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the-lonelybarricade · 2 years

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A Court of Faded Dreams: Chapter 50

Chapter title: Always Changing, Always Flowing

Fic summary: In her grief after Rhys sacrifices himself to restore the Cauldron, Feyre accidentally sends herself back in time. Back in her human body, in her early days in the Spring Court, Feyre must be careful how she alters the timeline as she tries to save Rhys and Prythian from Under the Mountain.

Surprise!!! All my love and gratitutde to @noirshadow for being my beta and staying so patient and supportive <33 Thank you for all of your help!

Read on AO3 ⟡ A Court of Faded Dreams Masterlist

Her sisters did not come up.

Feyre stared at the flat surface of that black, inky water, willing their heads to surface. Searching for even a bubble to rise over the too still waterline, if only to let her know that they were still under there. That the Cauldron hadn’t swallowed them whole and left nothing to mourn.

She surged towards the Cauldron, prepared to wade through the liquid herself if it meant finding her sisters. But a strong hand caught Feyre around the wrist and tugged, reversing her momentum with little effort. Feyre stumbled into a warm, broad chest, and her knees finally collapsed, buckling beneath the weight of everything she had carried. Everything she had worked so hard to avoid, crumbling to pieces before her eyes.

Rhysand held her close, half-carrying Feyre as she sobbed into his chest.

“What’s going to happen to them?” His cold, hard question was directed towards Jurian.

“I don’t know,” the human general answered, sounding shell-shocked himself. “I don’t…”

“Get away from her,” Mor hissed. Feyre raised her head from Rhysand’s chest to see that Jurian had stepped towards Miryam, dark eyes fixed on the blood that still trickled from her nose. Alive, at least for now.

Rage twisted his otherwise handsome face. “Are you planning to leave her on the floor, then?”

“If you let us go, we can take her to a healer,” Mor said, sword raised as she stood protectively between Miryam and Jurian.

“He’s already worked his spell,” Jurian spat. “You can’t leave this castle unless the King wills it.”

Azriel crouched into a fighting stance, prepared to slaughter the human—ally or not—if he made so much as a move against Mor.

“And even if I could let you leave,” Jurian went on, that rage turning sharper. He tipped his chin towards the Cauldron, where Nesta and Elain had been under far longer than any human could hold their breath. “Would you choose to leave them behind?”

Those footsteps were louder, now, nearly to the chamber. Jurian bared his teeth. “Think quickly, Morrigan. He’ll be here any minute.”

“Feyre darling.” Rhys tucked his lips against her temple in a gesture that mimicked soothing, so that no one would notice as he whispered, “The second your sisters come out of the Cauldron, you’re going to cleave the wards, and we’re going to winnow everyone out. Just like you told me you did last time. Okay?”

If they came out of the Cauldron, she wanted to say. But she didn’t let herself give merit to that voice.

They had to come out. They had to.

So instead she nodded, stifling another sob against her mate’s chest, pulling strength from him as she began to thrash against the ancient chains that coiled around her magic.

“The tides have certainly changed for you, Rhysand,” Jurian called. “A mated male. Last I saw you, Amar—”

“Finish that sentence, and you’ll lose your tongue,” Azriel warned, voice whetted with quiet, lethal rage.

Jurian gave a hollow laugh. “Just as perky as I remember, Azriel.”

Heavy, strolling steps echoed down the chamber. Feyre didn’t dare turn her face towards the entrance, already knowing who those steps belonged to from the way Rhysand tensed. The cruel, hateful face of the King of Hybern was one already etched into her nightmares.

“Treating our guests well, Jurian?” The King asked in place of announcing his arrival. “And—oh? What’s this?”

The stone beneath them began to tremble. Rhys tugged Feyre closer, prepared to use his own physical body as a shield to protect her. That thought made her push harder against the spell that bound their magic, desperately clawing her way towards its source.

Then—it was as though the entire room erupted.

If not for Rhys holding her steady, Feyre would have stumbled from the burst of wind that fled the chamber, the accompanying boom so deafening that she could not discern when it had faded. Was it still reverberating off the walls, or was that just the trembling of her bones? Was it still echoing off the stone, or was that ringing a silent song only for her ears?

Numbly, she whipped her head to see that the Cauldron had been tipped over by some invisible force. Water came pouring out in a cascade, spilling over the chamber floor. Black, smoke-coated water.

Elain and Nesta, as though they’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown. They were soaking wet, what little of their skin revealed by the Illyrian leathers they bore had turned a deathly pale color. But Elain sucked in a breath, and Nesta began coughing up air and water as she pushed onto her elbows. Alive, alive, alive—and… as they raised their faces, the faelight caught on their soft glowing skin and their delicately pointed ears. Fae.

“Incredible,” the King of Hybern murmured.

Knowing they were alive—that was all Feyre needed for her power to finally explode. She pushed past those hands that were clamped down on her power, unleashing it into the room in a flash of pure white light, all that could escape with the damper from the King’s spell.

It burst into the chamber, sending the King and Jurian hissing as they shielded their faces away. And Rhysand was instantly moving, darting towards her sisters as Feyre reached deep within Day’s light until she found that purifying, clear power. She used that light to wipe through every physical trapping, let it show her the snarls of spells and glamorous, guiding her through the King’s spell as she burned brighter, looking, looking—

And there, buried deep inside the bone-walls of the castle, were the tightly woven wards. Feyre sent that blinding light flaring once more, blinding the room as she severed the wards at their ancient arteries.

She shouted, and as the light died she could see Rhysand and her sisters had disappeared. The King began snapping orders, and Feyre could feel his magic already scrambling to reseal the wards. There was a blur of movement in the corner of her eye, and Feyre turned to see Azriel moving protectively in front of Mor as she gathered Miryam into her arms. With a flick of his wrist, a knife sliced through the air, headed straight towards the King as Mor and Miryam vanished into smoke. Feyre willed the world to fold around herself, trusting Azriel to use his momentary distraction to do the same.

Those hazel eyes found hers. Go, they screamed, his lips curled back into a snarl. Feyre knew he wouldn’t leave until she was safe. On the vow that he had made to Rhysand this morning, but also on the vow that he had made to Feyre on the night she had been sworn in as High Lady. I will serve and protect.

Shadows closed around her, and just as the world had nearly slipped away entirely, Jurian fired an ashbolt straight through Azriel’s chest.

Wind and shadow carried Feyre only as far as her magic could withstand. She estimated she must have covered half the distance between Hybern and Velaris before she stumbled out of the sky somewhere in the middle of the Western sea. Too drained to summon anything that could slow her descent, she hurdled through the air and crashed into the dark, awaiting ocean.

Deep, deep below the surface, the world was quieter. She could still hear the ringing in her ears, but it was subdued beneath layers of ocean water and the rush of air bubbles surfacing around her. Feyre drifted, unconvinced she would even have the strength to kick herself up let alone swim to land. This was how it would end, she thought miserably. Not by Hybern, not by War, or Fate, or Time. But by slowly sinking into the quiet abyss that grew deeper and darker beneath her.

Feyre, Rhys called desperately through the bond. Feyre, where are you? Did you make it out?

Those mental talons brushed against her mental walls, begging to be let in. As she continued to sink down, she felt Rhysand tug at the bond, gently at first and then with increasing vigor. Feyre, he whispered, yanking so hard that more air bubbles fled her lips. Feyre, please.

She opened her eyes and angled her head up towards that dying, ever distant light. It was like being back Under the Mountain, she thought distantly. Feeling that tug toward the light, knowing if she let herself drift towards that darkness there would be peace at last.

But not for Rhysand. Not for her mate, who would have lost Feyre and Azriel in the same failed mission. Not for her sisters, who would have traded their humanity in vain. Not for Azriel, who sacrificed himself so she could escape.

Sometimes it’s just about having resilience after you’ve been beaten down.

For them, Feyre willed her feet to kick. Again and again, even as her lungs blistered with need, even as her vision went spotty and every motion in her body became agonizing, Feyre kept clawing towards that light.

Just as she was about to break the surface, something heavy slammed into her. Whatever precious air she was conserving punched out of her lungs, replaced instead with a flood of seawater that had her choking. The last thing she registered was a hand wrapping around her shoulders before everything went dark.

She awoke to a burning heat on her face. Feyre blinked against the too-bright light, raising a stiff arm over her face in an attempt to spare herself from its intensity. She was laying on top of sun-bathed wooden boards, below a cloudless blue sky. She was on a ship—if the sound of the crashing ocean waves and cawing seabirds were anything to go by.

Slowly, Feyre sat up, wincing against her throbbing headache and aching bones to search her surroundings, looking for Rhys. Had he found her? Taken her aboard a ship and…

“Oh, good! You’re awake,” chirped a lovely, lilted voice. A female walked across the deck, holding a canteen that Feyre prayed was full of water. Her throat felt like she had swallowed sandpaper.

But more importantly—Rhys. Feyre couldn’t feel their bond. And if he was on board, he would have been here. Especially after the way he had been reaching for her, begging for her.

“Rhysand,” Feyre rasped, feeling nothing as she reached inside for that familiar golden thread that interwove their souls. “Where is he?”

“Not here,” the faerie said sympathetically.

And it wasn’t just the bond that refused to answer. The well of power, once as deep and vast as the ocean they rocked over, was gone. Sealed behind a pane of glass she couldn’t break, no matter how she banged against its surface. “My magic—Why can’t I feel my magic?”

“We had our healer look at you, but we were limited in supplies. She said the biggest thing you needed was rest, and faebane is an effective sedative in a pinch—we’d just stolen a cache off one of Hybern’s ships.”

All Feyre could think of was Rhysand, feeling their bond go mute and fearing the worst.

“How long have I been asleep?” she rasped.

“Over an entire day,” the female answered. She plopped onto the deck beside Feyre and handed her the canteen. Feyre began drinking greedily as the female continued, “We’re almost to the harbor now. Normally we don’t patrol that far North, but the Captain said he had a ‘feeling’. Then low and behold, as close to Hybern as the High Lord would sanction, we saw Feyre Cursebreaker fall out of the sky.”

With the canteen emptied, Feyre screwed the cap on and handed it back to the female. “Which High Lord?”

“Tarquin,” she answered proudly, and Feyre was instantly flooded with relief. “We’ll be returning to the War Camp on the border of Winter and Summer.”

The one that Cassian was likely stationed at. Did he know what had happened, or would she be the one to deliver the news? Feyre turned, prepared to ask if it was the very same War Camp Cassian was leading, but she looked at the female and, for the first time, properly registered her face.

Warm bronze eyes were staring at her, crinkled with a happiness that made Feyre feel as though she were choking on seawater once more. Her gold-brown hair was braided back off her round face—A face that had once been pale and sallow. Feyre remembered staring into those warm eyes as the light drained from them. And now that faerie was sitting next to her beneath a warm, sun-lit sky, head tipped with gratitude as though Feyre hadn’t once driven a blade through her heart.

“Were you the one that jumped into the water?” Feyre whispered.

The female shrugged. “You fell in pretty deep. We were all trying to find where you had landed. I just happened to be the first one to see you.”

“What’s your name?”

“Oriana,” she said pleasantly.

Feyre swallowed. “Thank you, Oriana.”

Oriana’s eyes turned solemn. “No, Cursebreaker. The debt was mine to pay. In your third task—“

“Don’t.” The word was little more than a garbled syllable in the back of her throat. Feyre tore her eyes away from Oriana’s face, blinking at the crashing waves over the starboard in an attempt to banish her lingering ghost. “I wasn’t motivated by debt, or incurring favor.” Nor goodness, she wanted to add. Instead, she whispered as a confession to the sea, “Who’s to say in different circumstances, I would have chosen the same path?”

“Circumstances inform all our choices,” Oriana said, following Feyre’s gaze toward the open sea—where it stretched for miles and miles in every direction. “The winds and currents of the water are always changing, and the quickest route to shore today may not be the same tomorrow.” Her brown eyes were so wide, the entire horizon reflected in their light. “All we can do is brave the tides as they come, and act accordingly.”

It sounded so similar to the lesson Azriel had been trying to impart. Azriel, who had taken a bolt to his chest… who might still be in that castle in Hybern. Who might be dead.

Feyre’s eyes began to sting, but she told herself it was only the seawater.

“What matters to me, Cursebreaker, is what you chose on this path. Whatever your motivations, because of you I was able to return home to my mate.”

“Your… mate?”

Oriana’s lower lip trembled, but she kept her chin tilted towards the sea. “The grief you spared her… for that alone, I will always feel indebted to you.”

The boat rocked over a wave, jostling Feyre as the nose tipped up then back down, cutting through every opponent that challenged the ship. But even once the deck had righted, Feyre still felt off balance.

In another life, Oriana’s mate had felt that same soul-ripping grief that haunted the High Lord and Lady of the Night. And in this life, in this time… Oriana’s mate had never touched that pain at all.

“Are you… crying, my Lady?”

Feyre quickly wiped at the rogue tears that had escaped. “I’m just relieved that I was able to make a positive difference.”

“More than you could understand, Lady.” Oriana reached for her hand, and Feyre might have been startled at the sudden forwardness if not for the conviction on the female’s face. “Look around the crew. You have not been fae for long, so it may not be obvious to you, but there are sailors from nearly every court stationed on this ship. Prythian hasn’t been united like this in… perhaps since its inception.”

“Prythian would have banded together regardless—”

“Not without its savior,” Oriana interrupted fiercely. “Spring and Night in alliance? Any faerie would be laughed out of the room for suggesting it was possible.”

Oriana stood up, stretching her arms above her head as though this were all casual conversation to her. “I suppose I can understand why the leaders, with their eyes turned towards the carnage, might miss what’s been happening. But I’ve been in the taverns, drinking with the soldiers of every court in the alliance. And hope is so thick in the air you can taste it. Maybe have a drink while you’re in the harbor, see if you can feel it too.”

The crew let Feyre be for the short remainder of the journey. Oriana had vanished in the commotion of the ship preparing for land. Feyre felt the strangest mixture of relief and despair tangle in her chest as she watched the Summer Court climb in the horizon. It meant that soon, she would be able to reunite with her mate and assure him that she was safe. Alive. But if Azriel hadn’t made it out… she would have to look Rhys and Cassian in the eyes to tell them that she had left their brother behind.

That thought made it difficult to bask in the glory of the approaching inlet. Feyre had never seen an ocean so bright—under the glistening sun, it was almost turquoise, and so clear she could see through to the sand deep below. The bay was flush with ships, each bearing a proud sail of the six courts in the alliance. Gathered together, in one place. Oriana had told Feyre that more soldiers arrived each day, and by the sheer quantity of battleships, Feyre could believe it.

Tall buildings rose over the docks as the boat came closer. Unlike Adriata, which was marked by Tarquin’s large palace, homes and businesses laid central to the harbor, so colorful in variety it was as though a coral reef had come to life above the water. A small, dormant part of Feyre itched to paint it. She pushed that instinct down, knowing she was not here to sightsee, or drink with soldiers at the tavern. She needed to find Cassian, and get back to the Night Court. Find out how her sisters were coping with the change, and create a plan to get Azriel back.

More than anything, she needed to figure out how to get Azriel back.

That singular purpose propelled her off the ship when it docked. Filing onto land with the rest of the crew, she let the flow of the crowd carry her to the edge of the harbor. A pair of sailors was carrying a large crate between them, headed towards the outskirts of the docks. Feyre started to follow, before a hand found her arm.

“Are you looking for the Illyrians?” It was Oriana, pulling her in the opposite direction of the traffic. “They’re camped away from the city center. The General moved them after a small skirmish.” At Feyre’s expression, she laughed. “Nothing he couldn’t handle. He keeps his troops in line, your General.”

Feyre expected nothing less of Cassian. Pride flickered in her chest, a small candle against the icy dread that gripped her. She followed Oriana up the hills above the city, where a cluster of tents nestled in a small, grassy vale overlooking the harbor. On top of a hill, she could recognize Lord Devlon leading a group of soldiers through a late afternoon training session. Light caught the tips of their talons, gleaming against the sweat coating their faces—and in many cases, their naked chests. It was a sight she may have appreciated on any other occasion, but now Feyre was solemnly scanning through the faces of each of the soldiers, searching for her friend among them.

They continued to the tent that laid in the center of the camp, larger than the others. Feyre was grateful to have Oriana at her side, if only because the female was willing to brush aside the tent flaps with none of her reservations. Gravity felt heavier once they’d stepped inside, met with the makeshift war table fashioned from supply crates in the center of the room. A map laid across it with pieces strategically placed over the uneven surface, and several dark heads of hair whipped up from the map as they entered.

Her eyes immediately went to the male in the center, commanding an easy authority. When he straightened, the other soldiers did too. Despite how they may have loathed his leadership, it was clear they submitted to Cassian’s superior rank—his right by the sweat and blood he’d paid. When he bowed to Feyre, the others did too.

“High Lady,” Cassian greeted, with so much warmth and excitement in his voice that Feyre’s heart shriveled. He didn’t know. Casian flicked his eyes up, a slow smile blooming on his lips. Until he properly glimpsed her expression. He froze, then barked, “Out.”

The Illyrians disappeared with no further prompting. Even Oriana, with a small smile, squeezed Feyre’s hand and wished her farewell.

Cassian waited until the flaps of the tent fluttered shut. He took a breath, the rigidity flowing out of him on the exhale, until he was looking at her with a face full of concern. “Something went wrong on your mission in Hybern,” he said.

Not a question.

Cassian leaned back against the makeshift table, grip so tight the wood threatened to splinter beneath the force of his siphoned hands. “Did Rhys and Azriel…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, and Feyre couldn’t find it in herself to answer.

“Rhys made it out,” she said, so weak a condolence that it was barely a whisper. “So did Mor. And Nesta.”

Cassian wiped a hand across his jaw. “Nesta was there?”

Feyre winced, then nodded. “She and Mor hatched some plan together. Nesta’s fae now.”

He slumped back against the crates, pushing his hands up, across his face, to shield whatever his expression gave away. It was not the celebration she had wanted for him, or for Nesta. Not when the cost of her becoming fae was…

Cassian was shaking his head. “Just say it, Feyre.”

It was her responsibility. As High Lady. As the one Azriel had risked his life to protect.

“Azriel didn’t make it.” The words were bitter. More than any metal or blood or powdered faebane. Some foreign toxin her tongue rejected. “We were the last to winnow out. The last thing I saw…” she swallowed, forcing strength into her voice. “The last thing I saw was Jurian firing an ashbolt into his chest.”

The silence that answered her was excruciating. Cassian’s face remained buried between his hands, the air between them stagnant for a heartbeat. Then two. Then three.

At last, Cassian raised his head, schooling his features until he was the commanding General she had seen when she first walked into the tent. There was not an ounce of pain in his expression—unless she looked too closely at his eyes.

“Where’s Rhysand?”

“I don’t know. The Night Court, I’m assuming.” Feyre wrapped her arms around herself. “My magic was drained, I ended up falling into the Western sea and getting fished out of the waters by a passing ship. They took me here.”

“Shit, Feyre.” Cassian glanced towards the map, studying the open waters between Hybern and the Night Court. “He’s probably losing his mind.”

She flinched, imagining her mate scouring the oceans. Would he do something rash, if he thought the King of Hybern had both his mate and his brother? A warm hand found her shoulder, drawing Feyre’s attention from the details on the map that had suddenly become so very interesting.

“You got out,” Cassian said. His fingers tightened, and then he pulled her against his chest, banding his large arms around her shoulders in a hug that expelled the air from her lungs. “That’s what matters, Feyre. To me, to Az, to Rhys. You're our High Lady. We swore to protect, and we live and die by that oath.”

“We’re going to get him back,” Feyre swore. She grit her teeth to contain the sob building in her throat. This was not the time for wallowing in her sorrow. She was the High Lady of the Night Court. It was time to regroup. To retaliate. To get back in the ring after being beaten down. She bared her teeth, hugging Cassian back fiercely as she repeated, “We’re going to get him back.”

#A Court of Faded Dreams #ACoFD #Feysand #Feyre x Rhysand #Rhysand x Feyre #Feyre x Rhys #Rhys x Feyre #Feysand fic #Feysand fanfic #Feysand fanfiction

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nestasgalpal · 4 years

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Consequences Part 2

Fixing ACOSF Part 4

Masterlist | AO3

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

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Cassian had gone to the river house.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cassian.”

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

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

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

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

At that, Cassian snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Feyre and Rhys had never given him contradictory orders before.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I know, Rhysand said at last.

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

He wouldn’t allow it.

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

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

What does she want? He answered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only that threatening glare was now shielding Feyre.

From Rhysand, he realized.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keep reaching your hand.

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

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

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

Rhys.

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

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

Not to defend. To attack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You wouldn’t have agreed to it.”

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

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

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

“We aren’t using you, Nesta”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was trying now.

He only hoped he wasn’t too late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At that, he said nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#nessian fanfic #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron #nesta archeron fanfic #nesta archeron fanfiction #acosf fix it #acotar fix-it fic

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exquisitley-obsessed · 3 years

Text

Fiancés, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns: 5

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn’s attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain’s father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien

Warnings: None.

A/N: This is going to be a long, slow burn fic (hopefully)

MY MASTERLIST

THIS FIC’S MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter Five: Madman

“Hello my little fairies,”

“Jurian, please-” Lucian groaned, his arms folding over his chest as he leaned back with a groan. They’d only been waiting a few minutes before their fae hearing had picked up on Jurian’s footfalls and accompanying whistle.

“Sorry fox-boy, but you’re the idiot who got yourself and princess over here stuck on your first day.”

Lucien said nothing, just glared at his friend with a look that could’ve killed. Jurian paused in his approach, taking a moment to survey the cage. Then he cocked his head.

“You didn’t do this on purpose right?”

“Jurian-”

“Okay, okay,” Jurian grinned, holding his hands up in defence. Throughout this exchange Elain had remained perched on the fallen tree, doing her best to ignore the boy’s bickering.

With a comedic deliberance, Jurian reached over and began to hoist the cage upwards. The contraption must’ve been heavier than it appeared given the audible grunt that came out of the semi-mortal man. Lucien sprang to his feet and held out his hand to help Elain up before snapping it back to his side. She ignored that. She ignored the sinking feeling in her gut too, and bent low and shuffled under the lip of the cage to freedom, Lucien close behind.

“You owe me one,” Jurian huffed as he let the cage fall, the wood groaning in protest.

“We should’ve discouraged the councils from putting these up,” Lucien glared at the Ashwood cage, and Elain could now see how the wood was black like the forests caged in the Nolan residence. Involuntarily, she shivered.

“Councils would think you a mad-men if you began suggesting they forgo protecting themselves against fae.” Jurian eyed his friend, his hands digging into his pockets.

“It’s not safe, not when allies who are fae come to visit. What kind of message does that send?”

“Lucien, you can’t demand the whole human world put down their swords just because your mate is in town.”

Both Elain and Lucien stiffened at the word, the acknowledgment of the bond they both had so insistently ignored for two, whole years. It was like the floor falling out from under them, and the friendly bantering they’d just shared lost its innocence and gained a heavy significance. Nothing could be simple between them it seemed.

Nesta would’ve gone mad Elain realised, to know that Elain had been trapped with Lucien who she was convinced was an uncontrollable beast. But Lucien had done nothing to make her uncomfortable, quite the opposite in fact.

“Huckleberry Hall?” Elain spoke into the silence, as Lucien and Jurian continued to glare at one another. Lucien with danger in his eye, Jurian with amusement.

“Maybe you should go back to the house,” Lucien said after a moment, kicking a stone near his foot.

“What? Why?”

“It’s dangerous out here,” Lucien gestured vaguely to the Ashwood cage. “You can just come with us to Huckleberry on the day, you don’t need to know the way just yet.”

“You’re the one that got us trapped,” Elain bit out. There was more emotion in her voice than she’d heard in a long time. Lucien, it seemed, had this tendency of making her break out of the fog that had descended on her mind following the Cauldron. Making her laugh. Making her angry. “I’m an emissary just like you, why shouldn’t I know the way?”

“No I…I didn’t mean it like that,” Lucien sighed, his brows furrowing as his shoulders hunched. But what other reason was there? Could Elain truly never escape the preconceptions the world had of her – lesser, inconsequential, useless.

“No, I get it. Don’t worry,” Elain could hardly control her anger at this point, folding her arms over her chest as though it could barricade her emotions in. Around Lucien everything was intensified, electric – it was making her feel sick.

“Elain…” Lucien said softly, and if she were not mistaken, from the corner of her eye she could see him extend a hand towards her - reaching out for her.

“Come on princess, I’ll take you home,” Jurian spoke as though he were reminding them of his presence, and Elain saw as Lucien’s hand retracted back to his side. “I have a new contract with the Darlington’s which I wouldn’t mind you looking over.” Jurian came over and Elain looked him over as though for the first time. Scruffy brown hair, a beard that could do with a trim. Brown eyes like Elain’s, and like Elain’s, they were somewhat glazed over, as though he were not truly there.

Elain just nodded at him, her back still somewhat turned to Lucien. But before Jurian could lead Elain back to the Manor, her mate spoke again.

“You keep her safe,” he said, and Elain couldn’t help but peek at him. He’d spoken with such steel in his voice, and his eyes were blazing with raw power as he glared at Jurian. It set something inside Elain alight.

“The house is 15 minutes away, please, have a little faith,” Jurian rolled his eyes.

“Pigs will fly before I put faith in you Jurian.” The man just rolled his eyes and turned back to the dirt path which they had all just come from. Elain turned to go, peeking over her shoulder one last time as she did so.

Lucien seemed to linger for a moment, an internal battle raging inside of him, before his expression darkened and he turned his back, walking away without a second glance.

“You don’t look like your sister, not really?”

“Which one?” Jurian was walking behind Elain, and with every step Elain felt his eyes boring into the back of her head.

“Both. Feyre’s all Nigh Court ink and the other one’s all hellcat.”

“I’ll be sure to let them know of your opinion.”

“You’re like me,” Jurian surprised her by saying. Elain flushed.

“I’m not sure about that.”

“Oh really? I think we’re quite similar. In fact, I think we might be just the same.”

“I really don’t think so,” Elain marched forward, swatting at the bushes as the arched over the path.

“You don’t sometimes feel a little…crazy?” Either she was going mad or Jurian’s voice was dangerously close to the back of her neck.

“No…” she breathed, not much longer now, the house should come into sight in between the trees any second.

“Do you still have visions?”

“No,” Elain said quickly, too quickly, “They stopped after the Cauldron was reforged.”

“How can you be so sure?” She definitely just felt Jurian’s breath on the tip of her left ear. “Your sister still maintained her powers, before giving them up for Feyre…silly girl.” Elain came to a halt and spun around.

“Be careful with how you speak about my sisters.” Raw fury lined her voice. She’d had enough, and all the tension of the last two days appeared to have peaked.

But, she hated that he had got this reaction out of her, hated that glint in his eye which revealed just how delighted he was.

“What are you doing here, princess?” Jurian said after a moment, his voice was painfully, uncomfortably soft.

“I’m here to look over your work with the councils-”

“No,” Jurian said simply, “What are you really doing here?”

Elain paused, her eyes boring into the madman’s, refusing to look away. Inside of her, she felt something spark into life, and for the first time, she didn’t blow it out – she kindled it, holding it in her hands and encouraging it to grow.

“Are you really do arrogant – so pompous – to believe I have an ulterior motive in my stay.” The words came out hot and fast, and Elain felt something inside her finally breaking. “You clearly believe I do, in fact, it’s clear you think you know said ulterior motive. So why don’t we ask you, Jurian, why am I here? If you’re so convinced of my disloyalty.”

If Jurian was phased by Elain’s extremely uncommon outburst, he didn’t show it. He just continued to peer down at her with cold, calculating eyes.

“Forgive me, Lady Archeron, if I do not believe in the honesty of the Night Court.”

“Your beliefs are not my problem.” The anger was easy now, too easy. It was no longer buried deep within her, in some unreachable pocket, it was bubbling under her skin, aching for release.

“They are when it appears the Night Court has sent perhaps the least suitable person for a job we didn’t even need. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together can see your position is unnecessary. You’re not needed…so why are you here?”

Jurian insulted her so casually, with so little remorse, that Elain wasn’t quite sure she’d heard him correctly. He couldn’t speak to her like that, right? No one, no one, spoke to her like that. No one insulted her to her face, no one told her she was not needed – especially not after the Cauldron. No one would’ve dared insult her in the Night Court, not with Feyre as her sister and Rhysand her brother-in-law. And Elain had thought…she’d thought no one would insult her here, not with Lucien around. But Lucien couldn’t be with her all the time, and everyone else, well they owed her nothing.

“How has talking to the councils worked for you?”

Jurian seemed to still. At least she’d caught him off guard.

“…pardon?”

“Because I don’t think I need to look at the contracts to know that your progress has been futile.” Jurian seemed to stop breathing, his eyes turning dark and dangerous. Elain wondered for a moment if Lucien had realised the only danger he’d left her with, was Jurian.

“Careful how you speak,” the madman’s voice was low, deadly.

“Have you ever wondered why? Why you’ve made no progress with the humans? Hasn’t it crossed your mind that a half-crazed man who used to be a finger and an eye in a ring, and a queen who metamorphosises into a bird come daylight, might not be the best approach to a land of mortals?”

Jurian stayed silent, and whether encouraged by bravery or stupidity, Elain didn’t stop.

“Humans are simple people, really. But everything they’ve been taught over the centuries has told them that fae are dangerous and not to be trusted. The humans are probably looking at the two of you thinking if they open themselves up to the world of fae, then they’re going to end up the same. Lucien he…well…I can’t imagine he knows much about humans either. What you need is someone who understands these people, who knows the right thing to say so they believe the fae mean no harm.”

“And let me guess, this person is you?” Jurian goaded with a condescending smirk that had no humour.

“Say what you want, Jurian, but I’m the most human one here.”

Jurian assessed her, his eyes clouding over with thought.

“Yes…human…you’d like that wouldn’t you.” It was Elain’s turn to be startled.

“Pardon?”

“Is that not why you’re here? To play dress up with your old life, to pretend that nothing’s changed, that you didn’t change.”

“No-” Elain practically hissed.

“I saw you the day Nolan’s boy rejected you. Brutal, but at least he’s honest, I’ll give him that. You were a wreck that day, princess, I bet you don’t even remember that I was there. But I was, and I saw that fire in your eye…I guess in that way you are like your sisters.”

“I…” Elain hated that her thoughts had turned sour, and her tongue had frozen. Now, she was drowning in memories of that day. That horrible, cleaving day.

“The look in your eye was of a woman who wasn’t going to give up on what she wants, not now, not ever.”

“I am a female,” Never had Elain referred to herself as such, but in the face of Jurian’s vitriol she had never felt such an urge to defend her fae-ness, “And you know nothing of what I want.”

“Then please, enlighten me,” Jurian was close now, too close, and Elain cursed herself for how her speech faltered, for how the words ran out. What did she want?

“Is it him?” Jurian pushed and Elain felt her whole body flush. Jurian just rolled his neck. “Only took you two years-”

“I didn’t-”

“I don’t care,” Jurian glared out at the forest, “You’re crueller than I thought, Lady Elain, to keep Lucien only till you want him. Do you like that? Keeping males on leashes till you get over your petty trauma-”

Elain slapped him.

Granted, the minute her hand collided with his cheek she was already cradling his face and apologising profusely. But still, Elain had slapped him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, oh Gods, I didn’t mean to, I just – I just – oh gods I-” Jurian was rubbing at his cheek, but the fog seemed to have cleared from his eye. Elain couldn’t stop apologising, down right mortified in her actions, particularly in the ease in which she’d raised her hand and struck a man. This wasn’t her; she didn’t defend herself like this. Too much time around Mor, that had to be it.

“Please don’t apologise, and you didn’t hit me that hard, I’ve had lovers do worse,” Jurian grinned cheekily. Elain just scrunched up her nose, a furious blush spreading across her cheeks.

“I wish I could say you didn’t deserve it,” Elain muttered as she watched the skin of Jurian’s cheek prickle into a dull rose. Horror washed through her for saying such a thing, but Jurian just shrugged and ruffled his scruffy hair.

“I refuse to lie,” he said, eventually.

“I’m sure that works brilliantly for you in the world of politics,” Elain couldn’t take her eyes away from the blushing skin of Jurian’s cheek. “Let me say this once, Jurian. Just so we know where we stand with each other,” she began, somewhat awkwardly as she fiddled with the cuff of her sleeve. “You know nothing of me. You know nothing of my wants, and you certainly, certainly, know nothing of my pain...”

It seemed that Jurian had nothing to say to that, and Elain couldn’t stand the look in his eye, so she turned to the endless forest.

“If you spent five minutes in my mind…”

“What?” Jurian ground out, and Elain looked at him sharply.

“Those 50 years would look like child’s play.”

Jurian’s eyes darkened, and he seemed to look over her as though for first time. Drinking her in. Elain thought he would’ve been offended but, he just looked thoughtful, as though he’d been propositioned with a new puzzle.

“Till you prove me otherwise,” he finally began, moving around Elain and walking forward along the path, “I cannot believe that some part of you, no matter how small, is only back here to try and go back to your old life. That’s just what I’ll believe.”

Elain said nothing, she just fell into step behind the madman. What was supposed to have been a short trip to Huckleberry had turned into strangely casual bantering with Lucien and a confrontation with Jurian in which she had physically assaulted him. If today was any indication, perhaps Vassa would give her another strange encounter come nightfall. All she had to do till then, was look over the contracts. That would be simple enough.

“Elain,” Jurian spoke up, not bothering to even turn around.

“Yes?”

“Please prove me otherwise.”

***

Lucien was pretty sure he was scaring the humans. He’d walked into Huckleberry Hall with flames practically sizzling from his fingers and had given a small gaggle of human women a nasty fright as he spun the corner.

He was now waiting on the updated maps from the humans’ best cartographer. Lucien didn’t like waiting. He didn’t like staying still. He needed the world to keep moving and he needed it to keep dragging him along, because when he stopped like this, he became far too aware of exactly how things were.

Things had been going fine with Elain. No, not fine – great. For the first time, ever, Lucien was pretty sure he’d caught a glimpse of Elain. Not Elain when she was stuffed in Night Court black or silent whilst her sisters spoke for her, but just, Elain.

She’d laughed at his joke. Cauldron fry him – she’d actually giggled at something he’d said. Lucien hadn’t even had time to consider how that was their first time alone together, just the two of them. If the world were kind to him, maybe one day that would be their story – the first time they talked because they’d quite literally been trapped together.

But the world wasn’t kind to him.

What had gone wrong? All of a sudden Jurian was there and things were bad again. Lucien had done what he always does, he’d said something stupid, and he’d watched as Elain, quite literally, retracted into herself.

And now he was alone at Huckleberry Hall, and all the excitement he’d had merely hours ago, at the prospect of being with Elain and making some progress, had evaporated. Groaning, Lucien ran his hands down his face.

“Lucien?” A sweet, bubbly voice called out from behind him, and it took the male a moment before he could place the voice. Turning around, he forced an easy, courtier’s smile onto his face.

“Delilah,” Lucien smiled, greeting the woman with a slight bow of his head. “How are you?”

“I’m well, how are you?” Delilah was the daughter of Lord Darlington, the human who appeared to be in charge of the armies, Lord Nolan supplying the arms for his escapades. Lucien didn’t understand how human courting worked, in the fae lands when he liked a female they’d usually be in his bed before sundown, but from what he’d heard of the human crowds, Delilah had been described as the ‘diamond of the season’ – whatever the hell that meant.

Lucien supposed that meant a lot of men were scrabbling for her hand, and he supposed she fit the human model for attractive. Her hair was of palest blonde, and she had a dainty body with bones that reminded Lucien of a bird. She wore pretty frocks with high necklines, and seemed to have abnormally, cosmetic rouge cheeks and lips. She was sweet, but in the face of-

“Are you sure you’re well?” Her voice was high and sugary, “You look ready to explode.” Lucien huffed what he hoped was an amused laugh.

“It’s been a hectic night and day.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Delilah chewed her bottom lip. “Any reason in particular? Any way in which I can help?” Lucien shook his head.

“No…we’ve just had a new arrival from Prythian, a high fae like me whose here to assist with negotiations.” Lucien tried to keep his voice neutral, but he was sure that somehow Delilah knew he was talking about his mate. Surely she heard his heart, racing in his chest.

“Oh, how exiting!” Delilah’s eyes seemed to brighten with a seemingly innocent interest.

“Really?” Lucien had cocked his head and raised his brow, “I thought you humans would hate having a new fae in town.”

But Lucien knew Delilah wouldn’t mind. When Lucien had first arrived at the mortal lands things had been, strange. At least he was already well practiced in having strangers stare at him, but there was something unblazoned about the humans. The men always looked to be sizing him up, their eyes calculating exactly what it would take to take him down. The women…well. Women of an older generation were mortified by him – which was a first.

But the younger women, they hadn’t had so many years in believing the fae as wicked. The girls were curious, and Lucien was very handsome. He always had been, and it seemed that here, his scar and metal eye only added to the exotic ambiguity of his presence. Over the two years the women had become braver. They might come stand near him in gaggles, first they didn’t talk they only observed, then they were having loud conversations of when they would be taking strolls in the garden, unattended by their chaperones.

Lucien was amused. For one reason. The idea that Elain had once been like these human women had sent his mind whirring. Would she have been taken by him if they’d met before the Cauldron. It would’ve been so easy to see her when she was still human, he could’ve been the one to deliver Feyre’s letters, he could’ve crossed the border and knocked on her door and-

It was a fun dream. But that’s all it was, a dream.

“Maybe my father would hate a new fae but, I’m sure us ladies wouldn’t mind,” Delilah let out a giggle that reminded Lucien of too many sugars in his tea.

“Well, she’ll be attending the meeting on Friday, so plenty of opportunity for greetings then.”

“She?” Delilah seemed to falter slightly, her iridescent hair catching in the sun in a way that made Lucien’s eyes hurt.

“Yes,” Lucien sighed, he really hated to tell people of her, in some way he supposed it was his way of keeping her safe, especially when at the most important moment of his life he couldn’t shut up. But Elain was not his property, and not his secret to keep. “Lady Elain of the Night Court.” He confirmed, unable to keep the awe out of his voice as he spoke.

“Archeron?” Delilah’s voice, impossibly, rose in pitch.

“Yes…” Lucien wondered if he’d made a mistake given Delilah’s wide, calculating eyes.

“We…we never thought we’d see her again,” Delilah said, as though it were some kind of explanation.

“I…” Lucien’s brow furrowed, “I’m sure she feels the same.”

“Gods…will you be at the Nolan’s tonight,” Delilah went on, and yet her eyes still remained troubled as she looked at him.

“Me? No…no I don’t attend those kinds of things.” Lucien straightened himself up, folding his hands behind his back.

“It’ll be a lot of fun,” she smiled sweetly at him, and for a moment Lucien wondered why she was asking him. She’d extended the offer a few times two years ago, but soon it became well known that the Fae Male from the other side of the wall would have nothing to do with the Nolan family beyond basic respect.

“I’m sure it will, but, I have other duties I must attend to.” Not quite a lie. Not quite the truth. Who even cared.

“Of course,” Delilah bowed slightly, and Lucien was somewhat grateful that the young woman seemed to be taking her leave.

“But know,” she surprised him by taking a step closer, “You’re more than welcome should you…change your mind.”

And then she was gone with a curtsey and a flick of ice-white hair. Lucien watched as she disappeared down the golden hallway, her pale skirts dragging across the marble floor, and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut.

#elucien #elucien fic #elucien fluff #elucien fanfiction #elain #elain archeron #elain acotar #elain x lucien #elain/lucien #elain and lucien #lucien #lucien vanserra #lucien x elain #lucien/elain #fffaf #jurian #vassa #band of exiles

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darling-archeron · 4 years

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this is as good a place to fall as any + feysand for the fic request thing? angst would be good (;

ask and you shall receive - i hope you like angst. I may have used this as personal catharsis and it came out as one of the rawest, and, in my opinion, most painful things I’ve ever written. Not super edited, but I hope you enjoy! <333.

TW for minor mentions of suicide

Music in the Night

It was the end of another infinitely long day, and Feyre found herself on the roof of the townhouse. The same place she had spent lazy nights with Rhysand, curled up with the stars until dawn. They had once promised each other infinite nights like this, filled with love and whispered secrets and lazy touches.

This time, she was alone.

She had gone out into Velaris by herself today, walked the streets, and been with her people in a way that she hadn’t in years. It had left her bone-weary deep in her soul. After the war, when what was left of her family returned to Velaris, she had been too broken by her grief to mingle with her people. The only thing she was aware of was the emptiness of the void in her head where such life had once flowed. The funeral had been hell, numbness coating her mind and tongue when the priestess asked if she would say a few words.

After she had finally picked herself up, convinced herself to keep going, there was so much to be done. Simply going for a walk never seemed to make the list. Mor had kept Velaris running for years, but she didn’t rule the entire court. And Feyre had never run anything of the sort. It wasn’t long after he was gone that she realized how much Rhys had left to teach her, how much he had not known himself. It had been exhausting as she turned all her energy on fixing the Court instead of looking inward at the dark shards within herself.

Learn as best as she could from Mor and Lucien what it took to rule, to heal rifts with the Hewn City, who barely recognized her as High Lady, and to Illyria, who only began to respect her once she showed what she was capable of. When they had time, she did physical training with Cassian. Continuing to explore the facets of her magic had been harder. The two beings who might have taught her something more about it were gone.

So for the most part, she gave herself over to her court. They deserved that much. It was nights like these when she allowed herself self-pitying, angry, sorrowful moments. Just her, the night sky, and a bottle of whiskey she had swiped from Rhys’s huge stash. The roof seemed as good a place to fall as any. To ask the Cauldron why so much of the good in her life had been taken. To ask why she always seemed to end up alone.

Because Rhys…Rhys had been taken from her. She had loved him with a passion and fury she knew had been called foolish. But the only foolish thing about their love was how she hadn’t seen the end coming, hadn’t realized that he would sacrifice everything he had to heal the cleaved Cauldron. And when Rhys was truly gone, and even trying to bring him back as he had done to her hadn’t worked – she didn’t reflect on those moments. Ever.

She had survived poverty, Amarantha, and being made, the Ouroboros, and the War. She had been born a fighter.

It hadn’t stopped her from reaching for a knife to turn on herself on that battlefield, in moments when everyone else was too distracted. Azriel had only just stopped her, and there were days she could still feel the sharp kiss of the blade on her chest.

Most of the time – most of the time she was glad she hadn’t done it.

A breeze came up, and Feyre shivered. The backs of her thighs were beginning to dig into the roof.

In the emptiness of the weeks that had followed, she found that she hated silence. Because there was never again going to be passed jokes and musings down that bridge of gold. Never again going to be music sent to her in her darkest moments.

The townhouse became emptier as well.

Amren had sacrificed herself to end the war. Elain had eventually left Night to pursue a life of travel, slowly healing from the horrors she had witnessed. Lucien was building alliances on the continent, though only after he had been convinced that she wasn’t going to fall apart. Nesta…was complicated. She still lived in Velaris, off of accounts Feyre kept filled, but she barely saw her sister anymore. Feyre wasn’t sure which one of them was more broken, some days.

Mor needed out of Velaris too. Feyre knew she was losing her mind. Though no physical wards kept her here as they once had, she couldn’t abandon the duty she had. Because she didn’t think Feyre was strong enough.

Feyre still doubted herself every step of the way. Because in the end, she did blame herself. She had made a bad choice with what mattered the most, hadn’t seen that his final “I love you” was not a declaration, but a goodbye.

He had known what she would want to believe, apparently known her better than she had known him.

She had always been a fool for a happy ending. Had always wanted it for herself. Her mate had helped her believe that she deserved it until she saw it herself. She had been a dreamer in a Court of Dreams.

Feyre watched the city below, taking a swig of the whiskey. There was a revel in the streets a few blocks away, the beautiful, seductive music taking away the emptiness that lingered in her head.

The Night Court needed a strong leader. They deserved someone who dreamt of a better world, who wasn’t falling apart. And as much as she was unqualified, she knew she had to learn. And as much as she had wanted to let the world fall away as she descended into her grief – she had made a vow. To Rhysand, to her people, to herself. To deny that – it would make her an utter failure.

So, she had forced herself to become that person, and learn to lead, to play the games of Court. To heal wounds the war had ripped open. A leader with an iron heart and mask of steel.

The one thing she couldn’t learn again was how to forgive. She couldn’t forgive Tamlin, or Hybern, or herself. No matter how much Mor and Elain beseeched her. Elain had dragged her to the same mind-healer that she had been seeing in Dawn. Not a daemati – but someone who focused on emotional and psychological wellness. After a few visits, she had stopped going.

She needed closure, Elain had told her. It was easy for her to say. Every inch of this place didn’t remind her of their father. How could you find closure when the wound was ripped open again every day?

Another swig of whiskey and the music grew louder. A sob hiccupped in her throat, and she pushed it down. She wasn’t drunk enough to stop caring yet, and if she started crying now she would never stop.

She wondered how the history books would be written, sometimes. Human and Fae alike. Would the fae praise how she had defeated Amarantha, or as time went on, would the ballads and stories be edited and brushed under the rug to hide how helpless the faeries had really been? Would they tell how she fought her way across that bloody plain, each swing of her sword for a better world?

Would the elegies they painted eulogize Rhysand properly?

Would they tell how she had let him die?

She shook her head violently, strands of hair shaking free from the tight braid she had pulled it back into. She had cut it to shoulder length a few weeks after the war – practically a cliché from one of the books she had read. Since then, she had never let it grow back out.

She wouldn’t let herself think of all she hadn’t done now. She had done that enough – days where nightmares tore her from sleep and she replayed those minutes on the battlefield over and over, trying to find a different way.

Instead, she thought back to what that healer had told her at the Dawn Court. She had given Feyre breathing exercises she couldn’t remember now, and she had told her that it was okay to talk about them. It had all seemed so useless at the time.

Elain had found catharsis in it, though. She didn’t just talk about their father – she talked to him, she had confided.

Another swig of whiskey – longer, this time. It burned as it went down, and it made her buzzed enough to say what the hell.

“Rhys?” She whispered, so softly. She had never – never spoken to him like this. Screaming his name as she was torn from his arms in every last nightmare, yes. But this - she had always thought it would hurt too much.

“I hope that you’re happy, Rhys.” She knew that he thought he was Lord of Nightmares, that wherever he went after he died wouldn’t be pleasant. It was something she had been working to slowly changed his mind about, making him see that he wasn’t damned.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t stop you – didn’t realize until it was too late. I didn’t find any other way. I know – I know that you wouldn’t have had it any other way. That you didn’t want to stop me. But I’m so sorry and I will never stop regretting and hating myself for it –” Her words broke off with a sob as she finally let the tears come. “And if you can somehow hear this – I just need you to know that I will never stop loving you. And I’m trying my best to fill the void you left behind, to be the leader everyone needs me to be.” For a while, the only sound was her breathing and the distant music as her words were swallowed up by the night.

She sniffed a little. “Do you remember our last night up here? It was just a few days before we left. Did you know you wouldn’t be back?” Another long pause, like she was giving him time to reply. “I’m sure even then you were planning. But I just remember – we were up here, it was a night a lot like this. No wine or lingerie – it was just us, the stars, and the city. I fell asleep up here, in your arms. You told me stories of your adventures years ago. The time you and Azriel got lost in Malwich and – well, I never heard the end of it. I was so exhausted. Do you think Az would tell it to me if I asked him?”

Silence echoed as the distant song wound down.

“I miss you.” She said quieter than ever, barely a breath. “You spent your last breaths telling me that you loved me…and I never said it back. Because I thought I would have a million more times to say it, and so you never heard it that final time even though I’m sure you knew –“ Snot plugged up her nose and she sniffed again, voice ugly and cracking. “I love you, Rhysand.”

She buried her head in her arms as the music slowly started up again. It slowly grew louder until she could make out a familiar tune.

Feyre could have laughed. It wasn’t the music Rhysand had sent her Under the Mountain. It was an echo of it, an answer to the original piece’s question. The haunting melody and drifting notes filled her head and her soul. They chased out the awful silence and made her feel new, if only for a moment.

She recalled back when she was human, laying in her cell as that music floated down. She had drifted somewhere in the clouds, seen faces she couldn’t make out. Just as it had been then – as she gazed out at the unclouded sky, she could have sworn she saw Rhysand peering back at her with love in his eyes – for just a moment.

Perhaps just a trick of her eyes, of a desperate soul. But as she gazed up at those bright stars, she didn’t stop the tears from falling.

I love you, Rhys.

She stayed out there long after the music had died down until she could see a hint of dawn’s rosy hue rising over the Sidra. The memory of the song echoed in her head, keeping the silence at bay.

#kate's writing #acotar #acomaf #acowar #feysand #feyre #rhysand #sjm #sarah j maas #acotar fic #angst #my writing #acotar angst #fic #tw suicide mention

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inkedstarlight · 4 years

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Elriel: Halloween Edition

Summary: Azriel and his son go trick-or-treating and stop by Elain's house. They have an adorable encounter. Later that night, Elain goes to Feyre's house for the Halloween party she's throwing and meets her boyfriend, Rhys. Rhysand's brothers also come to the party and Elain runs into Azriel yet again. Let the romance ensue. Basically just a shit ton of fluff. Note: Read it here on AO3!

There was nothing Elain Archeron loved more than giving candy out to little kids on Halloween. Which is why she was currently sitting on her living room couch in her costume, the bowl of candy in her lap as she patiently waited for the first trick-or-treater to come.

It was the first Halloween that she’ll have spent in her new house. She’d recently moved from her studio apartment to a small, two-bedroom house just outside the city. After being promoted from teacher to principal at the elementary school she’d worked at for more than five years, Elain figured a little change was in order.

Unfortunately, the new neighborhood was a bit further from her sisters than her apartment had been. They both lived in the city, Feyre taught painting lessons at the local art store while Nesta worked as a software developer at a start-up tech company. Feyre had also recently moved; her boyfriend of only seven months, Rhysand, asked her to move in with him. Elain hadn't yet met him but from what Feyre had told her, he seemed like he treated her sister really well. But Elain would be the judge of that.

Well, more like Nesta would be the judge of that. Elain was certain that her older sister was going to interrogate the poor man until she's squeezed out his darkest secrets. Nesta had a... unique way with people. Unconventional, but it'd been effective thus far.

Tonight was particularly exciting because the couple was hosting a small Halloween bash at their place. Elain had been bugging Feyre for weeks to properly introduce Rhysand to her and Nesta. Their schedules very rarely matched up.

The doorbell rang, pulling Elain from her thoughts and back to the present. She glanced at the clock. It was four-thirty in the evening. The sun still shone bright in the sky.

She grinned to herself. Let the trick or treating commence.

Jumping up from where she sat, Elain excitedly made her way to the front of the house. She swung the door open. What she saw on her porch melted her damn heart.

A little boy, no older than six, was dressed as a firefighter. He had a tiny hard hat on his head, his chocolate hair curling out from underneath. A dalmatian stuffed animal was tucked under his arm, his other hand clutching a jack-o-lantern bucket for candy. His eyelashes were impossibly long as he looked up at her with wide eyes and a goofy smile. It was contagious.

Elain also noticed that he was alone, no adult in sight.

“Trick or treat!” the boy greeted her.

“Happy Halloween!” Elain replied with a giggle. She put her bowl of candy on the ground to kneel in front of him. She looked around. “Is someone with you?”

“Yeah,” the kid sighed like he just got out of a stressful work meeting. Elain inwardly smiled. “My daddy. But he kept talking and talking about why he thought Mounds was his favorite candy, even though it’s obviously the worst.”

The boy stopped to look at her as if waiting for her to agree. Elain nodded her head vigorously. Naturally.

“He was just talking so much,” the little boy continued. He gestured for Elain to come closer before whisper-shouting, “You know, I really think he needs a girl in his life –”

“TOBIAS!” a strong, male voice called out.

“Uh-oh,” the boy, Tobias, muttered under his breath. He looked up at Elain with pleading eyes. “Don’t let me get in trouble.”

Elain suppressed her laugh and nodded at him. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Tobias held out his pinky finger. "Pinky promise?"

"Pinky promise," Elain swore. Gods, this kid was a gem.

Elain watched as a man approached her yard. His face was twisted with frustration, presumably because his son ran away, but he was… beautiful. Elain sucked in a breath as she ran her eyes up and down his body. He was wearing a loose white shirt, slightly sheer, that had a very deep V. The sleeves were cut off messily and he wore a fake sword on his hip. He was a pirate. A sexy pirate. But it was definitely a costume that wasn't advertised as 'sexy.' No, it was the man wearing it that made it sexy. And to make it even better, he looked as if he’d thrown it on last minute when his son reminded him it was Halloween.

The man stopped in front of Tobias. He crossed his arms, paying no mind to Elain.

“You’re in big trouble."

“But –”

“We’ve talked about this, Tobias. You can’t just run away from someone when you get bored.”

Now Elain really had to hold in her laugh. She covered it with a cough.

That's when Tobias’s father realized they had an audience. He directed his authoritative stare to Elain, and his hazel eyes immediately softened. She did her best to not fidget as his eyes ran over her. He must have seen the humor on her face because his lips twitched upward.

Fucking adorable.

“Sorry about my son,” he said sincerely, shooting a glare at an oblivious Tobias from the corner of his eye. “I’m Azriel. And you are?”

“Elain," she told him with a shy smile.

“Elain,” he echoed, testing it out on his tongue. Shivers ran down Elain’s arms. His voice was like velvet. She could listen to him repeat her name over and over again for hours.

Stop being so creepy.

“You, uh –” Azriel stumbled over his words awkwardly as he tried to find the words. “I love your costume.”

Elain blushed appreciatively. But before she could thank him, Tobias groaned.

“C’mon, Daddy, that was so lame. Get her phone number or something.”

Elain clapped a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking as she nearly lost it. It was Azriel’s turn to blush this time.

“Tobs, now’s not the time –”

“But she’s so pretty and nice! I already love her,” he pouted up at his father.

Azriel mumbled incoherent words as he tried to usher his son off the porch. “We should really go,” Azriel said, trying to avoid eye contact with her. He was so awkward. She loved it. “I’m so sorry again.”

“Wait!" Elain blurted out, trying to delay his departure. Azriel looked at her and she gave him a sheepish smile. "You forgot to grab some candy."

Tobias didn't need to be told twice. Elain held out the bowl for him to choose. He fished around for a while before picking three Skittles packages. Elain gave him a wink before turning to Azriel.

“Everyone should get candy on Halloween,” she grinned at him.

He looked at her curiously before smiling gratefully and taking a piece of candy without even looking to see the options.

“Thank you, Elain," he said, his tone sincere and soft. She nearly melted right there.

"Happy Halloween," she murmured as she watched Azriel back away, Tobias looking at his father as if he had two heads. Azriel seemed to be in a daze, giving Elain a small wave as he continued to walk backwards. He stumbled over his own feet, earning a laugh from Elain. Then, he finally turned around and walked out of sight.

---------------------------

“It’s so wonderful to meet you!” Elain exclaimed, ignoring the hand that Rhysand held out and going straight in for a hug.

“Don’t suffocate him,” Feyre joked as she watched them embrace.

Elain had arrived to their place a couple minutes early, eager to meet her sister’s boyfriend. Elain backed away to let Nesta introduced herself. Elain leaned over to Feyre.

“You didn’t tell me how cute he is,” Elain whispered with a giggle.

Feyre laughed. “Did I mention he has two brothers?”

Elain’s jaw dropped. “No, you seemed to have conveniently left that part out.”

“Well, they’ll be here soon,” Feyre said with a twinkle in her eye. “And they’re both single.”

Nesta turned to them as they laughed secretively. Rhysand followed her gaze. “What are you two giggling about?”

Before Feyre had a chance to answer, the doorbell rang. She excused herself, Rhysand right on her tail.

Elain looked over at her older sister to see her glaring down at her. “Let me guess: you guys were talking about Rhysand’s brothers.”

“How’d you know?”

Nesta let out an exasperated sigh. “She’s already tried to set me up with one of them.”

“I’m guessing it didn’t go well?”

Nesta scoffed. “Horribly. She failed to mention that he was a grade A –”

“Fancy seeing you here, sweetheart,” a low voice interrupted Nesta’s rant.

A man approached them, hands in pockets as he strutted confidently. His long brown hair was tied up in a messy bun and a five o’clock shadow on his sharp jaw. Elain watched as her sister dragged her hands down her face and groaned at the mere sight of him. That only made him chuckle deeply.

“Miss me?”

Nesta ignored his comment and reluctantly gestured to him. “Elain, this is Cassian. Cassian, this is my other sister Elain.”

Cassian shot her a goofy grin and reached out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Elain. I’ve never seen anyone rock fairy wings like you are.”

Elain couldn’t help but blush. “Thank you.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Ugh, stop charming everyone!”

“I’m irresistible, sweetheart,” Cassian batted his eyelashes.

“I need a drink,” Nesta muttered to herself before walking away and in the direction of the kitchen.

Cassian winked at Elain before following her sister. “I could use a drink too!"

Elain listened to them bicker as they walked away, a smile touching her lips.

Over the next couple hours, more and more people arrived at Rhysand and Feyre’s place. It soon got crowded, Elain unable to hear over the booming music and incessant chatter.

She was sitting on an loveseat in the corner watching Cassian trying to convince Nesta to dance with him when she heard a familiar voice.

"Sorry I'm so late, the babysitter cancelled last minute and I had to find a replacement."

Elain's head snapped to the foyer where Feyre and Rhys stood with another man. Elain got a glimpse of his face as he took off his jacket, and her suspicions were confirmed.

It was Azriel.

Elain's heart was beating out of her chest as she watched Feyre lead Azriel into the living room where she sat.

Then he spotted her.

He stopped dead in his tracks, Feyre continuing to walk and talk, not noticing that she no longer had his attention. No, his eyes were on Elain and Elain alone.

Elain gave him a little wave. Azriel's lips turned into a full out smile as he caught up to Feyre, who had been leading him to Elain anyway. Presumably to introduce him to her and Nesta.

"Azriel, this is -"

"Elain," he finished. His eyes were still on her, disbelief on his face.

Feyre looked between them confusedly. "Do you guys know each other?"

"Uh..." Elain started, unsure of what to say. "Sort of?"

"I went out with Tobias and we incidentally stopped by her house," Azriel explained.

"Well," Feyre said with a mischievous grin. "I guess I'll leave you guys to it." She shot Elain a look that said, You should make a move.

And just like that, they were alone.

Azriel took a seat beside Elain, leaving only a couple inches between them as he turned his body toward her. He smelled amazing.

"So, you're Feyre's sister, huh?" Azriel gazed at her earnestly and bumped his shoulder against hers. "I guess that means we'll be seeing a lot of each other."

Elain bit her lip to stop herself from grinning like an idiot. "No complaints here."

A comfortable silence fell between them as they watched others dancing and drinking. The current song faded out and "Creep" by Radiohead began to play.

"Would you, um... would you like to dance?" Azriel asked her tentatively.

Oh my gods, yes! What kind of question is that?

"I would love to," Elain exclaimed.

Azriel stood and held out his hand. The moment Elain took his hand with her own, she was a goner.

He led them to the makeshift dance floor before bringing her hand to his shoulder and grabbing her waist gently with his hand. Fire shot through Elain when his thumb circled idly on her palm. Then, he pulled her in close.

"This okay?" Azriel murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. She shivered and nodded.

"Did I mention," he continued, spinning them in a slow circle, "that you are absolutely gorgeous?"

Elain hid her face against his shoulder to smile widely before craning her neck to look at with him, a twinkle in her eye. "I think you were too busy tripping over your own feet to mention that."

Azriel tipped back his head and laughed loudly. She loved the sound. "You wound me, Elain," he told her, but Elain could see the faint blush in his cheeks. He leaned in to whisper, "You're right though. You make me nervous."

The music swelled, and Azriel guided both of Elain's hands to cup the back of his neck. He encircled his arms around her waist until their bodies were flush against each other, their foreheads touching.

"I like Tobias. He's a great kid."

Azriel's entire body seemed to relax as he gave her an easy smile. "He's a handful, and I love him."

"I can tell," Elain told him. "You're a good dad."

"Thank you." Azriel huffed out a laugh. "You're something else, Elain Archeron."

Elain leaned her head back and she searched his hazel eyes. "Is that a good thing?"

Something unreadable flashed in his eyes. "Yes."

And then he was capturing her lips in his to give Elain the sweetest kiss she'd ever had.

-----------------------

tag list (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @sjmships @sleeping-and-books @sirgwaines @books-for-sure @blowing-mikey @b00kworm @wineywitch202 @liquifyme @maastrash @thewayshedreamed

#halloween #my writing #fic #fanfiction #acotar #elriel #elain archeron #a court of thorns and roses

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ekaterinakostrova · 5 years

Text

“She wanted to be able to talk to him in his own language, and that desire was a terrible pain”.

Her lips formed words, fingers touched old pages. So many unfamiliar words, but already familiar letters. It became a ritual for her. Sometimes she read historical chronicles about cruel and desperate generals, about the greatest warriors, conquerors of the wind; she read stories of formidable battles and vile creatures that fell by the swords of the brave rulers of mountains, read legends about star-crossed lovers... Among all of these books, she could find slim volumes of poetry. Words enchanted her, phrases intoxicated her.

And then she heard his speech. She had already heard the Illyrian language among native speakers, but when he spoke, something inside her began to tremble. It was like a bolt of lightning, a burning cold sliding over her spine. Such a melodic language and his soft tone, a deep and low voice. He spoke, and they listened to him, valued his every word. Words that sounded so naturally on his lips.

Emerie helped her find some books that she could read after mastering the alphabet, sometimes trying to explain the structure of sentences, but she still lacked written sources.

“No one on the continent studies Illyrian intentionally, so you won’t be able to find a single well-written textbook in a common language,” Emerie once said, cutting the dark fabric into pieces with a sharp pair of silver scissors.

“Why?” Nesta asked with interest, looking up at the girl.

Emery blew out a long sigh.

“Why would anyone mess with the most brutal warriors on the continent? Everyone is terrified of my people, and the elders are too stubborn to let strangers into our lands”.

Nesta frowned.

“Women of the clans sew real works of art. I am sure that many noble families among all Courts on the continent would like to buy clothes with Illyrian’s national embroidery. In some clans, large gems are mined. They could develop market, and so many people could finally find a job.

Emerie grinned bitterly.

“Tell the old man about it, and I'll see, what he will do with you after that.”

And Nesta wanted to. But more than that, she wanted to fill the oppressive silence in the house. Sometimes Cassian would come back in the middle of the night, when she was already in her room. She peered at the hazy shifty visage night after night. She knew that he had done it deliberately, so that he would not accidentally meet with her in the house. He was trying to avoid her. Their last fight was not just a simple quarrel, they both allowed themselves to hurt each other with words, deeply.

Sometimes she listened to the fierce melody of the wandering storm outside, waiting for the sound of heavy wings, the echoes from the creaking floorboards, and his tired sigh. Sometimes she fell asleep on the sofa by the fire, waiting for him to return. And while she was sleeping, she imagined him flying in the black sky, a cascade of snow coming down, hiding the horizon behind it.

She rarely stayed in the living room, still feeling like an intruder in his house, but this night the storm was particularly strong, and there was nothing she could do about her restless heart. She listened to the menacing swirls of the strong wind beating against the glass.

She looked down at the books on the massive wooden table, peered at the fascinating patterns of letters, ran her fingers along the handwritten pages, as if she could feel the hands that had painted the once clean, light pages. The Illyrian language was surprisingly refined, like fine art. Nesta saw the notes that Cassian left on papers, and was amazed that his strong hands, which easily broke other people's bones, could write out neat curls of letters that formed words.

She looked down at her pages with writing and grimaced. Her letters were crooked, and the handwriting was sloppy, rushed and untidy.

She took a deep breath and started again. She wrote until her fingers ached and her palms were covered with dark streaks of ink. Then she tried to read the first few stanzas in the book, trying to remember how Emerie used to say the words of greeting that Illyrians exchange with each other.

“I salute you, may your path be easy and your heart be serene.”

She took a deep breath and tried again.

“Eine kaste corte, de la vonte lineus, sum meri altus”.

Nesta frowned, trying to remember the correct intonation with which Emerie had read the sentence.

“Eine kaste corte…de la vonte lineus…”.

And it sounded so wrong on her lips. But… she was patient.

Nesta was trying to finish the sentence, when suddenly she heard fluent Illyrian speech, and her heart skipped a beat.

“Eine vileus corte ir woste famus”.

She met deep, dark brown eyes that turned almost black in the shadows. Dark, curly locks of wet hair fell over his handsome face, and his piercing gaze met with her pale gray eyes. Her lips parted slightly. They lived under the same roof, but the feeling of tension did not subside after their last argument, and they both avoided each other.

Nesta blinked, breaking eye contact and looking down at her soiled hands.

“I don't know what your words mean,” she admitted, feeling a warm blush creep over her cheekbones.

“I welcome you to my home.” This is what they say when they invite guests to their home.

For a long moment, a deafening silence enveloped them. She wanted to be with him, she was happy that he came back. She wanted to breathe in his scent that she longed for, wanted to look at him and memorize his features until her eyes ached. But she stared at her hands, refusing to obey her instinct. The desire she wanted to get rid of.

“Never knew you were learning Illyrian. Why would you do that? A large number of Illyrians know the common language too.

She shrugged her shoulders.

“Not all of them. People close to noble families can speak the common language, and many women and children do not understand me. If I'm going to live here, I need to know the language that people speak, don't I? Otherwise, I will remain a foreign witch.

She felt the air crackle with his anger; his eyes had gone molten with a suppressed rage that seems to suck all the air out of the atmosphere.

“What did they tell you?”

She looked up at him because she couldn't stop herself. And Nesta was surprised to see faint echoes of fear in the depths of the hazel eyes.

“Nothing,” she whispered faintly, hiding behind the pages of her books. No one would take her words seriously; no one of elders would give her the word to stand up for the rights of children and women.

But there was another reason, entirely selfish reason. She wanted to be able to talk to him in his own language, and that desire was a terrible pain.

She kept her gaze glued to the table because if she looked at him she might be lost.

“I'll make some tea,” Nesta said sharply, rising from the table, not daring to endure the oppressive silence of the room any longer. She had to get away from him, from his soft voice.

She put the kettle on the stove, lighting the burner. So much time has passed, and many things have become familiar, almost native. She was used to the smell of black coffee and toast in the morning, used to the smell of Jasmine tea that Cassian brewed in the morning. She was used to seeing him at work, and it seemed that he could not afford a moment of peace to himself. Sometimes she saw him oiling and polishing heavy swords, but never in the house, as if the house he had built with his own hands was his fortress. His hiding place from the rest of the world.

This house felt different with him in it. She felt different. It was the way he looked at her, as if he could devour her any minute.

When she returned to the living room with a wooden tray containing two mugs of hot tea, Cassian was sitting at the table, looking at her notes.

“Your handwriting is beautiful,” he said.

She made a face as she put the tray on the table.

“I'm telling the truth,” he said, grinning widely. “I also brought you something,” he said, nodding toward a stack of leather-bound volumes.

“What is it?” she asked, picking up one of the books and flipping through the pages, the handwriting was familiar.

“These are my notebooks when I was learning the common language. I thought you might need them. I started with the alphabet, too, and my notes weren't as neat and consistent as yours,” he said, keeping his gaze on her. He knew. He knew what he did to her when she looked into his eyes.

“When did you start learning a common language?” she asked, looking up at him.

“I think I was a little older than you”.

“Why?”

He chuckled.

“I wanted to get out of here. I wanted to see the world, wanted to become someone”.

She remembered the little boy who had snatched the bread from the counter at the market. She remembered how fiercely and hopelessly he had pressed his fingers into a loaf of bread.

Hunger.

Coldness.

She was familiar with these feelings. He was just a little child. The top of his head barely reaching her knees. In the reflection of his eyes, she saw a grown man who had known too much pain.

She shuddered, remembering that day.

She could not imagine what Cassian’s life was like in these mountains, among these cruel warriors.

“Who taught you?”

“Firstly, I learned it by myself. Books were a luxury. In my time, I could buy a warm jacket or boots, a hearty dinner and find a safe place for a night for one of such books”.

He picked up one of her notebooks, looking at her notes with interest.

“Later, Rhysand’s mother gave me lessons”.

Nesta fixed her gaze on the map he had drawn in his notebook, running her fingers over the letters, with the names of seas, oceans, and distant continents. Did he dream of traveling around the world as much as she did?

It was more than she could ask for.

“Thank you”.

He grinned again, a slow, beautiful smile that sent her heart clenching hard.

“I could help you, if that's what you want.”

She clutched a leather-bound book.

“It would be my pleasure.”

#nessian #nesta archeron #nesta #cassian #postacofas #acotar

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harmonyindark245 · 4 years

Text

Secrets [1]

Summary: King's Archeron's kingdom is made up of secrets, which include both betrayal and treason. When the Prince of Velaris and his Inner Circle visit the kingdom, these secrets start revealing themselves. How will these affect the 3 Archeron Princesses, who themselves have a very deadly secret?

Word Count - 1.5k words

AN: All characters belong to Sarah J. Mass

Warnings: A bit of mature language

Hope you all enjoy :)

Masterlist

Rhysand stood in front of the palace gates, gazing at the massive doors and the beautiful carvings on them. He had never seen such beautiful doors in his kingdom.

Well, maybe that had to do with the fact that his father hated decorations of any sort. Rhysand thought he was a prick.

“Hey prick, you do know you can help us right?” Ah, that would be the other prick, whom Rhysand did not hate that much. Rhysand turned around to see Cassian, his brother of sorts, tugging huge sacks along with him.

“And you do know that we have servants to help with those?” He pointed out.

Cassian let go of the sacks and behind him, Azriel very nearly avoided tripping over them.

“Ah, the most powerful Illyrians in our kingdom and yet they are unaware of the usage of servants and tripping over sacks.” Mor said. “Such a pity. Isn’t that right Amren?”

Amren just waved her hand around. “That isn’t surprising. What is surprising though, is that we have been forced to come here to the land of mortals. Why is that?” She asked, glaring at Rhys.

“We were invited and dear old father thought it would be good to connect ties.” Rhys said, giving the same reason his father gave him.

“That is the job for a Prince and his royalties. Why the hell did you bring me? Or this uncultured brute?” She pointed towards Cassian. He just walked up and slung his arm over her shoulder. She shrugged it off almost immediately.

“Because dear Amren, he needed some source of entertainment for his month-long duration in this colorful drab kingdom.”

“Colorful drab?” Rhys asked, definitely amused by his friend’s choice of words.

“Why yes, isn’t that perfectly applicable here? It is filled with colors, but at the same time, the life here seems so drab.”

From behind, Az spoke up, “I highly doubt you’d be saying that when you meet the three princesses.”

Cassian flipped his head to watch Azriel who in turn was looking at Cassian with careful eyes.

“Three, eh?” Cassian tilted his head. “Perhaps, I’ll spare one for you and Rhysie each.” He turned around and walked towards the gate.

Mor just laughed and followed behind Cassian. Amren also moved ahead, leaving Rhys and Az behind. The Prince looked at his Spymaster and said, “You know what to do, don’t you?”

Az just nodded. “And I’ll also ensure he doesn’t get kicked out of the kingdom.” He started walking away too as Rhys held his hand to stop him.

“What do you know about these princesses?”

Az smirked at the prince as he answered, “Each is too much for us to handle.”

-----------------------------------

Elain was pacing in the great hall. She had managed to convince her father to let her welcome the guests from Velaris. Her father thought it was due to her generosity.

In truth, it was so Elain could avoid Prince Lucien. If it were up to Elain, she would’ve stayed away from him since the first day. Once she had even contemplated slipping a tonic into his potion which would result in him not being able to leave his chambers for more than ten minutes. However, Elain couldn’t. She was supposed to be the nice sister, even though her thoughts ran far more violently than her sisters.

“Oh do stop pacing. You’re giving me a headache.” Nesta said aloud from her seat without even looking up from her book.

“Nesta, they were to arrive an hour ago. The sun is about to set, all the preparations! And Feyre! Feyre is not even here!” Elain exclaimed.

Nesta finally kept her book on her lap. “You do realise that I do not believe for one second that you are this frustrated because some Prince is coming to visit. Now tell me what happened, or else you’ll end up wearing down our carpet.”

Elain let out a breath. “Prince Lucien finally proposed.”

Nesta was taken aback. “He has asked for your hand in marriage?”

“Not exactly. I don’t know.” Elain leaned against the wall. “He said he would be honored if I chose him, whatever that means.”

Nesta laughed. “I see. Seems like someone fancies you. I bet he doesn’t know you at all.”

“That’s not all. I keep seeing flashes of this man with a dagger and shadows swarming around him.”

“Well, if he ever happens to confront you, ensure he can handle his liquor as well as you.” Nesta taunted again.

Elain glared at her. “Make fun of me all you want. Once I meet him, and I assure you I will, he will be the most perfect man to ever be alive.” She raised her chin.

Just then the front doors opened and a group of well dressed people entered. Elain stood up straight as she saw the man standing behind them all.

Mother’s tits. It’s him.

-------------------------------------------

Nesta was very unhappy when her father had told her about the prince’s visit. She knew that he had avoided telling her due to some reason and Nesta was willing to bet it was because he wanted to get her betrothed to the prince and knew that Nesta would strongly object.

Luckily, Lord Thomas had not hounded her for another chance. She was fed up with being seen as an attainable object. A prize that would lead them directly to the throne.

Elain’s pacing and fantasies did not help at all. And Feyre was infatuated with the Captain and did not see sense regarding him. Nesta obviously despised him. As a child, he had told her that she could not handle swordsmanship. She responded by slitting his tendons, accidentally, obviously. He did not walk for a month and Nesta revelled with pride.

The door opened and five people, two ladies and three gentlemen, entered the great hall. Elain stood straight and stared at the man standing in the back. He looked quite handsome. As Nesta looked at each one of them properly, she realised, all of them looked well, in their own manner.

The tall man in the back stood in a way that suggested he was carrying much burden on his shoulders. The lady in front of him was in a bright red gown with golden hair. She smiled as if she hadn’t seen a single bad day in her life. Nesta didn’t like her. There was a short lady standing right beside her with short black hair. She had a scowl embedded on her face. Nesta considered her as a potential friend.

The one standing out the most was obviously the prince. His clothes screamed elegance. If Feyre were here, she definitely would’ve made him stay still until she could complete a portrait of his.

There was another man. He walked at the head of the group, wearing normal clothes. Nesta couldn’t look away from his unkempt hair, reaching his shoulders, and his rugged face. His eyes were hazel and they clearly spelled out trouble.

The man caught her eye and winked at her.

Oh, Cauldron help her.

-------------------------------------------

Feyre was in the weapons room, polishing her personal sword. She knew Elain would bite her head off for abandoning the so-called ‘welcoming committee’ but Feyre truly did not want to be there. Tamlin’s words from the previous day had not left her mind and the last thing she needed was an arrogant prince commenting on her kingdom.

She looked at the sword. Holding it as if she were cradling it. Was she truly not capable of protecting herself?

Tamlin walked into the room and was surprised at seeing her there. “Feyre, what are you doing here? I thought you had some event to attend.”

Feyre didn’t move her gaze from her sword. “Not an event. I had to go welcome the Prince of Velaris. Not that exciting.”

Tamlin’s expression tightened. “The Prince of Velaris is here?”

Feyre looked up at him. “You were not aware?”

Tamlin closed his hands into fists. “No. His Majesty never mentioned anything of such.”

Feyre moved towards him, his expressions unsettling to her. “Tam, are you okay?”

“Feyre, do you love me?” he asked abruptly.

“Of course I do. You know I do.” Feyre said without a hint of doubt.

He looked into her eyes and said, “Then marry me.”

---------------------------------------------

“Your Majesty, you have a message from the mortal lands.” The servant said with his head bowed down.

“Very well. Hand it to me and go back to your position.” The evil king said.

As the King read the message his spy had sent, a smile formed on his face.

“Why the smile, your highness?” The lady behind him crooned.

“King Archeron thinks he can protect his kingdom from us. How naive of him.” The King laughed. “Little does he know that i have been planning this for a very long time and there will be nothing stopping me.”

“It appears he has done his job well. Perhaps, give him a reward of some sort?” The lady now stood beside him glancing at the letter.

“Not so soon, my lady. Not so soon.”

#feysand #nessian #elriel #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #elain archeron #rhysand #cassian #azriel #mor #amren

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valkyriewarriors · 5 years

Text

| Goddess of the Hearth | III

masterlist

Nesta could feel the heat of the fire more than ever. It felt almost as if she would reach the flames for their comfort.

Marriage.

To Eris.

“Nesta,” The high priestess’ tone was low, her eyes were darker than before. “There is no choice here. As a Vestal Virgin, you are beyond blessed than any other woman in the Empire.” The priestess's hands were cold when they reached out to grip Nesta’s wrists. “To be offered the hand of the imperial household… it’s your final offering to the Empire. A marriage blessed by Vesta herself.”

“But I need at least 30 years before I can leave my services..” Nesta tried to explain in a steady voice. If the High Priestess wasn’t gripping her wrists she would’ve been shaking.

“There is talk of mutiny within the senate. When the emperor came to our temple for advice, we offered a hand in marriage as a blessing to secure his position. His son remembered you from before,” Nesta grimaced “and wanted you specifically.”

The high priestess let go of Nesta’s hands and she felt blood rushing back to them. The high priestess turned to leave but looked back and said in a cold tone, “You have to accept Nesta. Or Eris will take one of your sisters in your place. You’ll have a month to journey to Rome, I’ll see you then Nesta.” She walked away, her white tunic capturing the sunlight as she left the temple. Nesta could only stare as her last words cut through her like glass.

He would take one of her sisters instead. Feyre and Elain. Nesta turned towards the fire, her fists balled to keep from shaking. There was no choice. Was there ever a choice for her? For any of her sisters? They were placed, dumped, in the Vestal Virgin’s temple at such a young age to protect their father’s reputation after his trading company sunk. After 10 grueling and cruel years of training, being exiled, Nesta should’ve known.

Nothing was up to her. From the tunic she wore. the bed she slept on, the food she ate, the things she sacrificed, nothing was hers.

She needed air. A place to breathe. If there was one thing she was grateful for it was the gardens. Unlike the ones in Rome, which Nesta could rarely visit, there was still a wild element to the untrimmed bushes and the towering heights of the cypress trees. The sun shone brightly and through the canopy cover where rays of light escaped. The ground was not paved with cobblestones, there was still grass and soil that gave Nesta comfort as she strolled through barefoot.

Under the mulberry tree, she sat where the branches stretched far enough to provide her shade in the sun. She didn’t care if her tunic got dirty from the soil there was a ton more at the temple. Her veil was removed, she hated how stuffed and enclosed she felt in it. She wanted a fresh breeze on her face and to smell the growing variety of vegetation.

This was where she can be alone and the world wouldn’t burn if she spent a few minutes in idle. There wasn’t a mold she had to fit into. In Rome, there was order and structure to her life. So much rigidity that Nesta didn’t realize she was suffocating. Her life as a priestess was crafted to give her a future she had no choice in as a devoted wife to a man who only saw her as a prize.

A small breeze passed through the garden, swaying the branches above her. A few mulberries dropped to the ground and scattered around her. Suddenly she remembered the tan skin and the defined lines of muscles. The eyes whose color was something Nesta had yet to see — brown but when the light shone on them, they were almost green. And the irksome grins and smirks he threw at her. Brute. A handsome brute.

Nesta knew he was a highly ranked officer from the way his armor was bound together by leather, and the feathered helmet he carried the other day. He was not a centurion maybe not yet, but he was far too young. He didn’t carry himself like a nobleman, leading Nesta to believe he earned his rank. Maybe that’s why he’s so cocky because he knew he had the skills to back him up.

She scoffed as she remembered the many times she caught him staring at her in the temple or how his breath seemed to stop when she applied the salve to his cheek. Maybe in another life, she could be the village girl who stole his heart and fed him mulberries in the garden. There wouldn’t be eyes that watched her or armbands that locked her in place.

When she saw him the other day in the gardens he was sound asleep not one brow furrowed. His face was in pure bliss that even Nesta didn’t want to wake him so she simply went about her duties. But then he awoke, approached her and threw her his famous crooked smile that Nesta wanted to smother. And then that ugly gash caught her attention, something she didn't notice when he was sleeping. For some reason, Nesta hated seeing it on him so she offered her precious salve.

“Yes priestess, we have a deal.” He was so close to her she could smell the sea salt from his skin. She noticed his hands were calloused from his training but also warm as she took the berries he offered. He continued to watch her as she ate them and in her inner depths, she loved the glint in his hazel eyes.

A sharper wind cut through her thoughts. The gardens were quieter today and a bit darker. She sighed as she got up and mindlessly wiped off her already dirty tunic. There were still things to do in the temple.

—

Cassian grunted as he hit the ground. Rhysand was above him, sword already at his throat. “A week out and you’re already rusty?”

Cassian swiped his sword away and took the hand Rhysand offered. His arm was a little sore but not painstakingly as it was before. He scoffed, “Alright the first pint of beer is on me.”

“Only a pint?” Rhysand was grinning and he clasped his hand on Cassian’s back as they walked through the camp.

“Optiones. ” A rough voice boomed from behind them. Cassian immediately knew it was their centurion, Devlon. He and Rhysand turned about-face and saluted him, the muscles beneath Cassian’s scar ached a bit.

Devlon’s eyes scanned Cassian’s scar, raising an eyebrow. “How did it heal so fast? I thought I cut it pretty deeply.” His eyes glinted as if he remembered his blade slicing through Cassian’s flesh. The muscles in Cassian’s jaws clenched.

“Takes the right salve and some time off to heal,” Cassian said sharply.

Devlon stepped closer trying to let his bulky figure intimidate Cassian. He snarled, “Don’t get smart with me boy.”

Rhysand, sensing the tension, cleared his throat. “Was there something you wanted to tell us?”

Devlon straightened, backing away from Cassian but still close. “An order was received this morning, the emperor’s son is to be married.” Devlon spat on the ground and stood in front of them with hands on his hips. “They need escorts for his soon to be wife… so I’m sending my best optiones,”

Cassian fought the urge to look over at Rhysand and roll his eyes but he knew Rhysand feelings were mutual. Devlon was just doing this to show off to the Emperor his military officers that he supposedly trained. They were prizes to the Emperor as much as whoever this poor woman was.

“The wife resides in this town?” Rhysand asked.

Devlon then turned to Cassian as he answered Rhysand. “She’s the Vestal Priestess.” Rhysand scoffed and almost laughed, “Ice priestess?”

But Cassian wasn’t listening anymore, Devlon’s eyes once again flickered to his scar and grinned. He knew she gave him the salve and maybe that he had an affection for her. Devlon was sending him to torment him. Did you really think anything would happen between the two? With you?

“Fine.” Cassian said at last.

“Well if Cassian’s going, I’ll go too.” Rhysand said.

Devlon laughed, “Optiones, you talk as if you had a choice.”

—

A/N: optiones - plural for optio in latin: equivalent to an executive officer in the military.

centurion - commander of a century

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian fanfic #nessian ff #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfic #nessian fanfiction

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flowerflamestars · 5 years

Note

Isolation just hit me hard, sis, please give me something Nessian

Dark and scary times for us all! Stay safe and well and have the first few pages of the Ivy Moon Epilogue:

Cassian hadn’t worn a white suit since Havana in the thirties, and he’d enjoyed that state of being.

Sighing around a smile, he tugged his cuffs into place. Through the western wall of wide windows that made up Nesta’s bedroom- their bedroom- Cassian could see the snow beginning to fall heavily. The storm glow of the sky was bleeding pink as the day ended, time ebbing low.

The winter solstice had come.

A sacred witch holiday, the youngest Archeron’s birthday- and Rhys and Feyre’s wedding day. There were six inches of snow on the ground already, the longest night of the year promising to be icy cold, and Cassian was wearing linen.

Nesta had kept him company at the fitting, her smirk the brightest thing in the chaos of a particularly gifted pixie tailor’s shop. The owner and her assistants were invisible but for balls of twinkling light, flickering around as pins seemed to appear like magic adjusting the itchy white fabric.

“Has anyone told Fey that all the white is for virginity?” Cassian sighed, faced on three sides by mirrors that told him exactly how blinding the suit was.

Nesta cracked a smile. “Please say that exact sentence to Rhysand." Somewhere in his brain Cassian had an aside to follow her words, but it got lost as Nesta stepped up to his side. Sliding away the phone she’d been using to unsubtly document the whole process- and from her twitching lips, pass on to Amren- Nesta leaned her head against his arm.

He was never, ever going to get used to the fact that this was his life now. “Did you know my dress has sparkles?” She asked him, grey eyes dancing as they met his in the mirror. “Sparkles, Cassian.” Her disgust was so clear he had to laugh. Was finally able to think about something besides the suit Nesta was wearing- blood red, immaculate, a sharp slash in the world she’d worn to a meeting before joining him- and snag her hand.

To anyone watching, Nesta might as well have not reacted at all. But Cassian was a wolf- and how he cherished the skills that came with it as he heard her breathe stutter, witches heart picking up in tempo.

Grinning, he raised her hand to his lips.

And was tapped less than gently on the side of the head by a bobbing pink light reminding him to hold still, Mr. Aquilar, or this will not sit correctly. “My apologizes,” Cassian had managed to say. Nesta’s eyes hadn’t left him once. The slam of a solid oak door pulled Cassian from his memories, made him start from where he’d frozen, looking at the cold forest that somewhere contained his mate, draped in sparkling silver. The bedroom door moved again, bouncing, and he took its heed. If he wasn’t used to the incredible hidden depths of Nesta’s affection, the seeming adoption of him into the family by the old witch house was startling.

And he wasn’t smug at all that it sometimes still refused Rhys entry. Down through the house everywhere was magic, and everywhere was chaos. None of the legion of wedding guests Rhys had invited were arriving quite yet, but the Wild Hunt had come. In lightening strikes and rolls of thunder, over the last week they’d strode in from the forest- or in one memorable instance, appeared armed to the teeth in the kitchen. Rhysand had tackled Alcheon before the sisters could blink away the strike of electricity, and gotten a knife in the stomach for his trouble. Feyre still wasn’t done laughing that her dhampir have gotten stabbed by a monk. Three floors down, Cassian followed the softly vicious sound of Elain swearing to the auxiliary kitchen. The place where the Archeron’s normally brewed potions and today, the cake staging room. “Putian,” Elain bit out and waved her fingers over the top tier. An apron Cassian was very sure he’d last seen in Azriel’s kitchen was looped twice around her waist. The dark head of the very brother in question peeked around the doorframe as Cassian came down the hall. It had been all of ten minutes, but Az had already discarded his identical blazer. “Kim Yu-Shin came to fetch Rhys.” A banner of shining emerald was hanging over Az’s neck. Bare of course- collar already undone and shirt half unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, buttercream smeared on one wrist- Azriel’s allergy to formalwear was alive as ever. “I’m sure Uncle just wanted to have a chat,” Said Elain lightly. It wasn’t a tone that inspired confidence in the pleasantness of that talk. She set down the piping bag she’d been wielding and snapped fingers over the cake. Like ignition, it caught, sparked. The room filled with the scent of bonfires. Vanilla and smoke, cinnamon drifting up to cold clear October skies. And there in the pale frosting, embers floated and lived, mingling with silver-gold decorations. The green resolved itself to be Lucien’s long hair, moving as he raised a sleep rumpled face from the back of Azriel’s neck to bare sharp teeth at Cassian. “She means we might need to go hunt down your brother in case he’s hog tied naked in the woods.” Cassian grinned back. “I think the only thing in danger is his suit, then.” “So life or death for Rhys,” Az replied, absently shifting until Lucien’s chin was looped more comfortably over his shoulder. “Do we know if he picked out the two toned velvet, or Feyre?” “Feyre,” Anwsered two voices from the doorway. On long legs, a pink haired welsh giant who’d been blond the last time Cassian saw him slid into the already crowded room. “Green suits you, sapling.” Oberon crossed his arms, smile undimmed through exhausted eyes. Lucien’s gaze danced, “Not as good as you in pink, old one.” Cassian hadn’t needed to guess where the new color had come from. He’d met the Iron Knight- the bloody nightmare of the last faerie civil war, a changeling who’d wielded cold steel against the Seelie Queen herself- when he was mid apple fight with Lucien. One minute he’d been walking with Elain, and the next a massive unseelie warrior had dropped silently from one of the orchard trees to smash Lucien in the face with a honeycrisp. Oberon laughed, the sound echoing, and redirected his attention to greet Az. “Azriel Esfandiyār Aguilar.” A cool hand caught Cassian’s and he turned to allow the sight of Nesta, one step behind Oberon, to sweep over him like a tide. The dress did indeed sparkle- but spelled alteration had turned that mortal glitter to the shine of falling snow, every inch of silver white fabric as light and fine as the lattice of frost over leaves. Silk, sliding over the skin of the most beautiful woman Cassian had ever seen. Even cloaked- she was wrapped in a gauzy more truly silver wrap, arms and waist and neck, screened like enchantment-he had to swallow, heart in his throat as Nesta raised her eyebrows, knowing smile twisting that perfect mouth. The problem with the Hunt- the lethal, ancient thirteen beloved of Acherons- was that they had to follow their own rules. Until you became something- familiar, known, quantified- full names mattered. But Oberon only inclined his head to Cassian, and Cassian nodded back, grateful. Elain drew the elder dryad into conversation, but once the moment of introduction had passed, Cassian had honestly stopped listening. Instead, he stepped closer to Nesta, leaning down. “Hi.” Ice littered her hair from the falling snow, just beginning to melt and darken so much gold. The scent of fire- flame and moonlight, his magic still dancing over her- had announced Nesta’s incoming radiant presence to him before she’d even made it into the house. How could the snow even touch her? “Hello,” Nesta answered, soft as a secret. Close, her skin carried so much of his touch Cassian’s wolf wanted to roll in it. And was smiling like she knew it. This- this was the problem. Secrets that his heart and magic and being crowed to the star scattered sky if anyone was paying attention.

Nesta, a sword and shield between the living and the dead, was so different as to not have to worry about anyone plucking up her feelings from the air.

Here Cassian was- a new last name curled golden in his mouth, a wedding band hidden around his neck, a glamoured tattoo on his ribs, and happiness pounding in his blood. He couldn’t contain it.

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courtofsapphiresandshadows · 5 years

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Chapter Fourteen- Nesta

Nesta expected Sasha’s training to be difficult, however she didn’t think it would involve all of this running.

They had been running for 15 minutes, both Nesta and Estelle keeping pace behind Sasha. Every morning for the past week, the trio had risen early in the morning to go for a 20 minute run. “It’s for conditioning”, Sasha had told them, a small smirk on her lips. “You’ll thank me later”.

How it would help her, Nesta was yet to find out. The only thing she has gotten out of this was sore muscles and a raging appetite.

Sasha thankfully slowed down to a walk, glancing over her shoulders to check up on the two. “I’m going to end the run early- I have something else planned for today.”

Nesta and Estelle exchanged a look. “Are we carrying rocks again?” Estelle wondering out loud between gasps of air. While the younger Illyrian was definitely stronger than Nesta, she lacked the endurance that Nesta, as a high fae, had. “I really hope not.”

She could merely nod her head in agreement. The workout they did yesterday had left Nesta with scrapes on her hands and knees, not to mention arms that felt like gelatin. “I don’t think she would repeat the same workout twice in one week”, Nesta told her, “but knowing Sasha, I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Someone chuckled- Sasha had been listening in to their conversation. “Glad to see that you enjoyed yesterday- I’ll make sure to use it again.”

Hiding a groan, Nesta followed Sasha to a clearing in the forest. Rows of weapons were laid neatly on a cloth, a target erected on a tree. “I know it’s nothing like the ring that Rhysand has, but at least it’s in the shade”, Sasha commented, before popping open her canteen and drinking deeply.

“I think it’s perfect.” Nesta, not that she dared admit it, loved to train, especially when it was just Estelle and Sasha to watch her. She still hadn’t told Cassian where she disappeared to every morning- not that he had the time to care. Once again, he was too busy with Ironcrest to bug her. It was a relief for her to not have to deal with Cassian, but a small part of her worried for him. Wondered if he was able to get enough sleep at night.

“Nesta?” Estelle called out to her. She must’ve gotten too lost in her thoughts to realize that they had been waiting on her. “Are you okay?”

“Just tired”, she assured, shooting them a small smile. “What are we doing today, Sasha?”

The redhead grinned. “I think it’s time to introduce you two to some blades.” She flipped a knife in her hand, the metal glinting brightly in the sun. “When it comes to arming yourself, you should choose something that works with your strengths- if you’re strong, use something that you can pack a punch with.” Grunting slightly, she hefted a large battle axe, and handed it to Estelle, who nearly dropped it.

“If you’re quick and nimble, and not scared of getting too close to combat, a dagger might work well for you. However, if you favor being farther away-” the knife that was in her hand zipped in the air, before hitting the target behind them, “then a bow or throwing knives might suit your fancy.”

Estelle dragged the axe back to the other weapons, grunting slightly before dropping it. “And do you have any ideas on what weapon we should pick?”

Sasha stroked her red braid, thinking to herself. “I have ideas”, she admitted, “but you should be comfortable with a variety of weapons, not just one.”

Nesta eyed the axe on the ground. “Do we have to use that?”

Surprisingly, she let out a sigh of relief. “Oh thank the Mother- I have no idea how to use battle axes.”

“Then why did you bring it out?” Nesta asked incredulously. That axe looked heavy- why would Sasha drag it all the way out here if she didn’t plan on using it?

Sasha shrugged her shoulders. “I had one, and I didn’t know if you all wanted to use it.” She then waved her hand over the axe, muttering something as the axe faded away. “No need to have it here, in that case.”

Estelle picked up a sword, examining the blade. “Will we learn how to use swords?” She asked, although she was holding the weapon rather uncomfortably. “I mean, many Illyrian warriors use them.” That was true- almost all of the warriors Nesta had seen were using swords and nothing else. Azriel was one of the few Illyrians who was seen with some sort of dagger.

“We’ll learn how to use swords later, after you all master some other sort of weapon- it’s to make sure you don’t rely to heavily on your sword, even though they’re useful”, she informed them, before picking up two more knives, handing them over to Nesta and Estelle. “Shall we get started?”

Throwing knives were harder than they looked. Despite Sasha’s assurance that it had taken her awhile to master them, it wasn’t encouraging when Nesta’s knives soared over or landed just before the target. ‘I definitely prefer the workout from yesterday’, she thought to herself gloomily as she picked up her knives embedded in the dirt. ‘At least I wouldn’t embarrass myself so much.’

Estelle was having the same luck. “This is no easy task”, she commented under her breath, before whipping the knife at the target once more. However, the small throwing knife veered left, and went straight into the forest beyond. Letting out a deep sigh, she began her march of humiliation to retrieve the knife, leaving Nesta and Sasha by themselves.

“How long did it really take you to master throwing knives?” Nesta asked her as the redhead embedded another knife into the center of the target.

Sasha paused for a minute, before throwing another knife. “A week or so. I had practiced for hours a day, and often put what I learned into practice.” She then shot a grin at her. “Would you believe me if I told you that I used Aegan as a target once?”

Nesta snorted. “No way. And I’m guessing that she gave you that scar on your face?”

“Oh no, that was from somewhere else, however she did give me this one”, she said, lifting up her shirt to reveal a scar that raced across her abdomen. “When we first met, I threw a knife at her, either out of sheer boredom or out of curiosity, I don’t remember, but if I knew that one, I would miss completely, and two, she was fast to react, I would’ve kept my knife to myself.”

Nesta stared at the scar for a little longer, before looking up at Sasha once more. “I assume you two hated each other at first?”

Sasha laughed. “Oh, very much so. For a month, we both tried killing each other, before finally getting along. I think her mother was partially to thank for that.” She rolled her shirt back down. “Anyway, how did you get into Velaris in the first place? If you don’t mind me asking.”

The murky waters of the cauldron raced through her mind, chills racing up her body. “As you probably know, I was made High Fae a few years ago. My sister was already turned, so she invited me to live with her. That is, until she kicked me out and made me live in the Illyrian Mountains.”

Sasha cocked her head, looking at her quizzically. It might’ve been Nesta’s imagination, but she swore that she felt something hot skim over her body, before retreating quickly. Sasha’s eyes were wide. “You were gifted by the Cauldron?”

“How did you know that?”

Before she could answer, Estelle came trudging back, her legs muddy. “Sorry, I got stuck in the mud while looking for this knife.” She held up the pristine blade. “Who knew something so shiny could be so hard to find?”

Sasha rolled her eyes, smiling, as she plucked the blade out of Estelle’s hand. “How about we practice that throw one more time?” Her dark eyes met Nesta’s once, before glancing away. “Practice makes perfect, after all.”

The day ended with Nesta hitting the outer rim of the target, and Estelle deciding that throwing knives were not for her. After packing up, the three of them hiked back through the forest, Sasha and Estelle taking the lead with Nesta not far behind.

A strong autumn wind cooled her body, a quiet, blissful sigh escaping her nose. Nesta had come to enjoy taking walks in the woods. The chirping birds, the rustle of leaves- it was enough to focus her mind elsewhere, to almost ignore the things that were eating her away. Almost.

“Have you heard from Aegan recently?” Nesta heard Estelle ask innocently, as they reached the treeline. “Is she doing any better?”

“She’s the same as always, although I do think that she’s started to eat more”, Sasha reported, a small smile on her lips. “Yes, I do think that she’s beginning to get better.” She glanced over at Nesta, her smile instantly disappearing as she shook her head. No, Aegan was not getting better. Why lie to Estelle, she didn’t understand. Many of Sasha’s motives were confusing as is.

Estelle smiled brightly. “Oh good! I’m just worried that she’s all by herself up in those mountains” she commented, walking on ahead. The poor girl was too naive to see the truth, that it would probably take years for her to get over what happened to her.

A dark figure zoomed overhead, before disappearing. “What was that?” Nesta asked, squinting her eyes to try to see what it was.

Sasha followed her gaze, her dark eyes narrowing slightly. “Azriel.”

~Aegan’s POV~

A strong wind tore through Aegan’s thin sweater as she sat on top of a high ridge, overlooking the war camp she had been spying on. No one had dared to venture outside- it was hard enough living in any Illyrian war camp. But during harsh blizzards such as these… Aegan sighed, watching her breath condense in front of her. It didn’t surprise her that Ironcrest had canceled any training for the day. Instead, each warrior would find themselves welcomed to a roaring fire and a warm bed.

Not that Aegan could say the same. She hadn’t bothered to light any sort of fireplace throughout the week, even as the cabin’s temperature dropped to a point where the frost had crept up the walls. Regardless, she felt nothing, save for the strange power that was burning her alive. It was enough to keep out winter’s harsh breath, as well as her shadows. It was coming to a point where Aegan had started to miss their constant nagging- it would’ve been nice to have some sort of company.

She shut her eyes briefly, snowflakes brushing against her face. It was peaceful where she was. Aegan knew that it wouldn’t last, at least not until Azriel returned from Velaris. She had gotten a letter from him, courtesy of Sasha. He wouldn’t return until the blizzards had passed- knowing Illyria’s harsh winter, that could be weeks away.

Something tickled her check. Aegan?

She cracked open an eye. One of her shadows hovered right in front of her face, completely unaffected by the harsh wind. “There you are”, she muttered to it, watching it weave its way through her fingers. “Where are the others?”

Here, it whispered to her, as more shadows began to twist their way around her. We watch your back. We help you spy.

“I haven’t seen you at all this week, my monosyllabic friends. I was growing worried.”

Some of the shadows paused, before floating closer to her. We learn. We help with new thing.

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

The roar of her new power was the only answer she got. Her shadows instantly disappeared, and she felt it slowly shrink down in response. The burning lingered, but it wasn’t as strong as it was before.

Releasing a frustrated sob, Aegan flopped into the snow, rubbing a gloved hand over her face. “What is going on with me?”

Aegan was finishing up her notes for the day when she heard the door unlock.

She set her pen down, quietly unsheathing one of her swords. Hybern troops have been drifting closer and closer to the house, and while they haven’t checked the house yet, Aegan knew that it was only a matter of time.

A shadow danced across her desk, before disappearing behind Azriel. He stood in the doorway, still cladded in his Illyrian leathers.

“May I help you?” She asked, sheathing her sword with a sigh.

The shadowsinger glanced at all of the notes on her desk. “I see you’ve been busy.”

“No shit”, she commented lowly, gathering all of the papers in her arms. “Ever since you left, there has been quite a bit of activity at Ironcrest- influx of new soldiers, build up of arms- and by the looks of things, it’s only going to increase.”

Azriel sat on the corner of her bed, leaning forward slightly. “Tell me more about these new soldiers.”

Flipping through the pages in her arms, Aegan found the one she was looking for. Holding it close to her face, she read aloud; “day ten: camp seems normal today except for the soldiers that seemingly appeared overnight. I do not recognize any of them. Will do a fly by over other camps to see if their numbers had changed once Azriel gets back.” She paused slightly, glancing over at Azriel. His face revealed nothing. She continued to read.

“Day eleven: more troops sighted near the edge of camp. None are Illyrian. Best guess that they are Hybern soldiers. Confirms Sasha’s observation.”

Azriel gently took the page away from her, and skimmed it over again. “I pray this information is false”, he muttered, before handing it back over to her. “Tomorrow, I’ll head out to the other camps, to see if I can spot anything out of the ordinary. You’ll stay here.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What?”

The Spymaster leaned back, staring her down. “You’ve been working hard for the last week- you deserve a break, Aegan. Besides, you look ill”, he pointed out.

Anger riled up in her, but a quick glance at the small mirror on the wall made her agree with him. Dark eyebags sagged her tired eyes, a thin layer of sweat forming on her skin. Yes, she looked ill, but it wasn’t sickness that was causing her to look like this.

Still, she let out a sigh- the only sign that she’d given in to his wishes. Azriel stood back up, and took the rest of papers from her arms, touching her gently on the shoulder. “Go get some rest, Aegan.”

“Well, this is new”, she grumbled, shrugging off his touch but standing up to go to bed nevertheless. As soon as she reached the foot of her bed, her knees buckled violently. The last thing she heard was Azriel shouting her name, as she crumpled to the floor.

“How long has she been like this?”

“She’s been wasting away ever since she stepped foot in these mountains, shadowsinger. Didn’t think you were that blind.”

Aegan cracked open her eyes, squinting at the sudden influx of light. Her head pounding, she glanced around her room. Somehow, she had tucked herself in bed. And discarded her Illyrian armor?

Someone knocked gently on the doorframe. Azriel and Sasha stood in the doorway, both of them looking intently at her.

“Do you two usually stare at people while they sleep?” She joked groggily, trying to push herself up into a sitting position. Sasha immediately rushed over, and gently laid her back down.

“Easy there, Aegan”, she whispered. “Azriel going to get you something to drink and eat, and I’m going to check you over, okay?”

She blinked, slightly dazed, before croaking out a “yes”. The two watched the spymaster disappear from the doorway, his footsteps abnormally silent against the old floorboards.

Sasha immediately placed her hands on each sides of Aegan’s face. “What the hell were you doing this week?” The redhead growled, her soft disposition replaced with its usual fiery one- Sasha was never a gentle motherly figure afterall.

“I took notes, drank, took some more notes…” Aegan drawled, her eyes barely focusing on her friend’s face. “Maybe I’m just really hungover.”

Sasha let out a growl of frustration. “You’re hungover, starving, sleep deprived- should I go on? Aegan, you need to take care of yourself!”

“I couldn’t”, she responded, her voice too quiet for her own liking. “I tried eating, sleeping, but I just couldn’t.” Aegan rubbed her eyes tiredly. “Everytime I tried eating, I nearly threw up. Everytime I tried going to bed, I couldn’t fall asleep. Believe me, I did try, but-” She let out a loose sob. “What’s wrong with me, Sasha? I’m- I’m so scared-”

Her friend scooped her up gently in her arms as another sob racked through her body. Thankfully, they were quiet- she would rather die than for Azriel to see her crying. The power inside of her burned intensely, threatening to burst out of her skin.

Sasha placed a cool hand on her forehead, a faint glow on her skin. “Relax”, she whispered, as faint tendrils of her magic raced over Aegan’s body. “Now, tell me what’s bothering you.”

She took a deep breath, forcing the thing back. “It’s this power that started developing recently- I’m not sure where it came from, but it’s been burning me alive ever since.”

“I see”, Sasha muttered, her eyes shut in concentration. “I think I might be able to help.”

The thing screamed at her to deny her aid, but she couldn’t stop the feeling of hope. “Please”, was all she could say, gripping onto her hand tightly. “Make it go away.”

Something sharp and hot slid into her skin, Aegan gritting her teeth to keep herself from yelping in pain. It wrapped around the thing, and with a sharp tug, ripped it away. Before she could thank Sasha, fatigue and hunger slammed into her. Sasha held her hand, as her world faded to darkness once more.

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thebriarpost · 6 years

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A Small Gift: Chapter 4

Hi! Quick note! So in this story, Elain and Lucien are not mates. It was really throwing off my plan for this! He is still interested in her, but how could he not be.

ELAIN Elain sat at her vanity placing the last flower in her hair. She looked at the small shadow in her lap, twisting through her fingers. “What colour are you thinking today?” Cerridwen asked from Elain’s armoire, moving through dresses. The shadow in her palm twirled up to her ear. “Blue” it whispered. Elain turned in her seat. “Well, the jury has decided” Cerridwen turned from the dresses to look at Elain “Who has decided my lady?.” Elain looked down at her hand perplexed, “Can you not hear this?” She held the shadow up in her palm. “While we may slip into shadow, if it speaks to you, only you may hear it” Nuala answered for her sister. “Oh,” Elain said turning back towards the mirror. “Interesting” she mused to herself.

Nuala continued; “The ability to communicate with shadows is rare, I wonder what connection you have…” Nuala’s voice faded away, and Elain’s vision became hazy until everything was black. Suddenly, a pair of boots running up stairs came into sight. A hand covered in shadow reaching towards a door. Then she could see herself, she was pulling her arms through a blue dress. As quickly as the vision came; it was gone again, and she was back to her room. “Are you all right?” Nuala asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. Elain blinked twice - coming back to her surroundings. “Yes, just nonsense. It meant nothing” Elain gave her a reassuring smile in the mirror.

AZRIEL Azriel stepped to the side at the last minute to miss Cassian’s blade. Pulling his own up to block his next blow. “Where is your head?” Cassian asked. Taking a step back and putting his sword back into its scabbard. He was right, Azriel couldn’t focus. Maybe giving Elain that shadow was a mistake because now he didn’t want to be anywhere she wasn’t. “Sorry, my head is just somewhere else” Azriel replied putting away his blade as well. They walked back to the main tents. No new attacks, no further information. Everything seemed calm for the moment. Azriel knew nothing good came from calm. As they entered two Illyrians stood from the table “There is news” said the older of the two. “Some soldiers from Arion’s camp were captured in a nearby town.” The younger interjected. “They have agreed to give us information and draw us plans of Arion’s camp in exchange for their lives” He set papers down on the table. Cassian picked them up and began to look through them. “These should be taken to Rhysand,” he said. Azriel looked from the spot on the ground where he had been staring. “I’ll go,” he said a little too quickly. Cassian looked from the papers to his brother and gave him a smug look. “Eager to get back?” “No,” Azriel said defensively “As spymaster, I should relay this information.” “Right” Cassian answered handing Azriel the papers. Cassian put his arm around Azriel’s shoulders. “Well give Nesta a kiss for me” Azriel winced, knowing that she would likely stab him if he tried.

He landed a few hours later in the garden and was struck with disappointment. He wouldn’t admit to anyone else that he chose this spot hoping Elain might be out. It was still the morning, he wondered if she might still be inside. He walked towards the townhouse, the plans tucked under his arm.

ELAIN Nuala pulled a dress from Elain’s armoire and moved to place it on the bed. While the dresses she wore now were very simple, the backs still required assistance. This one, in particular, closed at the back with a ribbon. She got up and walked to the bed when she realized it. This dress was the one she saw in her vision. The beat of wings brought her attention to the window. “I can manage myself; you should go downstairs.” Elain let out, looking back to the dress. Nuala gave her a questioning look “But how will you do up the back?” “Oh, I can manage” Elain replied, trying to sound casual. The sound of wings again brought Nualas attention to the window. She looked back at Elain with a knowing smile. “Of course my lady, I will see you downstairs” and made her way to the door. Once she was alone, Elain contemplated what she was doing. If her vision was correct, he would walk through her door. She felt jittery, and her hands began to shake slightly as she pulled her clothes from the night before off and slid on her dress. Like clockwork, as she pulled her arms through the sleeves, there was a knock. She stopped breathing for a second. “Come in,” she said, trying to sound effortless. Her back turned to the door, but she heard it open. “Elain” he said, and she heard him stop. She looked over her shoulder to see him. He took up most of the door frame, his hair was slightly disheveled from flying. His hazel eyes were trained on her exposed back, he blinked and quickly looked to the ground. “I’m so sorry, I thought you said come in. Sorry, I’ll go” he reached for the door handle keeping his eyes low. “Wait” she hesitated, “I did ask you to come in, I need a hand with the back of this dress. You wouldn’t mind would you?” She smiled sheepishly like she hadn’t orchestrated this moment. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Time seemed to slow as he closed the distance between them, setting the papers under his arm on a small table. “I don’t bite” she said jokingly. She could feel him standing behind her, she looked down and could see his hands at his sides, flexing open and closed. “I know” he chuckled. “you’re too sweet.” He used a hand to brush her hair off her back over her shoulder. Her skin pebbled everywhere his hands accidentally touched. He paused for a second before using that hand again to trace over her shoulder blades to the middle of her spine. She inhaled a breath. He took a small step closer, closing any remaining distance between them. He bent to place a soft kiss on her shoulder blade, then another on the nape of her neck. “So sweet,” he said into her skin. His hand moved to splay across her hip and the other around her middle. She felt wrapped up in him and was intoxicated by it. She spun in his arms, his eyes now piercing into hers. She brought her hands up to his chest, feeling the muscles underneath his leathers, then slowly up to hold each side of his face. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling. “The only thing I don’t like about our shadow arrangement is that I can’t see your face” She lifted herself up and brought her lips to his, and kissed him softly. As she did the hand he had on her hip tightened as he grabbed at more of the fabric there. She pulled back to see his eyes still closed and he shook his head softly. “Elain” he began, his voice almost strained. “I need to tell you something; I should have told you so long ago.” “Tell me later” she wrapped a hand around his neck and the other grabbed his collar “Kiss me now” she said as she pulled his face back to hers. He sighed into her, tightening his hold and leaning into her completely. The shadows at his feet began to swirl and rise higher, surrounding them both. Elain parted her lips, an invitation.

AZRIEL He kissed her gently at first, but the feeling of having her this close was intoxicating. He moved a hand to her back, needing to feel the softness of her skin again. Her lips parted, and her tongue ran over his bottom lip. His mind yelled at him to stop that she deserved more than stolen kisses. His body, however, wouldn’t listen. He opened his mouth in response and deepened the kiss needing everything she would give him. “The High Lady makes her way up the stairs” the voice of shadows said to his mind. He pulled back slightly to see Elain already looking back at him. “Feyres coming” she said stepping back and bringing her fingers to her lips. It seemed the shadows warned her as well. Her face was flushed, and lips were swollen, she was so tempting; as if he dreamed her.

He commanded his mind back to sense. The shadows surrounding them began to recede slowly as if they too didn’t want to be pulled away from her. “Oh, there you are Azriel” Feyre seemed surprised as she opened the door. “I thought you arrived, Rhysand is waiting for you.” Azriel cleared his throat “Yes, of course” He turned and gave Feyre a small smile as he passed and made his way down the stairs. He found Rhysand in his office, sitting at his desk. “So I hear you have information,” he said, sounding the part of High Lord. “Yes, I’ve brought you the plans we’ve received” Rhysand looked up from the paper he was writing on. “And where are they?” He smiled at Azriel like he already knew. Azriel looked around; he had left them in Elain’s room. The two males talked at length. Rhysand was resigned not to leave Feyre when she was this far along with her pregnancy, but Azriel could tell this made him uneasy. “Don’t worry Rhys; I can handle this” Rhysand let out a deep breath. “I know you can Az, I just wish you didn’t have to.” Azriel chuckled “Would you rather have a life of boredom?” Rhysand scoffed. “Some days I think it might be nice” He began to stand from his desk as Azriel’s shadows moved up to his ear. “Vanserra has just arrived, he waits for Elain in her garden” Anger began to flow through him. He knew Elain was her own person and owed him nothing, but he couldn't help the feelings Lucien’s presence caused. “I should head back” Azriel stood quickly, masking his face with indifference.

ELAIN Elain walked with Lucien through the paths in the backyard, not focusing on the direction. Her mind was elsewhere, it was in her room this morning. The moments that took place replaying on a loop. She had also realized something, another piece of herself. She was tired of being labeled as innocent, of only accepting a chaste kiss to her cheek on her birthdays. Of waiting for things to come to her, and accepting them if they didn’t. She knew what she wanted - whom she wanted. A soft touch at her elbow brought her mind back to the garden and Lucien. He smiled at her, waiting for her to answer the question she hadn't heard. “I’m sorry Lucien, could you say that again, my mind was somewhere else” She felt sorry for blatantly ignoring him. He had always been kind to her, and while his interests were obvious - he didn’t deserve her rudeness. Even if she didn’t reciprocate his feelings. “Do you think Feyre and Rhys would mind if I stayed for dinner?” He asked again as they walked back towards the house.

Dinner that evening was pleasant but slow, Elain kept her eye on the clock. Feigning interest in the idle chatter. She wished to be upstairs and speak to Azriel. He had left without saying anything. Elain wondered if this was due to Lucien’s arrival. Lucien passed her a cup of tea as he sat down to her right. “Late for something?” he asked “Oh! No of course not.” Elain said flustered as she accepted the cup. “You look at the clock every few minutes” he said playfully nudging her with his shoulder. She didn’t realize she was that obvious. “Is there someone your missing..” Lucien began before he was cut off by a knock on the door. Rhysand stood up to answer, he opened the door and stepped aside. An Illyrian who was stationed outside the townhouse since Feryres pregnancy entered the foyer. “I’m sorry to interrupt sir but there has been another attack.”

#elain and azriel #elriel #elain x azriel #elain x az #acotar #acomaf #acowar #elain archeron #Azriel #elriel fluff

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alwayscarryonjily · 6 years

Text

Perhaps We Were Friends First - Chapter 4

Fic masterlist

Ash

Feyre doesn’t put us on cleaning duty, although I suspect the exhaustion that hits us both in the morning is the punishment we get. Theo’s birthday celebrations went on well into the early morning. The whole city was out, celebrating the Night Court heir turning one year older. We started out with a family dinner at dusk. Then we had to accommodate for Theo’s younger sister, Loralee, who is, at nine years old, still too young to go to the clubs in Velaris. So, we went across to the Rainbow and danced to the musicians sat in the streets. Theo and I took Lora to her bed just before midnight and promptly returned to the party. We found that Azriel, Elain, and Nesta had gone home. Elain and Azriel because parties weren’t really their thing, and Nesta because she claimed exhaustion, although the rest of us suspected another reason. The rest of us spent hours dancing and drinking our way from one club to the next. Eventually we all retreated back to the estate and gave a very tired Theo his presents.

Mor gave him a new set of Illyrian fighting leathers. His parents put some more gold in his personal account as well as a new set of paints. Cassian gave him a new sword on behalf of him and Nesta. Elain had already gifted him a beautiful, midnight blue, silk shirt after our river antics. Azriel had given him a new set of twin daggers. Lora had sleepily handed him a tulip of deep purple while whispering, “Happy birthday.” Amren gave him a new easel and some paint.

When it’s my turn I hand him a thin wooden box shyly. He takes it with a raised eyebrow and lifts the lid off. His sleepy face lights up and a great guffaw leaves his mouth. Inside the box sits a set of paintbrushes with a note that reads, ‘Courtesy of His Royal Highness, Rowan Whitethorn’s tail feathers’.

Theo holds his arms out for me and I step forward expecting to be pulled into an embrace. Instead he pulls me onto his lap, so that I’m straddling his legs, facing him. His blue eyes stare intently into mine and I redirect my gaze to his shoulder, blushing slightly.

“Thank you. I love them,” he says, laughing. “How’d you convince him to let you?”

“Convince him? I’m his only daughter. He does everything I say,” I say with a smirk.

Rhysand lets out a splutter to my right that I assume is him trying to cover a laugh. Theo raises an eyebrow at me and pinches my thigh. I let out a squeal and poke my tongue out at him.

“Fine. I have to train with him, Aedion and Lorcan every morning that I’m at home for the next month.” I give in.

“Well, thank you. I really do love them,” he says before kissing my cheek.

I wrap my arms around his neck at the same time he wraps his around my waist. I bury my nose in the crook of his neck and breathe in his scent of jasmine and citrus. We pull away, but he doesn’t loosen his grip on my waist, so I swing one of my legs over so that I’m sitting across his lap and can look out at the rest of the room. When I look up at said room, I’m met with the stares of all five adults in the room. They all shake their heads when they see us both look up and quickly go back to their glasses of wine – or blood, in Amren’s case. They start up new conversations and move on from the presents. We all continue drinking and talking and dancing until everyone either finds their way to a bed or passes out somewhere.

I wake up in the morning on the floor of the main living room with a weight on my stomach. I start to lift my head but have to let it rest on the ground again when a splitting headache jolts through it. I instead reach my hand up to feel the weight and find a head of hair there. The head can only belong to Theo, so I continue playing with his hair and staring up at the ceiling as my headache calms down. He makes a noise after a few minutes and rolls over. His face hits my breast and he freezes. I push myself into a sitting position and his head drops into my lap. He opens one eye and looks up at me.

“Sorry, Ash,” he mumbles and closes his eye again.

“I swear if you fall asleep here again, I will hurt you. I’m hungry and want food,” I snarl.

He smirks, eyes still closed, and before I know it shadows are engulfing me. My eyes adjust to the new light and I find myself on the kitchen floor, Theo still sleeping on my lap.

“You little shit,” I say, but I can’t keep the smile off my face.

Elain lets out a yelp from by the oven and turns to see us on the floor, her lazy nephew still dozing on my lap. She shakes her head and returns to whatever she’s cooking for breakfast.

“Elain? Do you happen to have any tonics in here?” I ask, rubbing my neck, where it seems to have gone stiff from sleeping on the floor.

She whirls from the stove, a wooden spoon dripping red sauce all over the floor and her skirts. “What for?”

“Oh, just pain relief. My neck is really stiff, and my parents probably wouldn’t be happy to know I slept on the floor all night,” I say. “Speaking of, do you know what the time is?”

Elain leans over the counter to look at the sun while reaching to drop the wooden spoon back into the pot it came from. “It’s about ten. Do you have time for breakfast before you leave?”

I sniff, and my eyes roll from the enticing smell of bacon and sausage. “I think I can make time.”

She laughs softly and starts preparing two plates of food; one for me, one for Theo. I flick Theo’s nose a few times, eliciting some irritated twitches and eventually a glare.

“What do you want, she-devil?” He snarls at me.

I grin down at him and flick his nose once more. He bares his canines at me and snaps at my fingers. I tut.

“That’s not becoming of a future High Lord,” I say, shaking my head. “What a beast you are, Theoden.”

He sits up, still snarling, and spins on his knees to face me head-on. I roll my eyes and bare my own canines at him.

“You fae males are insufferable. Honestly. All it takes is one minor inconvenience and suddenly you turn into a growling bastard,” I say, flicking his nose once more.

I instantly regret my decisions when he pounces on me. I hit my already pounding head on the floor and let out a pained groan at the impact. Theo’s eyes widen as he freezes above me, and he sits back.

“Ash? Oh, Cauldron. Shit. Are you okay? Oh, Gods, what have I done?” He fusses.

I laugh, despite the enhanced headache attacking my brain and force myself to sit up.

“Fae males,” I mutter under my breath.

“Ash, please. Tell me you’re alright,” he says, reaching to help me up.

He guides me to my feet and I meet Elain’s stare. We roll our eyes together over Theo, who sits me down at the casual dining table in the corner.

“Theo, shut up. All I want right now is food.”

He quickly pushes away from his place beside me and collects the plate from Elain while she’s midway through pouring some tomato and bean mixture onto the piece of toast. She glares at his back while she wipes up the puddle of food on the counter that his hastiness resulted in. I shoot Elain an apologetic look and she waves her hand dismissively as Theo places the plate in front of me.

“Aunt Elain? Do you have that tonic she mentioned earlier?” He asks, stepping towards the wall of cupboards.

She nods and pushes past him to open a cupboard. He takes the seat beside me and lets Elain take care of the tonic.

“Theo, can you please stop fussing? I don’t understand what’s up with you. Just two days ago you were laughing at me for falling on my ass.” I take a bite of toast covered in what I can now see is beans in a tomato sauce and moan; it’s so good, Elain’s cooking is always so good.

Theo blinks at me a few times before turning away, shrugging. I glare at him but continue eating. Elain hands me a glass of orange juice, which I assume contains the pain relief tonic, and then places a plate identical to mine in front of Theo. He smiles up at her appreciatively and starts eating. We consume our breakfast in silence until Feyre and Rhysand walk in ten minutes later.

“Good morning, everyone,” Feyre says as she kisses the top of my head and then Theo’s. “How is everyone’s morning going?”

“Your son is being a fussy mother hen,” I say between bites of sausage and bacon.

I look up at the High lord and High Lady of the Night Court and find them smiling knowingly at each other. Not that the smiling is unusual, but I don’t know why my comment would cause that reaction. I go back to my food without questioning it.

“Theo, lay off Ashera. She can take care of herself. You can winnow her home after you finish eating. Cauldron, Elain, how much food did you make?” The High Lady marvels, finally seeing how much food Elain has been piling on plates.

“Enough for everyone. Azriel’s stopping by around lunch with Mor, Amren and Varian. Nesta and Cassian are coming by soon as well, and I suspect Nesta will be eating a bit more than usual. Speaking of, do you think she’ll tell us instead of letting us figure it out on our own?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Feyre says, stealing a sausage.

“Although, if I know my brother, Cassian can’t keep his mouth shut. I bet he’ll be around bragging soon enough,” Rhysand adds.

I look to Theo and catch him already looking at me. We grin over the adult’s gossip and finish our food. He holds a hand out to me and pulls me to him as we stand.

“See you in two weeks, Ashera. Happy birthday for Saturday!” Elain says, smiling at me before Theo and I disappear into shadows.

Within moments, I’m standing in the courtyard of my home in Orynth. Rain pours down on us, but something moves to shield me quickly. I turn to Theo, whose arms I’ve stepped out of, and see him holding one of his summoned Illyrian wings out to cover me. I smile gratefully and let him take my arm to guide me inside the castle. We barely make it inside before an excited yell echoes through the hall and a slim frame slams into me. Blonde hair covers one of my eyes and I instantly wrap my hands around my attacker.

“Ash! What took you so long? We need to catch up before your father drags you off for training.”

I laugh and pull out of my cousin’s embrace. “Don’t worry, Farryn. He’ll give me the day if I ask.”

“This will never stop being weird,” Theo says to my right.

I turn to him at the same time Farryn does and I grin at him, knowing she mirrors me. He shakes his head and laughs softly. A part of my chest lifts at the sound but I quickly push it back down.

“What? You mean it’s weird that we both have blonde hair and Ashryver eyes? I wonder why,” Farryn says, sarcasm dripping from every word.

He chuckles again, and that same lift in my chest occurs. “Always good to see you, Farryn.”

She grins at him as she links our arms together. “Thank you for returning my cousin in one piece. We’ll see you on Saturday, I guess.”

He nods and looks to me, mouth parted slightly, as if he wants to say something. Then he shakes his head and steps back.

“Bye, Ash,” he says simply before disappearing in a cloud of darkness.

Farryn leans over and sniffs my shoulder while I stare at the spot he disappeared from. “You still reek of wine. Go shower before we do anything.”

I laugh and shift into my other form – a hummingbird – as she shifts into a falcon. We fly through the palace up to my rooms, letting our cries echo throughout the halls.

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sarah-bae-maas · 7 years

Text

A Court of Hearts and Darkness Chapter Twenty Seven

It’s been over a century since the epic and bloody war against Hybern, but a new, unprecedented horror lies in wait to threaten everything the Inner Circle holds dear.

At a mere 17, it seems that the only one who can save them is the Heir to the Night Court, Feyre and Rhysand’s daughter Eleana, but as a creature so vile promises to kill everyone she loves, she must combat the urge to succumb to the darkness herself. The key to success lies hidden within her mate, the bastard born Kaden, who is as oblivious to the bond as her Court is oblivious to the war on the horizon.

With the help of her cousin and warrior Felix, the son of the famed Nesta and Cassian, they will try to save everything they hold dear, hopefully before the darkness takes them all.

(This fic was written pre-acowar, so please bear in mind there are some small differences but it can still hopefully be enjoyed!)

Link on Ao3 Masterlist

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***

-Chapter 27-

She ran her hand down his hair, enjoying the feather like feel of his brunette locks. Her claws sometimes caught in it, blood making the brown strands stick together. His glassy, lifeless hazel eyes were stuck in the direction of the ceiling, and she was tempted to press the pads of her digits against them to make them look at her, but she didn’t want to accidently pierce them.

He was pretty – not as handsome as the gold one, and that had been his ultimate downfall. Not just that, but the heir just loved his so much.

His death would ruin her.

Which is what she’d wanted – what she needed.

_____

Eleana felt like she was sinking.

Her heart rate had slowed and been overly rapid at unpredictable intervals since it had happened. Since she’d realised her cousin, brother, best friend, was never coming home. She forever felt like she was sinking. Her arms were swords being slid into their sheaths. Her legs were oaks being taken down from the swing of an axe. Her chest was a corset being bound a tight as it could go. Time has slowed from the beat of a hummingbird’s wings to the hesitant last gasp before someone drowned.

She was not ready to face the consequences of Felix not being here. She didn’t know how she would put her smashed, porcelain-self back together if he wasn’t there to pick up the pieces. As he had done so many times before.

And as she looked into the exhausted eyes of her mate, she couldn’t bring herself to say anything other than, “Where have you been?”

He swallowed hard, his hands twitching like he wanted to rest them on her, but didn’t have the courage to.

“It’s been nearly two days,” she continued.

He didn’t answer, so she turned away from him.

He had come to find her, he’d said. Used his magic to bring him to this cabin sequestered so very far away from everything else.

When he’d knocked on the door, Eleana was unsuccessfully trying to sleep. Her mother, wary it was something sinister, opened the door ready to attack, only to pull up short when she saw Kaden.

To give them privacy, she went to Velaris to help the High Lord with Cassian and Nesta, but not before laying wards strong enough to keep out an army.

Her hands were braced on a stained table, her face as limp as her unwashed hair. She observed him, since he wouldn’t speak. He had bathed at some point, his skin clean but wan. He was in a loose shirt and pants, his feet bare. And, trailing down his arms like vines encasing him, were Illyrian tattoos. On his arms, the swirls, flowers and ancient words were so extensive his fingers were even decorated. As severe as it was, it was not harsh – much like the male bearing them. She wondered what tattoos covered his chest.

She took a hesitant step toward him, his face blank. He hadn’t let her in his mind yet, had their bond blocked so strongly that she would have to invade him to see what he was thinking. But… she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to put her grief into him, or to take his away. She wanted them to share, but she didn’t know how she could possibly handle feeling twice as bad as she did now.

“Did you know,” she said to fill the silence, “that my mother can no longer paint her father? As much as she loves him, she can no longer remember his face. He is a blur, with no finer details or anything to distinguish him. She knows his eyes, but that’s all.”

She took another step towards her mate.

“I’m scared that one day I’ll wake up and I won’t be able to picture his face anymore. Or that I won’t remember the exact way his voice sounds.” One more step, and she was close enough to him that he could reach her if he wanted.

He lifted his arm, and trailed his thumb down her cheek, resting his hand on her neck. “Do you blame me for what happened?” he whispered.

She rested her hand over his. “No.”

He moved his hand to her waist, pulling her to him. He wrapped his arms around her, and she leant into his chest and breathed deeply – for the first time in days.

“Good. Because I’ll need your help to eviscerate those creatures and whatever is controlling them.”

_____

“He’s safe, but I wouldn’t say he’s okay. But who of us is?”

Azriel hung onto every word, grateful that Kaden had made an appearance somewhere. Would he have preferred the young one come to him first? Yes. But at least now someone has seen him.

“And Eleana?” he asked Feyre.

“She’s not coping – at all. She hasn’t slept yet, changes between forms unwillingly and without notice, and is constantly either distressed or just… empty.”

“She’ll feel better once we’ve moved into action. The High Lords will be here in four days.” Four days for their family to be in control enough to tell the other courts what had happened, and to devise a plan to eradicate these creatures. Azriel, with all his wisdom and knowledge, didn’t know where to start.

“And the recon teams?”

“Enough survived to get us a specimen, but there are a lot of families who will be in mourning.”

Feyre nodded at his words.

They’re conversation ended with Feyre squeezing his shoulder, leaving the library of the House of Wind to join her sisters in the atrium.

Azriel wanted to help his brother and Nesta, desperately, but he didn’t know how. He himself could barely comprehend what had happened. It had yet to hit him. He had yet to have the breakdown that was expected of him, he hadn’t yet cried, he hadn’t yet stopped being surprised when he walked into a room without Felix in it.

Maybe if he’d had a body his grief would surface quicker, but right now he just felt nothing. Like he was a void. Resigned. Every few minutes, his chest would tighten and his breath would quicken and he’d think, okay now. Now I’m going to cry, get mad, scream. And then the feeling would pass, and he’d blink away the tears that never fell and would continue trying to find justice for his nephew.

He’d dealt with the fallout of the Bloodrite for Rhys. The Illyrians lords were horrified and furious, and had all fortified their camps and doubled patrols to be on alert for any creatures. They were not aware of Felix’s death – no one but the Inner Circle was, and it would remain that way for the time being. It would cause an uncontrollable panic not only among the Illyrians, but also the fae.

Because Felix was dead. Felix Warbringer, set to be the most powerful Illyrian ever born, had been killed by these creatures.

Azriel had been with Cassian when Rhys told their brother of the news. And it was devastating. Cass tried to go into the mountains to try and save his son, had begged his brothers to let him go – he had to go to his boy. He had to. He would be scared if he was alone in the dark. And he would be fine if his father was there with him. Cassian could find a way to bring him back.

He’d thought them tooth and nail until he had collapsed, no strength left in his body.

And then there was Nesta.

Azriel could count how many times he had seen her cry on one hand, and now she had cried more than the amount of leaves in a forest. The most pained, choked wails he had ever heard. She had beaten her fists bloody against the ground in anger and agony, all her fingers breaking at the impacts; the only thing that stopped her from imploding and destroying herself was the sound of Theodosia’s cries as the babe awoke. Nesta wiped the blood off her hands, let Elain heal her broken bones, then calmly walked to the nursey, picking up Thea and cradling her daughter to her chest. Her face had gone gaunt, and the colour had leaked out of her.

Maybe the reason Azriel struggled to show emotion was because even though he loved Felix with all his heart, the boy had come to detest him. Did Azriel have any right to grieve?

Azriel wished he could stay in the library and hide away, but he couldn’t. His family was relying on him.

He dragged his feet as he walked to join the rest of them, Mor summoning them all for lunch. None of them felt well enough to eat, but his wife would force feed them if she had to.

Azriel also needed to start preparing for the onslaught he would get at the High Lord’s meeting, namely, what do you mean you knew about this already? What do you mean you stopped looking for the creatures? How could you let this happen?

Azriel had no choice but to now accept everything his niece and nephews had presented to him about the creatures as fact – which meant they had also been working in other courts. Cauldron, Eleana had been taken by this ‘Colloden’ in another court.

Mor had brought sandwiches and tea on a cart, handing them out on china plates to the family. Quathryn, uninterested in the gourmet treats, had settled for sprinkles on buttered bread. The girl had no idea what was going on – only that everyone was far sadder than usual.

He let her be, not wanting the dark, ghastly shadows that had been haunting him since the death of his nephew to bother her.

He took a seat next to his brothers on a bench overlooking the window facing Velaris, matching their silence. Everyone was here, except Kaden and Eleana. He hoped they were sleeping, he doubted his boy would be able to without his mate there.

The thought of Kaden tore at him – the boy he had come to think of as a son. A boy who had finally gotten a brother that loved and cared for him the way a brother should, only for some sick, twisted turn of events to take him away.

“You’ve heard from Kaden?” Azriel overheard Nesta say in a whisper, the woman squeezing her fingers into Feyre’s arm.

“He’s with Eleana – he showed up out of nowhere,” Feyre replied, covering Nesta’s hand with her own.

“And Felix?” Nesta’s eyes were so wide with hope.

Feyre shook her head. “No, Nesta.”

Her face fell, fresh tears starting to line her cheeks.

Nesta had an insane hope when Kaden didn’t come back, that maybe it was because he had gone back into the mountain to revive Felix, the way he had Thea. Feyre, as soothingly as she could, said she didn’t know much about Kaden’s peculiar magic, but she doubted the circumstances were similar enough for it to happen again. Theodosia had been a stillborn – Felix was…

Mauled.

But that didn’t stop Nesta from hoping.

Cassian didn’t share her belief.

Azriel couldn’t bear to look at Nesta any longer, and turned his head away. Cassian also stayed quiet during the exchange.

He prayed for the moment when Elain and Lucien returned from the Spring Court, from explaining what had happened to Felix to Glaslane – the pair had been close for a time. Elain was still Nesta’s most effective form of comfort.

Azriel’s attention was caught by a tentative knock at the door – an overly loud noise in a room full of very quiet people.

“Who is it?” Rhys called, standing and positioning himself in front of Cassian.

“It’s me, Papa, and Kaden.” Eleana opened the door and peaked her head in.

Azriel flinched at the dark crescents under her eyes and the paleness to her face.

“We didn’t want to disturb anyone.”

Rhys waved her in, greeting her with a tight hug. Behind her, Kaden shuffled in, his head hanging low and his shoulders slumped.

Azriel got to his feet and moved towards him, stopping when he saw the Illyrian tattoos covering his arms.

Kaden noticed his gaze, and self-consciously rubbed at his skin.

Azriel shook his head, not caring that his boy got the tattoos he’d deserved, but he was saddened that the thought of Kaden going through such an emotionally tumultuous experience alone.

“Kaden? Hey, buddy. Want some food?” Azriel approached him with one hand one, gently patting him on the head.

“No, thank you,” he murmured. “I – I have something to tell you.”

“Do you want to go somewhere?”

“No, I – It’s for everyone.”

Azriel led him further inside, letting Kaden choose when to speak, the young man’s black eyes sweeping the room. His stare stopped on Quathryn, fingers stained like a rainbow from her sprinkles, mouth full of bread and books and toys scattered on the floor around her.

His face crumpled, and he strode towards the tot, leaning down and picking her up so he could hug her.

“Kaden!” she cheered, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck.

“Hi, Little One,” he sniffled.

Everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing to look at Kaden and Quathryn.

Quathryn leaned in and whispered something in his ear. It was so faint that Azriel could barely make out what she was saying, but he got the gist of it.

Do you know where Lis is?

Kaden said no, and hugged her closer to him. Quathryn seemed content to just have cuddle time, laying her head on him and not asking any further for her brother.

Cassian had tried to tell her, but Quathryn was too young to truly understand what he was saying – the permanence of Felix being gone.

“What was it you had to tell us?” Azriel prompted him.

Kaden kept a hold of Quathryn while he spoke, swaying her slightly. “I talked to Felix, and there are some things he wanted me to relay to you.”

Everyone flung out of their chairs, surrounding him with pressing questions.

What do you mean you talked to him?

I thought you weren’t there when he died?

What did he say?

How can that be?

Azriel’s family wasn’t as versed in Kaden’s magic as he was, with the exception of Eleana, and he could scarcely remember if he’d ever mentioned Kaden’s ability to connect with the dead.

Kaden recoiled away from there badgering questions, but before Azriel could ask them to give him some space, Eleana butted in, fury scorched in her expression.

“You spoke to Felix? For how long?” Her tone was so scathing the others quietened.

“Until dawn, the day after,” Kaden said nervously.

Eleana gritted her teeth, her voice a low growl when she said under her breath, “You mean to tell me you had hours with him, and didn’t think to summon anyone? To let anyone else say goodbye?”

“Eleana.” Kaden looked stricken.

“You could have told me to come and I would’ve been there in a second-”

“How-”

“You damn well know. You could’ve brought the wall down between the bond anytime you fucking pleased. You could have let me say goodbye to him. You could have let anyone here have their final peace with him. He was my best friend. Through you I could’ve seen him. I could have told him I loved him. You – you – I can’t believe you didn’t tell me to come.”

Azriel believed Kaden would’ve gone to her if he hadn’t been holding Quathryn, who was now alert and looking at Eleana with worry.

“You were in such a bad state-”

She snarled at him, a noise to low and feral that Cassian came forward and grabbed Quathryn from Kaden, scared Eleana might lose control and accidently hurt her. Which was valid, as while Eleana growled her skin changed its form and colour, her teeth elongating and her and her pupils widening.

It never took long for Eleana’s mood to change, and with her exhaustion and despair combined her mood was rapidly changing. Azriel stood back, not wanting to interfere with the mates.

“What did he have to say then, huh? That only you were privy to,” she spat.

“He said he loves you, and that no one here, especially you, is to blame for this.” Kaden turned to Cassian and Nesta. “You told me to tell you that he will forever be indebted to you for raising him with such strength, and for teaching him to be kind. His family is the most important thing to him, and his biggest regret is not being able to see Quathryn grow and become the sassiest little thing Velaris has seen since the High Lord’s last hissy fit.” Kaden turned to Rhys, a sheepish look on his face. “I’m quoting.”

Rhys bowed his head.

“He hopes you’ll tell stories of him to Thea,” Kaden continued. “He doesn’t want to be a stranger to her, even if she’ll never remember any of the time she had with him.”

Cassian, holding Quathryn in one arm, reached the other out to Nesta, circling it around her and Thea. “How did he tell you these things?” His voice deathly quiet.

“I can confer with the dead. It’s how I helped Thea, kind of. That was different, but this I have been able to do my whole life.”

“Is he still there?” Nesta asked, the hope that had vanished reigniting in her eyes.

“No,” Kaden didn’t leave her hanging, not wanted to be a source of false hope.

“Are you sure?” she pleaded with him.

“Yes. I’m sorry. He’s moved on to a place where even I can’t find him.”

Nesta’s breath shook, and she motioned for Kaden to continue.

He told them all the things Felix had shared with him – only withholding the information meant for specific people. He said the funny stories and the melancholy ones. At one point, he looked at the High Lord and Lady apologetically and said, “When Eleana was four months old, Felix dropped her. He said it explains an awful lot.”

Rhys and Feyre had burst out laughing, which immediately turned to tears. At least Quathryn’s twinkling giggles joined in momentarily.

Eleana remained in half in her other form the entire conversation, not looking at Kaden, even when he tried to speak with her.

When he had finished, Nesta was sobbing again, and Cassian took her away to try and calm her, bringing the children with him. Quathryn waved to Kaden as she left, and it was the only thing that could have possibly made Kaden genuinely smile that day.

Mor approached Kaden and took him into her arms, tears of her own falling.

Azriel watched Eleana turn to steal as she watched Mor and Kaden and Feyre and Rhys. Her fists were clenched so tightly her knuckles were stark against her skin, and her face had flushed red in anger. The stories from Kaden had not thawed the sudden anger for her mate, and Azriel wished he was still in a position where she’d want his help.

But maybe it was on him to try harder – to show her more that he was sorry.

He proceeded cautiously towards her, but he wasn’t the only one to have the idea. Kaden separated from Mor, extending his tattooed hands towards Eleana.

Mid-step, Kaden faltered like he’d hit an invisible barrier. Trying again, he hit another wall, and put his hands up, resting them flat against an invisible shield. He banged his hand on the wall, trying to dismantle it.

“Eleana?”

The others watched as he called her name, unable to breach her shield.

“You once used my eyes to save someone we love; I would’ve expected you to grant me the same curtesy to say goodbye to a person I love. You should have called me. You should have let me hear these stories from him.”

Eleana stalked to the window, her wings flaring and preparing for flight.

Rhys and Feyre became immediately alarmed, and stood in her way to stop her.

“Laya, Butterfly where are you going?” Feyre asked, concern lacing her every word.

“Away from here. I can’t think; I can’t breathe – not here.”

Rhys blocked the window, keeping her inside. Azriel walked to his side, knowing it was a bad idea to try and trap her inside but also knowing if she left she would be a loose bomb ready to explode.

“Come with me, let’s go to the townhouse, or back to the cabin if you want.”

“Get out of my way.”

“Laya.”

She growled, a noise far more animal than fae, and disappeared.

Azriel baulked at where she had just been standing, shock palpitating from everyone in the room.

“Where did she go?” Kaden questioned.

“She… she winnowed away.” Feyre’s mouth was agape, her eyes wide.

“She does it all the time – no reason to be surprised. I’ll find her, it won’t take me long.”

“No, Kaden, the wards on the House of Wind mean no winnowing. It is physically, and magically impossible for her to do so.”

“She must have removed the wards.”

“She didn’t, I can still feel them here – intact,” Mor said.

Rhys turned to Feyre and sighed. “Looks like she’s more powerful than we thought. That’s okay, though, I always knew our little Butterfly would be something special. We better go find her.”

Kaden opened his mouth as if to offer his services, but Rhys shut him down with a glare. “You stay here. You’re not what she needs right now.”

The pair left, leaving Azriel with his wife and the closest thing to a son he’d ever had.

“Let’s go home,” Mor exhaled. “Cassian and Nesta need space, and we all need to sleep. The night will bring an unprecedented darkness tonight.”

____

Night had fallen; Kaden had yet to sleep, and Eleana had yet to be found. Mor and Az joined the search for her, only going once Kaden convinced them too. They didn’t want to leave him, but he assured them that he would be okay. He thought he might sleep, but when he tried he felt too light without the weight of Eleana with him.

He had a notebook in front of him, and was trying to write out every word Felix had said to him. His hands were shaking, making his writing messy but decipherable. He would one day give this book to Quathryn and Thea – Felix would be no stranger to them.

As he was writing, there was a quiet knock at the door. Curious as to who it could be, Kaden heaved himself from his seat, padding to the foyer to meet whoever had come over. He opened the door, and was surprised to see Cassian with his two daughters, holding Quathryn by the hand and Thea in his arm.

“Hello, Kaden. Can you get Azriel for me?”

Kaden’s nose wrinkled; Cassian smelt like sweat and grot – like death.

“He’s not here right now. They’re still looking for Eleana.” Which Kaden was bitter he wasn’t invited to. He could find her easily – it was the only thing his body seemed to want to do. Kaden had tried to reopen the bond with her, but now she was the one keeping him away – which he justly deserved. Eleana was right, he hadn’t thought to summon her so she could say goodbye to her cousin, and now he felt retched about it.

Cassian’s chest fell. “Okay.” He nodded, taking a step back.

That’s when Kaden noted the small bag he was wearing on his back. “Did you need something? I might be able to help.”

“I just needed Az for the night, it’s okay though,” Cassian said slowly.

The older male took a step back, Quathryn swaying with the movement, her little body drained of energy.

“Why don’t you come inside?” Kaden insisted. “I’ll make us some tea, and Quathryn can sleep in my bed if she’d like. And I’m sure I could also scrounge up a cot somewhere.”

Cassian looked thoughtful, then nodded his head.

Kaden let them in, picking Quathryn up and taking her to his room. She was asleep before they were even up the stairs, and he tucked her in nice and tight, wanting her to get as much rest as she could.

He couldn’t find a crib, so instead he emptied his biggest basket and made it into a makeshift bassinet. He went back for Thea, and Cassian reluctantly handed her over, the infant also asleep. He made them tea, and it lived untouched from Cassian on the table in front of him.

Kaden didn’t know what to say to him – how could you possibly comfort a father grieving for his dead son?

Kaden sat across from him, averting his gaze from the haggard looking General. Cassian also stayed quiet, an awkward tension rising in the room from lack of words. Kaden wished he had the charm and tact of Eleana or Felix, then maybe he would know what to do. There was a many great thing he wished he had said to Felix before he’d said goodbye, and one of those things should’ve been a demand for Felix to tell him how he was supposed to survive in this damned world without him.

“Do you have any idea when Mor and Az will be back?” Cassian broke through the silence, his voice rough.

“No. Can I help at all?”

His shoulders were hunched, and his feet tapped against the chair leg. “I just-” Cassian cut himself off, shuddering a sigh. “I love my children more than I love anything, but Nesta and I… right now we’re not the best people to be around, and I’m starting to worry that it’ll effect the girls. One night. I swear, I was only going to ask him to care for them for a single night, so Nesta could sleep.” Cassian blinked furiously, his teeth biting at his lip in an effort to hide his tears from Kaden.

Kaden wasn’t the only one feeling retched. It was easy to tell how guilty Cassian felt about giving his daughters to Azriel, even of it was for the best. And Kaden could see that it was. When he had seen Cassian and Nesta earlier, he had been genuinely afraid. Her clothes were frayed at the sleeves from where she had ripped them in her anxiety, and Cassian looked like he could barely stand upright. But however they looked, Kaden could feel how the heartbreak and anger that beheld them had the power to strike through anyone. If turned in the wrong direction, as emotions often were in these times, it could be dangerous. It made him want to grab Eleana and run.

His mind and body yearned for the comfort of his Eleana. To know that she was safe with him – the only place he trusted her to be. Without her here, or knowing where she was, Kaden had an itch in his fingers that made his want to rip at flesh and destroy lives – especially the ones that had caused her so much pain.

“There is no weakness in asking for help, General Cassian.”

Kaden believed, wholeheartedly, that if they all knew how to better ask for help, then none of this would have happened.

____

It took Eleana a while to find the familiar entrance, even though the image was burned in her retinas.

When she had first been here, her stomach had been twisting with nerves, making her more nauseous than she had ever been. She’d been digging into the earth with her feels – the tracks still there – and the only reason she hadn’t stormed inside the mountains themselves was because her parents were there and had forbade her to do so. Their arguments had been logical, so she had listened.

Eleana had come to realise that the moment Kaden had shut her out was the moment he first saw Felix. Before that, he had welcomed her in his mind, telling her he loved her, how much he wanted to see her again. When he’d slammed up the titanium wall between them her sternum felt like it was being crushed.

Then, he walked out unscathed, and she’d run to him. What else would she have done?

She’s wanted to thank her cousin profusely for saving her mate, but when she’d turned to speak to him he was not there.

Eleana stood directly in front of the entrance, not daring to look into its black abyss. Instead, she looked upwards at the stars, her hair scratching her face as the wind lightly blew.

The distant smell of pine blew through the air – jarringly pleasant in this place of nightmares.

With no small amount of courage, Eleana set her eyes on the darkness ahead, her throat tight and dry as she spoke.

“Felix?” she murmured. “Are you still here?”

She knew Kaden had said he was gone, but he had yet to master his magic – much like her. Even if the chance to see her cousin again was minimal, she would take it.

“I don’t expect to see you, I just… I miss you. If you’re here, and Cauldron I wish you are, just give me a sign. Anything.”

Her eyes started to string, and her darkness threatened to lash out again. She could feel it inside her like it was simmering just under her skin, pushing and prodding upwards trying to be free.

She lowered herself to the ground, fisting the dirt that surrounded her. Pulverizing it between her fingers, she lashed out and threw a handful of it at the cave entrance with a scream. She bit her lip to restrain herself, so hard that it drew blood, the red dripping down her chin.

She rubbed at her face, not caring if she smudged herself with dirt, trying to clear her scattered mind.

There were constant knocks in her direction, her parents and Kaden, but she didn’t feel like letting anyone in. In all her times of anguish her only true coping method had been Felix. She didn’t have that now, and all she craved was to hear his voice again – to laugh with him – to get the goodbye that Kaden had.

Was she really mad that her mate hadn’t summoned her, or was she just mad at the world for doing such a horrid thing to such a pure person? She did not know, and she did not mind her fury. Her fury was fuelling her magic, and her magic would help end all this. Once the High Lords and Ladies had met and they formed a plan on how to eradicate these creatures, Eleana would be more than valuable.

That’s if they could ever find the creatures.

There were just so many unanswered questions. Who was doing this? These creatures didn’t just appear out of nowhere, and they acted with such intention that it was impossible to believe that they were anything but puppets to some string master. All attacks had occurred within the past few years, with more and more happening in recent times. What was truly petrifying was that if not for the Impeath attack on Felix so long ago, they never would have known about the creatures at all. Yes, Eleana may have been taken by the Colloden, but she never would have made the connections about the bed time tales.

“Felix,” she whispered to nothing, knowing he was gone, “I love you, and I would sell my soul to see you again. To have a chance to say goodbye.” Her voice broke on the last word, and the tears she had never been able to hold back swelled again. She was lost; she didn’t know where to turn. Her heart ached when she thought of Kaden, and she loved him so damn much but that didn’t mean she wasn’t furious with him for not thinking of her the way she would have him – for not giving her a goodbye.

“You told me to stay safe, Felix, but you were my unfaltering anchor, no matter how rough the seas were. I’ve never had a day where I couldn’t turn to you, since we were children you were my most trusted, most loyal friend.”

Deep in the pit of her stomach, she felt anxiety curling at the thought of forgetting a single detail about her brother. It gripped her like a choke hold, and her breath started faltering and her mind started wondering, her nerves sparking negatives thoughts that further stoked the fire that was her mind.

Eleana recognized to herself that sitting here at night was likely a terrible idea, but she made no effort to move. Rather, she lied down, resting her head on her hands facing the entrance.

Her eyelids drooped, and there was some sick joke in the fact that the only place she could finally sleep was when she was as close to Felix’s body as she could get.

She let her eyes close, only a small part nagging at her that this was dangerous. But a larger part, a part forged by fatigue and woe, told her to stay, because how could something worse possibly happen?

As Eleana drifted, the path into the entrance was eerily quiet. You could not hear the creatures that lurked in the mountains caverns, nor any animals that would usually take refuge in this area. There were no Illyrians, all guarding their homes and trusting the wards of the High Lord and Lady to lock the beasts inside.

Her tears subsided, hiding away for the time being, preserving themselves until her next panic attack or nightmare. She let her body sink into the ground, succumbing to the day, keeping her mind closed and quiet. The air smelt sweet from distant trees and flowers, and she detested how peaceful it was. The wind was a welcoming caress on her skin, and now maybe she would sleep.

And then the snap of a twig breaking, and Eleana’s eyes flew open as she skidded to her feet, watching as a dark figure glided out from the mountain. It was black and languid, claws to rival that of an Impeath. It had a gleaming smile on its face, its teeth like daggers piercing through its mouth. But the most frightening, the thing that made Eleana’s heart quicken and back sweat, was its bright, molten golden eyes.

“Eleana of the Night Court, I’ve been waiting for you. And I can give you what you want.”

#acohad #fanfic #a court of hearts and darkness #acotar #acomaf #acowar #feysand #nessian

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writevswrong · 7 years

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FANFIC * NESSIAN * PART TWO

Nessian Part Two by L.J. Lafleur

Glasses and goblets clinked, bursting laughter filled my ears. I shook my head to rid the noise, at first it worked but then it only grew louder. A gurgling growl erupted from my stomach, an acidic churn twisted around my insides. Instinctively, my hands braced myself against the bed post. It wasn’t my power, just hunger. The laughter grew louder, knives cutting against vegetables and porcelain. A distant headache formed in the back of my head.

My stomach growled again, this time louder than I had ever heard before. “Curse you,” I muttered to myself, staring down at my stomach, covered in a jade chiffon dress. My sleeves came down to my wrists, trimmed with embroidered golden leaves. It was my first time wearing a color other than black-since the war. Since everything changed…again.

I tilted my head trying to remember when I last time ate. It’s not that I didn’t eat anymore, I just didn’t eat with company. I raised my chin, straightening my back and headed towards the dining room. They were all there, all enjoying one another’s company-even Azriel had simpered as he passed a plate of what looked like green beans to Elain.

The room hushed, even Elain silenced herself when I trudged closer. I hadn’t seen some of them for weeks… including Mor, not that I wanted to see her any sooner than necessary.

Rhysand, with an unwavering smile, gestured towards the empty seat saved for me. “Nesta, I’m so pleased you could join us.”

I froze in place when my eyes caught sight of him. The darker than night hair, the devious curve of his lips and his unnaturally beautiful hazel eyes.

“Did you get bored spending all that time alone?” Cassian asked in a silvery tone, the corner of his lips twitching as he held back all his saved-up insults. He lifted an engraved silver goblet to his full lips.

“Loneliness is far better company than you,” I retorted, edging to my seat between Azriel and Feyre. I sat down as graciously as I could, feeling all eyes bouncing between me and Cassian.

“Let the games begin,” Amren announced before sipping her crimson drink.

My eyes shifted towards Amren’s glass. The acid in my stomach burned but I kept my composure.

Amren pulled the glass away from her scarlet lips, “don’t look so startled, it’s only red wine.”

I didn’t acknowledge anyone, not even my sisters, in fear it might bring forth another unwanted memory. The empty plate in front of me magically filled with all the items on the table. While they were taking turns on healthy seconds, I could feel my mouth water as I breathed in scents that didn’t belong in my world, my old one that is. The conversations continued as I picked at my food, attempting to not look too eager.

“Not eating?” Feyre asked in a hushed tone, making sure only she and I could hear. I looked at her and then at Elain, both sitting quietly, neither touching their food as they waited for my reply. I was happy they looked so well, considering the circumstances.

“No,” I took my knife and fork, cutting into a roasted potato first. I ignored conversation and thankfully, no one asked what I had been up to the last several weeks. My eyes flickered up to him, catching the glowing hazel across from me.

Cassian hadn’t looked away from me since I entered the room, both of us in quiet conversation of stabbing insults. I ignored the opening and shutting of his lips. My hands wrapped tightly around my fork and knife, aiming for the steak. I punctured and sliced the marbled meat. Blood oozed out onto the cream porcelain, staining and drowning the remaining vegetables on my plate.

I closed my eyes as the images of Hybern took away my breath. Blood drip from his neck as I twisted the blade farther-deeper until there was nothing but neck and gushing crimson. My hands shook, heat rising to my fingertips until I set down my utensils.

Rhysand’s voice penetrated my nightmare, my memory, “any word from the queens?”

“Must we discuss business during our first family dinner since the war?” Feyre threw a dirty glare at him.

I tuned them out once again, their banter continued for several minutes as I tried to clear the images of battle from my vision. I gathered my knife and fork again, taking a small breath as I focused cutting the meat. More blood spewed, more blood. My hands tightened around the silverware as I swallowed hard, my once watering mouth drying out like a distant desert from the books I once I read. Slowly I dropped my knife, my slightly shaking hand raising to the water, avoiding the red wine completely.

“Is the food not to your liking, Princess Ness? I worked on tonight’s menu myself.” Cassian shot at me, his hands crossed against his chest as he leaned back to watch me.

I could feel the blood swiftly draining from my face, he caught me. I set down my crystal glass, giving myself time to recover, “perhaps you should stick to battlefields and brothels.” A sliver of silence edged its way across the table, other conversations fading as they watched Cassian and me.

Mor’s hand moved towards Cassian’s knee, a faint blush rising across his cheeks. “Cassian doesn’t need a brothel to find company,” she interjected. Her tone sweetened as she looked from me to Cassian, “isn’t that, right?”

“Good to know he can always find a whore at this table,” I snapped before I could catch myself. My aggression as swift as the blade Elain shoved into Hybern.

“Excuse me?” Mor seethed, She released her hand from Cassian as she stood up, making the table between them disappear.

“Yes?” I asked tightly, still seated. I hadn’t realized not everything disappeared with the table. My fingers adjusted the knife in my hand.

“Ladies, it’s just Cassian. He isn’t that good looking to start a war over,” Rhysand purred, receiving no comment from Cassian, Mor or myself.

Mor challenged my glare until clicking her tongue against the top of her mouth, a smile curling, “better a whore with a warm bed, then a lonely prude with a cold heart.”

I didn’t expect it to hurt, none of her comments ever hurt this much before. Why would I care what any of them thought of me-especially her? My grip tightened around the intricate mountain designed knife, my knuckles turning white.

“Alright, stop it.” Cassian’s voice boomed while standing in between us. His back to me as he looked at Mor, I felt his hand reach for the knife in mine. I released it as he tugged on it. “That’s enough, Morrigan.”

“You’re defending her?” She fumed, her eyes turning to slits of wrath.

Cassian slid the knife in the back of his belt, “yes.” He spoke calmly, “neither you nor Ness are the enemy.”

“Don’t call me that,” I spat, infuriated by the name my mother once called me. I couldn’t understand why he insisted on calling me that, why he insisted on torturing me with my past.

Cassian stepped out of the middle, a snap from Rhysand’s long fingers and the table appeared again. Cassian smiled gallantly, “let’s go back to eating my well-prepared meal, shall we?” pretending that another battle wasn’t about to be had.

“You didn’t even cook it,” Amren scoffed, receiving an animalistic glare from Cassian.

“Yes, but she didn’t know that,” he pointed to me and then shook his head laughing. Mor and Cassian sunk back into their seats, while the other’s finished consuming what was left on their plates.

“I’ve lost my appetite.” Before anyone could object, I turned on my heels and walked back towards my room. My fingertips were glowing, lighting the hallway around me. I pressed them together, sparks shot upwards and out like waterfalls of fire. “What am I?” I mumbled to myself as I shut my bedroom door with my gaunt elbow. Another press of my fingers and this time flames flickered along my fingers, entangling itself between them before dancing against my palms.

“She’s a bitch,” Mor seethed.

I shot my head up towards the door, they sounded so close. Did they think I wouldn’t hear?

“Mor,” Cassian warned.

“What’s your problem, Cass? Last I checked, you hated her just as much as I did,” her voice only a growl by the end.

“Hate and love-there’s a very fine line,” Amren interrupted them, shrugging her shoulders as they glared at her.

My ears felt like they were on fire but I closed my eyes to focus before their words could escape me.

“You’re wrong,” Cassian’s voice lowered, gruff and unstartled as he pulled my dinner knife from the back of his belt and set it on the table.

“To which statement?” Amren questioned, the corner of her lips tugged.

“I could never…” Cassian paused to take a sip of his wine, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “I could never love someone filled with as much spite and ice as her.” He set the glass back down, swallowing hard as the room fell silent.

“Snow melts with time, with sun, with fire.” Elain replied quietly before standing up from the table. “Time, sun, fire,” she repeated while leaving the room, her footsteps faded as she made her way towards the garden.

“We’re all family. We made it through this war but we might not in the next.” Azriel spoke with more power than I had ever heard him convey before, his steps going unheard as he disappeared into the waiting shadows. Even the shadows made noises to me, like wind drifting above the sea.

“They’re right,” Feyre shifted in her seat, I could hear the strands of her hair fall from behind her ear. “You all are my sisters, Mor.”

“Sisters?” Mor protested, “the one that abandoned you? That selfishly took your youth? The one who never defended you, never bothered with you until it somehow effected Elain? That my dear, isn’t a sister.”

“Mor, your words can cause more damage than your sword,” Rhysand spoke before Feyre could respond.

“I’d put my money on Nesta,” Amren contributed.

The fire, glow-whatever it is-started up again. Their words slicing through me triggered it, the anger and guilt that never disappeared. I watched as fire danced from my palms, wrapping itself around my wrist. I focused on getting rid of the heat, but nothing. Panic ensued, spreading through me, I attempted to touch the doorknob but it heated the metal to a bright carnelian color. “Damn it,” I wiped the sweat from my brow.

I looked throughout my emerald bedroom, water-I had to get water. I hit the bathing door open, adding more force than necessary as it slammed against the wall. Several framed pieces of artwork crashed on the floor, splitting the glass into shards across the marble. A bucket full of water from this morning was still sitting near the tub, my knees crashed against the flooring as I dunked my hands in. A cloud of steam rose through the air, spiraling upwards to block my view.

The sweat off my brow dissipated as my cheeks heated. “How could I be such a fool?” I asked to the heavens, the mother-whoever we’re supposed to worship now that I’m fae.

My ears twisted with ache as I heard them talking, they were still in the townhouse.

“What’s going on between you two?” Mor’s sweet voice had darkened, her chest puffed out.

“What do you mean?” Cassian questioned, I could hear his wings tucking behind him. The gradual shifting noise they made as he walked beside her.

“I can see that look in your eyes.” Her voice turned to silk and ash-sweet and deadly.

“And which look would that be?” He taunted, rustling his wings before tucking them in again.

Mor rubbed her fingers through her hair, her sultry voice encasing them, “the same one you gave me that night in the Illyrian training camp.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Too much wine, again?” His wiggling eyebrows stopped as she pulled him to a stop.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Cass. There isn’t enough wine to make me blind and oblivious to what I saw that night.”

“Which is?” Cassian quipped.

Mor shoved him softly, “for cauldron sakes, you’re really going to answer my questions with a question?”

“What do you mean?” Cassian chuckled as Mor rolled her eyes.

I couldn’t listen to them any longer, the distant headache was now pounding against my head. Crippling my curiosity-my heart and leaving nothing but a hollow feeling inside me. My vision turned to amber then crimson, a dark red so violent and malicious, I needed to leave, to get out of these enclosing emerald walls.

Their conversation continued, I could feel the sickening honeyed voice of Mor float around me, snapping at my toes but my racing heart blocked it out. I waited several minutes before I headed out, making sure that no one was in the hallway. That Cassian and Mor had left the hallway or maybe the townhome altogether. My feet moved promptly through the city, I couldn’t rid my eyes and ears of their words. It was like every letter held their ground around me, forcing me to relive them over and over.

It wasn’t until my leather flats touched the sea that I realized where I was. Salt water soaking through instantly. How I got here so quickly, I don’t know. I raised my hands, more flickering fire spread to my wrists, circling around me like bangles. The heat within me raised, like I had stepped into a searing hot bath after a night stranded in wet snow.

I leaned down, letting the hem of my skirts soak into the water. Pressing my palms into the sea of ice, after the steam cleared, I saw my fingertips had formed into razor sharp talons. I lifted them from the water, horrified by my changing hands, “no, no…go away.” I begged as the flames started again. I shoved my hands into the water, steam interrupted my widened stare, “how is this possible?” I muttered to myself, “I thought my power was gone. I was empty.”

“Cooling off? Or skinny dipping? Either way, I think I can be of assistance,” Cassian sneered from behind me.

My back stiffened with invisible armor, my heart thundered as I raised my body from the water to face him. “Cooling off? No, because ice only melts with time, with sun, with fire.” I repeated Elain’s cryptic words as I hid my hands behind my back, feeling the flames simmer down, claws retracting.

Cassian’s eyes didn’t give anything away this time, no recognition, he was nothing but stone. “What happened earlier?” He asked bluntly, filing in next to me. The crunch of pebbles beneath his boots bounced off the walls behind us and back towards the ocean.

“Nothing.” I pursed my lips, testing my fingertips against one another. No sparks, no dancing flames-I dropped my hands to my side. I forced my eyes to watch the crashing waves, the hem of my skirt soaking upwards towards my ankles.

“It wasn’t nothing,” he sighed, “I saw you strangle your knife until your knuckles went white. So, tell me. What’s wrong?” Cassian raised his chin towards me, waiting.

“You saw nothing.” I said sharply, my face contorting into hardened steel.

“Fine. Don’t talk about it with me, but make sure you talk to someone.” His wings flapped open, “it’s a bigger wingspan than Rhys,” he said coyly as he noticed my wandering eyes.

“Hm. I could have sworn it was the smallest wing span I saw on the battlefield.” I claimed before picking up the sides of my dress to retreat towards the city. Flashes of him spreading his wings as he played with children in the street, heated my cheeks briefly. Even more so, when I remembered Amren snapping at me to focus.

Cassian stepped closer, not entirely blocking my way but enough that I wouldn’t be able to move without bumping into him. He wrapped his wings around us, cloaking us in darkness and his scent. Mother of all, his scent enraptured me. His voice making my heart beat erratically as the space between us disappeared, “should we do a comparison to see?”

I licked my lips as I edged on my tip toes, “it might entice me in a way you might like.” I raised my brow while biting my lower lip.

“Really?” His husky voice asked as his knuckle stroked my cheek, a shudder rushing through me. I wanted it, his lips, his touch, his calloused hands running all over me…stop, stop thinking this way.

My hands touched his chest, feeling his heart pound against me. The heat exchanging between us felt like raging fire, an ancient fire that had never gone out. Mindlessly, my bony hands drifted upwards, first caressing his dark wavy hair and then sneaking to the back of his warm neck. My lips reached up towards him and parted, “no.” I whispered, my knee ramming into him. His onyx wings spread open as he released me, the fading sunlight illuminating his bewildered face.

Cassian’s cursing was louder than the last time. He held himself-his knee down, crushing the small pebbles that made up the beach. “Damn it, Nesta!” he yelled while trying to catch his breath, “damn you,” he seethed.

I stood strong, my arms crossed in front of me as I scowled down at him, “with time, with sun and with fire-I guess if you figure out the riddle then maybe I’ll stop kicking you there.”

He stood up, leaving barely any space between us, his narrowed eyes burying themselves into me. Cassian’s honeyed voice came out raspy with a heavy breath, “remember, practice is tomorrow morning.” He breathed in deeply through his nose before turning his head slightly like someone called his name, “I’ve never been so excited to kick a female’s ass before.” Cassian’s wings spread open again, before I could respond he shot into the air with a grunt.

“Bastard!” I replied, staring at my damp hem, still unable to look up at the sky.

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