizcantspell @dawn-courts-darling @rocknroarrrrr @nkling @dreams-of-feysand @whydoyoucareaboutmyusername @thereitisthatfamousscowl @rkjar1646 @my-ships-will-never-be-sank @mywritingbox (let me know if you want to be tagged in this collection!)

265 notes · View notes

thevixenfanfiction · 6 years

Text

Chapter Three

Beta is the lovely @court-0f-dreamers

Summary: This story follows the path of someone who turns pity into malice and revenge into a lifestyle. Someone who doesn’t believe in love’s power and strays from what little good she has in her heart. Myriad is a fae with the rare ability to leech magic from other face, leaving them husks of their former selves. Myriad worked for and was Amarantha’s secret pet, spy and lover. After the Queen’s death, Myriad leaves to live in solace. On her journey, she’s captured by Hybern and set with a task to complete. Penetrate the workings of the Nightcourt and report to the King. During this time she falls in with the Inner Circle by a chance meeting with a male from her past. She must then gain their trust, in turn, discovering things about herself in the process, fighting the unbreakable command the King of Hybern gave her. (This follows the ending of A Court of Thorns and Roses thru to the end of the series. Slow burn Azriel/Myriad) (Roughly inspired by Disney’s Maleficent.)

Fifteen years later

Amarantha’s reign had ended.

It seemed so odd to say, to think out loud, but she was indeed gone and Prythian was free. More importantly I was free.

I had thought for so long that Amarantha had been my friend, and a sort of lover but after a few years I came to realize she only wanted one thing from me. My power. She lusted not after me, but after what I was, what I possessed.

After the curse had broken and all hell had broke loose when the human girl, Feyre had died, I had left. In the few weeks after the events under the Mountain, I had found out the girl had been brought back and was now Fae. I silently wished her good luck from where I was and continued on my way to the mountains of Montesere, close to my birth place, figuring it’d be a good way to lay low. The highlords knew me and I was a very wanted female. I had been a consort of Amarantha and her thief, her spy and her huntress, so naturally they would want revenge on me.

I knew I should have been winnowing, or traveling by foot, but I wanted to fly. I hadn’t flown in years, being trapped under the mountain and not wanting to reveal my wings to any of Amarantha’s cronies.

So there I was, flying fast through Night Court lands, a streak of black and gold against the pale blue sky. The wind whipped my eyes, my hair had been tied back to keep from lashing my face. For once I was smiling... until I had to back sharply to the left when a blast of pure red energy almost singed my wings.

I swore and slowed, looking around for the source of the power.

That had been my mistake.

*** *** ***

I landed heavily somewhere and I rolled onto the ground. I clawed at the grass under my hands, hauling myself up.

I was standing face to face with the Attor.

The foul creature moved faster than I did and it grabbed me by the throat, it’s hideous face inches from mine.

“The King has been looking for you,” It said. “And wondering why his little fox has flown the coup.”

I gasped for breath, clawing at the Attor’s claws, my fingernails making small scratching noises. The Attor smiled, showing off rows of teeth, its putrid breath blowing in my face, making me gag. “Myriad...Myriad…”

The Attor let me go and I fell back to the ground, coughing. The Attor prowled around me and finally grabbed my hair. “We’re going to see the King.”

And with that, we winnowed away to Hybern.

*** *** ***

It had been four days since I arrived in Hybern, I wasn’t treated anything like a guest, though the Attor, who liked to visit my cell insisted I was still a guest and the King simply had to make time for me in his so very busy schedule. I had been beaten, whipped, my back in painful ribbons, my natural ability to heal slowed by the Faebane I knew was laced in my food and drink. I had refused to eat the first day, but a thorough beating had me eating and drinking my food the next day. I slid my feet underneath me, the chains around my ankles clanking loudly. I rubbed my filthy thumb over my bottom lip, watching the door. It was noon, at least I thought it was noon. At any rate, the door to my cell was unlocked and I glared at it, watching as one of Hybern’s soldiers slunk in the room, sneering at me. “Get up. The king wants to see you.” I snorted and slowly stood up. The guard seemed impatient because he hauled me to my feet and dragged me down a hallway, then up a flight of stairs, down another hallway and so on. It took a good fifteen minutes before we made it to the throne room. I shivered, the coolness of the palace hitting my bones like the stench of death.

The guard holding me only dragged me forward, through a set of heavy wooden doors and pulled me towards the dais at the end of the cool silver throne room. The guard bowed low and dumped me at the foot of the dais, going to walk off to the side, by a set of small doors. Vaguely, I wondered where the door went. I looked up at the king of Hybern and my blood turned into ice in my veins.

He seemed very relaxed in his throne, one leg over the other as he stared down at me. He met my eyes and I hurriedly averted my gaze to the floor, to my filthy hands. My breath came in sudden ragged gasps as I wasn’t seeing the cold marble floor beneath my hands, but packed dirt of an Illyrian war tent floor. I blinked, my breath loud in my ears as the marble floor reappeared.

“Myriad, isn’t it?” the King asked, his voice cold, yet amused. I only nodded, still staring at my hands.

“I’m glad I’ve found you. Amarantha seemed to have been very fond of you.”

I shuddered, a memory of Amarantha’s hands on my breasts, her teeth biting into my neck, sounds of passion. I blinked and the vision was gone. I felt sick. “I heard a rumor that you’re a thief, of powers that is. There’s a name for it, mèirleach,” the king went on.

I knew that, I had read it a long time ago.

The King tapped his fingers on his throne, the loud clicking filling the silence. “Now, I wonder...where were you going Myriad?” I didn’t say anything. I was going to Montesere.

Suddenly, a blinding flash of pain erupted behind my eyes and I fell forward, a gasp wrenched from my mouth. I wasn’t seeing the marble anymore, in place of the floor was a river of molten rock. I screamed, watching my hands disappear into the rock, the flesh being seared from them. The smell reached my nose and I heaved, still screaming in pain.

Then, as if nothing happened, I was staring at the marble again.

I almost collapsed as I vomited my meager lunch.

“Clever, isn’t it? I can have you tortured without even touching you. Minds are so fragile when played with.” I looked up, taking in ragged gasps. A young female, dark haired and smirking was standing next to the King. “Daemati,” I said finally. I rose up, my stomach still uneasy. I glared at the female and spat at her, baring my teeth. The King simply smiled at me, holding a hand up to keep the female from moving forward. He got up from his throne and walked towards me. Before I could recoil, his hand latched onto my chin and held me in place with a painful grip, hard enough to leave bruises on my face. “I have a proposition,” he whispered, reaching out with his free hand to caress my wing. I shuddered and stiffened. The Attor had made sure I hadn’t shifted my wings back, keeping them free from harm. It had been a blow he knew would hurt the most.

“I need a pair of eyes. I need you to get inside Prythian for me and do what Amarantha couldn’t do.” “What makes you think I’ll do it for you?” I hissed. The king dug his fingers into my wing joint and I almost screamed in pain.

“You won’t have a choice,” the King went on. He extended his hand and touched it to my chest. Instantly I felt a cold almost oily feeling coat my veins, making me gag. “You will bring whoever is plotting to patch the Wall to me, to the Cauldron and you won’t fail me, Myriad. If you try to warn them or try to break my hold on you, you will find yourself in so much agony that you will want to claw yourself to pieces.” I shivered but bared my teeth at the king. He smiled back at me and traced a hand over my lips.

“Yes...I can see why Amarantha had liked you.” The King let me go and waved his guards over.

“Take her back to her cell.”

I tucked my wings close to my back and was jerked to my feet by the same guard who had previously dragged me to the throne room. My last sight was the King returning to the throne as the female Daemati bent over to whisper in his ear.

*** *** ***

I was not taken back to my cell by the guard.

I was taken to the guard house in one of the meager gateyards dedicated to the prisoners that were held out in the yard in stocks or hanging cages. I stared as I was walked past, mud splashing my soaked knees and boots. I wondered if I was going to be strung up in one of those cages for a while. That didn’t make sense though,not if the King wants me to be his…. My eyes widened as I was taken to a large stone building that I recognized immediately as a barracks. I dug my feet into the mud, wrenching my chained hands back and away from the guard. I desperately tried to feel any spark of my power but I was met with an empty void, my power as useless as a wisp of smoke...a dead ember.

“His Highness said we could have some fun with you. S’not often we get a fresh bit of meat in here. The whores we get are too skinny to be fucked more than once,” the guard explained casually.

I choked and dug my feet in the mud more, old panic rising in my chest. I tucked my wings in more. Cauldron,my wings!

The guard looked back at me and grinned wickedly, the malice and desire in his eyes enough to make me want to vomit again. He tugged my hands hard and began to drag me to the barracks. I had barely any strength to fight back as I was hauled over the doorstep and into a dim room full of leering faces and the stink of males.

My nostrils flared and I stepped back only to be slammed against a wall, my bound wrists clipped to a ring above my head. The guard looked at me, sneering and working his belt undone. I hissed and locked my knees together. I let out a bark as a hand was dragged down my wing. I looked over and kicked at whoever had touched me. That was enough for the male who had dragged me into the barracks to surge forward, pinning me against the wall. My back seared in pain as my still not-healed wounds were roughly scraped.

I jumped when I felt a hand between my legs and my fury turned to an animalistic fear as I kicked, trying to dislodge the hands now touching me. I could smell the arousal and desire in the air, choking me, clawing at my nostrils.

I was back in the Illyrian camp, being pressed at by much larger males, all grabbing at me, touching me. I had been small and helpless...weak.

I screamed when that hand clamped down between my legs, searching, another hands already up my tattered shirt.

I wasn’t weak! Nor was I small.

My power suddenly surged to life for a few precious seconds and flames crawled up my skin, burning the male who was touching me. My wings flared out, strong and big, knocking back the other male who had come over to have fun with me. I screamed again and pulled my hands down, the metal ring pulled with my chains.

My power was gone, burned out again, but I was free. I panted, looking to the door, judging the distance. I didn’t wait another second as I bolted. I stumbled when something hit my leg but I stayed upright, barreling out the door. I took one look around the yard as bells started ringing. I stumbled back a step or two and with an aching thrust I flapped my wings, catching air. My back felt like it was on fire as my damaged muscles moved, my wings pulling me up. I flapped again and was airborne. I had to circle once, twice before I was soaring from the castle, a desperate sob tearing from my throat. My sob turned to a scream as an arrow tore through my wing, another arrow followed, catching my other wing as well. I faltered, pushing up. I had to get higher!

Then as if I was rammed in the stomach, my breath was taken away and my wings stopped. I looked down at my torso to see the tip of an arrow protrude from my side, it’s tip glistening with blood. I gasped, trying to take in air. A raspy gurgle filled my ears and I tasted blood.

Gods...I was falling.

No...I’m dying.

I heard the wind whistle in my ears, my hair stinging my face and eyes. At least it would be quick. But suddenly I wasn’t falling anymore. Someone was holding me, their hands were cold against my skin and their chest was like a rock against my side. I felt a tug in my stomach, like a voice telling me to hold on. Who was my saviour? Was he talking?

I looked up, as my vision began to fade. I caught sight of only shadow, shadows curling around a grim face telling me to keep my eyes open.

#ACOTAR #acomaf #acowar #sarah j maas #fanfiction

8 notes · View notes

writevswrong · 7 years

Text

FANFIC * NESSIAN * PART TWELVE

Nessian Part Twelve by L.J. LaFleur

I stiffened as his snarl deepened. Amber droplets fell towards the hem of my indigo gown. Cassian slid his rough hand over mine, his unfailing warmth spreading through me. I didn’t dare look at him, nor did he glimpse at me.

So, we watched, as I struggled to make it through the endless night. We watched as I faintly sung Feyre’s lullaby, as I attempted to speak of the curse and failed. As I prayed to whatever gods or goddesses Prythian kept.

We stood in silence, watching as I counted the brightest stars—wishing upon them for a different life. Wishing for a stronger body, one that could have fought off monsters and feral beasts without failure. A body and spirit that would make the earth tremble my name.

The night progressed, creatures of all shapes sniffed me for pleasure, for food. Only to be scared off by something my human ears could not tune into.

Threatening shadows, hissing their warning to those who lingered.

Sapphire ink circled the sky, wrapping itself in a new cloak of stars. I cried in pain, trying to drag myself towards the direction Tamlin left in, hoping to find Feyre. Pulling myself by tree roots, I made it halfway up the hill before rolling back down, defeated. I wept as I caught speed, only to slam my head into a moss-covered rock at the bottom. I faced the stars once again, feeling the trail of drawn blood leak down my pale face.

“Feyre…” I mumbled as the distant lights blurred into one another, more crimson dripping from my temple. “Fey…”

“Have you made up your mind?” Tamlin asked, squatting beside me in the early morning glow. Honey rays of light filtered through the leaves, casting a rainbow of gold, green and amber throughout the forest floor.

As dizzy and as sick as I felt, I still muttered, “neither.”

Tamlin growled in response, “my patience is growing thin.” He brushed the golden-brown hair out of my drained face, I sprayed bloody spit across his masked features.

He raised my sticky crimson chin with a deathly grip, “I can’t wait to see who you fall for, how their heart will snap when you reject them. How yours will rot with loneliness…”

Cassian released my fragile hand, I glanced at his, they were shaking with magic and adrenaline. He didn’t growl nor snarl, he stayed silent. A sickening, rage filled silence that made my pounding heart gallop faster.

It was similar to when he found out about Tomas. When he read me like an open book, seeing the hurt—the flicker of fear as I remembered that pig. Cassian had asked if I had ever been with a man and all I could see was Tomas ripping at my skirts, holding me down.

However, the difference between then and now, he didn’t know Tomas by name. Didn’t see what he had done to me in that secluded barn. But this…he would never un-see this memory of mine. Never un-see the cruelty that Tamlin inflicted.

“Since those options don’t entice you. Here’s the third, if you come looking for Feyre again, I will kill her. I will make sure it is the most excruciating death felt throughout this land and yours. She will die, and her blood will be on your hands.”

I tried to fight, I attempted to reach for him but I couldn’t. The pain was so excessive all I could do was twitch my fingers.

“But if you leave, I will heal you. Feyre will live. She will live a long, happy life and I will send you home to even more riches than fathomable.” He wiped the excess blood down his face, smearing red across his golden-kissed skin. “I’m surprised what I gave wasn’t already enough—but you’ll receive more. It will set your bloodline up for life.”

Flaming tears slid down my scarlet stained cheek as I watched my human-self decide between his options. Feeling utterly defeated, even now.

Tamlin stood up, walking back towards the hill he had come from.

“Wait,” I choked. “Wait…” I whimpered as fresh tears slid out of me, mixing with blood and sweat before crashing into the ground.

“Have you chosen?” He asked, the wind whipped his blond locks around his muscular frame.

I could only stare at the ground, my lips shivering. “Heal me…” I said bitterly.

“Good choice.” Tamlin replied, kneeling beside me. His hovering hands illuminated over the Naga markings.

I could feel the pain retreat within my body, a slight numbing—tingling--sensation rushed through my veins.

Tamlin sighed, “I have a change of plans.”

“What?” I croaked, peeking over my swollen shoulder in absolute horror.

“You’ll need a reminder as to why you shall never enter Prythian again.” Tamlin lifted his iridescent hands, leaving the Naga markings slightly open. Another round of scarlet dripped down my backside. “You’ll live…if you get home in time. Unfortunately, I need you to keep these scars, Nesta Archeron. A lovely reminder of our deal.”

We watched as I struggled to lift myself up. I stood naked before him, his masked features scanning over my gaunt frame. Observing the ribs that poked out of me, the gaunt winter size all my sisters had grown used to this time of year.

“May I have your cloak at least?” I said through gritted teeth, glancing to the dirty ribbons of fabric that once formed my clothing. Thick, warm crimson caressed down my back, dripping onto the forest floor.

How I could survive this—how I could lose this much blood and not die was beyond me. Maybe it was the pain I felt, the remaining throbs of agony that reminded me I was alive—maybe that’s what kept me going.

“No,” he said with a sinister tone. “Consider this retribution for being so cruel to your own blood.”

Cassian’s roar emptied out of him, shaking my nimble bones as it echoed around us. His nostrils flaring as his siphons radiated across the trees of my memory. I pressed my freezing palm into his bronze skin, his siphons dulled in color but his breathing remained uneven as he continued observing.

I stepped forward, shoving the surprised Tamlin, while pulling the blade from his belt. I lifted the keen dagger and pointed it to his neck. “Your cloak…” I demanded.

Tamlin’s devious laughter bounced between the ancient trees. He untied the garment, handing it over as if I were a predator. His palms raised upwards as a joke, trembling dramatically. Both knowing he could easily kill me.

I covered myself with his emerald green cloak. It was nothing but a decorative cover, it would barely keep the cold out once I crossed the wall. Tamlin pointed to the trees I had entered between, several yards south. I hesitated at first, wondering if he would murder me once my back was turned.

“I promise to take good care of her, Nesta,” he cooed from behind me.

My spine stiffened at hearing his voice, followed by his heartless laughter. After a small delay to catch my breath, I headed through the maze of trees and into the falling snow.

The vision ended, leaving me and Cassian standing in the dusty rose-colored library, staring out the massive arched windows. His clenched fists turned white, shaking with rage.

I couldn’t look at him, for the shame coursing through me wouldn’t allow it. “I tried, I tried on more than one occasion to retrieve my sister. As hard as that is to believe. I may be cold, covered with barbed edges…” I swallowed the painful lump in my throat, “…but she’s my sister.” My bloodless face contorted with hurt and guilt, tears threatening to plunge from their captivity, “I failed her.”

“He touched you…” Cassian could barely get the words out, his tongue caught with fury. “He was going to let you die,” his hoarse voice going absolutely guttural as his lips curled into a snarl. Cassian focused on his glimmering siphons, his brows drawn together as he fought his inner demons.

“Yes,” I breathed. I knew Tamlin would too--without hesitation, without remorse.

Cassian faced me, his whole-body trembling with unused power. His hazel shields blazed with an unsettling rage. Even in battle, I had never seen him look so deadly than in this moment.

I’ve watched him shred enemies into ribbons, endlessly dance with death and continue fighting even after he was nearly torn apart. But none of that…none of those heart wrenching moments could prepare me for what I saw in him now.

His body stilled with burning fury. The promise of an ending so brutal--ignited in his eyes.

“Don’t,” my shaking jaw made him stop, made him unravel on the spot. I raised my head to look up at him, “he lost her, she found love—true love. She tore apart his entire kingdom…” I paused to release a held breath. “Feyre, took everything away from him that he ever loved. There is nothing more to be done.”

The muscles in his cheeks fluttered, his jaw tightening in defiance. “I can think of a few things,” he growled. Cassian’s obsidian waves drifted over his brow as he took a deep breath through his nose.

“I, I can’t,” I stuttered, my jaw still quaking in protest. “I can’t lose you…” I finally spoke, raspy and barely above a whisper. “I can’t lose you,” I said repeating myself.

Every thought that ran through him stopped. Cassian’s entire body stiffened then relaxed as he studied me; even his vengeful eyes softened as he took in my appearance. Swallowing the details of emotions no one else would ever see.

My chin tucked down, I studied his ashen covered boots. “Especially not to him,” I said under my breath. “I will not lose anyone else to him.”

Cassian observed me, his eyes searching before wrapping his discolored hand around mine, pulling me into him. Our bodies gently colliding, I felt my blood curl towards the surface—wanting more. I was taken back by this, by comfort.

I released a shaky breath into his broad torso. The longer, the tighter he held me the more my emotions rattled inside, shedding itself free of my control. Cassian held me so close I lost composure, unleashing the saved-up cry I had contained within myself for so long. I had never had this, someone who cared for me like this.

The more I thought about it, the worse I felt. I collapsed into him further, amber tears dripped down his scaled armor, leaving him unscathed. Cassian rubbed my back, lightly touching the scars that tainted me. I could feel foreign water drip onto my bare shoulder. Droplets sliding down the markings, carving a path through my indigo gown.

“He’ll never hurt you again,” Cassian’s calloused fingers paused on the small of my back.

“He can’t now--I’ll incinerate him.” I replied, swiftly wiping the tears from my flushed cheeks.

Cassian chuckled, gently pressing his lips on the top of my head. “Flaming beauty,” he murmured against my hair.

I held onto him, as odd as the sensation seemed—it felt right. Like our bodies were sculpted to perfectly fit with one another. I was fire, he was oxygen—together we rose and danced and we would do it together until we were one. I wasn’t sure how long we were standing this way, intertwined.

Tears of despair dried, my wandering fingertips traced his muscular shoulders and down his back. I stopped above his hips, sinking my nails into his Illyrian leathers before sliding them up his sculpted back again. I paused where his wings and flesh met. The only opening in his scaled armor.

Curiosity, sadness, longing—maybe a bit of all three…I gently grazed my fingertips against him. I could feel myself press into his muscular body as I reached higher.

Cassian loosened a breath, a shudder pulsed against me as I let my fingers drift over his expanding wings. A deep moan escaped him as I lingered over a sensitive spot. His firm hands gripped my hips, squeezing as I continued drifting along his scarred wing.

I inhaled him, breathing out my own desires. Another stroke and I felt my insides melt, forming a damp spot in my lingerie. I was drunk off his scent, breathing in more of him as I pressed further. Cassian’s growing staff throbbed against me. I leaned my head away, opening my neck to him. The anticipation building, his lips nearing my petal-soft skin. I released my held breath, a subtle moan escaping me.

Cassian’s nostrils flared, his pupils dilated as he leaned in. Carnal kisses along my neck triggered the flames within. Our breathing heavy as his careful hands moved from my hips, sliding up the back of my ribs. Feeling my nipples peak against his Illyrian leathers, I wondered if he could feel them.

A painful bite followed by the flicker of his tongue had me gasping for air. I couldn’t control myself, the hunger that drove me. All thought, all rationality seeped out of my pores—falling off of me as my tears had done. I should stop, I needed to stop but I couldn’t. My free hand trailed down his chest, heading towards the brim of his black pants. More, more, more.

“Nesta,” he breathed heavily, pulling his luscious lips away while his fumbling hand found mine tracing circles along his wing. Slowly bringing both of my hands back to us, he held my palms to his chest as he leaned his forehead against mine. “Forgive me,” Cassian hesitated, unable to look at me, “you deserve more than this.”

We stood in silence, listening to our breathing even out again.

“It’s time to wake up,” I told him, looking up at him while brushing his own droplets away with my thumbs. I couldn’t help but feel that I crossed the line with him. That I shouldn’t have pushed him—maybe he didn’t want it. This. I felt responsible for losing control. “I’m…”

His eyes shot open, unveiling more to me than I had ever seen. Frustration, longing, hope, pain, desire, anger. So many emotions flooding out of him at once. “Don’t. Don’t say sorry,” Cassian’s gruff voice was barely audible as he pulled his head away.

“Cassian,” I started then quickly subsided as he raised a thick brow at me. My lips pressed together, keeping my overflow of words to myself.

“Don’t.” Cassian gently lifted my chin to look at me. He softly pressed his lips into my cheek, “thank you for coming back to me.” Cassian whispered in my pointed ear, caressing me with the gentle touch of his long fingers against my neck. “For fighting for…” his husky voice failed him, “for…” his lips grazed the tip of my ear, “for us--for me.”

I didn’t say anything, not a word as I squeezed his battered hand and took a deep breath in--releasing him from my mind.

Shouting penetrated through the roaring flames. Familiar voices booming across the smoky room as I opened my gray-blue eyes. Frantically, I looked for Cassian, for the Illyrian general who saved me—the warrior who was constantly buying me more time in this life.

“Where is he?” I croaked, but they didn’t hear me. Each of them focused on their own section of hell. The flames grew higher, I scanned the room again.

“Where is he?!” I yelled over them, my voice shaking the entire room to silence. Even the ancient flames shuddered in my wake.

“With the healers,” Amren shouted—drowning the flames with a wave of water only to have them rise higher. “Gods-damn,” she muttered through clenched teeth.

I stood, as naked as my arrival, in a pile of ashes. Amren, Rhysand and Feyre struggled to contain the fire. My bedroom was not the only place the icy flames attacked. They shot out of the windows, threatening to attach themselves to the rest of Velaris.

Their yelling continued, creating a game plan to extinguish the unbeatable fire. I looked between them, the three strongest High Fae’s in Prythian—even they would not survive this. Velaris would not survive this. I focused on the flames, feeling every battling tendril as if they were my own fingers. My brows drew together, connecting the flames to one another and then to myself.

“Nesta!” Rhysand’s gravelly voice was meant to stop me, to wake me.

But I am awake, living a nightmare that would destroy any shred of humanity I had left within me.

I pushed them out of the room with a burst of light, threatening to burn them if they tried to be heroic.

Feyre reached for me, for the flames, “no!”

Rhysand grabbed Feyre by her waist, pulling her back into the blackened hallway.

I sent another burst of white light to blind them.

“Hold it together,” Amren whispered to me, her silver eyes flickering through the smoke. “Breathe. Keep breathing, girl.” she instructed.

The flames circled around me, faster and faster—cutting off my oxygen supply as they seeped back into the core they had fled.

My breathing stopped, so did my heart. I took one last look at him, searching through walls and closed doors until I found him. Mor held her shaking hand to her mouth, sobbing over him. Several healers surrounded him with glowing palms.

“Focus on the wings,” Thesan ordered while leading the healers in repairing the extensive damage.

Cassian’s bronze flesh burnt, his wings ruined with sections of scarlet holes. Melted flesh and crimson wounds throughout.

“Breathe,” Amren muttered. “Damn it!” Amren flung her hands forward, flooding the room with tendrils of raging water to separate the circling flames around me. Nothing. Nothing would be able to put this out but me.

I could only focus on the damage, his body—wings. I took away his wings. Tears pooled, threatening to break free.

“No! Nesta!” Feyre screamed as Rhysand held her back. She flung ice and water—nothing worked. Emptying herself to free me. It wouldn’t work. Rhysand and Feyre held their hands out alongside Amren, emptying themselves to free me. “NO!” Feyre cried out, tears streaming down her face.

Rhysand tried to press against my shields, tearing at my mental walls to save me.

I wouldn’t let him in. Any of them.

Wall after wall slammed down in front of his black talons. I had practiced with Amren--spent hours perfecting the ability to keep people out. I would not let him in.

My family’s shouting, begging me to stop—to let them help only distracted me. I lifted my shaking palm, sweat dripping down my temples and neck as I felt the power build. I nearly collapsed as I blocked them with another gust of unbearable light. Their bodies slammed into the wall as my vision began to fail me.

I could only stare at him, at his scorched wings and I could have sworn he saw me. That he looked directly at me, the burning copper ponds widening as he twitched his melted hand towards me.

The last flickering flame entered my unmoving chest, unable to keep my eyes off of him, I fell. The image of Cassian blurred into a swarm of colors, as I collapsed into the pile of ashes. I watched as my family’s shapes flung towards me, as their blurred images raised me from the ground.

Smoke cleared out of the room, towards the gaping hole in the side of the townhouse. As the black smoke rose, I shifted, I sunk—drowning in the darkness I could no longer escape.

I wandered through an endless dark room, from one end to the other. Hybern did not haunt me, whispering shadows did not follow. It was only me, trapped in a sea of black. Drowning in a sorrow that I could no longer escape. It was here that every thought berated me, every action trapped me and every…every ounce of loss corrupted me.

If there is a heaven or hell, if that’s what these Faes believe in. I can tell you exactly where I belong. Seated beside the monsters of this realm and the next.

“How long?” Mor asked, her voice borderline malicious.

“Two weeks.” Cassian replied coldly into his clasped hands.

“Will she ever wake?” Feyre asked, her shallow voice cracked as she leaned her head into Rhysand’s chest.

“Yes.” Elain responded, her voice unwavering as she reached for Feyre’s shoulder.

The whispering shadows surrounding Azriel sung in agreement.

Mor tugged at Cassian’s bandaged arm, “C’mon, you need a break. You need to rest.”

“No.” He replied, pulling his wrapped arm out of her grasp.

“Cassian…” Mor began to argue.

“No…” Cassian murmured, “Nesta wouldn’t leave me—us.” His voice hardened, “she’ll wake up when she’s damn well ready.” The room remained silent as he whispered to himself, “she’ll wake up.”

I could feel his hazel eyes penetrate my skin. Waiting.

Cassian.

My heart thumped, gaining momentum as I felt him brush his healed thumb over my frigid cheek bone.

“Come back to me,” his broken whisper rang in my ears. Cassian mumbled his plea again and again until I felt myself fade into the swallowing pit.

I didn’t know how to wake up, but I would crawl out of this forsaken hole. Just to see him, to say…I don’t know. I would have to figure it out once I saw him. Maybe I would start by telling him he should have listened when I told him to leave me. That he should have not been so damned stubborn. That I’m sorry, so incredibly sorry for damaging him.

Days and nights, I couldn’t tell how long I had been in this dark prison. He said two weeks, but how long since then? I couldn’t see my hands, I didn’t dare set off the flames. In fear, I would tap into whatever awful magic I now possessed.

“Nesta?” Rhysand called to me. Every day he would try to speak to me and I would ignore him. Until he stopped coming altogether. I didn’t blame him, if the circumstances were reversed, I would give space too. But things were different now.

“Rhysand?” I turned my head towards the area I heard his voice, running towards him.

His palms lit up with a bronze glow, “cauldron be damned,” he muttered, staring at the endless pit of black.

I shielded my eyes from the penetrating light. “What?” I retorted, looking around to stabilize my vision; searching for hidden demons beside us.

“Your head is darker than I imagined it would be and not in a fun way,” he purred.

I ignored his comment. “He’s alive?” Searching his cosmic eyes, I dug into his mind for answers only to be shut out by a crushing, spiked metal wall.

I tried to go into his mind. I pushed, I…How?

“Yes,” he smirked. “You’ll need more practice if you think you can get into my thoughts that easily,” Rhysand noted with a raised, sharp brow.

I ignored him again, frustrated that he was right. “Is he…? Will he ever…?” I paused catching my breath, “can he…?” I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t get his name off my tongue. There were too many questions I wanted to ask.

“Nesta, he’s alive. Safe.” Rhysand’s empathetic expression made my shoulders slump. He stood beside me, a column of muscles and magic--his hair fading into the deep.

“I didn’t mean…” I looked away from him, shaking my head, “are his wings…?”

Rhysand’s face sobered, his flickering irises met mine. “Damaged. But healing.”

I nearly cried in relief. “Rhysand…?” I asked, struggling once again. My mouth, mind and heart sparring with one another.

“Hm?” He waited patiently.

I bit the inside of my cheek till I drew blood, “I need to see him. I need to wake up.”

“Before you do, answer me this...” he paused, waiting for my eyes to connect with his. “Why would you sacrifice yourself to save the people you loathe? The very species you despise?”

“Family.” I raised my head, straightening my back and carving my words with truth. “This is the only family I have left. I would tear myself apart if it meant saving you all.”

Rhysand stayed quiet for a minute--processing--I assumed. A slow smile, one I had never witnessed before, spread across his lips. “Seems you fit in more than you think.”

With a loud snap of his fingers, I woke up.

Rhysand was nowhere to be seen. No one was in the emerald bedroom to my relief, I don’t think I could face them, not yet.

My body stiffened as I saw Mor come out of the shadows. Her stunning, ruthless face was one that nearly caused me to flinch. Mor’s braided golden hair draped down her spine, her Illyrian fighting leathers forming to her perfectly curved figure.

“You could have killed him,” her icy voice threatened to crush me. The depths of her fawn colored eyes darkened.

“I know,” my voice sounded so far away, hollow. I barely recognized myself.

Mor’s expression twisted, her tongue made of steel. “After you take his life, who will be next? I’d like to have a fighting chance at saving them before you incinerate all of Velaris. Of my home.”

I couldn’t say anything. I only watched her fists clench and unclench, trembling.

“Stay the hell away. Or I’ll gut you with my bare hands.”

I didn’t reply. Even as she closed the door, I remained silent. I was too broken to cry, so I packed. Pulling a chestnut leather satchel from beneath the bed, I shoved as much clothing and supplies that I could think of. My fingers brushing against the Gryphon my father carved. Instead of taking it with me, I left it on the windowsill.

I changed into auburn colored trousers and a plain cream tunic, free of ornamentation. Wherever I was going, it would probably be best to not have the typical Night Court fashions on. Finally, I looked at the boots Cassian had given me. The only materialistic thing I truly wanted. I hurriedly laced them up, they molded to my feet--absolute perfection.

A swirling feeling of guilt and remorse circled into my gut. I waited, listening until the hall was clear before exiting the bedroom. I shut my door, not making a sound in the early morning.

Before I left, I needed to see him. I would leave without looking back but I needed to tell him why I must go and why I woke up.

I crept through the hallway, passing Rhysand and Feyre’s room, then Elain’s bedroom. I only hoped they could forgive me, forget me. I didn’t need much convincing that it was better this way.

“She could have killed you, Cassian.” Mor wrapped clean bandages around the patches of burnt flesh on his arm.

“I’m still alive. The unstoppable Illyrian warrior.” He joked with a wince as he adjusted on the soft bed that was meant to hold Illyrian wings.

“Stop it,” Mor hissed. “You could have been killed, do you understand that?”

“I’m fine, Mor. Honestly.” Cassian sighed as he found a comfortable spot. “The healers are coming back later today for another session. Thesan said I would make a full recovery. I’ll be brand new.” He paused at her silence, her lack of color, “you all can call me, Cassian, The Invincible Illyrian God.”

“This isn’t the first time either,” she ignored his reply as she moved to work on cleaning his bloody wings. “You have almost died three times, lost your wings three times…because of her.”

“It’s not her fault,” he snapped, a low growl leaving his lips as Mor washed his remaining wounds.

Mor shook her head, her hands working feverously, “you’re willing to die for her?”

“Yes,” Cassian answered without hesitation.

“This human girl who despises you?” She asked incredulously.

Cassian’s voice lowered, “she’s not human, not anymore...” He dropped his head onto the feathered pillow, emitting another wince as Mor progressed down his wing.

She released a frustrated sigh along with the bloody washcloth. “I will not lose any more of my family members.” Mor picked up a bundle of clean cloths, untangling them into neat strips before applying them to his wounds.

“You won’t,” he replied softly as she placed new bandages on him.

She looked at him curiously before focusing on his chest. “Do you love her?” Mor asked with venom on the tip of her tongue.

“Do you love me?” Cassian asked quietly, pressing his hand on hers to make her stop working. The onyx waves pulled out of his bun as he lifted his head off the pillow. Every strand I could hear, every movement no matter how miniscule—I could hear.

Mor’s head shot up, her brown eyes widening. “What?”

“Do you love me?”

I couldn’t listen anymore, I couldn’t breathe. My shattered heart sunk, sinking into the sea like Hybern’s ships. Sinking into the cauldron like I had months ago. He still loves her. I’m a fool to have thought otherwise. To have wanted someone like him. Bastard.

I slung over the satchel, retreating from the end of the hallway and hurried down to the kitchen. He could never love someone made of ice and spite, his own words stuck to me like molasses or honey—no, like tar or poisonous sludge. I should applaud him, for playing me such a fool.

I am nothing but a fire-wielding-gryphon fool.

I flung open the kitchen door, using more force than necessary.

Bea jumped as the door slammed into the stone wall. “Ne, Nesta, Emissary…I, I mean…” she bowed swiftly, careful not to drip the contents off her spoon.

“It’s alright,” my heart quickened. She wasn’t supposed to be here. It was too early. “My apologies, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

Bea’s smile revealed raven spikes for teeth, “If you’re hungry, I suggest you wait. I’m making a special breakfast. One for you, actually. Elain wanted me to make all of your favorites.”

“Oh…Thank you…” I straightened my posture, looking down at the table only to see red. Pomegranates, rose petals, meat and brilliant ruby apples. Everything was red. I could feel a small twitch in the corner of my left eye. The swelling of nightmares rushing towards me. I needed to leave, to run.

She continued stirring the contents of a deep cast-iron pot, her bulbous black eyes looked at my satchel that was half hidden behind me. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” I replied honestly. I looked up from the counter, the heartless images swarmed in view.

“South?” Bea guessed while tasting what looked to be a thick cranberry sauce.

It sounded as good as any direction. South, it is. “Yes.” My stomach gurgled as previous demons stepped into view.

I was trapped, drowning from the ongoing downpour. I stood watching the muddy field of monsters and men colliding. One in particular, the bastard general commander of the Night Court armies, held my attention.

Piercing and slicing into enemies on the front lines with one hand of Illyrian steel, the other sending out blasts of power that shredded everything in its wake. My thunderous pulse rose over the noise of the battlefield. I couldn’t look away, fearing if I did—something would happen to him.

I had overheard Mor and Feyre discussing Cassian and war. Something about a symphony. That this was his symphony. However, as true as her statement was…there was something else in his fighting that held my gaze.

Beneath the scaled Illyrian leathers, beneath the scarred golden-brown skin—I saw his heart. With every soul taken, with every death dealing blow…I saw his unwavering heart. Why he fought, why he continued cutting down enemies. The bits of his soul that poured out of him as mud splattered and crimson stained him.

Cassian glanced over, seeing a shadow in the distance. Me. A smirk lighting his drained face, he continued. Pushing forward towards the broken line with more spark, more edge than just a moment ago.

I felt sick, blood draining from my face as I watched him launch forward. A younger, less familiar Illyrian soldier fell. An ash arrow in each wing, he plummeted towards Keir’s broken line.

The youngling’s eyes lit with horror as he watched the enemy’s sword strike down towards him. Cassian barreled himself forward, blocking the young warrior just in time. Scarlet dripped out of Cassian’s torso, squirting out of him as the blade was dragged out of his body.

“No, no…” I trembled with fear. “Cassian!” I had screamed for him, over and over, “Cassian!!” I screamed for Mor and Azriel—for them to reach him. I had to reach him. I had to…

“Nesta? Are you alright?” Bea set down the wooden spoon, the sudden noise bringing me back to the present.

I nodded, feeling the talons prick the skin on my fingertips.

“Avoid the Autumn Court, probably the Spring Court too. And just to be safe, maybe even the Summer Court. I’m not sure how well they’ve recovered from Hybern’s attacks.” Bea informed, adjusting her apron before stirring the pot again.

“The Autumn Court wasn’t attacked,” I replied sternly, a scowl growing on my face as I fought to stay present in the conversation.

“No. They’re just cruel,” she stopped stirring to look up at me, “very, very cruel.” Her obsidian eyes dulled as she looked behind my shoulder, clearly trapped in a memory.

I wanted to look over my shoulder, to see what she saw but I knew all too. What nightmares must lurk beneath her skin?

“Do you have any advice?” I asked while sneaking several pieces of dragon egg fruit and bread into my satchel. “Besides avoiding the Autumn Court, of course.”

“Avoid Suriels, Nagas and the Incysis.” Bea picked up her spoon, returning to the bubbling cranberry sauce.

“Incysis?”

“They make Nagas look harmless. They belong to no court, one of the ancient beings they’ve never been able to capture. Hunting and slaughtering its victims to only eat their hearts out. They strike at night, when your heart is soft, and still.”

I inhaled deeply through my nostrils, realizing I was going to have one hell of a journey. “What do they look like?”

“You.” She stopped stirring the pot as I flinched. Noticing my apparent movement, “they take on your appearance and your voice, then they attack. Nasty things.”

I nodded my head once, retreating toward the swinging door.

“Will I see you again, Nesta?” Bea asked, hope lingering behind her words.

I stopped halfway to glance back at her, feeling heavier than before. I shook my head.

Bea nodded in understanding, “I hope you find peace.”

“Goodbye, Bea.” I looked at her, unable to smile. Each step felt like closing another chapter. My hands clasped the moving door to a standstill, “thank you again—for everything.” I replied, letting the swinging door go behind me.

The narrow set of stairs led me back to the hallway in between the dining room and sitting room. I quietly moved towards the entry way, my hand curling around the golden door knob as I took a deep breath. I wanted to peek back, I should have but I was scared I wouldn’t leave them if I did.

I replayed Mor’s icy words in my head, opening the room to a flood of sunlight. “Goodbye,” I closed the door behind me. Several feet down the cobbled street and I forced myself to look. I had to. Just in case…

Mor stood at the window, in between the silver and violet curtains. Her head raised, looking down on me from the room Cassian was healing in. I stared for only a brief moment before turning on my heel and heading south.

Navigating through Velaris was difficult enough, but traveling through miles and miles of woods only brought back the horrors I endured in the Spring Court. Clammy palms, accelerated heartrate and the tiny hairs on my neck standing high. How many fears would I have before I broke? Before I crumbled within myself and never returned?

I focused on my steps, listening to my surroundings for unwelcome visitors--predators. Nothing but the wind carrying itself through leaves. Guilt surged within, every thought leading back to abandoning my sisters—my family. I bit the inside of my cheek, reminding myself of this morning’s events. Mor was right. As much as it killed me to agree with that blond bitch—she was absolutely right. Who would be next?

Walking all day does something to you, it makes you tired and thirsty and it’s boring as hell after the first three hours. I trekked onward, keeping south according to the compass I borrowed. Absolutely unsure of where I would go, what I would do with my life. I had never had the option of starting over before.

Useless thoughts of Cassian would come and go, mostly come and never disappear until I would curse out loud. Bastard. I should have known better. I should have seen it; he loved Mor. They had centuries together before I was even born. How could I have not seen that before letting him in? Why did I let him in?

“What is a pretty little Archeron doing so close to the Night Court border?”

My head shot up, seeing one, two…three heads of scarlet suns walk out from behind thick trunks of pine trees. They had me circled. Shit.

“I could ask the same of you. Don’t you know what happens to trespassers here?” My eyes burned as my voice penetrated them like a hundred daggers. Carnelian light filtered around my darkening irises as I stared them down.

The one in the middle--in front of me, I knew him. Eris Vanserra. The Autumn Court.

“Trespassers?” Eris laughed darkly, his amber eyes flickered with curiosity, “brothers, are we trespassing?” His flaming hair flowed just past his shoulders. A scarlet-orange beard had grown in since the last time I had seen him.

“No—I don’t believe so.” The second eldest brother chimed in with a heinous, scratchy voice. Scars, this brother was covered in scars and dusted with freckles.

The men circled me. Images of the Naga filtered in, I shook my head to clear my past. I needed to focus. Cassian and Azriel’s training kicked in. I dropped my leather bag, raising my fists--waiting for their attack. “Don’t,” I started, watching them edge closer with each step.

Eris winnowed forward, “King Slayer, Cauldron Thief…not to mention Emissary. We have quite the catch, brothers.” He barely made a noise as he stepped through a heavy layer of pine needles and rocks.

They stalked closer, the youngest two laughed with no humor. Their reckoning brown irises made me shudder. Tomas. It was the same hunger, same disturbing desires that swarmed in his eyes.

I tightened my fists, I would not go down. I am not weak.

Eris moved in faster than his brothers, winnowing forward again. His lips curled as he approached me. Eris the hunter, which only meant I was the prey…or the beast.

An otherworldly blaze radiated from my eyes as they widened. “Stay away,” I gritted my teeth, sending my fist into his jaw. He didn’t falter. The only way I knew I even hit him was the screaming my knuckles made.

“Don’t lead them on, girl.” Eris whispered, his eyes conveying more than I cared to listen to.

“Sorry…” the youngest out of the three laughed, throwing chains around me.

I hesitated looking away from Eris then down to the blue chains that caged my arms and torso. They were different—blistering cold. Wrong, they felt sickeningly wrong.

“Seriously?” I barked, trying to break free. I tried to set fire to the already building flames, to blast the overpowering white light, to transform—anything and everything I had but it didn’t work. “What is this?!” I snarled, feeling the dangerous cold seep into my skin. The molten behind my eyes faded, extinguished by whatever contained me.

Eris didn’t smile, instead he looked bored and frustrated with my ignorance to this world. “Faebane. A little tricky to get out of. Even for you.”

I could feel my racing heart scream, beg. “Release me,” I demanded, still fighting the chains of ancient ice.

Eris’ brothers laughed as I struggled, their taunting lips twitched upwards.

“I can’t do that,” Eris replied with a wicked smirk.

His massive hand wrapped around my forearm. I tried to pull away, to fight but he only gripped tighter.

Eris leaned in, his voice so quiet I could barely hear him, “quit fighting, you will only tempt them more.” He pulled away, laughing.

He was laughing at the horror spreading across my face. Laughing at how helpless I had become within seconds.

“Father will want his turn with this one.” The youngest brother snickered as the middle brother nodded in agreement.

I looked between them, screaming before I even realized who I was calling, “Cassian!”

Eris tried to contain me but I pushed and pulled—bucking my legs in the process. I tried to break free from his grasp, “Cassian!!” I shouted until my throat burned, until tears threatened to flee. “CASS!!” I bellowed before Eris covered my mouth, clamping so hard it hurt.

“Play nice, Nesta.” Eris seethed with fiery amber eyes. He loosened his grip, leaving an impression of his hand behind.

I breathed heavily through my nose as Eris held his hand away from me. Watching, waiting.

“CASSIAN!” I screamed only to fall. The noise from his backhanded slap echoed through the trees. I hit the ground hard, feeling my breath escape me. White lights flashed first, until the darkness seeped into view.

“Goodnight, King Slayer.”

In case you missed the previous parts...

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

257 notes · View notes