Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Ladies don’t run” 

“Ladies don’t get dirty”

“Ladies don’t raise their voice”

“Ladies don’t chew with their mouth open”

“Ladies don’t read that much” 

“Ladies don’t need to learn to fight”

“Ladies don’t let people see them in less than their best”

“Ladies don’t ask that many questions” 

“Ladies don’t speak unless they are spoken to” 

Nesta hated her mother. 

Her stupid, miserable, drunk of a mother. The bitch who wasted her days away drinking and partying and then drinking some more. Who was imperious and cold, who stifled Nesta’s entire being into her rigid education.

She hated her father. 

Her useless fucking father, who simply watched her mother drink herself to death and did nothing. Who let his children go hungry and his baby girl hunt alone in the woods. 

She hated the society they grew up in, the men and women who would gossip about how they needed to buy more alcohol when the Archeron matron came to visit. But never bothered to care enough to talk to her about it. 

She loved her mother.

Imperial and strong, guiding Nesta through all the lessons she would need to be a lady herself one day. The woman who tried to talk to her daughters every morning. Before the drinks. Before the tears, the agony, the lumps on her breasts, the ones in her throat made sobriety too unbearable. She was dying for years. The alcohol blocking the pain, the reality of her slow death, the reality that her husband was just willing to let her go. 

She loved her father. 

The man who snuck her out horseback riding. The man who used to hide her from the governess and mother when she came in covered in mud. The man who curled up with her and Elain on each leg and read to them. The man who answered every question. 

But one. 

Why not send for more doctors? 

Most of all, she hated the orders her mother gave them. 

To Little Feyre, to give her purpose:

“Stay together, and look after them” 

To Sweet Elain, to bring them sweetness: 

“Keep smiling” 

And to Nesta, to lead by example: 

“Remember you’re a lady”

She never forgot. 

When they were cold and needed firewood. 

“Ladies don’t get dirty”

She put the ax down and bundled up in more blankets. 

Feyre chopped kindling.

When she was down to one dress and hastily repaired-shoes.

“Ladies don’t let people see them in less than their best.”

She spent their money on new shoes. 

Feyre accepted the torn hand-me-downs with a smile. 

When their father’s debtors knocked down the door, ready to cripple him. 

“Ladies don’t raise their voice.”

She grabbed her sisters and hid in the bedroom. 

Feyre ran out, screaming and begging for mercy. 

When they were starving and needed to start hunting. 

“Ladies do not need violence”

She just stared at the bow and arrow for an hour, unable to move. 

Feyre went hunting. 

Chapter Text

Useless . 

Whether that thought was directed to her father, her sister, or herself, she didn’t know. Nesta sat by the hearth, trying to thaw hands that were too stiff with cold. She had woken up this morning determined to chop wood. But she couldn’t get her damn hands to close properly, to grip the fucking ax. 

So she came inside and started a fire with what little was left. 

Started it. Past noon. 

Because Feyre left early to hunt, and Elain was braiding her perfect hair, and her father wasn’t capable of working up the motivation to tend to the fire. Or walk. Or think about walking. Or think.

So she started the fire and waited for her fingers to be able to bend again. 

Elain asked her to go to town tomorrow, the merchants would be in.

“ Thomas would be there, he might be buying the ring!”

I’d rather he buy us dinner.

“Ring?” her father asked. Nesta shot him a look, warning him to butt out. 

“I don’t know if he will be buying it or using a family ri-” 

The sound of Feyre’s boots hitting the door jam stopped her cold. 

Fuck, I haven’t gotten the wood yet. 

The door opened and in she stalked, lanky, filthy, covered in blood and snow, and hauling  a doe wrapped tenuously in the largest wolf pelt Nesta had ever seen. 

Dammit. 

“Where did you get that?” Elain asked. 

“Where do you think I got it?” it would have had more bite if her voice wasn’t so hoarse, so tired, so old. She turned back to peel off the shoes that hadn’t fit in years. Nesta glanced back at her father, hoping, stupidly, that he might notice how dangerously red his youngest daughter's toes were. 

He didn’t. Nesta was long past feeling surprised at the disappointment. 

“Will it take you long to clean it?”

Annoyance danced past the exhaustion in Feyre’s eyes. She didn’t answer Elain. The answer didn’t matter anyway. They weren’t going to starve tonight. 

Dammit . 

“Feyre,” he waited until Feyre turned back and looked at him. “What luck you had today—in bringing us such a feast,” he smiled at her. 

Nesta couldn’t hold back her scoff. 

It wasn’t luck you useless sack of shit. 

No, Feyre didn’t need luck. She had skills. He needed luck. The luck that kept his youngest daughter around, that she hadn’t given up yet, that she was capable of keeping them alive through sheer force of will. 

When he wouldn’t. 

Feyre turned her glare to Nest as she straightened herself out against the table. Nesta glared back. The fuck are you looking at me for? 

“We can eat half the meat this week. We can dry the other half,” she took a deep breath and said, holding Nesta’s gaze,  but not still not really speaking  to her, “And I’ll go to the market tomorrow to see how much I can get for the hides,”

Ah. 

She knew a fight about the money was brewing. Nesta looked over at Feyre’s boots, too small, too frayed, and too worn to be of much use, and then at her own. She looked down at her baby sister’s feet - red and swollen, marked from where the flesh squeezed against what seams remained. She looked back tot her perfectly polished boots, meticulously maintained, just a little too big for Feyre, but the extra room would be good for extra socks. 

And she’d never buy them for herself.

Nesta rose, trying to gather her mother’s imperious tone, declaring “I need a new pair of boots”...right as Elain asked for a new cloak. 

Nesta clicked her tongue at her sister. Elain was still too soft for this life, too much a child despite being in her second decade now. When she started whining, Nesta’s temper and hunger got the better of her. 

“Shut Up!” 

Elain’s face froze in a perfect doe-eyed panic. Momentarily, Nesta felt guilt for yelling. Elain did need a new cloak. But the pelt would only get so much money and those shoes needed to last. Even if Thomas proposed like he hinted he might, the Mandray’s didn’t have much money either. The opportunity to explain her reasoning further died when she heard that shit-sack father actually try to scold Feyre. For keeping them alive. 

“Feyre… the risk” he said. The RISK? Are you fucking kidding me? It’s always been a risk you useless, moronic, - 

“I had no choice,” Feyre snapped back. Her words were curt and sharp, but her eyes- she looked at the floor. She was backing down. She was right, but she was backing down. She was bowing to him. She was bowing to the useless man who was killing the best parts of Feyre like he killed the best parts of her mother. Her shoulders curved in, she was shivering, covered in frosted blood. 

“You stink like a pig covered in its own filth. Can’t you at least try to pretend that you’re not an ignorant peasant?”

The words were probably too harsh. But Feyre looked Nesta in the eye. She was angry. Good. Better angry than defeated. Better angry than giving up. 

“Take those disgusting clothes off,” another biting order. But it stoked the embers of Feyre’s anger. Stoked it enough that she actually was able to pick a fight with Nesta  before she finally went to change into something dry, if not warm. 

Nesta chopped the wood before dawn, stiff hands be damned. 

The market was always torture. Everything they wanted, but couldn’t have. Spices, sugar, flour. The temptation to flirt with a stall worker, to debase herself for just a taste of pepper always set Nesta on edge with shame. 

Shame and guilt. And then a little anger. At Feyre and Isaac. At Thomas Mandray. 

So when the Children of the Blessed so graciously offered themselves up at the altar of Nesta’s bad mood, she was more than willing to sharpen her claws on their ridiculous piety. 

“Have you a moment to spare so that you might hear the Word of the Blessed?” the pale woman asked. Her tone as cloying as the ridiculous bells on her wrist. Nesta couldn’t help but wonder if silver shackles somehow made up for slavery and torment. 

Rings do for most women. 

“No, we don’t,” Nesta answered, guiding Elain away. Feyre had already walked off. Good. She can sell the pelt better without Elain’s incipit kindness undermining her haggling. 

“It would take but a minute,” the woman said, stepping into Nesta’s path. 

“Go spew your fanatic nonsense to some ninny. You’ll find no converts here.” Nesta spat at her, flashing the iron cuff she always wore. The only armor she was ever allowed to wear. The acolyte backed up in horror. Oh come on, you’re not even going to play, you coward? “Y ou see this?” Nesta hissed, taking a step forward. The acolyte kept retreating. “ This is what you should be wearing. Not some silver bells to attract those faerie monsters. ”  

. 

“How dare you wear that vile affront to our immortal friends—” 

“Go preach in another town,” Nesta dismissed . Go die at your precious faeries’ hands. 

Another woman came in, re-educating this poor idiot on the basics of history. The dangers of Fae cruelty. Nesta agreed with every word, though part of her wished she’d been allowed to fillet the acolyte all on her own. Maybe if she’d been allowed to the woman wouldn’t have summoned her courage to argue. 

“I lived in such ignorance, too, until I heard the Word of the Blessed. I grew up in a village so similar to this—so bleak and grim. But not one month ago, a friend of my cousin went to the border as our offering to Prythian—and she has not been sent back. Now she dwells in riches and comfort as a High Fae’s bride, and so might you, if you were to take a moment to—” 

“She was likely eaten,” Nesta said. “That’s why she hasn’t returned.”

How these idiots believed monsters gods, Nesta could never understand. How they fully believed such dangerous lies, the truth was mercy. A brutal, satisfying mercy. 

“Our benevolent masters would never harm us. Prythian is a land of peace and plenty. Should they bless you with their attention, you would be glad to live amongst them.”

Gladder to die amongst them. Nesta almost said, but Feyre came back and diffused the situation before Nesta said anything she actually might regret. 

The familiar embarrassment of being saved by her baby sister flamed Nesta’s cheeks, and she stalked off, ignoring whatever else Feyre had to say. 

She spotted Thomas and his brutes easily, skulking around the side of the market, waiting to cause trouble. He noted her vaguely walking his direction and broke off to intercept.  

He didn’t even bother with a proper greeting as he placed his arm in front of her face, his hand against the side of the building, his gaze directly on her chest. Thomas didn’t even pretend to look elsewhere, whenever he talked to her. 

Nesta made it a point to never be alone with him. 

“Hello Thomas,” she didn’t quite smile up at him, but she didn’t grimace. He wasn’t looking at her face anyway. 

“Enjoying the market?” he asked. He meant it to be mocking. But at least her stomach didn’t growl as she said yes. 

Let him mock, let him be convinced Nesta would be as desparate to be married to him as he was to fuck her. He was awful, truly, but he was interested, and his family had a farm that would keep her fed. Elain and Feyre, too, if she played her cards right. 

What would bruises be to Feyre not needed to step into those woods again? To Elain’s stomach not aching from hunger again? 

Nesta wasn’t capable of hunting animals. But men? 

Thomas missed the dark gleam in her eyes as she touched his shoulder and agreed with his statement about a wife’s place in the home. 

Nesta could hunt men just fine.

Chapter Text

10 minutes talking to Thomas is already ten more minutes than any woman should be stuck talking to Thomas. So when Elain called out to Nesta, she wasn’t entirely sorry for an excuse to leave him. 

Though the hungry look he shot Elain was enough for Nesta to wish her sister hadn’t just given her an out. And it was enough to cause Nesta to stroke his jaw, to draw those horrible eyes back to her face, to kiss the corner of his mouth before he noticed she wasn’t smiling. 

“Looks like I have to go,” she said. 

“Not for much longer though,” he answered back. His hand brazenly dropped to her ass. It took all of her self-control to keep from shivering at that touch. But she found it in her to make a noise that was non-committal enough to potentially be construed for a moan and twisted out of his embrace. 

Only to immediately spot yet another site that had her stomach drop out of her belly. She linked arms with Elain as she made a bee line to her youngest sister. 

“Why is she by her?” Nesta hissed. 

“I don’t know, but she went right to her,” Elain answered, a little panicked but equally hushed. 

Nesta didn’t give Feyre any warning as she snatched her wrist and yanked her away from the mercenary. The broad woman was smiling at her, and had the gall to wave as they left. 

“They’re dangerous,” Nesta could hardly believe she needed to warn her but, “Don’t go near them again.” But Feyre ignored Nesta, studying the middle sister instead.

“Is there something I need to know?” Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Nesta didn’t want to go into the details, and part of her really didn’t believe that she would have to. That Feyre, with all her survival skills, was so incapable of sensing the danger right in front of her. 

“They’re brutes, and will take any copper they can get, even if it’s by force,” Nesta answered. Leaving out what else they would take by force.. 

 “She robbed you?” That incredulous tone told Nesta all she needed to know about Feyre’s opinion of her new friend. 

“Not her,” Elain was quiet. Damn Feyre for making her tell the story. “Some other one who passed through. We had only a few coins, and he got mad, but—” 

“Why didn’t you report him—or tell me?” And send a lamb to the slaughter, absolutely not.

 “What could you have done?” Nesta poured disdain into her tone, “Challenged him to a fight with your bow and arrows? And who in this sewer of a town would even care if we reported anything?”

 “What about your Thomas Mandray?” Nesta didn’t really want to say out loud that Thomas would only have been disappointed that she’d toss out coins to keep Elain from getting raped. So when she spotted Isaac waiting for Feyre in the spot they thought was non-conspicuous, she took the opportunity to deflect. 

“Your friend is waiting for you,” and because she never got out of her bad mood, she decided to add with a sneer, ““I do hope you two are taking precautions.” 

“It’s a bit late to pretend to care,” Feyre shoved a coin in Nesta’s palm, before turning on her heel, the implication clear as day. Feyre could have slapped her and it would have hurt less.  “I’ll see you at home.” Nesta let her go, debating the merits of convincing Feyre that she just didn’t like the new boots she was about to buy. 

But when she got to the cobbler and found that she couldn’t afford them, she almost cried. But she didn’t. 

Instead, she followed Elain to another merchant, almost slapping her when she saw the chisel she was buying. But she didn’t. 

She just pocketed the rest of the money and hoped Feyre could scrounge up more by the next market. She cut extra firewood for her that night.

They had venison for dinner. And when Feyre asked where the money went. Nesta was vague, but she let Feyre’s basement-level opinion of her do most of the work. Let her think Nesta spent all the money on candy or something. Elain didn’t contradict Nesta’s story, or assert that she saw the change get pocketed. 

It wouldn’t have been the first time Nesta purposefully lost the coins she “pocketed”. Just to see if her father would do anything about it. He didn’t. 

Elain did ask if Nesta had lost the money, though. Quietly when Feyre was busy sulking over her water. 

Nesta quietly answered that she was saving it, and didn’t want Feyre, or their father, knowing. And to keep her from spilling the beans, “Feyre needs boots,” was all she said. Elain nodded then. It wasn’t uncommon for them at this point. 8 years of poverty and made them a hand-me-down family, and they didn’t break the habit even after they all reached adulthood. Items when to Nesta, then Elain, then Feyre. And if something of Feyre’s was getting too old, they’d start the chain again. 

Nesta was aware that this system was more than a little unfair to Feyre, but she was also aware that 1) she liked new things better than used and 2) if she changed the order now, then Feyre might be too suspicious to accept the new item. 

It was during this little conversation that a beast rudely knocked down their door and upturned their life.  The roar was deafening. 

“MURDERERS!”

The beast was enormous, a lion the size of a horse, its claws ended in talons, horns curled devilishly from behind its ears, it’s snarl posing teeth the size of Nesta’s fingers. 

But it was the physical that had Nesta grabbing Elain and forming a human barrier. IT wasn’t those teeth that badee Nesta to allow her father to step in front of her. It wasn’t its voice that had her stuttering over her words, trying to deny its accusation. No, it was a golden aura that ebbed off of the monster in waves, the orange hue that illuminated its fur, the sheer power that emanated from this beast. 

And stupid little Feyre stepped out to face it, with a knife. 

A knife that wouldn’t do anything. Couldn’t she see that?

Shaking and unsure, Nesta raised her gauntlet. She held it over her head, in front of both her and Elain. She stole a glance at Feyre. 

Hunt it, I’ll protect Elain, you take care of it. 

 She attacked. 

It did nothing. 

The Beast swatted the knife out of Feyre’s hand. Feyre jumped back before it could pounce on her, but Nesta just froze, watching, understanding that her little cuff wasn’t going to save them. That this creature could kill them so, so easily. 

“WHO KILLED HIM?” It roared again. This time, behind the roar, despite her fear, Nesta could pick up on guilt, the sorrow in its voice. She knew those sounds too damn well.  Broken and mourning, this beast was lashing out. And that made it all the more dangerous. 

Feyre may have picked up on it, too. She didn’t try for the knife again as she asked, calmly, “Killed who?”

THE WOLF. 

FUCK. 

Elain screamed and Nesta clamped a hand over her mouth, willing her to shut up. To not betray what Feyre did.  

Ladies don’t raise their voice.

“A wolf?” Feyre asked. Nesta kept her hand on Elain’s mouth as she whimpered. Good, good, Feyre sold the pelt already, There was no proof she killed the wolf. They just needed to play this very carefully. 

“A large wolf with a gray coat,” it answered. Feyre looked at the ground as she responded. 

“If it was mistakenly killed, what payment could we offer in exchange?” 

The beast began to pace, which was better than attacking. Good. Feyre’s can handle this. They just need to stay out of her way and let her fix this mess. 

Coward

“The payment you must offer is the one demanded by the Treaty between our realms,” it answered. Nesta’s head shot up. She’d read the treaty from top to bottom as a child. As they all had. 

 “For a wolf?” Feyre retorted. 

“Feyre,” their father mumbled. Nesta willed him to shut up. Let Feyre talk, let her finish this. There is nothing about humans paying for animal or fae lives in the treaty. Let Feyre handle this. 

“Who killed the wolf?” It asked again, quieter, more in control. 

Feyre held its gaze as she answered. “I did”. 

It didn’t seem to believe her. It looked between Feyre, their father, and Nesta. It’s eyes narrowing at her. 

“Surely you lie to save them.” 

“We didn’t kill anything!” Elain twisted from under Nesta’s palm to beg. “Please … please, spare us!” Nesta wrestled control back over her sister and shoved Elain behind her. Their father, their useless father tried to walk forward, limping heavily. They looked so pathetic, so weak compared to Feyre, she didn’t need to repeat herself for the beast to know which one of them would even be capable of killing the wolf. 

“I killed it.” The beast turned its attention to Feyre once more. “I sold its hide at the market today. If I had known it was a faerie, I wouldn’t have touched it.”

 “Liar,” it spat. “You knew. You would have been more tempted to slaughter it had you known it was one of my kind.” Nesta would have. 

“Can you blame me?” Feyre challenged. 

“Did it attack you? Were you provoked?” It snarled at her again.

No,” she snarled right back. “But considering all that your kind has done to us, considering what your kind still likes to do to us, even if I had known beyond a doubt, it was deserved.”

The beast deafening growl drowned out Nesta’s own grumble of approval. Feyre was going to die. But she wasn’t going to die a coward. 

Nesta was. 

Nesta would die a sniveling coward, but hopefully it would give Elain time to run. 

“What is the payment the Treaty requires?” 

“A life for a life. Any unprovoked attacks on faerie-kind by humans are to be paid only by a human life in exchange.

Liar!  Nesta wanted to scream at him, but the words died in her throat. When did she start shaking? 

“I didn’t know,” Feyre all but mumbled.  “Didn’t know about that part of the Treaty.” Nesta wanted to rage at it, call it out for the liar it was. That was not part of the treaty.  But the words died in her throat. 

Ladies do not contradict their lords. 

“Most of you mortals have chosen to forget that part of the Treaty,” Nesta swore she saw a sickening smile break on his face, “which makes punishing you far more enjoyable.”

 “Do it outside, not… here,” Feyre’s voice was so small, trembling so much. She was so young. Was she always so young?

“Willing to accept your fate so easily?” It laughed. “For having the nerve to request where I slaughter you, I’ll let you in on a secret, human: Prythian must claim your life in some way, for the life you took from it. So as a representative of the immortal realm, I can either gut you like swine, or … you can cross the wall and live out the remainder of your days in Prythian.”

The option hung in the air as it clarified its point. 

 “You can either die tonight or offer your life to Prythian by living in it forever, forsaking the human realm.”

They were all silent. Trying to process the order, trying to determine what was worse. Nesta stared at this monster, at the power that rolled off of it, at a cruel, smiling snarl. She swore she saw Thomas Mandray in that smile. 

“Do it Feyre, go” Their father dismissed her. Nesta wanted to rip out his throat, but it wasn’t a surprise. He was always going to sell off his daughters. 

COWARD. USELESS. SPINELESS. WEAK. COWARD. 

Ladies do not raise their voice. 

DO SOMETHING

And then… he begged. He begged for Feyre’s life. He did something. Something far too little and far too late. 

Why didn't you do something? 

Nesta squeezed Elain’s arm so hard it must be bruising. But she did not look away as Feyre agreed to go. Feyre was going to die, and Nesta was going to watch. She was going to take in every detail, watch every moment, and she was going to remember her sister, her sacrifice. 

Nesta watched as Feyre turned to them. It was her mother speaking. Her mother’s perfectly calm, stately tone and steely eyes that left them instructions. 

“I left the money from the pelts on the dresser. “It will last you for a time, if you’re careful. When spring comes, hunt in the grove just south of the big bend in Silverspring Creek—the rabbits make their warrens there. Ask … ask Isaac Hale to show you how to make snares. I taught him last year.” 

Feyre turned to Nesta, and the world stilled. The beheld each other, both too much like their mother and too proud to admit how much it killed them.

“Whatever you do, don’t marry Tomas Mandray. His father beats his wife, and none of his sons do anything to stop it. Bruises are harder to conceal than poverty.” 

Nesta nodded and did not look away. She did not cry like Elain or beg like her father. She didn’t try to say any last words or offer any solace. She just etched the vision of Feyre walking next to that beast into her mind and blocked out everything else. 

Chapter Text

It took Nesta a minute or two, to come back into herself. To actually take in her surroundings. To note how fucking cold it was with door blown off. To hear the harmonizing scream-sobs tearing their way through her sister and father. 

Nesta closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Feyre was gone, and she needed to straighten her spine and get her shit together. She turned back to her family, ready to scold them into shutting up and getting to work. 

When she realized they weren’t crying anymore. 

“We’ll get a new door,” Elain stated, studying the door that lay in pieces on the floor. Nesta looked her sister up and down. Her hair was the same limp mess it was just moments ago, tear tracks still ran down her cheeks, her eyes were still red, and her voice was still hoarse from screaming. But her expression, she seemed… normal. 

Maybe Nesta underestimated her. Maybe Elain was trying to be strong for Nesta. 

“We can go to town in the morning,” Nesta answered, continuing to look her sister up and down. 

“I suppose you’re right,” Elain sighed, “What a time for Feyre to be gone.” 

Nesta’s blood ran colder than the winter winds. 

“How could you say that?”

“Elain, we should be happy for her.”

Nesta’s hand moved before she fully processed what she heard. The clap of her hand finally contacting her father’s face was the most beautiful sound she ever heard.

“Ladies do not fight”

Her mother’s voice scolded her. But she couldn’t heed it. Not today. Not after Feyre was taken. Not when he was making this out to be a good thing. 

“Nesta!” Elain scolded. Her voice cracking. “I know you’re jealous, but it’s not like taking care of Aunt Ripliegh will be that easy for her!” 

“What?” Who the fuck is Aunt Ripliegh? Nesta turned to her sister, looking into her eyes once more, looking, and this time, seeing. 

Elain wasn’t trying to be strong. She simply wasn’t upset. She wasn’t mourning. Feyre was taken, and Elain didn’t seem to care. 

“Besides,” Elain went on, “Feyre deserves a break.” 

Nesta wanted to scream. Ladies do not raise their voice. She wanted to grab Elain and shake her. Ladies do not rough house. She wanted to go grab Feyre from that monster. Ladies do not run. But mostly, Nesta wanted to cry. 

So she took in a deep breath, and began reeling in her emotions. Panic, horror, loss, guilt, shameful relief, more guilt, and she pushed them down. They felt like lead weights on her ankles, but her head felt clear. And she thought it through. 

Feyre was taken. By a Fae. 

Seemingly a powerful Fae. 

It was dark already. 

Running after her now would be suicide. 

Elain didn’t know Feyre was taken. She seemed to think Feyre was with this... Aunt Ripliegh. Likely some fae magic. 

Nesta needed to learn more information. Nesta needed to get help. Nesta needed… Nesta needed Feyre. 

That sickening guilt and shame began to creep up her ankles, like something was pulling on her limbs, strangling her.. She took another deep breath and slammed those emotions down. Think . Think . 

Ladies do not ask so many questions. 

“Come, let’s clean this mess up and go to bed,” Elain offered, placing a hand on Nesta’s shoulder. 

Nesta looked at that hand, calloused from her gardening, but still so gentle. Then at her own, worn and swollen - less so Elain’s - yet so much harsher. 

Past that hand, she saw the table leg on the floor. The leg that Feyre painted with blue flowers and green vines. She bent down and picked it up. The upper part was marred with claws marks from that Fae. 

“What hap- how did the table get like this?” she asked carefully. 

Elain’s hand went to her cheek as she cocked her head and answered. Nesta saw something like fear flash in her eyes and then mellow, as if a memory was being wiped away and remade. 

“Such a strong gale, like I’d never seen before, it must have knocked the door into the table,” she mused. “Lucky we were all by the fire,” 

“Very lucky,” their father repeated. “And that Feyre is with your Aunt.” 

Nesta gripped the leg, ignoring the splinters that dug into her palm. 

“It’s late, let’s finish clearing up and head to bed - at least we will have a door there.” 

Nesta slipped the table leg into her dress and helped clean up the rest of the debris. 

Their father huddled by the hearth all night, while Nesta followed Elain to bed. She slipped the table leg into her drawer, and couldn’t shake the image of feeding kindling to those flames. 

She did not sleep that night, holding her sister as close as possible, praying to any ancient being that the morning might bring fresh answers. 

Elain woke up in Nesta’s arms. Her sister seemed to reach for Feyre, but found her spot on the bed empty. Nesta studied her sister’s face, and saw no panic, no worry, just soft confusion and then realization. 

Feyre was with “Aunt Ripleigh”. 

Nesta drug herself out of bed and over to the dresser. She opened Feyre’s drawer, the drawer covered in stars, and started pawing through it. There, hidden in her underwear, was a small bag of coppers. Nesta picked it up, it only contained a handful of coppers, not much at all. 

But with the pelt money, it would have been enough to buy those boots. 

Nesta pushed the thought from her head and pocketed the change. It would be enough for a door. 

She left her room to find Elain already by the fireplace, cooking some of the venison Feyre had caught. 

“I’ll go to town today and see about a door,” Nesta stated. 

“Hm,” was all her father said, huddled next to Elain. No panic, no worry, not that she would have expected it otherwise. But whatever magic had bewitched them still held. So Nesta fixed her hair, straightened her dress, and went to put on her boots. 

They were stiff and wet from being by the doorway all night. Cold and heavy on her feet. Utterly miserable to wear. 

Good. 

Nesta began the walk to town. There wasn’t going to be much in the way of merchants since the Market was only on Saturdays, but she could maybe find someone willing to sell them wood for a door today. 

And she could ask about Feyre, if anyone heard the commotion. 

She passed the Mandray farm, when she sensed someone approaching her. 

“Hello, Nessie,” she heard Tomas croon from behind her. He placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her around. “I heard there was some excitement at your house yesterday, you alright?” 

His hand reached up to her cheek and turned her face up to him. She watched as he studied her face for a moment, a moment longer than normal, and dropped his gaze to her bosom. 

Whatever you do, don’t marry Tomas Mandray. 

“I’m fine,” she answered. He hummed. “It seems our door took a beating.” 

“I heard, a wind knocked it into a table and split it clear in half,” another voice responded. Marcus, one of Tomas’s brothers. She hadn’t realized he was there too. 

Word has spread quickly then. Too quickly. 

“Shame that Feyre left before it could get fixed,” Tomas added. He knew about Feyre, too, then. 

Nesta nodded, looking back at Tomas, waiting for him to offer to help. He didn’t. 

“But at least your father will soon have two daughters out of the house,” he added with a slimy smile, his hand stroked down her cheek to her jaw. 

Whatever you do, don’t marry Tomas Mandray. 

She swallowed, remembering herself. “Will he?” she asked, trying and failing to soften her features. 

“He might…” Tomas reached down and grabbed her hand. “Come with me.” 

She didn’t need to ask where he was taking her. It was “their place”. One of his family’s fields, dotted with stacks of hay. They could be "alone" there, but not isolated. They would talk there, sometimes. Once they kissed there. Not more than that though. Nesta would never let someone touch her before marriage. It was all she had to bargain with. 

He led her away from his brother, from the house, from the town, to their private little field. 

“Are you actually ok?” he asked again, gently. So gentle, when they were alone, Tomas was gentle- sweet, even. But only when he wanted … 

Whatever you do, don’t marry Tomas Mandray. ‘

“I will be,” she answered. And he leaned it for the kiss. 

She allowed it. Even put her hand on his chest.

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

And then she pulled back. 

“I have to go,” soft voice, not too husky. Polite. 

“Stay,” he put his hand on the small of her back. 

 “I need to find supplies for the door,” she tried to turn away. His hand gripped her dress. 

“Nessie, it can wait.” 

“It can’t.” She started to walk a bit further away, and he grabbed her hand. His grip aggravated the cuts from that table leg. 

Whatever you do, don’t marry Tomas Mandray. 

“Nessie, you said we’d spend more time together.”

Her expression hardened as she took a breath. 

“I’m sorry Tomas, but I can’t.” 

“Can’t what?” The deepening of his tone sent chills up her spine, but Nesta held firm. 

“I can’t marry you. Feyre is gone, I have to take care of Elain.” 

“It will be easier to take care of her when you are my wife.” He squeezed tighter and she failed to keep the wince from her face. 

“Tomas, I’m saying no,” she tried to wrench her hand free but he gripped harder, squeaking at the pain.

“No?” he laughed as he spoke. “After all the run around you gave me, you think you can say no?” 

She pulled her expression back to it’s usually arrogant control. 

“I’m saying it, aren’t I?” 

“You stuck up bitch,” he pulled her closer, wrapping his other arm around her, pinning her other arm to her side. “You really think you are going to do better than me?”

“Get your hands off of me,” she spat at him. He reached up and yanked on her hair, forcing her to look up at him. 

“All you have is your pretty body Nessie,” he whispered before biting her neck hard enough to break skin.

“Stop,” Nesta ordered, trying to get control back.

“I should have just taken it a year ago.” he spun her around, pinning her arms behind with one hand while the other groped her chest. 

“Let go of me,” Nesta’s tone was firm yet laced with panic. He seized the collar of her dress and jerked it down, ripping the fabric and exposing her chemise. 

All thought left her head at that sound. All guilt, all shame, all anger, all gone. Only blinding fear. 

Ladies do not raise their voice. 

“LET GO OF ME!” She yelled it this time. 

He licked her neck as he put his hand down her chemise, fondling a breast. Ladies do not rough house. She started thrashing, yelling more. He just bent her over. Nesta felt his legs force hers apart. He was really going to do it. 

He was really going to take it. The last thing she had. The only thing she had to barter for marriage. 

He loosened the grip on her arms to hike up her skirts. An opportunity. Nesta’s hand shot down to the ground, to a rock. She picked it up and spun around as quickly as possible, slamming the stone into his head. 

She fell on her side as he let go. Sobbing, panting, Nesta crawled away as quickly as possible. As soon as she could get her feet under her she was running. Running as fast as she could, back to that stupid hut. 

Ladies do not run. 

Yeah, well, fuck you mom. 

Chapter Text

Nesta slowed down as she got closer to the hut. She took a deep breath and wrapped her cloak entirely around herself. No one could see the rip in her gown. No one would be the wiser. 

She stalked into her little hut, past her father, carving useless trash, past her sister, trying to figure out how to dry the venison, right into their room and slammed the door shut. 

Her legs gave out almost immediately. Slumped behind the barricade of the bedroom door, Nesta found herself shaking.  She couldn't stop it. All the emotions she'd been wearing as ankle weights stormed through her. 

Tears fell down her cheeks, snot dripped from her nose, and Nesta fell apart. Feyre was gone. Taken. Tomas was going to rape her. The fucking door was still broken. Elain didn't remember anything. And her goddamn favorite dress was ripped. 

She sat there for what could have been minutes or hours, falling apart. She sat there waiting. 

Just like she did when she was 17 and starving. Too hungry to move. Too angry to try. Watching their father sit in his goddamn chair. Ready to die for her stubbornness. Then Feyre walked in the house with a rabbit. 

Nesta didn’t even know she had gone hunting. Didn’t know where or when she learned how. But they ate that night. They got money from the pelt. They didn’t die. Feyre had made sure of it. 

And she was gone. 

Worse. 

She was with the fae. 

Nesta looked at her ripped dress and remembered all of the worst stories about what the fae did with their human slaves. She threw up venison all over the already ruined dress. With a shuddering breath, she got up and started changing. 

Her father was more than a little startled when the bedroom door burst open. She dumped the stupid ruined dress in the fireplace. The orange flames danced as silver in her ice-blue eyes. She turned those flames into steel walls as she locked up the panic, the sorrow, the terror.  

“We can use the pieces of the table to repair the door ourselves,” Nesta said. “Save some money.” 

Nesta waited in bed next to Elain until the sky was starting to turn to grey. She dressed as quickly as possible. 

Two days. Too late, dammit. 

She snuck out before dawn, leaving only a note for Elain. A promise to return home as soon as possible. She took all of the money from that stupid wolf pelt, stuffed her feet into the boots that should have been Feyre’s, and and took as much venison as she could carry. 

As little as Elain could spare. 

She marched to town as quickly as possible, cutting around and avoiding the Mandray farm. The shitty tavern the mercenaries stayed in was fairly empty. Most of the mercs were still in bed, trying to fend off the winter frost. But there were a few up already, eating what the tavern passed for breakfast. Good, the ones that could wake early despite the weather were the only ones Nesta was interested in. 

“Who here can take me to the Wall?” Nesta asked. 

One too-burly woman spat out her ale. 

“Why on earth would you want to go there?” Nesta narrowed her attention to the woman and glided over. She recognized the fur collar on the woman’s cloak immediately. 

“I have my reasons,” Nesta answered. 

“Well whatever they are, they are not good enough. Go home.” 

“My sister is gone.” 

“I heard, Feyre is living with her Aunt.” 

“How do you know that?” Nesta asked, raising one eyebrow. The mercenary blinked. 

“...I must have heard it around town,” she answered. 

Nesta pulled the table leg from her pack and set it on the bar in front of the Merc. “Feyre didn’t leave . She was taken . And I’m going to get her back.” 

“Tell me everything.”   

“On the way to the wall,” Nesta replied, holding up a pouch of money. The merc smiled and nodded. 

Griffin was ready to go in 10 minutes. In 25, they were in the woods. In 45 minutes, Nesta had explained the entire kidnapping of Feyre, as well as her family’s memory lapses. 

“That would be a glamor,” Griffin explained. “Some powerful fae can alter people’s minds, what they see, what they remember,” she looked Nesta up and down, clearly noting that Nesta’s breath was already short. “Must be something impressive about you.”

Not really. 

Nesta focused on walking forward. Her feet were already sore, her fingers were already starting to numb from the cold. She tried to push out the thoughts of Feyre out here alone. Of her being so young. One foot in front of the other. Just keep moving. Get to the wall. Get to Feyre.

It wasn’t so hard, actually. Tiring, sure, but if you ignored the numbness in your toes, the oppressive cold, the stabbing pain that came with each breath, then it wasn’t so bad. Feyre had always been a martyr. Nesta tripped on a tree branch and slammed face first into the ground

Well, I deserved that. 

Griffin hauled her up to her feet. “Stay alert, kid.” 

Nesta wiped the blood from her nose and kept going forward.

They stopped when the sun was just above the horizon. Griffin started getting a fire going, bidding Nesta to set up their tent. She fumbled around, but got the damn thing up. And when she was done, she just huddled as close to her companion as possible. 

So fucking cold. 

“You get used to it.”

“I doubt it.” 

“Yeah we just say that to make people feel better.” 

Nesta cracked a smile at that. 

That was the extent of the conversation. They just ate dinner, and then huddled in the tent, sleeping. They kept the fire burning - for warmth and to keep the wolves away. Nesta lay awake, feeling the exhausting from walking all day and from staying up for two days, but every time sleep pulled her under, she saw that table leg, saw Feyre walking away with that beast, felt Tomas’ grip on her arm, felt her dress rip and clawed her way back to consciousness. 

At the dawn of the third straight night of no sleep, Nesta finally looked as shitty as she felt. A comment that Griffin has no bones about sharing. Nesta practically bit her hand off with her responding snarl. 

Nesta was dead on her feet the entire day, and it was showing. Every step was thrice the effort of the day before. But the chill, the pain, she was so tired, she could barely feel any of it. Numb. That’s what she was. And it was a good place to be. 

No sense feeling any of it. Just be exhausted and numb. Stop when Griffin said to. Hide when she instructed. Walk when she said go. 

And at the end of the second day, They made it to the wall. 

Gods. 

That’s what built this wall. 

She could feel it. A crackling, humming, wrongness. 

A security blanket. 

A straight jacket.

The wall was an invisible sheet of power, vibrating softly in space. Nesta could feel the power radiating off of it. Pulling her closer, pushing her away. Just being near it was making her queasy. She took another step closer. 

“We can make camp here and search for an opening at first light.” 

Nesta didn’t answer. She walked closer and closer, and felt as though it was tearing her apart. 

Go away. Wrong side. Come back. My Same. Not Yet. 

She put her hand on the wall, and felt lightning spark through her finger tips. It traveled through her veins and shocked her heart, pushing her back and back, all the while shouting in her head. 

Not Yet. Not Yet. Not Yet. 

She was pulled down, down into an inky cold blackness. A sliver of silver power flew around her and she went under. It felt familiar and different. And then that power shot through her head, settling into her eyes before blinking out of existence.  And everything went dark. 

Chapter Text

Nesta. Nesta. Nesta. 

The voice was faint on the wind, but it mixed with the sunlight streaming through the white canvas of the tent and stirred Nesta from her slumber. 

She opened her eyes to see Griffin sitting next to her, staring. The merc's usually messy undercut was more disheveled than usual, like she was drawing her hand through it all night. There were bags under her eyes, her bed roll didn't look slept in. 

“I’ll be honest, from your swaying yesterday, I expected you to faint - just not so violently,” her tone and expression were steady, if a little sarcastic. But the look in her eyes was pure concern. Griffin handed Nesta a canteen as she sat up. She took a swig before responding.  

“What happened?” 

“I should ask you that. One second you were walking to the Wall, the next you were on the ground. Been that way all night.” 

The memory of the power from yesterday, the voice in her head, the thrum of the Wall’s power, came back to her. 

“I... felt the Wall,” Nesta said, “and it… felt me, too.”

“Hm,” Griffin considered, “the Wall is... Unknown. Powerful magic, but all who understand it have long since died. At least on this side of it.” 

Nesta opened the tent flaps again. They were in the same spot they were yesterday when the Wall sang to her. But she did not hear that call. There was still this sense of wrong that permeated the area, but it was so much weaker today. 

Perhaps she was just tired yesterday. 

Stupid fucking fae and their fucking magic. 

"We should eat and look for the hole," Nesta finally decided. 

They made quick work of eating and packing up camp. With everything loaded back in their packs, Griffin started leading Nesta closer to the wall once more. 

Like before, the humming grew, but there wasn’t the pull. "There should be a break an hour or so that way," Griffin said. 

"How do you know?"

"We've caught children of the blessed in that area."

"Ah."

"So what are you going to do when you cross?" Griffin didn't hide the condescension from her tone or gaze.

"Not sure, but they can't lie, and they don't know I'm not glamored. So I'll figure something out," Nesta grumbled. 

"Really thought this through, haven't you?"

"I’ve already seen the worst they have to offer," Nesta answered.

They approached where Griffin believed the breach in the Wall to be. Griffin started to grope around, trying to find it,  to see how big the breach was. But Nesta didn't need to debase herself with the ridiculous search. 

Nesta could see it. The breach looked like someone had smashed a hole in the most perfect glass. Broken shards pointed in towards the opening. They seemed lethal.

Nesta felt her throat constrict as she stepped closer to that breach.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

It was as if Prythian itself was calling to her, enticing her to cross over. It was so calming, so lovely, the tightness in her throat relaxed. Yes, this is where she needs to go. She needs to cross, she needs to follow that call. She got to the breach and hiked up her skirt, she lifted her right foot to step over the line when the Wall seemed to grow from the ground and seal the breach. Her foot collided with the newly formed Wall.

Not yet. 

"The breach," Griffin continued to grope around, "I'm sure it's around here." 

Nesta looked around. The breach, it's go- no. It's not gone. It's moved.

She looked to her right, and the breach was there now. She walked over to the new breach. She watched it slide down the Wall, more to the right. She followed, it kept moving. She ran, it moved faster. She paused, it stopped. she backed up, it stayed in place.

Griffin saw her run and called out, following behind. 

The hum of the Wall pulsed, as though it was laughing at her.  

Not here.  

Nesta glared at the Wall and considered. She took another step towards the Wall, and it started sliding again. She turned to Griffin. 

"Let's keep going," Nesta called, following that damn breach.

They walked for another full day. When they stopped for a meal, it slid up the Wall, hanging 20 feet in the air. "I get it, not here," Nesta mumbled.  It was near dark when the breach paused its movement. Nesta slowed her pace as she approached the breach. It still didn’t move. She paused herself in front of the entrance.

Smiling, she started to step through, only to have the Wall closed around her foot.

"Let me pass," she ordered.

The Wall held for another moment, sending a slight shock through Nesta. Bidding her to look up - through the breach, into Prythian, into a dark forest. The Wall let go, but Nesta did not move. There was something moving in those woods, quietly. It was stalking through them. It was... hunting. She watched it for a moment. It did not seem to notice her, but she watched as it came into view. A formless dread appeared in front of her, and she felt the insatiable hunger roll of it. Then it solidified into her mother- drunk and dying, into her father- clutching his ruined knee, into the beast- snarling down at her, into Feyre - walking away.

She felt what the Wall was saying with its stupid game. It’s stupid test.  Are you sure?

It turned into Elain - bruised in the arms of the Tomas Mandray. 

Nesta was afraid. 

And she did not step forward.

Coward

She stepped back.

The monster did not notice her. She took another step back. The breach did not move again.

Nesta kept her eyes on that monster, that clump of her worst fears, and she backed away. When her back bumped into Griffin's chest, she simply said:

"We won't find a breach. Take me home."

Failure.  

They hiked away from the wall, for only a mile or so. Nesta felt herself coated in more shame with every step. The Wall had tested her, shown her what was on the other side, and she couldn't face it. Couldn't take that final step.

She was actually going to let Feyre die. 

Nesta curled in on herself. Useless

Then a faint green light caught her attention. Nesta looked up to see a green Faerie walk by their camp, carrying a large brown trunk and paying them no heed. Nesta watched it. She was clearly visible, it was clearly visible. Griffin should have noted and told her to hide. Certainly some kind of interaction should - 

Oh. She can’t see it. It doesn't know I can see it. 

So Nesta watched it walk  through the woods, away from the Wall, towards the village. Nesta watched until it's faint glow disappeared from her view. How often do they come over? Do they just cross for the fun of it? Do they kidnap women like they did Feyre? Whenever people leave, is it because they Fae spirited them off and covered it up?

Nesta wanted to vomit all over again. She put her head between her knees and felt the tears fall. 

Griffin put a hand on Nesta’s back. 

“There was nothing you could have done.” 

“I know.”

“But you still came.” 

“That’s not good enough.”

“It’s not,” Griffin didn’t mince words. But platitudes weren’t worth shit to Nesta. Platitudes weren’t worth much to Griffin either. “Here’s my honest advice, kid. Go home, take care of your other sister, and stay the hell away from Prythian and that Wall.”  The harsh tones her voice started taking told Nesta enough. 

“So you noticed, then?”

“A blind man would have noticed,” Griffin quipped, then quickly added, “And I don’t want you to tell me any more.” Nesta nodded, but Griffin continued. “Whatever happened back there, it’s some dangerous shit, worse, it’s some dangerous magical shit. And something tells me that knowing anything more than what I saw is going to involve me in it. If you are smart, you will stay far away from the wall and keep yourself out of it, too.” 

Right. 

Ladies do not ask so many questions.

Chapter Text

“The fuck is this?”

Elain was not expecting that to be her sister’s first words to her in a week. But considering the new dress, gloves, cloak, shoes, earmuffs, and pouch she wore,  it shouldn’t have surprised her. 

“Oh Nesta, do come in! We have tea !” Leave it to Elain, with all of the new finery, to be most excited about the tea. Their hut was warm inside. A fire was roaring. Despite the drastic change in Elain’s outfit, nothing much changed inside. Except...

Their father wasn’t home. 

And a familiar brown trunk was seated by the hearth. Nesta kept her gaze on that trunk as she asked her next question. 

“Elain, what happened while I was gone?” 

“You will never believe it Nesta, father got a client!” 

Nesta would have sooner believed their father grew a second head to replace the first living in his ass. 

But the sound of footsteps approaching the cottage drew Nesta’s attention. Footsteps and men’s voices. One she knew. One she didn’t. Her father walked- walked through the door, leaning on the cane Elain had bought him years ago. One that he had fully decorated in his years as an invalid. That he was walking would have been reason enough for surprise.

But the shock on her face was completely due to the fact that her father’s companion was green . There were flower petals where hair should be, his features were just twists of leaves and vines. Despite his alien appearance, she recognized him. She had seen him leave from the Wall. 

“Oh Nesta, you’re home!” Her father looked startled, embarrassed, and wary. Good .  “Were you able to catch up to Feyre?” he asked. 

The strange fae studied her as soon as the question was asked. Even with his alien appearance, Nesta could tell what his expression meant, what he was waiting to hear in her response.  They don't see what I see. And th ey don’t know that I see. It was her one advantage and she couldn’t lose it now. Nesta recovered herself.

“No, unfortunately the road was completely snowed in just 2 days out of town,” the stranger’s expression relaxed as Nesta spoke. She summoned her usual unpleasant annoyance. “And I couldn’t afford to stay the extra days at the inn,” she looked at her father’s new fine coat and breeches, the thick, white ,  wool socks that covered his calves, and the new shoes. She didn’t remember the last time her father owned or even wore shoes. “Though something tells me I could have afforded it now.” 

Her father tried his best to smile through the bite in her words. 

“Right you are, my first-born,” he answered, “And you have this man to thank!” he gestured to the fae. “Mr. Azalea, meet my eldest, Nesta Archeron. Nesta, this is Mr. Azalea.” 

Azalea extended a clump of vines that was vaguely hand shaped. She just smiled at him. 

“I assume you are the client Elain told me about?” 

“I have asked your father to help me manage and invest my assets,” pollen puffed out of his mouth as he spoke. “I am new to my wealth, and do know much about managing such things.” 

No shit.

“And you came to my father? ” Nesta’s laugh was imperious and cruel, she hoped it reminded their father of their mother as much as it did her. “Surely you know our current circumstances.” 

“Of course, but his reputation still marked him as the best,” Azalea tilted his head. Nesta wondered if he was attempting a shy grin. “Though I confess the name Archeron is what convinced me. Always find allies with fellow ‘A’s’, as my mother would say.” 

Nesta’s grin was serpentine. “Careful Mr. Azalea, you sound positively Fae with logic like that.” She held its gaze, noting the beautiful blooming irises. Literal irises. 

“Yes, well, we’ll see how my logic fares soon enough. Apologies, but I do not believe I can stay for tea today.” He bowed his head to each of them, “Mr. Archeron, Miss Archeron, Miss Archeron,” and left. 

“ Neesstaa, he already gave us an advance! Be nice! ” Elain whined. 

“Not an advance, my dear, a signing bonus,” their father corrected. 

Nesta took the tea Elain had been preparing and took a seat on the long-ruined couch. 

“Please tell me what all I missed on my trip.”

Elain and her father explained how, 2 days ago, out of the blue, Mr. Azalea appeared at their door with papers, a trunk, and a business opportunity. His family had apparently been sitting on a literal goldmine that they just learned about. Unsure what to do with that kind of wealth, Mr. Azalea started asking around for estate managers. Someone told him that the best of the best, The Prince of Merchants, was down on his luck, and in his own words “a nobody and a fallen prince, a match if there ever was one”. He sought them out and offered a trunk of gold as incentive for Mr. Archeron to say yes. 

“I was worried that he was a criminal,” her father assured, “but after spending these past days with him, especially at the market today, I believe I know him well enough to trust him.” 

Sure you do. 

Nesta knew this had to do with Feyre. She couldn’t be sure, but looking at that trunk of gold, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was payment. 

Your sister’s life and your immortal soul for a trunk of gold. 

Eh, it’s not that different than marriage. 

Her father walking again had less to do with the salve he generously applied to his knee each morning, and more to do with the investments he spent the day tracking. He got up every morning, rubbed his knee, dressed, gathered his paperwork and notes, and left the house. 

How many years? How many years did he just sit there, carving those god-awful paperweights? How many times did Nesta, Elain, and Feyre beg him to get up, to go provide for them? And how many years did he just let them starve? Let his youngest hunt alone in the woods? 

And now that he has money again, he's happy again. Doesn't matter that his beloved wife is dead and buried. Doesn't matter that he told Feyre to go and never come back. He has money, money that Feyre was no doubt buying with her suffering. 

And now he was finally motivated? 

Every day was a challenge. Not to pretend that she wasn't meeting with a Fae, not to pretend that she wasn’t mourning her sister, but to not break his neck with her bare hands. Though the fantasy did warm her broken heart. 

But she checked her anger. Killing him would just make life harder for Elain. Elain, who did nothing wrong, who didn't know where the blood money really came from, who finally got to have real, steady meals. 

This, Nesta rationalized, this is why Feyre agreed to go . This was her final sacrifice for her family, her gift to them. And Nesta couldn't deny Elain the growing comforts of the gift. 

So she kept her mouth shut. She sealed her guilt deep within herself. She held her discomfort with the new plant-based family friend. She let the world think that her ire towards her father was the same it always was. 

After a few days, Azalea took his leave. The contracts were signed, the initial investments made. He assured the Archerons that he would be back to check-in in a few months. Nesta noted the promise for what it was, the Beast was keeping an eye on them. That’s what struck Nesta the most. Why cover it up? The Fae could crush humans. They regularly attacked human villages. Why bother hiding that they stole one human girl? Why claim nonsense about the Treaty? 

“Look, I get that you’re still mad at your dad, but what’s the benefit of denying yourself a new dress?” Clare asked, pulling Nesta along through the market. She’d been back a week now, and allowed Clare and Elain to talk her into running errands together. 

“The point,” Nesta sighed, “is that I don’t want to lose all the money we lucked into when his investments go belly up - again.” 

“C’mon Nesta, that’s not fair! How was he supposed to know that those ships would get caught in a hurricane?” Elain asked. 

“By listening to literally any sailor who warned him how dangerous those waters were that time of the year?” Nesta countered. 

“Right, but one dress won’t bankrupt you. Think of it as an investment in your future. Better to get something nice that will last while you can afford it,” Clare offered. 

Clare’s family was never wealthy, but they had enough to get by. The Beddors were always kind to them, even if they didn’t have much extra to provide the Archerons. She was an easy friend, a callback to the old society days - someone to gossip to, to spend time with.  

Nesta gave Clare a side eye. Her blonde hair was down, with braids hanging delicately throughout. Despite the dirt on her hem and the stains on her cuffs, her face was unusually clean. Nesta noted the slight rouge on her round cheeks, it brought out the green in her eyes. She had cinched her belt a little two tight, trying to emphasize the soft curves a stable home and diet had gifted her. 

“Looking to impress someone today, Clare?” Nesta asked. 

“N-no,” she stammered, blushing a bit. Elain giggled. 

“Clare’s become a bit taken to Mr. Azalea.” 

“Really, and whatever do you see in him?” Nesta asked. 

“He’s… handsome. And polite. And -” 

“Rich?” Nesta finished. Clare blushed. 

“Can you blame a girl for trying?” she asked. 

“It’s a shame you kept missing him then,” Elain offered. 

“Wait, you didn’t even meet him?” Nesta asked, looking to her friend in disbelief. 

“Shut up,” Clare grumbled. She put her hand out in front of her and started inspecting it, she sighed. “I bet if I nabbed Mr. Azalea I’d never have to deal with a broken nail again.” 

“You’ll find someone,” Elain assured her. 

“Or you’ll die a maiden, alone and unloved,” Nesta countered.

“Bitch!” Clare laughed, giving Nesta a playful slap on the shoulder. “What about you? Who are you looking at now that you and Tomas are done?” she asked. Nesta froze for a second before responding.

“I’ll wait until father’s investments are settled,” Nesta sneered, “If Elain’s right, then my options are vastly improved.” 

Elain stopped them in front of the post office. “Excuse me a moment, I want to mail a letter.” They nodded to her. Clare watched the door and waited until the bell closed. 

“You should be careful about that, you know,” Clare said, turning back to the street. 

“About what?” 

“Tomas. He’s been spreading rumors about why the engagement broke. Something about getting milk without buying the cow,” Clare kept her gaze on the street. 

“Is he now?” Nesta wasn’t surprised. She expected him to claim as much, if only to save face with his brothers. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve made sure to keep the rumors away from Elain.” Nesta nodded, but couldn’t bring herself to respond more than that. “That’s why you left, isn’t it?” 

Nesta turned to see Clare staring up at her. Her gaze was full of concern. Nesta’s throat closed up. “I saw the cut on his temple. With your sudden departure, and his reputation, it doesn’t take a genius to put 2 and 2 together.” 

“Nothing happened,” Nesta affirmed. “I didn’t let it get that far.” 

Clare reached out and took Nesta’s hand. She hadn’t realized it was shaking. 

“No, of course not,” Clare smiled at her. A warm, comforting smile. “You’re a Lady”. 

Before Nesta could respond the doorbell chimed behind her. “All done!” Elain called. 

“Good, now let’s get you guys some chickens, I’m sure you’re sick of venison by now.” 

They had run out this morning. Two weeks. Just like Feyre said. 

Chapter Text

Nesta was home for a month. And life just went on. She took over the majority of Feyre’s chores, though there was no longer a need to hunt, not with the gold Azalea had left them. But dinner got made, the walk got shoveled, the laundry got done. It was a simple life, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The gold Azalea gave them could have maintained them in this manner for the rest of their days, if they were careful. 

It wasn’t like they forgot about Feyre. Elain would write Feyre a letter every other day, and would always hold her breath for a response. Nesta wanted to tell her not to. But Elain had no reason to think that Feyre wasn’t getting her letters, that she wouldn’t be able to send responses to them. So Nesta let her write, and would even dictate her own additions sometimes. 

Clare would often join them in town or at the cottage. A new table arrived at the cottage a week before, courtesy of  “Mr. Azalea.” It was nicer than their last one, almost too big for the space. Elain splurged one day and bought them cards. Despite herself, Nesta rather enjoyed playing around the new table with Clare, drinking warm ginger tea, snacking on scones Clare would bring. 

Some days, it was hard to believe Feyre wasn’t with Aunt Ripliegh. Griffin had moved on to another town, and Azalea hadn’t been back to visit. With the sheer normalcy of their life now, it just felt easier to believe that Feyre was safe, visiting a sick Aunt. 

But the nights always ended the same way. Nesta would retire to their room early and fish the table leg from her drawer. The leg Feyre had painted and the beast had destroyed. Staring at the claw marks reminded Nesta of the cost of their current comfort. It kept the guilt churning in her stomach, right where she wanted it. 

One day, Elain and Nesta decided to forgo their regular trip to the post office, choosing instead to leave their father to post Feyre’s letter while he went to check on the investments. The snow granted them a reprieve for a few days, so they decided to enjoy a stroll without the damp misery. 

They walked around the outskirts of town, choosing to enjoy the woods today. Elain wanted to see if she could find any winter blooms to bring back to the garden. They walked together for some time, enjoying the quiet cold morning. 

Until they got near the outskirts of the Mandray farm. And Nesta couldn’t bring herself to walk any closer. Elain paused mid-stride. 

“The Mandrays should be back near the house,” Elain offered. “They shouldn’t be out here.”

“I know,” Nesta answered, “but I don’t want to risk it” She backed up a bit. “We could go to the forest, look for your blooms.”

Elain smiled at her and led her away into the woods. 

“You never did tell me what happened with all that,” Elain's question was implied. Nesta didn’t answer. Elain understood her silence for what it was and changed the topic. “In spring, when the snow melts, we could try to visit Feyre.” 

Nesta looked away, but answered. “Yeah, we can try.”

Elain nodded, smiling slightly. 

“Things are going to get better. They already are.” 

Nesta looked away from her sister. She couldn’t hide the heartbreak in her eyes. And she could never bring herself tell her the cost of 'better'. 

They made it back to the cabin right as their father was hobbling up with more good tidings. The investments were successful. Nesta pretended to be surprised. Of course they were successful. Stable income was damn near assured. And the smile on her father’s face made her want to gag as he stated his new plan.

“I think we should start looking for a real house.”

No part of Nesta wanted to move. But then no part of her really wanted to stay, either. This hut was always Hell. But it was a Hell she deserved. It was certainly a Hell her father deserved. But Elain… 

Elain deserved a palace. 

So Nesta agreed to help with the house search. It would take a few months to find a new place, and even with the now substantial income from the Fae investments, it would take years to afford anything like their old place. So they decided to look for something modest. Two bedrooms, maybe a maid, but nothing more extravagant. Anything would be a palace compared to the glorified hut they had now. 

While her father went to the post office to send word to old friends and check on some of his investments, Nesta would go into town at least once a week to look for any interesting postings. It was when she was reading some of these announcements that the flies started buzzing around. 

“The ice queen emerges!” Marcus Mandray greeted her, swaggering up. Tomas was not present, as Nesta knew he wouldn't be. He never came to town on Fridays. But Marcus was with Grant, another of Tom's cronies. 

Nesta decided not acknowledging them was the best option. 

“Hm, no words for us now that you aren’t hanging off of Tommy?” Grant cooed. 

“Don’t kid yourself, I didn’t have words for you then, either.” 

Marcus leaned against the bulletin board, crossing his ankles and arms. 

“Oh come on now, we were going to be family,” he put on a fake whine, “the way Tommy says it, we still might,” he made to touch her belly. Nesta backed away from the board. 

“Tommy’s been giving you some false information then,” she turned to leave. 

“Oh has he now?” Nesta heard the challenge in his tone.

“It’s hardly the first time, right?” Nesta smiled a little, recalling an old rumor Tomas had all but confirmed one time. “He’s been pretending your uncle isn’t your father for years now.” 

“You little cunt,” he breathed out, grabbing her roughly by the arm. Men like this were so predictably easy - so preoccupied staring at her tits that they never thought to see the steel in her eyes. He saw it now though, and the look scared him.

“What are you going to do Marcy?” she spat up at him. “Hit me in front of the whole town?” 

Marcus and Grant looked behind her, noting various town folk watching them intently - namely, Isaac Hale and the Beddor family.  Marcus let go. Nesta huffed and turned on her heel. 

“You’ll get what’s coming to you,” he threatened. 

“Get a hobby,” she called over her shoulder. 

Nesta walked slowly, intently into the crowd. She took Clare’s extended hands. “I think I will get a new dress after all.” 

“Well that’s the one,” Clare purred, resting her cheek in her hand. 

Nesta stepped out of the changing room and spun around. Thick purple wool was laced tight around her chest and through her waist, where it draped elegantly to the floor. The sleeves were cut tight, with iron buttons running up the forearms. The neck was wider than her usual style, meant to expose her collarbones. 

“I’ll need a new chemise as well,” Nesta murmured, noting the stained yellow cloth sticking up from the hem. She felt like a little girl playing dress up. 

“It’s not like you don’t need new underthings anyway,” Clare plucked at the fabric. “This thing offers you no support.” 

“Couldn’t afford the ones that did,” Nesta responded. Clare smiled up at her. 

“Well now you can,” she walked over and pulled out a sleeveless chemise with laces up the front and sides. “So even if you don’t get the dress, you are not leaving here without a functional chemise.” 

Nesta looked it up and down, ultimately relenting. “Fine” 

Clare helped her out of the purple dress and the old yellow shift she passed for a proper chemise. She and Elain had tried to alter it for some support, but neither were tailors like Clare, and the suffocating tightness they tried to pass for support was unacceptable. This was an issue that Feyre and Elain didn’t really have to deal with. They had decent chests themselves, but they had nothing on Nesta. The back pain, clothing that never fit, incessant ogling, etc. Ogling that Clare was participating in now. Nesta snapped her fingers at her. 

“Eyes up here.”

Clare sighed, ”I just,” her voice broke a bit. “They are just so good.”

Nesta laughed despite herself as Clare helped bring the chemise over her head. Nesta held up her arms while Clare fiddled with the side laces, and quickly pinned up the cups.  With every tug and pull, she felt her breasts pull up. When Clare was done, Nesta felt lighter. She jumped a little bit, and it didn’t hurt! Holy Shit

“We'll have to make one for you but, better, right?” Clare’s smugness came off in waves. 

“Much.” 

“Now try the dress,” Clare got Nesta in a new shift and in the purple dress once more. Clare stepped back. Nesta, wearing clothes that fit both visible and invisible, dressed head to toe in  purple, standing with her trademark impeccable posture, looked like a queen. Clare smiled. “They should give me a raise."

Before Nesta could respond, her father’s grating voice cut through the shop. 

“NESTA! NESTA!” he lumbered in. Nesta shot him a lethal look. 

“What?!” If he was put off by her tone, or by her glare, it didn’t show. 

“Nesta, they found the ships. All the ships, Nesta!” he breathed heavily, shaking a packet of paper at her. 

“How?” 

“They found them outside of Bharat. We’re getting it back, we’re getting everything back!” He showed her the papers. Nesta snatched them out of his hands. She read the cover  letter slowly, unbelieving her father’s words. 

“Mr. Archeron,

It would seem fate has smiled on you, and we were a tad hasty to claim your goods lost forever. Our government has found your three ships, goods within, and the manifests proving them to be yours in a pirate cove outside of Bharat. 

The merchandise was delivered on your behalf to the parties listed on the manifest. You will find attached the letters of delivery, as well as a copy of the return manifest. 

Respectfully, 

Her Majesty’s Treasurer” 

Nesta sorted through the rest of the papers. New captains would return with the ships, spices, silks, and gold.  Oh spices . Nesta’s mouth watered at the memory of spices. They needed to meet the ships at the port, but with the manifests and the letters of intent, they could begin to arrange for the sale of the items - open lines of credit once more. 

The gold on those ships alone would be enough to buy back their old manor three times over. 

All of it. They were going to get all of it back. 

"So you're going to take the gown, shift, and chemise,  right?" Clare asked.

Chapter Text

"Are you sure you want to go alone?" Elain asked. The carriage shifted, and all three of them had to grip the side.

“Yes, I need you two to open the house,” their father answered. “And even though it is a short trip, I won’t be back until the start of the season…”

“And we need to start rebuilding the family name,” Nesa completed. Not that we had much of one before. 

“Do you think the Rutlands will serve their deviled eggs?” Elain asked, excited. 

“They served them at the Spring Ball every year for 20 years, I doubt they’ve stopped,” her father assured her. 

“We should be more worried about getting an invite to their ball, before we worry about what food will be served there.” Nesta rubbed her temples, trying to keep breakfast in her stomach. Even when she was a child, she found carriage rides woefully unpleasant. Not riding in one for 8 years only worsened her motion sickness. 

“Well I wrote to the families already, announcing our return, and arranged for you to have lunch with the girls tomorrow,” their father gestured to them. “The rest is up to you.” 

“Really? Oh I missed Maria. I wonder how she’s grown,” Elain sighed. 

Probably a raging bitch like her mother. 

“You are really sure it’s wise for us to make our comeback in society without an escort?” Nesta asked, “Or to let our friends know we will be unattended?” 

“Well both of you are of age enough to be a younger lady’s escort, so that should not be a problem. As for leaving you unattended, you will have each other, a full house staff, and Mr. Azalea has offered to stay with you in my absence.” 

Fucking excuse me? 

“Mr. Azalea is back?” Elain sounded just a tad too excited. 

“Yes, he will be arriving tomorrow evening and staying for the week I am gone.”

Nesta let out a rueful laugh and looked out the window. Probably hoping to come back to a proposal. She ignored the rest of their chatter. She willed herself to sit up straighter, to hold steady in the uneven rumble of the carriage. She had never stopped being a lady, just as her mother had ordered her. Now it was time to see what that instruction was worth. 

Their driver pulled into the driveway of their new estate. The grounds were well kept, if a little barren. There were plenty of trees and other flora around, but none of the evergreens natural to the area. Quite a statement by the previous owners. The driveway itself was covered in crushed white gravel, not an impurity in site. They’d have to buy new stones every year, to keep up that beauty. 

The house was unnecessarily, comically, grand. But if the Prince of Merchants wanted to make a statement about his triumphant comeback, this was certainly the way to do it.  Servants stood in a line in front of the house, each one looking straight ahead and not at the carriage pulling around. 

An older gentleman with snow white hair and deep wrinkles stepped forward slightly, but maintained distance as the driver came around.  The driver opened the door and extended a hand. Nesta took it, accepting his aid m as she stepped down to the dirt. The purple of her skirt seemed to float to the ground around her, and billowed as she stepped to the side. 

Elain was guided out next, making sure to thank the man before accepting his hand.. Her light blue dress and loose braids were a gentle contrast to Nesta’s tight coronet and demeanor. She smiled at the staff assembled in front of her. They seemed to relax slightly. 

Finally their father was helped out. The servant offering a full arm, rather than a hand. The limp had made climbing in a task, climbing out was much worse. Nesta tried not to grimace as her father made a most unseemly grunt when his bad foot hit the ground. He leaned more on the cane than usual as they stood in front of the staff.

The three of them wore the only nice clothes, really the only clothes, they had. Everything old was staying in that cottage, everything new was going to be delivered to the estate.The older gentleman bowed slightly, and the rest of the staff followed with him.  When he rose, he spoke more for the girls’ benefit than their father. 

“I am Lionel, head of the waitstaff. Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he spoke  with a gravelly voice, one that betrayed his age more than his hair or wrinkles even. 

“Ah yes, good to see you again Lionel. These are my two eldest, Nesta and Elain Archeron.” 

Elain and Nesta curtsied as their names were called.

“Pleased to meet you,” they both stated. 

“Allow me to introduce your household staff,” Lionel began. “Mrs. Laurent, our housekeeper and the charge of the maids,” a round-faced woman well into her forties curtsied. Her veil and wimple made her face rounder, and her warm expression completed her look as the perfect downstairs matron. Nesta thought she looked rather a bit like Mrs. Beddor.

“Mrs. Cowell, our head cook.” Where Mrs. Laurent was soft and round, Mrs. Cowell was doughy. Her face was splotched with red, and bore a smattering of small scars. The sleeves of her dress were rolled up and there was already flour dusted across her apron. 

“Mr. Darrow, our groundskeeper.” Another older man bowed. He was tanned, with age just starting to show. His clothes were well-worn, with green and brown stains in various places. Given the clean state of the rest of his being, Nesta had to assume those stains simply would never come out. 

Lionel finished introducing the rest of the staff. 20 people in all, including maids, cooks, gardeners, the footman, a stable hand, and a couple of younger butlers. The girls greeted each one with a smile and pleasantries. When he was done, Nesta spoke up.

“We are pleased to meet all of you and look forward to getting to know you all better. In the meantime, I’m sure you all have duties that you need to get back to, and I’ll not keep you from them,” she nodded to them all, the dismissal clear but polite. Lionel nodded back and bade the staff to disperse. 

He led the family inside. 

“Most of the furnishings were left by the previous owners, so you will not be at a loss for furniture or dishware while you make your own purchases.” 

“Yes, I was hoping to start putting in some orders after I return from Port next week.” 

Surprise flashed on Lionel’s face, but he reeled it in quickly enough. “I was not aware you were leaving so soon. Will your family be joining you?” 

“No, my daughters will remain here while I am gone, a client will be joining them tomorrow evening.” 

Now Lionel had trouble schooling the outrage. “A guest so soon?”

Nesta stepped in before her father bungled anything more. 

“Mr. Azalea is a good friend, and was not shocked by our previous circumstances,” something that the footman who collected them and their things absolutely was. “I doubt he will be by a freshly opened house.” 

“Of course,” Lionel bowed. 

They continued the tour of their new home. The previous owner had left them quite a bit, though they took the fine porcelain, silver, and a good bit of the art with them to their new estate. The tour took almost two hours, mostly because they had to stay at their father’s pace. When they were done, Mrs. Laurent offered to take the girls back to their rooms to change before lunch. 

“So our clothes arrived then?” Elain asked. Mrs. Laurent cocked her head, but Lionel stepped in. 

“We’ve not had any clothing deliveries as of yet,” he answered, “We should be expecting one, I presume.” 

Useless idiot, I wrote out the specific instructions he was to give the staff. This is why I wanted to be there for the damn closing. 

“Yes, When they arrive, please have them unloaded in our rooms. In the meantime, Elain and I would be pleased to freshen up before lunch.” He nodded to them and Mrs. Laurent led them away. As they stepped just out, Nesta turned again. “And Lionel?” He turned back to her. “The estate is lovely, thank you for showing us around.” 

He bowed to her and left. 

Elain and Nesta’s suites were next to each other, with a third reserved for Feyre. Both had their own sitting rooms, bathing rooms, and dressing rooms. Nesta’s room was painted a god-awful light pink, but the windows on the far wall gave her a perfect view of the front grounds. A marble fireplace took up the majority of the wall across from the bed, no doubt to ensure that she would remain warm throughout the winter months.

In her bathing room, there was her own bathtub, a smaller wash basin, soaps and oils of various kinds, and a chamberpot. Her dressing room was all but empty without clothes to fill it; it was more of a glorified closet anyway. 

A vanity sat on the same wall as the dressing room door. A mirror sat perfectly on the desk. Nesta took a moment to look herself over. Her hair, braided tight enough to pull on her scalp, was still impeccable. Her dress was slightly wrinkled but otherwise fine. But her face… Nesta knew “freshen up” was just society-code for “take a shit”, but living in that hut for so long had left her with grime almost permanently caked to her person. She went back to the bathing room and cleaned her hands and face. A bath would come later, when her clothes had arrived, and it would probably be the best damn indulgence of her life. 

Their clothes didn't arrive that first day.  Nesta and Elain slept in spare maid uniforms after bathing, and changed back into the gowns they arrived in after breakfast. Even with the short turnaround, the staff managed to get the gowns something near clean before the Rutlands arrived for lunch. 

Since only the Rutland daughters would be present, and it was assumed that their father would have left by now, they banished Mr. Archeron to the study. 

Tabitha and Maria Rutland arrived promptly at 11:30. They floated out of their carriage in light pink and green gowns. Their neck, ears, wrists, and fingers all were covered in fine jewelry. They took in the estate, the servants, and finally Elain and Nesta. 

“What a wonderful home!” one of them cooed. 

“Oh yes, the white driveway is much better than that awful red one you used to have,” the other added. 

And that was it. No greeting, no “how have you been?” Nesta wasn’t even sure which one was which. They hadn’t bothered to reintroduce themselves, as though they hadn’t gone 8 years without seeing one another. 

Elain responded, as Nesta was far too speechless. 

“Yes, it is elegant. But you should see the piano, so much nicer than the last one. Maybe you could play it after lunch, tell me if it is up to your standard?” Elain extended an arm to the one in pink.

“Oh Elain, you know it’s Tabitha who plays the piano,” Maria’s tone was as grating as it was condescending, but she took Elain’s arm. As if they had been close friends for all these years. 

Nesta offered an arm to Tabitha, who made a not so subtle glance at Nesta’s hand before accepting. They conducted a small tour of the house before settling in the dining room. The Rutlands made a couple snide remarks about the lack of art decorating the home, chalking it up to a side effect of their father’s profession.  

The girls chatted politely as they ate the fresh breads, warm buttered vegetables, and miniature roast chickens. Their conversation was light - about the meal, the stress of moving, the kindness of the staff, some of the gossip that Nesta couldn’t follow. She recognized most of the names, but the Rutlands made no effort to try and catch them up on why Caroline McDowall was at odds with Diana Bingley, or add any other context to the half-told stories.

“At any rate, I should be glad for the season to start, if only to finally see some new faces,” Maria complained. That was their in.

“Only a couple of days, though. Your staff must be busy,” Nesta said. 

“It happens every year and they still stress out about it,” Tabitha sighed. “There’s just so much stress in being the opening event.” 

“But you always rise to the occasion,” Nesta assured her, giving her a slight toast with a water glass. 

“That we do.”

“And Elain then spends the next year talking about those deviled eggs,” Nesta’s laugh was as fake as Azalea’s estate. 

“Then we will make sure to set aside some extra ones for her on Friday,” Maria smiled. 

And that was it. No questions needed, no extra charm. It was just expected that they would be there. Lunch concluded and Nesta couldn’t have been more glad to walk them out.  The entire encounter had left her with this sour taste in her mouth, even before Tabitha took a hug goodbye as an excuse to whisper in Nesta’s ear.

“You might want to try gloves next time.”

If Elain heard, she didn’t show it. Nesta didn’t bother to talk to her sister. She just stalked into the house and went to call for a butler. 

“I need a messenger to go check on the status of our wardrobe,” she asked. The bad mood from lunch had leached into her tone, making the words harsher than needed.

“They’ve actually just arrived, milady,” he responded. 

“They have?” Nesta walked to the back of the house - the servant’s entrance. She heard a familiar voice trying to argue with Lionel. 

“No, you see I know them, I’m their friend,” Clare stated. 

“So you’ve said miss, but I can’t just let in a stranger claiming to know the ladies of the house,” he answered, trying to be polite. 

“It’s ok, Lionel,” Nesta said, walking up. “She is a friend.” To Clare she said, “you're late.”

“You bought out the shop, it took a bit longer than anticipated,” Clare pointed a thumb to the boxes and bags her brothers were hauling off of a wagon behind her. 

“I gave you two weeks.” 

“Uh-huh, two months would have been a too short amount of time.” 

“Hemming a few skirts is that difficult for you?” 

Clare’s eyes narrowed at Nesta. 

“Are you going to show me around, or are you just going to insult me?” 

“I think I will do both,” Nesta smiled as she led Clare inside. 

Clare didn’t hide her awe as she walked into the house. Nesta let Clare have all the reactions she wanted to have to the grand staircase, the mahogany tables, the chandelier, and the general scale of this place. 

They ended up in Nesta’s private sitting room, sipping on tea and cookies. Elain had greeted them then run off to help their father prepare for his trip. Nesta was mentioning the upcoming ball when - 

“Wait, an actual ball?” Clare asked. 

“Yes?” she answered. 

“Nesta,” Clare said, reaching out and holding her hand, setting down a cookie

“What?” 

“Nesta, my dear.”

“What?” Clare got up in front of Nesta.

“I know you now have many options, but,” Clare dropped to one knee. “I would be honored to be your trophy wife.” 

Nesta sighed and put her head in her opposite hand. 

“What about Mr. Azalea?” she asked.

“A crush, a youthful indiscretion,” Clare answered, waving her free hand in the air. “An error in judgement, you are clearly more wealthy. And I deserve to eat your cookies, drink your tea, and attend a mother fucking ball. No, don’t laugh, I’m barely kidding.” 

“I think I should rather prefer to be a spinster,” Nesta said with a challenging smile.

“As long as you take care of me in my old age, I will be your mistress.”

“I will have less use for you as that than a wife,” Nesta pulled Clare up to her feet.

“Don’t knock it till you tried it.”

“You’ve never tried it.” 

“Unimportant” 

“If I say you can remain my friend and allow you to come over and eat my food, and attend any ball I host, will that suffice?” 

“Oh, we can stay friends? Then yeah, go find someone else to warm your bed,” Clare waved a dismissive hand as she sat back down in her chair. Nesta couldn’t stop smiling.

Chapter Text

A knock at her door interrupted Nesta’s much improved afternoon. 

“Come in,” Nesta called, still giggling over her tea. The maid opened the door and stepped one foot into the room. 

“Your father has requested your presence in the study, milady,” 

“Very well, thank you Jenny,” Nesta placed her cup down and stood. Clare followed her up.

“I guess that is my cue. Thank you for the tea.” Clare’s laughter still danced in her eyes. “No need to see me out, a mistress should know the layout of her future home.” 

“Jenny, please blindfold Miss Beddor on the way out, lest she gets any bright ideas about what will absolutely not be hers.” Nesta shot Clare a glare and walked away. 

She found her father and sister in the study, ledgers open on the table. It was a ridiculous room. Each wall was covered in dozens of shelves, all containing books that were unread, serving the singular purpose of providing the appearance of intelligence. I wonder if there is even text on the pages. 

Ladies do not read so much. 

They reviewed the itinerary of Mr. Archeron’s trip one last time. The delay in his leaving would delay his return, but only by a day, he promised. 

“I would have assumed as much,” Nesta cut in, “is there an actual reason for this meeting?” Her father looked at her sheepishly, with a cautious smile. 

“What would you like me to bring back?” 

Nesta’s heart stopped. An old tradition in their family. Whenever he’d leave on business, he’d always offer to bring them something back. Hats, jewelry, ribbons, dresses, needles, threads, horses, it didn’t matter what they asked for, he’d always bring it back for them. She stopped asking for anything when her mother died. When she asked for a cure and he brought her back a necklace.

“I want nothing from you.” Nesta walked back to her room, disappointed to find Clare had actually left. 

Nesta stayed in her suite for the rest of the afternoon, not bothering to see her father off or to even watch him go from the window. Instead, she inspected the now-full dressing room, pawing through the dresses Clare had delivered. They really did buy out her shop, and her family spent two week working ‘round the clock, altering the clothes to fit perfectly. To let them blend right into society. It cost almost half of Azalea’s gold, but it was needed if they were going to make a debut that season. 

She heard the carriage come up the driveway and went to her window. Sure enough, Azalea was stepping out of an ornate black carriage complete with gold detailing. Azalea looked much the same as last time, though its petals were starting to wilt. The vibrant green of its tangled stems was muted, with dark spots throughout. She watched as Elain stepped out and curtsied to it. Nesta quickly made her way downstairs. 

She caught Azalea’s clump of an arm on Elain’s back as it followed her inside. Elain was blushing slightly. Fucking Hell. Nesta had been made aware that Azalea was considered handsome, but she hadn’t considered that Elain was interested. She needed to shut this down. Now. 

“Mr. Azalea, I see you made it in one piece,” she willed disapproval and disappointment into her tone as she walked up to them. It dropped its arm. 

“Miss Archeron,”  it bowed its head. She did not curtsey. “Elain was just telling me that I missed your father.” 

“He shouldn’t have gotten too far if you want to catch up to him.” Leave.

“Nesta!” Elain warned with a gentle voice. 

“Nonsense, nonsense,” Azalea waved his vines, “I am staying with you all for the week.” Nesta picked up on the slight distaste in its tone. So it doesn’t like this arrangement, either?  

“And we are very grateful for it. Come, let us show you the manor,” Elain tried to be civil. 

“I’m sure our guest is tired from traveling,” Nesta spoke again. “Henry,” she turned to one of the butlers, “why don’t you show him to his rooms so he can freshen up? We can show him around the manor in an hour or so.” You will wait until I am good and ready to deal with you. 

“Of course, milady. This way, milord.” 

She watched him walk upstairs and took Elain’s arm. “We should change before dinner, as well.”

Elain studied Nesta’s face, searching for some kind of answer as to her bad mood. Ultimately she sighed and shook her head, only saying, “He’s been a good friend, being polite won’t kill you.”

Azalea might.

In all honesty, Nesta was fairly certain that Azalea wasn’t going to hurt them. If it wanted to, it had plenty of opportunities when they lived in the hut, when there would be less of a fuss. But that doesn’t mean getting close to a Fae wasn’t in and of itself dangerous. It is absolutely a risk to Elain, their loved ones, their father, and anyone else around them.

So Nesta determined that she had a very fine line to walk. She needed to keep Azalea at arms length without it getting suspicious that she knew it was a fae.

They summoned Azalea to the foyer an hour before supper, an hour after Nesta said they would. Elain had joined Nesta in her suite, trying to motivate her sister to move faster, but Nesta just asked Jenny to rebraid her hair. Three times. 

Showing Azalea around the house was relatively boring. It was polite and made generic comments about the house and grounds. It ignored most of Nesta’s digs, and even seemed to distance itself from Elain’s compliments. 

Lionel summoned them to the dining room promptly at 7pm. Nesta took her seat at the head of the table, sitting Elain and Azalea to her right and left respectfully. This was probably the event that Nesta was most curious about. Would the Fae eat? 

It did, much to her disappointment. 

Azalea ate the first course - butternut squash soup-  with no trouble, though Nesta couldn’t help but notice how its vines curled around the spoon to hold it. Or how it had to insert the spoon entirely into its mouth to swallow, making up for a lack of lips. It was rather unpleasant to watch, and contributed to Nesta’s lack of appetite. Nesta motioned for the plates to be cleared as soon as Elain had put down her spoon. 

“Thank you, James,” she said to the apprentice butlers took her plate away. Elain smiled and quickly thanked Henry before turning to Azalea. 

“Will you be joining us for the Rutland Ball?” she asked.

“The what?” it responded. 

“The Rutland Ball,” Elain explained, “is always the first day of spring, it opens the season and is one of the most important society events of the year.” 

“I hadn’t planned on attending,” it said. 

“Well, being from new money, one could hardly expect you to get an invitation,” Nesta commented. She noted Lionel’s sharp look in her direction as he served her the main course, a shepherd’s pie that was probably too heavy for this time of year. 

“You could attend with us?” Elain offered. 

“Absolutely not,” Nesta, Azalea, and Lionel said as one, with varying degrees of harshness. 

“My Lady, it is improper for you to be escorted to the ball by man who is not your relation, without a male relation present,” Lionel sounded rather like Nesta’s stuffy old governance with his explanation. 

“I have never been one for large social events,” Azalea offered by way of its explanation. 

“I don’t want to deal with it,” Nesta stated, “Our hands will be full enough reintroducing ourselves.” 

“But that would be a perfect reason to bring him,” Elain countered. “Guests will be obliged to introduce themselves to him.” Elain’s words faded slightly to the end of her sentence. She was no doubt remembering the awful encounter with the Rutland sisters. 

“We would also be obliged to explain to everyone how we know him. That we weren’t just poor, but starving and desperate for any aid. So unless you would like to lie to all of our re-acquaintances, it is better to not have to broach the subject at all.” 

Lionel nodded in agreement to Nesta from his post at the side of the room. Nesta held her sister’s gaze, leaving no room for further argument. 

“Very well,” she relented. 

Mr. Azalea asked to retire before dessert on the basis of exhaustion from travel - beating Nesta to the punch of insisting that dessert had not been prepared. Elain retired to the parlor with her serving to write a letter to Feyre, detailing their new house and offering plans for Feyre’s eventual room. Or possibly that was an excuse to get away from the sister with whom she was cross with for being rude. 

Nesta remained in the dining room, trying to think over her a way to make up with Elain. She rose from the table and gestured to Lionel.

“Please tell the staff they are welcome to the dessert,” she stated. 

“Yes, My Lady.” 

“Also please do let them know that they are welcome to take home any leftovers to their families,” she continued. 

“I will let them know, but most of our staff is unmarried or married to each other,” Lionel answered. 

“Then please see to it that food is donated to the orphanage, I see no need to waste it.” 

“Yes, My Lady,” he smiled slightly. Nesta nodded and turned to leave. He called after her. 

“You know, you were not wrong to dissuade Miss Elain from inviting Mr. Azalea,” he offered. “It would be most improper and hurt your family’s standing.” 

“I’m aware.” Nesta left the room and moved to her father’s study, making a list of every item they would need picked up in preparation for the Rutland Spring Ball - beginning with gloves. 

The next day, Nesta spent breakfast reviewing the household accounts and ledgers in her parlor. Her father had purchased this manor, the carriage, horses, and food on credit, but the staff was all paid with the remaining Azalea gold, and would be until her father returned with the Bharat profits. 

They should be good until then, especially with the interest payment coming in later in the week. But with the extra expenses of hosting Azalea and the Rutland’s earlier, they were already over budget for the week. Nesta sighed, her father, for all his skill as a merchant, was absolutely horrid at managing household money. She supposed that was because he is a merchant - he doesn’t like to see money sit unused. And without Feyre here, it would be on Nesta to make sure they didn’t go bankrupt again.

She would think ledgers a greater hell than hunting, I’m sure.

Nesta held out her cup for Jenny to refill with coffee. 

“Thank you, Jenny,” Nesta took a sip. “Please tell Connor to prepare me a horse, and one for Mr. Darrow,  I shall like to take a tour of the grounds today.” 

“Yes, milady,” Jenny curtsied a bit and then paused, “If I may say so milady, it is very impressive.”

“What is?” 

“That you remember all our names so quickly,” she backed up immediately after speaking. Nesta turned her head and looked over to the maid. She was young, probably around Nesta’s age, her sandy blonde hair was braided back, uncovered, so she was not married. Her brown eyes did not seem all that intelligent, but she had done her job perfectly for the past two days. And her hands were so gentle when they braided Nesta’s hair. 

“You all introduced yourselves to us properly, there is no reason we can’t at least remember your damn names.” 

__

Azalea and Elain joined Nesta for the morning tour of the grounds. The excitement on Elain’s face at the green fields they now owned, the gardens they would have, warmed Nesta’s heart. She would forgive Nesta her foul disposition. She watched as Elain bounded from her horse, inspecting every bloom, chatting with Mr. Darrow. He was dutifully answering her every question, not patronizing her, but appreciating her genuine interest in his work.  

Azalea pulled up beside her. 

"I had no idea she knew so much about flowers," this was its third attempt to begin a conversation with her this morning. 

"Her education has been limited, I'm sure there is much more for her to learn," she responded flatly, trying to sound as unpleasant as possible.

"Thank you for allowing me to accompany you this morning," credit for persistency. 

"You invited yourself, I had no reason to say no. Not with Mr. Darrow also accompanying us."

"Yes, I apologise for any trouble appearances might bring you. It was not my intention. In all honesty, I'd much prefer to be home this time of year.” She assumed the angling of its head and the pull at its mouth was meant to be a bashful smile. 

"Is that so?" she turned her head back to watching Elain frolic in the fields. 

"The first day of spring is an important holiday to my family." Gotcha bitch. She kept her head turned to Elain but slid her gaze to Azalea. 

"Humans haven't celebrated holidays in 500 years.” Azalea froze for half a second, its mouth open. But it recovered quickly and met her gaze. 

"Haven't we though?” it purred, “We can call it the season opening all we like, it's Calanmai."

Nesta huffed a laugh, backing off slightly. "Now you sound like the children of the blessed"

"I would expect so, my mother is a high priestess," it said quietly.  Oh now that is a perfect lie . Nesta paused a moment, considering. One that could work for me, too.

"So that's why you needed my father to invest, no other financier would have you?" It nodded. Nesta took a breath. "Does my father know?" 

"No, I apologise for the deceit," it sighed, "but i did not think your family would regain your fortune to this extent." It motioned to the estate around them.

"Is the money my father is making you being poured back into that hateful organization?" She asked. 

“Hardly a hateful organization,” it huffed, “they have taken care of so many of their followers, just as the Fae have done for humans for millennia. And it takes money to do so.”

“ ‘Taking care of’ is an interesting way of saying slavery,” she retorted. 

“I’m not going to argue with you,” it huffed out extra pollen as it spoke, “or convert you, but I do ask that you keep this between us. Your father is making us a lot of money, and I have no wish to put your family at a disadvantage,” he glowed a little brighter. Not as bright as when she first saw him, but it was noticeable. Magic? Is it trying to glamor her?  

No choice but to play it safe. 

“Very well, but discretion goes both ways. I won’t tell my father about what you are, and you will keep your distance from us - publicly and privately.” 

It seemed surprised at her response. Were people under glamors usually more pliant? She thought merely relenting would be playing it safe. Azalea looked at a dark spot on its hand and sighed. 

“Agreed,” it said as Elain came bounding back on her horse.  

After lunch, Nesta asked for Darrow and Elain to join her in the study with the property maps.  

“Afternoon milady,” he greeted.

“Afternoon Mr. Darrow, did you bring what I asked?” He nodded and pulled out the roll of parchment he had tucked under his arm. She reached out and took it, unrolling it on the comically large mahogany desk. They placed a few paper weights on the corners. 

“What are we looking at the maps for?” Elain asked. 

“I would like to convert some of the lawn into farmland,” Nesta stated. They both looked at her with equal surprise. 

“We have 1500 acres of land, 500 of which are already just sprawling lawns, another 500 are gardens, and the rest is unused and untamed forest. Creeks run through most of the property, and we already have irrigation systems set up to care for the gardens and the lawn,” Nesta explained. “The lawns would be perfect for grazing animals, and we can convert the gardens to cash crops easily. The forests we can save for later years, but I’m sure there is an opportunity for a small lumber mill.” 

Darrow’s eyes narrowed. “That’s why you wanted to tour the property.” But Elain jumped in right as he was speaking.

“I’m not opposed to opening the land for farming, but couldn’t we keep the gardens? They are so lovely… and not having them will send a bad impression, make it harder to host our friends.” 

“Of course, we won’t convert all of the land, and we especially won’t convert the land nearest the house. I’m thinking we convert only 50 acres to start, near where the vegetable gardens and bees are kept now, and then expand out,” Nesta gestured to the map. 

“Hmm, well not there, those Lady Slippers are rare and hard to maintain, not here either, the ghost orchids are even rarer, or here, peonies are hardly rare, but they look so perfect where they are… maybe here?” Elain pointed to a section on the western side of the estate. “The gardens were already in a bit of disrepair, and it didn’t seem like any of the blooms were really taking root.” 

Nesta nodded. This, more so than anything else, was Elain’s comfort zone. Even when they were girls, she’d spend her days trailing the gardeners. Darrow had learned that morning how interested Elain was in horticulture, and was listening and nodding carefully to Elain’s input now. 

“We can move some of the rarer blooms in that area to your garden, if you would like,” Darrow offered. 

“Your garden?” Nesta asked, looking at Elain. 

“Oh yes, Mr. Darrow offered to grant me some of the plots near the house for my own purposes. Not having an occupation was going to grate on my sanity soon,” she giggled. 

Nesta smiled warmly. “I think that is a lovely idea.” She then schooled her expression back to professional neutrality. “Since we’ve decided on a place, let’s discuss crops. Wheat and barley seem obvious, but I’m thinking we should have some dyes as well.” 

The three of them worked through the afternoon, until Mrs. Laurent came to fetch them to prepare for supper. Nesta had Elain go on ahead while she finished writing up the order for seeds and supplies. Darrow remained in the study with her, confirming the order. It would have to all be purchased on credit, but that was standard for this kind of thing. That they would be able to pay off the purchase in a couple weeks put them at a major advantage.

“I was rather surprised when Miss Elain was so knowledgeable about gardening, but I don’t think anything could have prepared me for you knowing about farming,” his tone was light and humorous. But it still sent a chill down Nesta’s spine, her hands shook slightly as she sealed the order. 

“I used to spend quite a bit of time with a farmer,” she explained. Handing him the order, she continued, “please see this gets sent out in the morning. Spring starts tomorrow so we are already on a time crunch for the sowing.” 

“Of course, milady,” he took the order and left. Nesta sat back in her father’s chair with a sigh. She ran through the numbers again in her head. If all went well, by this time next year the estate would be self-sustaining, by the next it would be profitable. In just 3 years, the Mandrays will be out of business.

Chapter Text

Dressing for the Rutland ball was an all day affair. Jenny and Victoria entered Nesta’s suite just after dawn to set her hair. She once again took breakfast in her parlor, though this was more to keep with decorum. The maids were not pleased with the idea of pulling wax through her hair in the dining room. 

At least Elain had convinced Mrs. Laurent to allow them to prepare together. Halfway through her boiled egg Elain knocked on the door. Mrs. Laurent and Rachel entered behind her. Elain chatted away as their maids worked, wincing when they pulled her hair too hard, but mostly happy. Happy to be getting her hair done again, to be wearing finery again, to have a night of decadence again. Nesta responded occasionally, but couldn’t find it in her to be excited. 

Part of her felt like this fuss was too much. Like it was a waste. Donating the excess food to the orphanage, turning those idle acres into productive farmland, it was helping, but it still didn’t stop the crushing guilt in her chest. This is what you traded Feyre’s life for. 

Was it worth it? 

No. 

She looked over to Elain’s smiling face, a bit of jam on the corner of her mouth as she went on about whatever new dances would be popular now. 

Almost. 

Besides, if she was going to make the most of this life, if she was going to make sure Elain was provided for, they needed to go to this ball. They needed to redebut in such grandeur that no one thought twice about their 8 years of hell. If tonight went well, her father would have rekindled business contacts and Elain would have honest-to-Wall options in her suitors. 

Feyre’s life for Elain’s happiness.  

“It’s a shame Feyre is still with Aunt Ripliegh,” Elain complained, “tonight would have been perfect for her debut.” She sighed. Nesta’s fists clenched. 

“She’d hate it.” 

When their hair was in the curlers, Nesta dressed in a house gown and had Jenny put a coif over her hair. She headed out to find Lionel and confirm preparations for the night, figuring he’d be in or near his office off the kitchens. She, unfortunately ran into Azalea as she made her way past the dining room. 

“Looking forward to the ball?” it asked. Nesta narrowed her eyes. The “revelation” that Azalea was a Child of the Blessed gave her enough cover to be openly rude to “him”. A privilege she had fully abused yesterday at lunch, dinner, and in the parlor after supper. 

“Looking forward to your blasphemous and offensive false god worship?” she countered.

“Calanmai is sacred, it is your festivities that are an offensive mockery of-” 

“What was that about not trying to convert us?” She interrupted, rather enjoying watching it literally bristle and grow thorns in annoyance. It took a moment to regain its composure. 

“I simply wanted to confirm when I should expect you and Elain home tonight,” it glowed again, weaker than last time even. Nesta answered even though she doubted this glamour would work on a normal human. 

“I wouldn’t expect us home at all. The Rutland ball tends to go until dawn,” she answered. She and Elain would have to nap this afternoon to prepare. “Since I plan on giving the staff the night off, it will be just you tonight.” 

“You’re going to leave your guest alone with no staff?”

“I’ll have them leave you a plate,” she waved a hand and walked away. 

“You kind sure understands gratitude,” it spat. Nesta felt fire in her stomach.

“Transactions don’t earn your kind gratitude.” 

Her meeting with Lionel was short and sweet. Since the ladies of the house would be away, they would not need supper, so the staff was free to retire early. Mrs. Laurent’s maids would be given reprieve as soon as the girls were dressed. Only Connor, their footman and stablehand, need work through the night. Though he’d probably nap with other staff at the Rutland estate. Lionel did ask after Mr. Azalea, but Nesta assured him that she spoke to Azalea and that “he” would be more than happy with food left out for “him” and a quiet night alone. 

Lionel fixed Nesta with a look at that, but didn’t argue. Smart man.

She didn’t remember the Rutland ball being quite so disgustingly extravagant. She remembered fine clothing, glittering jewelry, floral centerpieces in crystal vases, and silk-gossamer streamers, but looking at it now...this was uncomfortably opulent. 

The Rutland Estate was smaller than their own, but being in the family for 4 generations and not 4 days had that effect- it was exquisitely decorated. Art hung from the walls, marble statuettes lined hallways, silver and gold chotchkies sat on tables. Nesta decided the nauseous feeling of inadequacy was how all new money upstarts feel. 

Because they were new money now. Once, a decade ago, they were as established, as old money as anyone - more so than the rutting Rutlands. But now… their father bought an estate too large for them, with grounds too uselessly splendid, all with no history to it. She had told him to buy something smaller, to look for subtle, regal elegance. But no, he bought the biggest estate he could bloody well find. Their father had lost their old money status, and instead of rebuilding that , he built them into New Money. 

Nesta sighed to herself. Dismantling that faux paus was her job tonight. She would work on the estate over time, establishing it properly, but tonight she would remind society that Nesta Archeron’s blood ran bluer than the damn Queen of Bharat’s. 

It started with the dresses she and Elain wore. The only fully custom gowns ordered from the Beddors. Beautiful lilac and pink silk, still a heavy weft, to fight the early spring chill. Their sleeves cut open from the elbow and draping nearly to the floor, each revealing a silver brocade on the underside of the fabric. Matching silver buttons ran from their collar to the hem; close examination would reveal silver thread held the dresses together. Silver lace gloves covered their hands like massive rings. Their jewels were set in iron, as was human tradition, amethyst for Nesta, spinel for Elain - nothing too grand, not trying too hard, but perfectly matched to their dresses. The ornate braids and curls that resembled crowns were just heavy handed reminders, a challenge for these noble fools to question if they belonged. 

But no one did. 

And that, Nesta realized, was so much worse. 

The harold called their names out as they entered the ballroom. A few people looked up, but not many, no more than  any other arrival. At first, Nesta thought it was a snub. No need to acknowledge the filthy poors . 

But then when they walked among the other attendees, everyone greeted them.

 "Good to see you again"

 "Looking forward to the season"

 "I dream about these deviled eggs every year"

 "Pity your father is away on business"

 "Your dresses are fabulous as always"

 "Somethings never change."

Just like with the Rutlands, people didn't bother to introduce themselves - Nesta and Elain recognized some, but most they were at a loss for.  If they were surprised at the Archeron return, they hid it well. Nesta needn't have fretted so much over their gowns, no one questioned whether they belonged because no one was acknowledging they'd even left. 

When they sat down to dinner, Nesta was feeling light-headed. Course after course was served, and she ate, but it was all ash in her mouth. Everything blended together in the most surreal of fever dreams.

"Where was Feyre?" 

Imprisoned by a fae 

"Visiting Aunt Ripleigh" 

“I liked the decorations last year"

 We were starving last year  

"Can’t say I can decide either way" 

"Tabitha says your new place is so much bigger than your last one!"

 Than the hut? Certainly! 

"You know father, always looking for more"

She sat there staring at the table cloth where her plate had just been.  When did it get taken away? Watching a servant sweep up her crumbs, all evidence that her plate was ever there was gone. Had it been there? If only she could feel the mass of food in her stomach, had she really even eaten? Had she really been engaged to Tomas Mandray? Had it really been three months ago they were frozen and starving in that hut? Had Feyre really been abducted by a Fae beast? Had Nesta actually gone to the Wall? Was it all a fucked up dream? 

Nesta was damn near hyperventilating when she felt a gentle hand rest on her shoulder. She turned and saw Elains beautiful, big, brown eyes looking into hers. Elain's hand slipped down to grasp Nesta's, she gave it a gentle squeeze and murmured, "It's real, it happened."

Nesta squeezed Elain’s hand, tight enough that it no doubt hurt, but Elain didn't complain. She held fast until Nesta came back to herself. 

One breath in, one breath out. 

No one knows where Feyre is because of Fae magic. No one knows you went to the Wall because you lied about it.

One breath in, one breath out. 

We were starving not three months ago. 

One breath in, one breath out. 

They aren’t acknowledging it because these sniveling little cunts were content to let us starve. And now that we are back, they would rather pretend we were on vacation than admit they’d have let us die. 

There. Anger. Anger secured her. Elain had helped pull Nesta back to herself. But that rage formed an iron cage that locked her within her body. She opened her eyes with an expression so murderous that even Elain looked a little scared. Another moment passed her molten gaze cooled to arrogant disdain. 

She stood slowly, elegantly. She tugged on Elain’s hand, and her sister rose as well. 

“Go enjoy the dancing.” 

Nesta walked around the edge of the ballroom, watching everything. Elain fell in with a pack of girls around her age. They encouraged her to accept every man who invited her to dance. She barely got to sit for the rest of the night. The dances had changed, she noted, but Elain followed her partner’s lead and made up for other deficiencies with her natural grace.

For herself, Nesta made no effort to speak to anyone. One brave young man asked her to dance. She turned him down flat. Anyone else who approached her wascut down with words. Watching the young men flock around Elain, falling over themselves for an opportunity for a dance, she was well aware that a thorny older sister wasn’t going to get in her way. Wasn’t  going to interfere with her father’s business deals. She was rich. That’s all that mattered. 

Being a lady was just window dressing. 

She left at exactly midnight. Early for the younger guests, but not the first person to leave. She had Connor bring her carriage around and take her home. He could come back afterwards for Elian, who Nesta was certain would remain until dawn.

Home at least 6 hours earlier than she intended, with no staff awake, Nesta lit her own fire. Making it too tall, too hot, like she was trying to warm the entire mansion, not just her bedroom. She let the abrasive heat caress her skin. 

Nesta stripped the finery she had been so, so careful in selecting. She left the jewelry on her vanity, the gown hung from her dressing room door, and the shift and chemise in a pile on the floor. She donned a thick wool sleeping gown, and began wiping off the makeup Jenny had so carefully applied. She started undoing her hair, each movement torture, a fight against the complicated braids and sticky hair wax. 

When she was done, her hair was messier than it had ever been, locks sticking straight up and out every which direction. Looking at herself in the mirror, with the remnants of makeup still running down her face, sweat pooling on her skin, she looked horrid. 

I probably looked better after Tomas tried to rape me. 

She wanted to throw up. It was too hot. Too hot in here. She couldn’t breath. 

Nesta rushed to her window and threw it open. She breathed in the fresh spring air, enjoying the dichotomy of the heat behind her and the cold in front of her. The fire at her back burned away the awful feelings of that terrible ball, and the wind soothed the pain the flames left in their wake. 

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there before movement in the yard caught her attention. 

She watched as Azalea walked out to the yard, facing North. To Pryntian. It raised its arms, seeming to take in the night air the same way she had. Its glow was almost entirely gone, the petals on its head were dulled. Did it miss its home the way she missed hers? Did it make Azalea as weak as it made her? 

She had decided to turn in before it caught her watching, when a pulse of yellow light drifted through the air. It carried with it the smell of lilacs, of dew, of dirt, of something salty she did not recognize. The light went right to Azalea, entering its chest. She held her breath as Azalea’s glow grew to the brightest she had ever seen it. Its petals bloomed, a great puff of pollen filled the air around it. One arm rested on over where its heart would be,  and one raised in the air, as if in prayer or thanks. The flowers around it bloomed. 

Nesta couldn’t take her eyes off of Azalea until he turned back into the house, then turned her own gaze Northward. She stayed there until dawn broke over the horizon, wondering if Feyre got to see such sights in Prythian, if she was given a reprieve from whatever torments they subjected her to for the first day of Spring, for this Fae Holiday.

Chapter Text

Mrs. Laurent, Victoria, Jenny, and Emily came into her room at 6am, each carrying buckets of water. They were startled first by Nesta's presence then by her appearance.  

"You should have had Connor wake one of us if you got home early." Nesta found herself without patience to be scolded by this old woman. This woman who was not her mother, not her governess, not even her wetnurse, this woman who was her housekeeper . 

"The staff had the night off, I saw no reason to rescind the offer."

"But my lady, your hair-"

"Will be fine," Nesta closed her eyes, exhaustion was starting to catch up to her. "Just.. finish preparing the bath, please. Elain’s too, she will be home soon.” 

Mrs. Laurent narrowed her eyes once more, but said nothing further. They finished filling the tub quickly, and all but Jenny left to go prep Elain’s. She’d be able to fall into the bath the moment she got home, before being tucked into a comfortable bed. 

“It really would have been better to wake us, milady,” Jenny said, then lightly tapping one of Nesta’s waxed locks,“or at least wait for us to take down your hair.” Nesta hissed, her scalp sore from yanking out the braids and combs. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.” 

Jenny gently led Nesta to the bath. The water was too hot, meant to have time to cool slightly while the girls were arriving home and undressing, so Nesta couldn’t get in just yet. Jenny had Nesta sit on a stool at the edge of the tub and lean her head back over the rim. 

Using an oversized cup, she poured the scalding water over Nesta’s hair. The heat melting the hair wax, allowing her hair to finally relax. “Well, this is actually... better,” Jenny smiled wide, “Silver Lining!” 

Nesta rolled her eyes and allowed herself to relax into the soothing strokes of her maid’s fingers.  Jenny hummed slightly to herself as she worked oils into Nesta’s hair and scalp. She tutted a bit as some of the locks Nesta had tangled, and got up to get a comb. 

“I couldn’t stand it,” Nesta finally said.

“Stand what?” Jenny returned with a wide-toothed comb. She turned Nesta 90 degrees and sat behind her. Nesta waited until she began pulling the comb through her hair to speak agian. 

“The people. They just… they acted as though we never left.” 

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” 

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” 

Jenny was silent for a minute, working the comb through, before she spoke again. 

“Tabitha Rutland had a baby last year.” Nesta gasped, and before she could respond, Jenny continued. “No one knows who the father is, but her family claimed she was ‘visiting the continent’. William Flannait disowned his son for eloping with the help, despite his second and fifth child being born by his maid. The Koffields beat their children, but everyone says the kids are just clumsy,” her tone got harder.  She paused for a moment before going on, “Let see, what else... Darius MacDonald can only get off if there’s a horse in the room.”

Nesta burst out laughing at that. It was an ugly laugh. Jenny bid her to stand and led her into the tub. 

“They all pretend, milady. Pretend that they have perfect lives with perfect families and a perfect history. They can’t admit that you were poor because that would acknowledge that they are mortal like the rest of us.” 

Nesta leaned back in the comfortably hot water. She closed her eyes and remembered her mother. How she drank, how she would make a mockery of herself at events and her father and the footman would have to wrestle her home. How no one said anything about it other than “Lady Archeron, up to it again”. How everyone pretended she was just a drunk, because it was easier to deal with that than the fact she was in too much pain to stay sober, and too much of a coward to just end it.  

She remembered how they lied to Feyre, telling her mommy just had malaria. That’s why mommy throws up all the time, and says things she doesn’t mean, and doesn’t remember your name. The fever is from the sickness, not the opium she started smoking when alcohol wasn’t enough anymore. 

Nesta never knew what Elain thought of their mother, if Elain remembered what she was like before she got sick, if she knew what was really happening. She was a hypocrite. Nesta lied and pretended more than anyone else. She had to. 

Maybe that’s why this one thing was the breaking point. This one thing she didn’t have to hide. 

It wasn’t her mother’s drinking that would destroy Elain and Feyre’s memories of her. 

It wasn’t Feyre’s abduction or Azalea’s species that would get them killed. 

It wasn’t that odd connection to the Wall that could be disastrous in ways Nesta couldn’t imagine. 

This one thing everyone else already knew. 

And they pretended anyway, for the sake of appearances. 

Nesta sunk her head under the water. 

I’m so tired of pretending. 

Life got busier after then. With the onset of the season, Elain was always out at an event. On the off days she was home, she was in her garden. Their father came home from his trip - late - as Nesta expected, and stepped right back into his old life. When he wasn’t hosting business meetings, or out examining merchandise, he was smoking tobacco with other foppy old men. 

Azalea left just a couple days after their father returned. She had never seen the plant more content than when its carriage came around. Nesta almost invited it to stay longer out of spite. 

Nesta, for her part, threw herself into the Estate. Every morning began with breakfast in her parlor and a meeting with Lionel, receiving a general update on the day-to-day operations of the home. Then she would meet with Darrow, and monitor progress of the farm and grounds. Then she would meet with Mrs. Cowell, review the menus and grocery lists. Finally she would meet with Mrs. Laurent, and they would discuss upkeep on the new art and furniture. 

Ah yes, new furnishings. Their father’s trip was wildly successful. The money they now had was simply mind-boggling, and the ships that contained that wealth meant they could keep ferrying more goods, and keep getting wealthier. So Nesta bought things. Not the tacky, gold-leaf, expensive-looking nonsense items her father kept picking out (and she kept returning), but elegant, sturdy things. Items that displayed their wealth, but didn’t show it off. 

While she was at it, she expanded the staff. The farm was more that Darrow could possibly do on his own, so she hired five strong young men to turn the garden into useful land. She overpaid them, but the Archerons could afford it. She knew they could… because the last meeting of the day was with her father, reviewing the family accounts. 

Nesta used her busy schedule as an excuse to avoid attending any society event. That joke about wishing to be a spinster seemed more and more appealing everyday. Especially on days when society came knocking on their door.

It was an unfortunate side-effect of Nesta’s efforts. The nicer the manor became, the more people wanted to visit, the more they were willing to brave Nesta’s nastiness. 

To be fair, Nesta would try to be nice. Elain would ask her before her friends came for tea or a picnic or whatever, and she would try. But the way they spoke, the absolutely nothingness in their dialogue, it was infuriating. She wanted to shake them, to make them have an opinion that didn’t parrot whatever they thought the other person wanted to hear. 

“Ah ah ah, snacks before complaints,” Clare interrupted Nesta before she could continue. Lounging on the chaise in her fitting room, Clare reached a greedy hand out to Nesta. 

“Yeah yeah, here you go,” Nesta pulled out a tin of cookies and handed them to Clare before sitting on the stool. 

“Alright, please continue telling me how miserable you are talking to people you don’t like even though you do not have to be anywhere near them. Ooo lemon,” she popped a cookie in her mouth and looked up. 

This was the one social interaction that Nesta indulged in. Clare didn’t have the free time, or usually the means, to come up to the estate, so Nesta would come down to her shop to visit. 

“I can’t avoid going to other people’s events, it’s when they are at your house that becomes hard to avoid.” Clare shoved three cookies in her mouth at once. “You’re going to get fat if you keep eating like that,” Nesta’s disgust coming across more than intended 

“Oh I hope so,” Clare licked her fingers with a wink. “Can’t you literally get lost in your estate? Didn’t it take like 3 days to find those farmers?” 

Nesta recalled the unfortunate incident that occured the first week her new hires started. 

“It was two days, but I see your point,” Nesta sighed. “If I don’t make an appearance, it would make things harder on Elain.” 

“Harder how?”

“If I’m not present at events at my own home then there must be a reason. Not liking any of them doesn’t count. I must be deathly ill, or insane, or pregnant. All such rumors would hurt Elain’s standing.” 

“I can’t believe Elain likes those girls, given what you’ve told me about them.”

“Elain likes everyone, and she likes having friends. I don’t think she wants to see further.” 

“That tracks.” They fell into silence as Clare leaned back on her chaise. They’d had variations on this conversation for months now, with no discernible change. Nesta sometimes wondered if Clare just liked having a break in the middle of the day, and didn’t care if they talked or not.  “So whatcha doin’ for solstice? Are you going to grace us with your presence or-” 

Nesta sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“Ugh, don’t remind me. We’re hosting the solstice picnic.” 

Clare shot up to a seated position. “A party?” 

“Yeah, we haven’t hosted anything major for the season yet, and Elain wanted to show off the gardens - why are you looking at me like that?” 

Clare’s look of unbidden, mischievous joy was terrifying. 

“I’ll be there.” 

“No you-” 

“You said. If you host a party, I get to go.” 

“I said ball.”

“It was a blanket statement on all large social gatherings.” 

Nesta could have argued. She would have argued. But Clare looked so excited. And getting through the entire night was going to be hard anyway, maybe having a friend would make it easier. At least she would have someone she likes to talk to. 

“Fine.” 

Clare arrived early. Partly because she was excited to be there, and partly because she was going to use this opportunity to be dressed properly. Nesta sent Connor to pick her up at 10 am in the carriage. She gave him specific instructions that Clare was not to carry anything from her house to the carriage to the front door of the manor. As an added kick, she had the butlers, maids, and the dozen day hires  greet her at the front door with a bow. The stunned look on her face, with her jaw hanging uselessly open was absolutely worth the showmanship. 

Nesta stood at the top of the stairs, smiling like the fox, looking down her nose at Clare, but with none of the malice she had for other people. “And you think you can handle a ball ?” Nesta turned on her heel, flicking her fingers behind her for Clare to follow. If she had bothered to watch a second longer, she might have noticed the blush color Clare’s cheeks. 

Jenny, Victoria, and Rachel followed Clare up the stairs and into Nesta’s suite. Elain was already there, having her hair done by Mrs. Laurent. “Are you done using the entire staff to shock our friends?” Elain asked.

“For now,” Nesta smiled. Jenny and Victoria exchanged looks. Victoria turned to Clare. 

“Please have a seat, and I will do your hair.” Clare nodded, still not fully recovered from the shock of the princess treatment. 

“You get used to it,” Elain offered with a smile. Clare looked back at her. 

“I hope I get the chance to!” she winked. Nesta and Elain smiled, shaking their heads. 

When their hair was carefully braided up off their necks in complicated twists and patterns, the ladies started on makeup. Nothing too heavy, as today was a day for games and activities. Nesta and Elain traded their usual silk for a light summer linen. The sleeves capped at the elbow, their dyed chemise continuing to the floral lace gloves on their hands. 

Clare whistled, when they finished dressing, admiring her own work. For her own part, she wore a tight orange linen gown, capped at the elbow, embroidered along the collar and hem with white lilies. Elain lent Clare some stud earrings, but the only other jewelry they wore was the iron cuffs on their wrists. 

When they finally descended the stairs to join the festivities, people had arrived, and food was laid out in the dining room. Instead of a proper meal, they served a day board of summer foods, all light and delicious. Guests mingled in the dining room and wandered through the open double doors to the sprawling gardens. 

Dozens of games were spread out for their entertainment. A few notable options in life sized chess, where players could stand on the squares and move as the pieces. Badminton was next to it, as Nesta really wanted to see how these fops would react to stray birdies interrupting chess. Horseshoes, croquet, and bocce ball made an appearance. They had an obstacle course for the younger guests. Later in the afternoon they would host a polo match. 

Even Nesta had to admit that today could be fun. They had set up the perfect summer solstice, a day to play. Clare grabbed Nesta’s hand and ran out to the first game she could see, uncaring how childish she looked. 

Elain introduced Clare to her friends throughout the day. They all were polite to her, some were even genuinely pleased to meet someone new. More than a few immediately commissioned her upon learning she was tailor behind the Archeron dresses. For the first time in months, Nesta was happy. 

They spent the day in reckless fun, and then the night came. As soon as the sun started to descend, servants began lighting the many lanterns strung throughout the party. Games continued, but the band switched from light background music to dancing tunes. Tonight wouldn’t go so late as a ball would, but somethings are just more enjoyable at night. 

Clare wanted to dance every dance from the first. Nesta obliged her, both of them tripping and lost as neither really knew the steps. But it didn’t really matter, they were having fun, and maybe a little tipsy from the wine they drank all day. A deep chuckle came from behind them. 

“I do believe you two are having the most fun out of everyone here,” Sir Darius MacDonald bowed to them. They curtsied back. 

“Are you here to ruin it for us?” Clare asked, her sweet tone contradicting the harsh words. 

“On the contrary madame, I am hoping you might teach me how,” he responded easily. 

“It might take a couple lessons,” Clare winked at him. 

“Then shall we start with a dance?” he bowed again, extending a hand this time.

She accepted and Nesta felt something in her tighten.  They talked as they danced, the young man walking Clare through the steps. They smiled at each other, looked into each others’ eyes, and when the dance was done, Clare walked with him to the refreshment table. Nesta felt her stomach drop to the floor. 

One of the girls whose name Nesta never bothered to relearn whispered in her ear, “It looks like your friend got a partner.” 

“Not the kind you like, I’m afraid.” It wasn’t even a good comeback, but Nesta didn’t have it in her to care. She turned on her heel feeling an unpleasant and entirely new mixture of emotions rise from her stomach. She couldn’t stop picturing Clare’s hand on Darius’ arm, her smile directed at him. 

After all she had done for her, making sure this solstice was the best damn solstice this stupid island ever saw, Clare abandoned her to go flirt with the first man who looked at her. Traitor. She could not stay here, near these people, in this place. She stalked down the hall to her father’s gloriously empty study. 

She poured herself a brandy and took it and the bottle to his chair. Taking a sip, she tried to reel in the explosive emotions that threatened to rip her apart. Tried, and failed. She poured another drink. Abandoned me. Half-way through the third drink, a knock sounded on the door. Clare entered. 

“Hey, Jenny told me you were in here, everything ok?” She asked. Looking at her now, she was sweaty and flushed, her makeup had all but worn off. She looked beautiful. 

“I’m fine, go back to the party,” her words slurred together.

“The party’s mostly empty now,” Clare came over and put a hand on Nesta’s arm. Nesta pulled away from the touch.  

“You had fun right?” there was something in Nesta’s tone that started to set Clare on edge.

“I did” 

“Guess you got the night you wanted?” Nesta’s tone was harsh and the words slurred. 

“I did. Darius was nice enough to keep me company af-”

“Got to dance the night away with a rich prince.” 

“What?” 

“Have fun fucking with a horse in the room,” Nesta huffed, getting up to walk away. Clare grabbed her arm, keeping her in place.

“What the fuck is your problem?” 

“You. Is this why you wanted to come to a party so bad? To nab some rich idiot?” Nesta could hear her resentment in her tone and couldn’t figure out why it was there, let alone stop it. Clare recoiled and then shot back with an equal level of anger.

“So what if it was? It’s not like I have that many options!” 

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Nesta spat. 

“Is it? Name one good match in that entire town Nesta, one.” 

“Me.” Nesta didn’t believe the word had come out of her mouth until it did. Clare stopped for a moment, processing that one syllable and what it meant. 

“Nesta, if this is a joke, it isn’t funny.” 

“It’s not a joke. You want this life that bad? Prove it.  Marry me,” Nesta’s tone was all judgement and disgust. 

“You’re seriously proposing to me to prove a point? You’d marry me for what? Spite?”

“Do you have a better reason?” 

“Love!” Clare’s voice rose an octave, exasperated beyond reason. Her arms flew out from her sides, waving around the air. 

“Oh, and flirting with Darius tonight was about marrying for love ?” All condescension. 

“Was Tomas?” Clare knew immediately that she had stepped too far, over a line she absolutely shouldn’t have crossed. The anger left her voice immediately  “Nesta, I-” 

“Get your gold-digging ass out of my house.” 

“Nesta, I’m so-” 

“LEAVE” 

Clare looked at her with big green eyes. Nesta could see the regret in them, the heart-felt apology. She knew Clare hadn’t meant it. She knew it, but it was too much. Looking at Clare right now, the jealousy she felt watching her dance with other people, the stupid proposal, she couldn’t deal with it now. It was too much. 

Clare left the study without saying good bye.

She didn’t sleep that night. She tossed and turned, thinking about Clare. About that fight, about the hurt in her eyes. She was dumb. She was an idiot. What the hell was she thinking? Why did she do that?

The whole next day she was a ghost in her house. Present physically, but not mentally. Turning the same question in her head over and over. Why did she propose? 

Why did seeing Clare dance with Darius, flirt with Darius, smile at Darius make her see red so? Why was she jealous?  It’s just Clare. Her friend. Her best friend. Her only friend. 

The person who could take her snark and hand it back. The person who saw the verbal fencing for what it was and wanted to play. The person who knew her, all of her, even the parts Nesta hated, and still wanted to be there. 

And Nesta wanted her there. 

Oh. Oh fucking hell. I’m in love with Clare. 

Nesta stormed from the dining room table, startling her father into splashing his soup on himself.  She headed straight for the study. Pulling out a quill, ink, and some parchment, she sat down and wrote out everything. Everything she needed to say but wouldn’t be able to say verbally. Not without falling into their pattern of banter and misdirection and she wanted no confusion here. 

Dearest Clare, 

Because you are my Dearest. And I have done you the greatest disservice. 

I proposed to you out of spite and jealousy. I saw you with Darius and I was upset not because you were flirting, but because you were flirting with someone who was not me. 

I don’t know how to move forward from here exactly. But I love you. I think I always have. And one day, I will propose to in the way you deserve. I will spend weeks planning it, and I will sweep you off of your feet. And if you would have me, I would spend the rest of my life caring for you, laughing with you, loving you. 

Yours if you would have me, 

Nesta 

Nesta read and reread the letter and nodded. She set it down, looked for an envelope, pushing aside the crumpled remains of the dozens of drafts that came before it. Sealing the letter carefully, she kissed it. Looking out the window, she noted how dark it became, too late for this errand. But if she did not go now, she would never have the nerve again. 

She walked over to Connor’s quarters and banged on the door. He was clearly startled, movement thundering through his room. The door opened and Connor stood there with his shirt untucked and his pants halfway down. Behind him the sheets of his bed were a rumpled mess. 

“M-milady!” 

“I apologize for the disturbance, but I have a need to go to town immediately,” she looked in his eyes. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” 

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could agree or argue a voice came from the corner of the room. 

“You’re going to make up with Clare?” Nesta looked around Connor’s shoulder to see a very dishevelled Jenny hiding in the corner. Nesta blushed and nodded. “Oh hun , you have to take her.” 

Connor looked between his lover and his lady and sighed. “Of course, milady. Please give me a minute to dress.”  

20 minutes later she was riding down the road on a horse next to Connor. He had tried to take the carriage, but Nesta didn’t want to wait for him to set it up. He then tried to take her on horseback, himself, but she wasn’t having that, either. This was something she needed to do on her own. The compromise of merely accompanying her was the best he could get. 

They trotted along together, part of her wanted to travel at a full gallop, but this was a sacred journey of sorts. Nesta would savor every moment of it. A night ride through dirt roads, with cicadas chirping their sweet music. The warmth of early summer wrapping around her in a loving embrace. She was nervous, butterflies fluttering around her stomach, but whatever the outcome, this was it. The right path. 

The first scream did not belong to Clare. Neither did the second. 

Nesta and Connor glanced at one another before spurring their horses into a full gallop. Rushing to the Beddor estate, where Clare’s parents’ screams were filling the night. Nesta was so focused on that noise, on getting to the Beddor estate, that she did not hear another voice underneath the screams. She did not notice that Connor slowed and turned away. 

Not until a familiar green glow shined in front of her, 200 yards from the Beddor house. 

“STOP!” Azalea yelled, pollen fluttering everywhere around him. 

Nesta’s horse stopped dead. 

Nesta didn’t. 

The sudden stop flung Nesta from the saddle, sending her sailing through the air. Before she was aware of what was happening, green vines wrapped around her, holding her to Azalea’s chest. She thrashed against the hold, her own screams melding into the ones from the house. 

“Let! Me! Go!” She fought to no avail, Azalea just expanded and tightened its vines around her tighter. 

“Be Quiet,” it ordered, glowing and releasing more pollen. Nesta kept fighting and yelling. It wrapped a vine across her mouth, gagging her.  She bit down. “Dammit!” The vine retracted. 

“Let me go you fucking fae bastard!” she yelled again. Its irises looked into her eyes.

“I can’t,” it said.

She spat in its face. 

“Nesta if I let you go in there, you will die.” 

“Clare’s in there,” her voice was desperate, tears were flowing from her eyes. “Clare’s in there. I can’t leave her, Clare’s -” 

Azalea seemed to understand all he needed to know from her tone, her breaking words. His expression softened for a moment, then resolved to something else. A vine wrapped around her throat and she called out Clare’s name one last time, and everything went dark. 

Chapter Text

“A Fire? All of the Beddors are gone in a fire?” 

“How do we tell her? It will break her heart.” 

Nesta woke in her bed, a red hue filled the room as the summer sun shone through her thick curtains. She wondered if Azalea closed them, as she liked to sleep with her curtains open, to allow the sun to wake her at dawn. 

She was not surprised at the words of the maids outside her door. She was more surprised that she was still alive. Why had Azalea halted her, taken her home. She lifted her covers and noted the summer sleeping shift, her loose hair, he’d even kindly put her to bed. 

She released the covers and stared back at the damn red curtains. Would the smoke be visible from here? The memory of their screams sent a shock through her system. She hoped they were dead before the fire was lit. 

In her mind, she threw back the covers and ran through the house. She tore through the countryside to the Beddor estate, discovering what remained there. She would hold Clare’s body to her own and weep endlessly. 

But in reality, she just turned over to her side, unable to fathom putting her feet on the ground. Placing her hands under her pillow she felt the unmistakable smooth texture of paper. She pulled out her unopened letter, a piece of parchment wrapped loosely around it. 

She unwrapped the parchment and read the script. 

I must commend your will in resisting our glamors so. I’m sure I needn’t remind you the importance of your discretion, but I will do so anyway. Your sister’s life depends on it.

The note wasn’t addressed, but it didn’t need to be. No one but Azalea would have written it. After a moment she got out of bed and stalked over to the fireplace. From a box on the mantle she removed some flint. She lit one of her candles and tipped a corner of the note into the flame. Only when the flame began to lick her fingertips did she drop the letter into the fireplace. 

She held out the letter to Clare, considering it for a moment. 

Useless

She held it over the flame, watching the corner catch. Let it and the memories it carried be burned like Clare was. Let it be forgotten the way everything else was - to everyone but her. 

Nesta threw open her curtains and let the sunshine in. She then walked back to her bedside table and picked up a silver serving bell. She rang it twice, and Jenny entered. 

“Do not let me sleep in again.” 

Chapter Text

A stranger’s carriage coming down the drive was hardly a surprise around the Archeron estate. Elain’s success in wooing society, the Mr. Archeron’s success in business meant that they constantly had visitors calling on them. But this carriage was odd.

No less than 6 white horses pulled this gilded monstrosity. It was the largest, the most opulent, and frankly the tackiest carriage she’d ever beheld. And the luggage it carried, packed to the gills with trunks and boxes, whoever it carried was not intending a short visit. 

This is all the rest of the household saw. Nesta however, noted one other detail. The driver was not human. He was not as starkly different as Azalea. The man was tall, even as he sat. His long brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, with delicately pointed ears jutting through the strands. An ornate mask was fixed to his face. 

Nesta felt her stomach clench and she burst down the stairs, towards the door, determined to get in front of Elain. To shove her back inside, if needed. Whatever reason it had to be here, it could not be good. 

She watched through the front window as over half of the staff came to the driveway to watch this carriage come in, all starstruck at the site. It was paused for a long moment before Connor remembered his duties and opened the carriage door, extending a hand to the rider. 

The woman was gorgeous - and human. Shiny brown hair fell gracefully around her shoulders. Her dress of pink silk was layered and stitched with immaculate white and blue point lace at the hem. Her jacket and hat had matching lace, all a perfectly bright white, unworn. 

What was this human doing riding with a fae? Was she also being watched? Did she work with them willingly?  

Nesta used her curtsy as an excuse to keep her gaze low, to keep the contempt for the traitor from showing on her face.

“Welcome to our home, Lady…” she drew out the last syllable into a question. The barking laugh that answered was startling. 

“Nesta,” she laughed, “Nesta don’t you recognize your own sister?” There was no mistaking that voice. 

“Feyre?” Elain asked. 

Nesta looked up again, eyes raking over her sister’s new body. Feyre had gained much needed weight, as Nesta and Elain had. Where she had once been a scrawny mess of muscle and bone, she now had rounded curves, and honest-to-Wall breasts. Her face was rounded, her cheekbones, while still prominent, no longer cut aggressive lines across her face. Finally her eyes, so long filled with nothing but endless despair and contempt, had softened. She was smiling. 

It struck Nesta that she couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Feyre smile. 

“What of Aunt Ripliegh, then? Is she… dead?” Elain’s question was unknowingly the perfect test. Nesta watched confusion passed through Feyre’s expression before she settled into a truly awful impersonation of grief. Her nod was equally hesitant. 

“She left you her fortune,” Nesta stated, it was the only possible explanation for a return with this amount of wealth that didn’t involve the truth. She offered the lie for Feyre, so that High Fae babysitter to hear and report back to that beast that they were playing along. 

Elain went on for some time, chattering about how sad it was Ripliegh died, that their father missed it, that Feyre had to face it alone. For her part, Feyre seemed to just peacefully listen, not adding details to the story the way Nesta had learned glamored humans tend to. 

So she was aware of everything . 

Nesta didn’t know if that was better or worse. This relaxed, elegant Feyre was a stranger, but she was still Feyre, maybe. Nesta tested the waters, watching her youngest sister carefully, determined to find any hint that she’d been truly taken in by the Fae. 

“Why are you being so quiet?” 

“I’m… glad to see how well your own fortunes have improved, what happened?” she was clearly stretching for a distraction.  But Nesta still bumped on her wording. Yours. She did not consider herself to be one of them. 

Maybe she never had. 

Elain chattered on, explaining the events of these last 6 months. Nesta scoffed quietly at Elain’s easy dismissal of the post. As though their father hadn’t made much of his fortune by mail. Glamors were truly something to behold. 

Nesta kept a careful eye on Feyre. She seemed genuinely surprised at their current wealth, and she seemed uncomfortable with it. She had to be aware it was purchased with her life. But why was she back? Would it be taken away now? 

Nesta didn’t like how much losing this estate would hurt her. That it would be a sacrifice, to give it up, keep Feyre, and be banished to that hovel. But she’d do it in a heartbeat, glad her sister was back, in one piece. 

But the way Feyre watched that carriage and it’s driver go, the wistful look in her eyes… did she even want to stay? 

Nesta shook her head, pushing the thoughts far away. The fae have magic, who knows how they manipulated her, what they did to her. She was here now, among her family.

For fuck’s sake, was Feyre always this bad at lying?

She was lucky her family and the staff were glamored, because this was just sad. No details were added, no embellishments made, just basic, cagey, minimal detail. That potentially could have been written off as grief. She supposedly spent 6 months nursing the poor woman. But then there was her reaction to the wealth she “inherited”. Nesta wanted to snap at Feyre to pick her jaw up off the floor.

She also wanted her father to stop salivating so publicly. It was uncomfortable. Almost as uncomfortable as watching Feyre eat. Had they done something to her appetite in Prythian?

Elain carried on about the season, reconnecting to old friends, the clothes she’d worn, the events she’d been to. Their father joined in occasionally, backing up Elain’s assertion that something was better than something else. 

But all Nesta could do was watch Feyre struggle through eating. How she’d take a bite of something, and then attempt to hold her expression into something other than disgust, and then wash the bite down with some wine or water. She must have gone through six glasses that night. 

Nesta kept silent, mostly just requesting course changes from the staff, thanking them for their effort. But Elain turned the conversation to her. 

“We’ll have a ball in Feyre’s honor, won’t we?” 

“... attend a mother fucking ball.”

Before Nesta could answer either way, their father cut in. “Of course we will.  Feyre’s return is our greatest cause for celebration.” He smiled at his youngest and a look of pain passed through Feyre’s eyes. Like maybe she was remembering the same thing Nesta was. Him, broken and limping, telling her never to come back.

Nesta saw red. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to throw herself across the table and wrap her hands around his throat and squeeze and squeeze until he finally admitted he didn’t really love them. He never really loved them. He loved his money and he sold her off for the sake of that money, and he’d do it again. 

“Ladies do not rough house”

Nesta turned her attention back to Feyre as the conversation continued. She was struck by perhaps the worst realization.  Feyre was fine. There were a couple of quirks here and there, but on the whole, she seemed fine. 

Maybe she just had no stomach for rich food after 8 years of roughing it? 

Maybe she really didn’t know the scope of her inheritance?
Maybe she actually spent 6 months reading by Aunt Ripliegh’s bedside. 

That night, for the first time in 2 months, Nesta slept holding on to the painted table leg. 

Feyre was following Elain around in her garden. Nesta stayed enough away that she didn’t hear their conversation, but was close enough to help if Elain asked. Feyre wouldn’t ask, she never needed help. 

Luckily Darrow was nearby, cataloging which plants Elain had taken for her plot.  “Gonna need to order more tulips,” he muttered. 

“Order them next year, we already spent too much on flowers,” Nesta sighed, looking over her ledger, “what else do we need?”

“I’d like to look into building a store house. We need a place to actually stock the wheat.”

“I’ll reach out to a carpenter tomorrow,” she knew this was coming, but she wasn’t entirely thrilled with having such a large expense, especially with Feyre’s ball now coming up. 

Darrow took his leave and Nesta turned to look over her lands. She’d never admit it to her father, but she was glad he bought this place. She loved it. She knew it was too big for Elain, would be too uptight for Feyre, but this place was perfect for her. 

There was so much opportunity here. So much potential. Elain and her father may want to go sail the world, but Nesta was content to stay right here and make the best of this lot. For as long as she had it.

Nesta had no interest in running another event, and Elain seemed so excited, so she let her plan it. It was short notice, but most of the invitees accepted anyway. Elain explained that between the novelty of Feyre’s debut and the success of the Solstice, she would have been more surprised if people turned it down. 

The only comfort in her sister’s behavior was how clearly uncomfortable Feyre was with the whole affair. From the extravagant dress to the expensive decor to the expansive guest list. Feyre’s look of disgust at the growing bill was the first expression of hers Nesta recognized.

But when Feyre wasn’t with Elain, when she was by herself in the gardens or standing by a window, seemingly unaware of Nesta’s presence, the solemn sadness of longing overtook her features and she looked away. Looked North. Looked to Prythian. 

It wasn’t painful to realize that this was in fact Feyre, and that she didn’t consider this house her home. Nesta had never entertained the idea of it ever being her home. She hadn’t thought she’d see Feyre again. Not since the Wall. Not since she chose Elain’s safety over Feyre’s life. 

But now, the way she looked to Prythian, the bored and miserable expression she wore around the house. Her discomfort with everything from the food to the house to the staff. Feyre didn’t belong here. She never would. And it seemed to Nesta that Feyre’s beast had never harmed her. Had taken care of her instead. 

It was the day Nesta finally admitted that this is the real Feyre that she finally approached her for a real conversation. She walked over as her youngest sister stood examining her injured, calloused, and dirt stained hands.

“Even if you washed them, there’d be no hiding it. To fit in, you’d have to wear gloves and never take them off.” 

“Maybe I don’t want to fit in with your social circles.” The bite in her tone stung, Nesta couldn’t help but respond in kind. 

“Then why are you bothering to stay here?” 

“It’s my home, isn’t it?” The way she said it, only confirmed what Nesta had been suspecting. 

“No it’s not. I think your home is somewhere very far away.” 

“Aunt Ripliegh’s house-” 

“There is no Aunt Ripliegh.” Nesta reached into her skirt pocket and threw the damn table leg on the ground. She gave the words time to sink in, watched the realization bloom on Feyre’s face. 

“Your beast’s little trick didn’t work on me. Apparently, an iron will is all it takes to keep a glamour from digging in. So I had to watch as Father and Elain went from sobbing hysterics into nothing. I had to listen to them talk about how lucky it was for you to be taken to some made-up aunt’s house, how some winter wind had shattered our door. And I thought I’d gone mad—but every time I did, I would look at that painted part of the table, then at the claw marks farther down, and know it wasn’t in my head.”

It took everything Nesta had to keep her voice calm and even, to keep a tight hold on the emotions that threatened to break her apart. 

“Elain said—said you went to visit me, though. That you tried,” Feyre’s voice was so soft, so full of surprised wonder and disbelief, as though trying to get Feyre back was what made Nesta’s words unbelievable. Did she really think so little of her sister? 

Had I never given her a reason not to?

“He stole you away into the night, claiming some nonsense about the Treaty. And then everything went on as if it had never happened. It wasn’t right. None of it was right.” 

“You went after me,” Feyre’s entire body seemed to relax, as though some great weight had finally been lifted. “You went after me—to Prythian.”

 “I got to the wall. I couldn’t find a way through.” Feyre’s hand gripped her throat, as that truly surprised her. 

“You trekked two days there and two days back—through the winter woods?” Nesta wanted to laugh a little. Feyre always had a way to make things sound harder than they were. 

“I hired that mercenary from town to bring me a week after you were taken. With the money from your pelt. She was the only one who seemed like she would believe me.”

“You did that—for me?” 

 “It wasn’t right.” It wasn’t. The beast stole her away, gave a reason that Nesta knew couldn’t be true. And the horrors she could have been subjected to, the way fae had always treated humans, how could she not go? 

“What happened to Tomas Mandray?” The question tore at Nesta. The truth, the whole truth she could never tell, so she gave a partial one. 

 “I realized he wouldn’t have gone with me to save you from Prythian.” 

“Tomas never deserved you anyway,” her words were so soft, so genuine. It was true though, he never did deserve her. But it was never a question of what he deserved.  Nesta took a quiet breath and readjusted herself to this moment, looking to her sister with clear eyes. 

“Tell me everything that happened,” Nesta extended her hand to Feyre. Her sister took it and allowed herself to be led through the gardens. 

Feyre started at the beginning, from when she left. The white mare who had carried her into the woods, the scent of magic putting her to sleep when she dared to ask her captor questions. She described waking up outside of a beautiful green estate. Learning her captors name. 

A High Lord? Nesta nearly lost her composure at that. But she kept quiet, holding her tongue until Feyre said all she had to say. 

You thought father would bother to come for you? 

Nesta felt absurd disbelief at the tale of this failed escape attempt. Feyre always had maintained this awful hope in their father, that he was better than he was, that he was worth something. But he was always a coward. A lazy, weak, coward too afraid to ever do anything for himself, too afraid to risk anything. A merchant through and through, only ever the middleman of other people’s efforts, never spending his own. 

Nesta thought Lucien sounded like a tool, especially when she learned how he sent her after the Suriel. At least she had Alis, though the mask thing seemed weird. It explained the appearance of that fae who returned her at least. And the High Lord, Tamlin, had given Feyre paint; she hadn’t been able to indulge in that since Elain bought her paint. 

Feyre explained the run-ins with the Attor, the mentions of this woman, Amaranthra, the blight. Nesta recalled how the wall kept her out, what it showed her. She wondered if the visions she saw then were as or less terrifying than this Attor. 

When she explained the events of Calanmai, the barbaric ceremony, Nesta’s mind wandered back to the season opening. She wondered quietly if she was able to witness the gift of magic being restored to Azalea, all while Feyre was hidden in her room. But after the events of Calanmai, the way Feyre began to talk about this Tamlin. Nesta didn’t need to know Feyre well to know that she had fallen in love. 

Her story continued, days in the forest, learning that she had been glamored the entire time. It all described this perfect experience of a budding love. It seemed, to Nesta, too perfect. She didn’t like how easily, or how long, Tamlin had hid things from her. 

Then came the solstice, and Nesta couldn’t stop the roaring in her ears as Feyre described the perfect night. Dancing, drinking, kissing at dawn. It was the night she should have had with Clare, the night she had ruined. 

Then that other High Lord, Rhysand, came. He had threatened Tamlin and Feyre. And Nesta understood, finally, the letter Azalea had left her, why he had stopped her that night. It wasn’t the Fae that took Feyre that threatened her life, it was these Night Court fae. These monsters who delighted in the pain and agony of others. The kind that would kill an entire family for sport. 

She listened as Feyre described Tamlin on his knees, begging for Feyre to be spared. She clenched her jaw as Feyre described her tryst with Tamlin. And she held her tongue as Feyre described Tamlin sending her away. 

When she was done, Feyre looked at her sister with big blue eyes. This expression... this expression was new to Nesta. This was Feyre seeking her sister’s approval, her understanding. She had fallen in love with a fae, as good as admitted it, and she wanted to go back as soon as she could, and she wanted her sister’s approval.  Nesta couldn’t say what she had been thinking, the only thing she was thinking, about this male. 

Honestly, Feyre, he sounds like father. 

Instead, she offered an olive branch, a validation of a deeper part of Feyre, one she had finally been able to explore in the Spring Court. A part Nesta wanted Feyre to be free to explore here as well. 

“Would you teach me to paint?”

Chapter Text

“Painting is about capturing the emotions of the moment and giving them form.”

Perhaps painting lessons were a bad idea. 

Nesta stared at her sister with the cruelest look of disbelief. How in the hell was this the same woman who would stalk into their hut covered in dirt and blood, hauling various carcusses larger than herself?

Long seconds of uncomfortable silence finally broke Feyre into speaking again. 

“So what would you like to paint?” 

“What do you recommend?” 

“I don’t know your mind, Nesta. What do you feel like painting?” 

“If I do not know what I am capable of painting how could I possibly know what to paint?” 

Feyre rubbed her eyes and looked out the window. 

“Fine, a landscape then.” 

They adjusted the easels so they may look out the window. From this room they could view the lawns, the sheep grazing idly, and the farms, now sprouting underripe wheat and barley. 

“Start by tracing the general outline of the painting with charcoal.” 

Nesta nodded and did so. It wasn’t particularly refined artistry, but she was generally able to trace the delineations between field, forest and sky. Her sheep were little more than white ovals, but that was well enough. This was just to provide a guide, according to Feyre. 

When they moved onto actually applying paint to canvas, more trouble ensued. 

“I don’t have the right shade of green,” Nesta commented, looking at the bottles of paint next to her easel. 

“You need to mix it,” Feyre said. 

“How do I do that?” 

“Combine the white and green paint.”

“Ok…” Nesta picked up the bottle of green and white, she looked at them and back to her sister. “How?” Feyre kept her eyes on her own paints, pouring some onto her palate as she responded. 

“Start with the white and mix the green in slowly.”

“Ok… Feyre it’s too dark.”

“Add more white.” Feyre was stroking some of paint on the canvas, considering which shade she liked more. 

“I don’t have any more white, I put the green in it.” At Nesta’s words Feyre snapped her hand around. Nesta had poured the green paint directly into the white jar. 

“You’re supposed to use the palate!” 

“Well you didn’t say that. What, was I just supposed to read your mind?” Feyre rubbed her temples and took a deep breath in. 

“Give me your palate.” Feyre transferred the color she just mixed to Nesta’s palate. “Use that.”

“Ok, what next?” 

“Paint the grass.” 

“How?” 

“What do you mean how?” 

“What position should my hand be in? How much pressure should I use? How long should the strokes be?” Nesta asked. 

Feyre stared down her sister. She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself, realizing, finally, that Nesta did not possess an artistic bone in her body. 

“Just, copy what I do.” 

Nesta nodded, and did just that. Content to watch Feyre’s technique and copy it exactly. The result was a perfectly adequate painting and a perfectly peaceful afternoon. Occasionally she would ask why Feyre chose a certain color, or why she used a certain brush stroke, but the answer was never satisfactory and always the same. “It just felt right.”

It never really occurred to Nesta how much Feyre was intune with her emotions, how readily she drew on them. Nesta always thought Feyre more like herself than Elain, logical and calculating. But here, with this activity, Feyre was more emotional, more open than even Elain. 

She studied the two landscapes they were making. Nesta had been following her instructions, had been copying her movements, but Feyre’s painting… there was a strangeness to it, an uncertainty. Nesta could feel Feyre’s discomfort with this place, feel how it was not her home, but a place she was unsure of. She could feel it because Ferye had put it there. How did she do it? How did she isolate just one emotion and inject it into the canvas? 

Nesta had too many, they clawed over each other, at her insides, begging to overflow and overtake. It took everything she had to hold them in, push them down. 

Ultimately, Nesta decided she didn’t particularly like painting. But she did like that she didn’t need to pretend here in this room. She didn’t need to hold her tongue when Elain mentioned her excitement at seeing Ms. So-and-So who had abandoned them to starvation. She didn’t need to pretend that her father hadn’t been willing to let them die. She didn’t need to pretend that Feyre had been with an aunt. She didn’t need to pretend that everything was alright. 

So she came here everyday, with Feyre. Her sister would paint whatever she wanted, and Nesta would copy her brush strokes. It was quiet companionship, pure and simple. Nesta had never felt so close to her sister. She knew that Feyre would leave eventually, go back to that High Lord of hers, and she would take this time with her while she could.

They stayed in this pattern through the day of the ball, avoiding the staff and Elain. Elain, who was using the lanterns to decorate the drive. Elain, who now murmured with her father that this might be a more successful night than the solstice party. 

He pet her head and she leaned into his shoulder. Nesta knew Feyre was taking in this scene with equally mixed emotions. How dare they mention the solstice. How dare they be happy. How dare they move on. 

Nesta turned on her heel and made her way back to her suite to get dressed. Feyre followed silently, not questioning, not pressing her. But the quiet presence Nesta felt from her- Feyre was there, aware, and listening. So before she opened the door to her chambers, where Jenny would be waiting to get her ready for a ball she absolutely did not want to go to, Nesta spoke. 

“There are days when I want to ask him if he remembers the years he almost let us starve to death.” 

“You spent every copper I could get, too,” Feyre’s voice was gentle, not judgemental. 

“I knew you could always get more. And if you couldn’t, then I wanted to see if he would ever try to do it himself, instead of carving those bits of wood. If he would actually go out and fight for us.” Nesta closed her eyes and finally resolved to let go of all the pretence she had with her sister. “I couldn’t take care of us, not the way you did. I hated you for that. But I hated him more. I still do.” 

“Does he know?” 

"I HATE YOU, YOU USELESS COWARD "

 

"Nesta! Ladies do not raise their voice!"

 

She was too delirious to even know why she was scolding her eldest daughter, to realize what she had said, only that it was shouted.

“He’s always known I hate him, even before we became poor. He let Mother die—he had a fleet of ships at his disposal to sail across the world for a cure, or he could have hired men to go into Prythian and beg them for help. But he let her waste away.” Nesta blinked back the memories of her mother, so weak near the end.

“He loved her—he grieved for her.” That’s not enough. He wouldn’t have needed to grieve if he had tried, if he had fought for her. 

“He let her die. You would have gone to the ends of the earth to save your High Lord.” As I tried to do for you, Clare.

Useless.

“Yes, I would have.”

And Feyre would actually succeed. 

The ball was needlessly extravagant, wasted on Feyre who clearly did not want it.

Feyre was given a grand entrance, a formal debut, and it was ridiculous. Her dress was too fine, too tight, Elain had the maid give her a tiara for fuck’s sake. The make up was impeccable, but too heavy for her. In their wish to make her look like a lady, they made her a whore. 

When their father immediately led Feyre to a batch of suitors, Nesta realized that’s exactly what was intended. She was independently and immensely wealthy, thanks to the money Tamlin had given her. Anyone would be lucky to marry her, and it could be leveraged to any number of favorable business deals. 

It was one thing to throw Elain at the pack of suitors, she at least enjoyed it. But Feyre… this was a punishment. Nesta stalked over to Feyre after the first dance and cut in. 

“Get punch with me,” Nesta ordered. 

“She is to dance with me next,” Adam McCray tried to respond. Nesta raised a single eyebrow, unsmiling. 

“You honestly think you’re a candidate? Your debts would use up her entire fortune before the honeymoon,” she scoffed before leading Feyre away to the punch bowl. 

“Thank you,” Feyre whispered. Nesta didn’t really respond, she just kept by her side. 

Other suitors would try to approach, bowing first to them. Feyre would curtsy in response, but Nesta stood still, watching them, pinning them in place. Each would try to flirt, and each would fail. 

“I have never seen a more lovely creature” 

“Won’t your maid be offended to hear you speak of another woman so?” 

“May I be so bold as to-” 

“Bastards may not” 

“I shall very much like the chance to get to know you more”

“She’s allergic to hay”

Nesta made a note to thank Jenny and her love of gossip - and her apparent fondness for her mistress. It gave her the ammunition she needed. Feyre might be the hunter, the fighter, but she did not know how to wield weapons that work in high society.  

Feyre was mostly quiet, no doubt overwhelmed by all the people. Nesta was fine with this, as she wasn’t feeling so chatty either. Not when she watched the dancers, the food, the dresses, and could only think of how much Clare would have loved it. 

Clare should be here instead. 

The thought shocked Nesta. She quickly grabbed her own arm and dug her nails in, using the physical pain to banish the thought. Feyre’s presence here had nothing to do with Clare’s absence. She died. She died because some dark fae decided to target her. Feyre was the reason Nesta lived. Tamlin had sent Azalea to watch over them for Feyre’s sake, and it kept Nesta away from the hunt. 

Besides, even if she was living, there was no guarantee she would have accepted Nesta’s letter, that she’d want to be here now. 

Feyre excused herself to the privy around midnight, and Nesta sighed, keeping vigil on their spot in the corner of the room. Elain approached from a gaggle of dancing debutants, looking rather sour at her elder sister. 

“I know you aren’t fond of these events, but could you at least try to let Feyre meet people, have fun?” Elain asked, crossing her arms. 

“She doesn’t like this, Elain.”

“She doesn’t know if she likes it or not, you aren’t giving her a chance to try.”

“And I should what, parade her around to all these sycophants who don’t care about anything other than the size of her pocketbook?”

“You did for Clare,” Elain stated, her expression tense, challenging. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“How could I? You won’t talk about it,” Elain answered, then softened. “She was my friend, too.” 

Nesta couldn’t stand there another second. Elain didn’t know, couldn’t know, the truth. No one did. Jenny and Connor might have been willing to gossip about the letter, but Azalea’s glamor seemed to wipe that night from their memories. To her, Clare was just their friend. 

“She really wasn’t.” Nesta swiped a bottle of scotch on her way back to her room.

Breakfast was more like lunch, featuring four hungover Archerons sitting in utter silence. Ok, three tired Archerons and one hungover enough for the rest of them. Nesta was pulling apart a croissant, hoping it would soak up the scotch still sloshing around her stomach when her father decided to say possibly the most insensitive sentence she’d ever heard.  

“I’m thinking of buying the Beddor land,” the words cut through her headache and brought her rapidly into awareness. “I heard a rumor it’ll go up for sale soon, since none of the family survived, and it would be a good investment property. Perhaps one of you girls might build a house on it when you’re ready.” 

Elain looked… excited about this notion. She was looking up at their father with a look of expectation. How could she be so calm about this? Didn’t she just claim that Clare was her friend too?? 

“What happened to the Beddors?” 

“Oh, it was awful,” Elain glanced at Nesta. “Their house burned down, and everyone died. Well, they couldn’t find Clare’s body, but …”  Nesta’s head shot up at that. What ?  “It happened in the dead of night—the family, their servants, everyone. The day before you came home to us, actually.” 

“Clare Beddor,” something in how she said that made Nesta turn her head to Feyre. Her hand was covering her mouth, her expression was horror and guilt. No. 

“Our friend, remember?” Elain reminded, gently, more to Nesta than Feyre. 

“Feyre?” Father asked.

“Quiet,” Nesta hissed, not at all interested in what he had to say right now. Frankly, not very interested in what Elain had to say either. Feyre turned to Nesta. The fae asked for my name, I knew I couldn’t give him my real name. 

“You must listen very carefully. Everything I have told you must remain a secret. You do not come looking for me. You do not speak my name again to anyone.”

Their father was speaking, but whatever he was saying was so far away it didn’t matter. 

“I think something very bad might be happening in Prythian,” But I had to give him something before he looked deeper in my mind. 

“Prythian!” Father and Elain blurted. Nesta held up a hand to silence them. The nausea in her stomach was more from Feyre’s words than her hangover.  

“If you won’t leave, then hire guards—hire scouts to watch the wall, the forest. The village, too.” She rose from the table and began to leave the dining room. “The first sign of danger, the first rumor you hear of the wall being breached or even something being strange, you get on a ship and go. You sail far away, as far south as you can get, to someplace the faeries would never desire.” She ran up the stairs. Nesta followed, needing her to admit it. To confirm what Nesta was dreading from the moment Feyre said Clare Beddor’s name. 

“The Beddors,” she said. “That was meant to be us. But you gave them a fake name—those wicked faeries who threatened your High Lord.” Some part of her had suspected from the moment Feyre told her about that incident. But she kept that part buried deep, unwilling to dwell on the implications, and she couldn’t dwell on them now.  “Is there going to be an invasion?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s happening. I was told that there was a kind of sickness that had made their powers weaken or go wild, a blight on the land that had damaged the safety of their borders and could kill people if it struck badly enough. They—they said it was surging again … on the move. The last I heard, it wasn’t near enough to harm our lands. But if the Spring Court is about to fall, then the blight has to be getting close, and Tamlin … Tamlin was one of the last bastions keeping the other courts in check—the deadly courts. And I think he’s in danger.” Nesta focused on that, on the war that could kill them all. Not on her- Clare. Keeping Feyre here, beating her to death for giving that name, of all names, would not help. 

But sending her away would. Nesta helped strip and change Feyre. She was watching her sister braid her hair when she said, with all the calm she could muster. 

“We don’t need you here, Feyre. Do not look back. Father once told you to never come back, “and I’m telling you now. We can take care of ourselves.” And I don’t know if I can ever look at you again. 

She strapped weapons to her side and said.  “They can lie, Faeries can lie, and iron doesn’t bother them one bit. But ash wood—that seems to work. Take my money and buy a damned grove of it for Elain to tend.” Nesta shook her head, clutching her bracelet, her armor. So it’s useless, too. She looked back at Feyre, strapped head to toe in weapons but still so young, so small, so human,  For a moment, her ire was gone, and she was just looking at her baby sister, Little Feyre, being sent into the belly of the beast. 

“What do you think you can even do to help? He’s a High Lord—you’re just a human.” 

“I don’t care, but I’ve got to try.” Nesta didn’t move as Feyre started to leave, if she followed, she might try and stop her, or she might try and kill her. Feyre turned back to her and said. 

“There is a better world, Nesta. There is a better world out there, waiting for you to find it. And if I ever get the chance, if things are ever better, safer … I will find you again.” It was all a lie. And as much as Nesta wanted to hurt her- destroy her for what she did to Clare- she didn’t want her to die, couldn’t let Clare’s death be in vain. So she summoned the confident mask she’d spent 23 years wearing.  

“Don’t bother. I don’t think I’d be particularly fond of faeries. Try to send word once it’s safe. And if it ever is … Father and Elain can have this place. I think I’d like to see what else is out there, what a woman might do with a fortune and a good name.”

Nesta threw up all over the floor the second Feyre left.  

Her life for Elain’s happiness, and my happiness for our lives. No one gets to choose the cost in the end, do they? 

Chapter Text

Elain found Nesta crumpled on the floor in Feyre’s room, covered in her own sick. 

“Oh my, Nesta!” Elain rushed over and tried to haul her off of the floor by the arms, but wasn’t having much luck. “Help, please! I need help in here!” 

Jenny came running in. “Oh my goodness” 

“Help me get her into her room,” Elain ordered. Nesta was somewhere else, somewhere far away, far within. Feyre was gone, back to “Aunt Ripliegh’s”.  Maybe she’d say Feyre was taking over her estate? More lies, more lying. More pretending. Everything is fine. Feyre just eloped with Darius after the ball and ran away to Aunt Ripliegh’s stables. 

Nesta laughed at her own internal quip. Slow at first, soft, then building and building until she was shaking with hysterical laughter. What joke. All of it. What a horrible horrible joke. Elain was saying something, asking her something, but Nesta couldn’t hear it, couldn’t bear to try. 

She had let Feyre hunt alone in those woods. She was useless and mean and craven and cruel. She let Feyre get taken by the fae. She turned around at the Wall because she knew she wouldn’t be able to do better, because she couldn’t leave Elain alone if she failed. She lived it up in this estate, letting them get more and more dependent on the fae, on Feyre being in that beast’s good graces. In 8 years, Feyre made one mistake where Nesta made hundreds. After all Feyre had sacrificed for their family, she earned it. She should be- would be- forgiven. 

And tomorrow, when asked, Nesta will say she told Feyre to never come back because she wanted Feyre to be the one Archeron who could actually save their love and receive her happily ever after. That Feyre owed them nothing more but her happiness. 

But now, Nesta knew she sent her away because she never wanted to see her again. Because she wasn’t capable of forgiving her sister one simple, stupid, deadly mistake. Even after all she had done. 

Nesta laughed harder. 

What a horrible person I am. 

Her laughter turned to tears. Nesta wiped them away and was surprised to find her face wetter as a result. Because her hand was wet, because most of her was wet, because she was naked in her bathtub with Elain sitting behind her, holding her tight. Nesta’s hands gripped her sister’s arms as she cried. 

“It’s ok, she’s going to be ok, I’m here. I’m here.” Elain was petting Nesta’s head, hair, shoulders, brushing kisses to the crown of her head and pressing hugs to her body. Elain’s dress floated in the water around them. She hadn’t even bothered to change, she just jumped in with her sister, ready to comfort and soothe all she could. 

Eventually Nesta’s tears ran dry, and her throat grew sore, and her breath returned to its even pace. She still looked and felt like hell, but she was Nesta again. 

“You ruined your dress,” Nesta quipped, her voice broken and hoarse. 

“I have others,” Elain answered with equal softness, before adding, “She will be alright, you know. Feyre is stronger than us.” Nesta’s eyes widened. 

“Y-you know?” 

“Yes. The memories, they came back. Both father and I remember everything now.” Nesta turned around to look in her eyes, they were clearer than she’d seen them in months. Elain laughed a little, she’d not seen Nesta this... vulnerable in years. Not since they were small. “Let’s get changed, we can talk more dry.” 

They stood up and got out of the tub. They’d call in one of the maids to drain it later. They dried off and changed, Elain taking one of Nesta’s shifts and dressing gowns. Moving to the couch of the sitting room, Nesta bade Elain to turn around and started braiding her hair back. 

“Did you go to the Wall?” was Elain’s first question. 

“Y-yes, but… I couldn’t cross, so I came back.” 

“Is Azalea…?” 

“It’s a fae.”

“That’s why you were so uncomfortable with him.”

“Yes.” 

“Nesta, I’m so sorry. That must have been so hard.” 

“It’s not your fault. Fae magic is to blame.”

“But you resisted.” Nesta ignored the awe and the praise in her sister’s voice. She was silent for a moment. 

“I… I told her to go. To not come back,” Nesta said quietly, tying off the braid. 

Elain turned around and held Nesta’s hand. 

“I had a horse and supplies ready for her to go.” Nesta only nodded and turned around, allowing Elain to start on her hair. “Whatever is going on over there, Clare was… taken?” she asked, quietly. 

Nesta sighed, Feyre hadn’t had the chance to Elain everything, so Nesta summarized. 

“The beast that stole Feyre… was the High Lord of Spring. They, he and Feyre, fell in love.  Apparently there is a blight, some evil invading his lands. One of the evil fae threatened them, threatened Feyre, and then demanded her name. She gave a fake one.” 

“She gave Clare’s.” Elain said, not as a question. 

“Yes,” Nesta answered. 

“Oh Nesta, I’m so sorry,” Elain threw her arms around her sister once more. Nesta stiffened and pulled away. Elain let go. 

“She was your friend, too,” Nesta said, “and the circumstances of her death do not change the reality of what we have known for two weeks now.” Her temper was starting to flair again, the emptiness of her soul starting to fill with emotion once more. “How could you be so cavalier about it? About buying her land?” 

“Oh Nesta,” Elain shrunk, “I wanted to buy the land because… because I could not imagine anyone else buying it. If it is us, then at least the land goes to people who loved the Beddors, who loved Clare. I did not mean to sound as though I didn’t love her. She was a dear friend.” Elain gripped Nesta’s hand, giving it a squeeze. Nesta squeezed back and nodded. 

They sat in silence for a moment and then Elain asked. “What now?” 

“Now…”Nesta sighed, “Now we talk to father. Spread a rumor that Feyre was secretly engaged to a man she met at Aunt Ripliegh’s, that she only came home to gain father’s approval. When he refused, she ran away back to the estate. Enough of a scandal to make it uncouth to ask us for more detail, but not enough that we ourselves may be ruined.”

“It will be highly suspicious though,” Elain commented, “for us to hold a ball if she came with an engagement.” 

“Not if we did not know of the betrothed before the ball, if the news came afterwards. Or if we held the ball with the purpose of introducing her to another. The singularity will make the gossip interesting. Ensure it gets talked about.” 

Elain nodded, “Alright, I will call on the Rutlands, they will get the rumor to all.” 

“Do call on them, and tell them of Feyre’s leaving, but no more than that. We cannot start the rumor ourselves.” 

“Then how?”

“The way all truly terrible news spreads,” Nesta smiled an evil grin, “Jenny!” 

They had Jenny fetch their father to meet them in the parlor downstairs, and had her send in servants to serve them tea and pastries. In the lower parlor, the butlers, maids, and the cooks all were sure to hear Nesta’s screeching about her ridiculous sister’s reckless actions. 

With the complete fuss they kicked up about it, there was little doubt that every servant in the country would know of their misfortune by the week’s end.

Life continued on. 

Though Elain and their father now knew the truth, they spoke of Feyre even less than they had before. They could not risk the servants overhearing the truth, and, if either were being honest, it simply hurt too much. So they went back to the lives they lived before her return. 

Elain spent more time taking tea and dinner with her acquaintances in the weeks after her sister’s departure than she ever had. She made a special effort to repair the damage created by the rumor, and by the rudeness of Feyre and Nesta’s conduct at the ball. Being twice as pleasant as Nesta was nasty proved to be all the balm needed. 

Nesta, for her part, was polite to the guests for a change. Dinners she would quietly sit through; teas she would join briefly and excuse herself on business about the estate. And she did have business. Neglecting the farm during Feyre’s visit was a stupid choice, and letting Elain plan the ball with no hoverhead put quite a dent in the family budget. Especially since Nesta decided not to touch Feyre’s money - that was to ensure Elain’s survival. 

Nesta was discussing certain cuts in expenses with Mrs. Cowell when her father came to interrupt her. 

“Beef is too expensive. We’ll serve it tonight to our guests, but I’d rather cut it from the day to day meals.” 

“Yes ma’am” 

“We aren’t short of money, you know,” the worst voice came from behind her. Nesta turned towards her father as he approached, slamming both the copies of the ledgers she kept in her own parlor and his own on the table. At the sight of them, Mrs. Cowell took her leave, knowing this would not be a conversation for her ears. “Just because you chose to record household and business wealth separately does not mean the wealth from my business does not exist.“ 

“Your businesses were successful while you had the assistance of a certain patron. Now that they are out of the picture you’ll forgive me if past experience leads to doubt in your skill as a tradesman.” Ice and condescension oozed from her words, each one landing like that perfect slap. 

“Is that why you’ve been editing my ledgers, altering my accounts? To hide my own wealth from me?” 

Nesta clicked her tongue. She had been, for the past 5 months, inventing transactions and changing the numbers he had, diverting and securing funds for the maintenance of the estate, hiding it from him to prevent its re-investment in his businesses. 

“Guess Feyre’s money was too large a sum to overlook.” 

“It was audacious, even for you.” He sighed, “And ingenious. You should have been born a man, you think like one.” 

“Should I take that as an insult to your sex or mine?” 

“Neither, but knowing you, you'd make it both,” he picked up Nesta’s ledgers and handed her one. The one she used to track household income and expenses. “Look.” She opened the book to the latest recorded transaction, an influx of several hundred gold pieces. She snapped her head up to look at him, and before she could ask he spoke. “That should cover the party. You are right, separating the household and business wealth is wise. Keep the ledger, you are the lady of this house more than I its lord. It is yours to manage as you see fit, all I ask is that you let me transfer profits to you and Elain from time to time.” 

Nesta considered his words, his offer. It was really nothing. All he was really offering her was an acknowledgement of the current status quo. But it was more than she ever dared ask for from him. 

“Transfer them to Elain, I want nothing from you,” she said, taking her leave. 

Dinner was awkward for a reason that had nothing to do with Nesta, surprisingly. Blame lay solely with Lord Nolan Edessa and his old codger ways. The dinner party they had invited included him, his son, and Lord Rutland, his wife, and their daughters, Tabitha and Maria. Nesta was genuinely surprised the old fart accepted the invitation, but then again he was trying to marry off that dopey son of his to Tabitha Rutland. 

Apparently he didn’t care about the dead bastard so long as her dowry was large enough. 

Elain had wanted to have the Rutlands over for supper, the last of the “we’re sorry we made you think Feyre was available” occasions. They could be last, since, with two daughters and Feyre’s interest in men, the girls were never positioned as candidates. Thank the Wall. If Nesta had to deal with either of them as a sister-in-law she was likely to commit murder. The Edessas could wait because they never went to anything anyway, in fact, they weren’t even on the original list of makeup events.  The extension of the invite to the Edessas was a favor to Tabitha. She wanted more time with Graysen, and this was perfect cover - according to Elain. 

The Edessas arrived right on time - early by society standards. A wrought iron carriage pulled up the drive, and the Archerons went out to meet it at the door. Nesta and Elain had dressed up, but not with any particular extravagance, the Rutlands were good acquaintances at this point, and what little they knew of Lord Nolan amounted to “he’ll hate you anyway.” Jewelry was simplistic, iron and copper stud earrings, a jeweled comb in Elain’s hair - a gift from Maria Rutland. 

Connor opened the door to their carriage, and a young man stepped out. Graysen Edessa, Nolan’s son. Handsome looking and strongly built, with brown hair and deep blue eyes. He looked like the watered-down version of the warrior-princes from the stories she’d read as a girl. His expression was less stern than she was expecting. He reached a hand back to support his father, the old man swatted it away and stepped rather precariously down. 

Old man Nolan was exactly what Nesta pictured. As tall as his son, but with none of his bulk. The wrinkles on his face cut it into an eternal scowl. His eyes matched his son in their color, but were sharper, inspecting the house, grounds, and finally his hosts. He wore an iron knights chain around his neck, and his cane, Nesta recognized, looked exactly like Feyre’s old ashwood arrow. Dangerous or convenient?  

They all bowed half-heartedly to each other. Her father stepped forward. 

“Lord Edessa, welcome to our home. Please allow me to present my daughters, Nesta and Elain Archeron,” he gestured with a flourish that seemed soft compared to the hard old man.

“My son, Graysen,” Nolan gestured behind him. The young man bowed again, his eyes finding Elain and staying there a beat too long. “I see your youngest is still off with her manservant.” 

Nesta blinked. She knew the rumor had grown and morphed, as they always do, but to hear it so frankly was a shock. 

“My youngest has returned to her late-aunt’s estate by the sea for her health,” their father recovered. 

“Ha,” the old man grunted. His son at least had the manners to blush. 

“Let us go inside, there are drinks and more pleasant topics I’m sure,” Elain tried to keep her expression even, but it was clear this was a man even she would not find goodness in. 

“Yes, please,” the young Edessa said hastily, stepping forward before his father could make another rude comment. He took her arm as she led him into the house. Nesta waited for the old man. He refused the arm, choosing to openly inspect her instead. 

“Where’s your iron?” he asked. Up your mother’s ass. 

“I did not think it necessary, unless you invited fae to someone else’s home?” she responded. He was horrified at her response. 

“Failing to take the Fae-threat seriously will amount to your death, mark my words,” his words, the carriage, the chain, it was not a show. This man wasn’t performing, he genuinely feared the fae. The first man Nesta met who seemed to truly appreciate the danger they were in. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she answered, entering the parlor with them. 

“Please forgive my father,” the younger Edessa offered, “but I would not joke about those monsters in front of us.” 

“Apologies, my daughter’s humor has always been rather black." 

“Starvation does that to a person,” Nesta shot her father a glare. Don’t help me.  

Nolan looked her up and down again, she held his gaze this time. Whatever he saw in her eyes he approved of. He threw his gaze around the room.  “You’re certainly not starving anymore.” Thanks to the Fae, actually. 

“That we are not!” her father jumped in, “Thanks to our dear departed Aunt Ripliegh!” ah, the new version of the story, from Azalea, the kind stranger, to Azalea, Ripliegh’s puppet, sent to give them the aid they’d never accept directly. A “revelation” they “learned” during Feyre’s visit. Another carriage arrived, and Elain went to greet her friends while their father explained their spectacular reversal of fortune. 

“Oh not that old story again!” Tabitha complained as she walked in. “No one wants to be sad before dinner Mr. Archeron!” She bounded in in an audacious orange dress with gold and iron jewelry covering her neck, ears, wrists, and rings. Nesta had to admire how hard she was trying to flaunt her one and only draw. A sidelong glance at Graysen and his grimace was enough to tell Nesta his opinion on the match. 

“Never stopped you before,” Nesta muttered under her breath. She took a seat on the chair at the head of the room, letting her father take a corner seat. Elain ordered them all drinks, wine for the ladies, watered down whiskey for the men. 

“It is impressive, though. Hardly can tell you’ve been in residence less than a year,” Maria Rutland chimed in, not at all intending to sound so snide. 

“Yes, it is a testament to my daughters’ efforts,” their father said, raising his glass and taking a sip. 

“Oh little Elain has always had excellent taste,” Mrs. Rutland said with a smile. 

Elain turned to Nesta and started to deny the praise, when the old fuck Nolan cut in. “A waste of money, if you ask me. You’d have been better to spend it on defenses, this manor is far too exposed.”

 “Father please, is now really the time to-”

“It is not the time, dear son, to sit and pretend a war is not afoot!” 

“A war?” Maria asked. 

“Come now, my lord, we need not discuss these things with the women present,” Mr. Rutland tried to diffuse the situation. 

“No, better the girls find out about it when a fae arrives on their doorstep to run them through,” the old man countered. 

The Rutland girls bristled; Nesta felt herself stiffen. Nightmares of what became of her dearest, of her family. She swallowed them down. 

“Please not before supper, such gruesome discussions may be better suited for dessert.” that such a joke came from Elain startled them all, but the young Graysen smiled and looked with admiration at his new acquaintance. 

“Is there chocolate? War goes so well with chocolate,” his eyes never left Elain, who smiled back at him with a sense of comradery Nesta had never seen before.  

They passed through dinner with general politeness, though Nolan found a way to be mean. Whether he was commenting on the food being too much of a luxury, or the silverware being silver and not iron, or scotch not needing a crystal goblet where glass would suffice. But for all his complaining, he never failed to mark the sheer wealth that surrounded him, nor could he hide the greed in his voice. 

With dessert, they ventured back to the parlor, enjoying cards and ignoring Maria’s request for charades. Nolan kept his whining. Only the fact that he was technically their lord kept the party from snapping at him to kindly shut the fuck up. 

“Never had the stomach for merchants, throwing their money around on trinkets, never on serious fare, like land or men.” 

“You’ll have to forgive my father, he does not believe any spending is worthwhile unless it is to bolster our defenses against the fae.” It seemed Graysen’s only role in life was to apologize for his father. Nesta wanted to tell him not to bother. 

“I do not fault him his priorities,” her own odious father responded, “I have long been of the mind that I should do more.”

Nolan looked him up and down, searching for insincerity, and then decided to test the merchant’s resolve. “You have ships, yes? Why not put your money where your mouth is?” The group watched him. “I have need of a representative in Neva.” 

Chapter Text

Leaf-peeping, now that was just about the dumbest fucking thing Nesta had ever heard of. Even as a girl she thought it sounded dumb. As an adult she knew that it was dumb. Go sit and watch the leaves change color. Whoo. 

Leaf-peeping at the Edessa estate sounded even worse than normal. The invite was more an excuse than anything else, an unnecessary subterfuge. Lord Nolan had invited them and the Rutlands as cover for a summit strategy session.. Graysen could escort them around the estate, play at the good suitor for Tabitha, and the men were only staying behind to “allow youth to bloom”. This way, Nolan reasoned, the fae spies would not suspect a thing. 

As though the fae were still watching them. She hadn't seen a fae since Feyre’s arrival three months ago. Azalea had not shown its face since the night after the solstice. Not that the inactivity didn't worry Nesta. It was worse, she thought. If the Archerons were no longer interesting, then Feyre was probably dead. Or at least her high lord was. 

And with the growing anxiety from all the local men, the increase in panicked meetings, the hushed discussion of fae atrocities, no one was sitting easy. What confounded them most was the lack of attacks. For years there were periodic kidnappings, burnings, and pillagings from above the Wall. And they had only been getting more common in the last decade or so.  But it seemed to all come to a crashing halt after the Beddor burning. 

The prevailing theory was that the fae were pulling back to finally launch an all out assault on the humans. 

So of course the fae would have their eyes on their largest threat, old Nolan and the Prince of Merchants. Nesta rolled her eyes at the very idea of these men legitimately having an impact in this war. In any war against the fae. Human and weak as they were, stood no chance in winning. She knew that, and the fae knew that, too. 

So what they hell would they care what her shit-for-brains father was going to say at the summit, or how often he was going to send reports, or how he was going to encode them? 

Whatever. Let the men gather in a tiny room and suck each other’s cocks or whatever it is men do to make themselves feel important. Make Nesta stand outside with nothing to do but stare at leaves when she should be overseeing the storage of their harvest. It is a small price to pay for her father being gone.

Gone . The thought was salve for her soul.

Neva is at least a month away. The whole trip would take at least three months, and it looked like it would take even longer. It’s too dangerous to sail in the winter months, so he should be leaving shortly, and won’t be returning until early spring at the earliest. Honestly, Nesta was torn, on one hand, he’d be leaving soon, on the other, if she kept him around for another couple months, he might not return at all! Elain always scolded Nesta for saying things like that. So she stopped saying them outloud. It did not stop her from thinking it. 

So here she was, going mother fucking leaf peeping. Getting ready to violate Edessa leaf privacy.  A man definitely came up with this term.

The Edessa estate was a confusing mess of a property. It wanted to be a castle, but unfortunately was originally built as a chateau. The harsh practicality of the iron and stone walls contrasted with the elegant yellow brick of the house proper. It had windows peppering all sides, large ones, but covered as they were in iron bars, it made the house harsher, not lighter. Guards marched around the property, their repeated footfalls having long since ruined what might have once been a gorgeous lawn. Some were on duty, some seemed to just be training, but there were far too many here to allow Nesta to feel comfortable. The girls were all obviously grimacing as Graysen showed them around. 

“My father has been preparing for this war for decades, fancying himself Jurian reborn…” he said sheepishly. 

“He’s not going to fight is he?” Elain asked, genuine concern for the old man’s health. 

“No, he’s too old for that now,” Graysen assured her. 

“Does that make you our glorious hero now, Graysen?” Tabitha asked, pushing herself close to his arm. He backed away from Tabitha with a momentary grimace. But Nesta still saw the small smile, the blush of ambition that painted his face even as he denied the heroic claim. 

“No offense, Grasie, but I don’t understand why your father insisted we take in autumn here. All the forests are on the other side of the walls,” Maria complained. If he was offended at the nickname, he hid it well. A mischievous smile cut across his face. 

“Patience, milady. I promise there is a view to be had.” 

He continued to lead them around the property, and when they finally turned the corner to the back of the house, his expression became clear. 

Stunning orange and red leaves filled the entire back of the property. Row after row of trees, healthy and strong, all already turned. It was early in the season for this degree of color, far too early, but it didn’t make this site any less breathtaking. Elain was near tears at the beautiful sight, gripping Maria’s hand as the two girls began to walk closer to the simply magical site. Even Tabitha was silent, taking in the pure autumn view. Nesta knew what this grove was even before Graysen explained. 

“Ashwood trees are always the first to turn with the season. I imagine this view is more satisfactory than a natural forest at present.” 

“How many?” Nesta asked, surveying the field. 

“A couple hundred,” he answered, looking ahead at the girls who were reverently touching a tree. 

Nesta, however, couldn’t feel the awe, the wonder, that her party shared. She just looked down the grove of trees and was struck by just how long, how obsessed old man Nolan had to be. Judging by the size of the trees, some had to be decades old. The walls, the guards, the iron, all of that was simply a sign of a paranoid old man, seeing the winds of war blow through his lands. But this, this was a lifetime of dedication. The man who planted this grove wasn’t an old man that fancied himself Jurian, the hero of humanity. He fancied himself the hero as a young man . 

“How many people claimed your father was crazy?” Nesta asked, staring at the trees. 

“Most,” Graysen answered. “People fear the fae, and hate them, but they didn’t understand how precarious a position we were in. How close we have always been to war. Father did.” 

“They know now,” Nesta responded quietly., turning and looking up at him. Graysen’s gaze was still at the girls wandering through the trees.

“They do, and I only hope it’s not too late.” 

I hope so, too. 

A few servants set up their picnic blanket and snacks. The blanket protecting the girls skirts from the dirt that surrounded the trees. They spread out, enjoying the fall air, each finding an activity to entertain. Tabitha brought her harp, playing a gentle but impressive tune for the group. Maria hummed along quietly while knitting. Nesta had a sketchbook on her lap, halfheartedly drawing an ashwood tree, more just scribbling down thoughts on how many trees they could plant in next year, or if they could have the new tenants grow them as part of their leases. 

Elain had brought embroidery with her, something she was trying to improve on, but had hardly picked it up. She just kept asking question after question about the ashwood. 

“How long do they take to reach maturity?” 

“About 20 years.” 

“What type of soil do they need?” 

“Regular soil? I’d have to ask the gardener.” 

“Any pests that you have to watch for?” 

“Not that I know of.” 

“It’s odd that there’s no grass. The trees seem far enough away.” 

“I don’t know. I don’t think there’s ever been grass in the grove.” 

Graysen was answering her every question dutifully, and promising to ask their gardener every question he did not know the answer to, which was most of them. If he was annoyed by the constant barrage of questions, he hid it well. In fact, from Nesta’s eyes, it seemed as though he was saddened when Elain stopped pestering him with questions. When she bent down to inspect the soil, quietly examining it, he sat behind her waiting. When she didn’t speak to him for a couple minutes, he leaned forward and started asking her a question. 

“What is it you’re looking at?” 

“The soil, see how compact it is? So dry too. No worm holes, low nitrogen I think,Yet these trees are so full…” she was muttering to herself. Nesta was half-paying attention, fully trusting Elain to get any details they would need about those trees and later relay it to Darrow. But Graysen, he looked in a daze. He didn’t understand what she was saying at all, but it didn’t matter. He was content to simply listen to her voice, watch her speak. 

She let her thoughts drift, fully bored with Elain’s subject. Nesta looked up at the trees around them, and realized something rather remarkable. She felt… safe. Here, surrounded by ash trees, she felt at peace. There was clearly something off about them, how they all looked the same, how they all all turned so early in autumn, how nothing seemed to grow near any of the trees. But as she leaned back slightly against one of the trunks, she felt as though she belonged. This tree was her kin. My kin? Who am I, Elain? 

“Well I’m bored!” Tabitha announced, rousing Nesta from her thoughts. “This is boring.” she pouted in the direction of Graysen and Elain. “Let’s play a game.” 

“What did you have in mind?” Graysen asked. 

“Hide and Seek.” 

“Aren’t we a little old for that?” Maria complained, but she’d no doubt play if the group did. 

“Oh, I haven’t played that since I was a girl!” Elain sounded genuinely excited.

“I’m up for a little childish fun.” Graysen consented. 

“What about Mistress Killjoy?” Tabitha challenged.

Maybe it was the trees, or Elain’s joy, or the crisp early fall air, but Nesta sighed and said, “Why not?” 

A quick round of rock-paper-scissors decided who would be “it”, with Graysen getting the short end of the stick. He turned against a tree and began counting down from 100. Everyone else scattered. When she was a girl, Nesta loved this game. She played it with the servants’ children and Elain all the time, and she was good at it. She would take off like a bat out of hell the minute someone started counting and climb up trees or crawl under tables. Once she covered herself in mud, scrambled up the side of the house and let herself blend into the roof. She won that round. The spanking from the governess was a small price to pay for those hours on that roof. 

But now... Nesta was older, an adult. She walked slowly, deliberately, settling behind a tree in the opposite direction of others.She was content with her hiding place. Graysen would surely go in the opposite direction, where the others were making noise. This was fine. Boring, but good enough. 

She sighed and looked at the tree, it was perfect for climbing. The child in her, one she hadn’t heard from in years, wanted to see if she could still do it. It would be a simple path up. Why not?  She gripped a low hanging branch with her right hand and placed a foot on a tree knot, and tried to pull herself up. It took more strength than she remembered, she added her left hand as well, barely able to get her ass up. But she did get up. And since she was already off the ground, why not go higher? White-knuckling the branch, she moved her left foot to the next knot and thrust her left hand to the next branch. She added her right hand and hauled herself up higher. It was hard, harder than she remembered. She could hear the 10 year old Nesta mocking her now. 

C’mon! I’d be up that tree in ten seconds with a book in my hands. 

She laughed to herself and rose another foot. Why had she stopped doing this? She loved it. She loved the challenge of finding a path up. She loved sitting above the world for hours on end, reading her books, able to see everyone but no one able to see her. No one but -

“ Nesta !” 

It might have been Elain’s voice calling for her, but it was their mother’s voice she heard. Her foot slipped, her grip wasn’t as strong as it used to be. 

Ladies DO NOT CLIMB TREES!!

Nesta fell out of the tree, right on top of her sister, now joined with Graysen, Tabitha, and Maria. Elain tried to grab onto Nesta as she fell into her, but certainly wasn’t strong enough to truly catch a full grown woman falling from 15 ft in the air. She heard a snap as Elain’s ankle twisted under them and they fell to the ground proper. 

Elain’s screech of pain was terrifying. Nesta clambored off her, muttering apologies, and asking where the pain was. Desperate to make it ok, to take back the pain. Tears were forming in her eyes, but Elain tried to keep her wits about her.

“It’s fine, it’s ok. It’s just my ankle, it’s fine.” 

Nesta immediately went to her right ankle, where it was already starting to swell. Before she could start examining it properly Graysen lifted Elain clear off the ground. 

“There’s- we’ve a doctor inside,” he explained, already starting to walk towards the house. Nesta followed along without question. The Rutlands, concerned and a little confused, followed as well after a beat. 

As soon as they made it through the backdoor, Graysen called for the doctor. One of the soldiers nodded and ran off, another offered to fetch their fathers. He brought them to a parlor and set Elain gingerly on a couch. He touched her face gently, asking if she was ok, and informing her the ankle would need to be elevated. When Elain nodded, he backed away to her feet and lifted the injured foot onto a pillow. She winced, but kept her cool about her. 

“Elain, I’m so so-” 

“Where is the patient?” the doctor called, striding into the room. Another old man, with snow-white hair and deep wrinkles, but all similarities to Nolan ended there. This man was dark and soft where Nolan was pale and hard. His skin was so dark it was startling at first, as though the night was moving, but the clear beauty of it was comforting somehow. His voice was deep but assuring. This man felt like a healer. 

He began examining the Elain’s ankle as Graysen explained what happened. Upon hearing the story, he turned his head to Nesta. 

“You fell from a tree?” he asked. 

“Yes, but-” 

“You fell from a tree?” her father interrupted, rushing into the room with Nolan and Mr. Rutland behind him. 

“Yes, but I’m fine,” Nesta finished, turning back to Elain with more apologies in her eyes. “Elain broke my fall.” 

“What were you doing up a tree?” Mr. Rutland asked. 

“We were playing a game, papa,” Maria answered. The Rutland girls filled in the newcomers to the events while the doctor went back to examining his patient. Nesta watched intently as he flitted about her ankle. Her father came up next to her. 

“Is she alright?” he asked the doctor. 

“She will be, it appears to just be a broken ankle. I can set it and she will need to keep off it for a few weeks. But she’s young. It will heal.” 

Three of them - Nesta, her father, and Graysen - all breathed a sigh of relief. Elain was busy telling them that it was nothing and they needn’t have been worried in the first place. It didn’t stop any of them from fussing over her the entire time the doctor was setting her ankle. It was a toss up who was most worried when Elain winced with pain during the procedure. Each of them trying to comfort her or question the doctor or even flat out stop him from hurting them more. 

“Out! All of you!” 

They were thrown back into the hall, where they continued to pace back and forth. Nolan shook his head at them, assuring them that he kept the best doctor he’d ever met, and that it was just a broken ankle, she was fine. But they kept worrying anyway, waiting for the doctor to open the door and let them back in. The Rutlands took this opportunity to take their leave, seeing no more reason to stay. Neither Graysen nor Nesta gave them much of a good-bye, each too busy worrying about the invalid. 

As soon as they were allowed back in, they ran to her, asking if she needed anything. She assured them, again, that she was fine and they needn’t worry so much. With her ankle wrapped and her wincing finally stopped, they all relaxed as well. Graysen reached her hand and gave it a squeeze. 

“I’m glad you’re alright,” he said. Her answering blush was noted by everyone in the room. 

“Th-thank you,” she said. And then, without much warning she broke into uncontrollable giggles. “I’m sorry, I’m not, it’s just… your face... when Nesta came out of the tree.”  Graysen held her gaze and joined her in laughter. 

“My face? I’ll never forget the look you had,” he answered. 

Suddenly everyone in the room was blushing. 

With the help of some of the soldiers, they got Elain into their carriage and were on their way home. Graysen tried to insist they stay, but when the doctor said she was safe to move, he lost any argument to keep her there. 

Back home, Connor and Darrow managed to get her down and bring her to her rooms. Mrs. Laurent immediately came in to check on her, getting her settled and fetching anything she could possibly need. With the drama of the day finally done, and Elain well taken care of, Nesta walked back to her suites. Her dress was filthy and she really needed to change. But her father accompanied her, and spoke to her just outside the door. 

“So you’re climbing trees again?” he asked. Nesta couldn’t tell what his tone was, but she didn’t really want to spend much time deciphering it. 

“I’m not,” she answered, entering her room and closing the door in his face. It took a minute, but she eventually heard his footsteps walk away. 

_

Nesta had Mrs. Laurent bring dinner to Elain’s room. It wasn’t entirely unusual for the family to eat separately or outside of the dining room when there were no guests. Given Elain’s current condition, no one was surprised for Nesta to make the request. 

They sat silently while they ate, quietly enjoying their chicken and dumplings  Elain kept idly looking away, smiling to herself, and blushing. Sometimes a small giggle would break through. Giddy, the girl was giddy, and it was thoroughly untenable. 

“Cards?” Nesta asked, putting her bowl on the floor. Elain nodded and moved her empty bowl to the night stand, freeing up the dinner tray she had in her lap. . Nesta grabbed a deck of cards from Elain’s desk and dealt them a hand. She glanced up from organizing her hand. “So Graysen, huh?” 

“Is it that obvious?” Elain responded with a level of innocence that would have seemed fake to anyone who didn’t know her. She drew a card, sorting it into her hand, and discarding another. 

“Only to people with eyes.” Nesta drew her card. Oh, 3 of a kind. She placed them on a tray.

“I don’t know what it is about him, he just… I just,” her hands clutched the nightgown over her stomach. 

“Butterflies?” Nesta discarded. 

“Yeah,” she sighed. Elain picked up the card from the discard pile, arranging it into her hand. 

“I’m familiar with the feeling,” Nesta couldn’t not smile at Elain. She was in love, happily, with a man who almost definitely felt the same. 

“Tomas?” Elain cocked her head to the side, as she discarded. Nesta drew her card as she responded. 

“No, not Tomas,” there was a sadness in her tone, a darkness, Elain knew better than to press for more. Nesta never told her about how that ended. She never told anyone about it, even with Clare… Clare knew. She knew what he was and knew Nesta enough to guess the truth. “It’s your turn, by the way.” Elain gave a little oh and drew a card. “Tell me about him,” Nesta ordered, pushing the darker thoughts farther away. 

“I don’t know. When I saw him, it just clicked.  I mean, he’s handsome, but it’s more than that. Something about his manners just struck me. He’s so gentle, you know? He’s so big, with all that muscle,” she turned a deeper shade of red, “You saw how easily he picked me up. But he’s still so kind. Even with a father like that, he’s still kind.” 

“So he’s pretty and kind?” 

“Well I don’t know him that well yet, but I want to.” She lifted her cards to hide her face. “I want to know him more.” Oh? Oohhh . “I’ve never wanted to know anyone before.” 

No, she wouldn’t really have had the opportunity to meet anyone worth knowing. Nesta could leave it at that, but what kind of sister would she be? 

“What more do you want to know? His birthday?” she asked. 

“Nesta! You know what I mean!” 

“Do I? Know it?” 

“Nesta!” she threw a pillow at her as Nesta snickered and batted it away. 

“I might get it if you just said Fuck like a big girl.” 

“Nestaaa!!” she dragged out the last syllable as she tossed another pillow at her sister. Nesta just laughed and drew a card. “Hey! It’s still my turn!” 

Nesta stayed with Elain for most of the evening, playing cards and chatting about the younger sister’s new love life. There really wasn’t much to tell Nesta, since she witnessed most of it. But it was obvious Elain was smitten. 

That night, as Nesta lay in bed, she considered it.  He was kind enough, interested enough in her to sit through her lecture on dirt, for Wall’s sake. Nesta wasn’t terribly fond of this estate or Old Man Nolan. But who knows what was going on above the Wall now, this estate might prove useful for protection. Nolan was old. He’d probably die soon anyway. 

There had certainly been matches out there with less of a courtship, especially considering that the only factor Nolan was looking for was a large dowry. Elain certainly had that, Nesta had made sure of it. But was that a good idea? Currently, their relationship was all attraction and assumption, better to give them time to really know each other. 

Nesta stumbled on that thought. Know as a euphemism, fuckin’ hell.  She let out a small laugh. 

Nesta had never been so innocent as that, thanks in large part to a raunchy novel she’d read when she was probably too young to be reading such things. Graysen certainly was the family-friendly, watered down version of the knight in that book. 

The knight in the book was tall and well muscled, but with brown eyes and longer hair. He was tanned, from being outside, and had seen real battle - not just trained, experienced. The book had taken great pains to describe his hands, his long, calloused fingers. It struck her as odd at first, none of her other romance stories bothered with the hero’s hands . 

But then came the daring rescue, and the reprieve between conflicts, and the pledge. A staple of the genre, for the knight to kneel before his lady and pledge to fight for her always. But this knight, he didn’t just pledge with his words. He made his pledge with his hands, his fingers, his lips, his tongue, and his manhood. 

A familiar tingle came her finger tips, to her stomach and between her thighs. It had been… a while. But she pictured that knight from her earliest fantasies. Running his hands over his lady’s, over her body. Kissing his way down from her neck to her collarbone, to her breasts. Murmuring his pledge into her skin, over and over. 

“I will protect this, and this. I will fight for you, my love, I will fight for every precious inch of you that I love so much.” 

Nesta’s hand traveled south, each word she recalled from a scene she read so often she committed to it memory. How the young lady shook under his hand, under his tongue. How he was gentle with her until she urged him not to be, how she reached ecstasy knowing she was entirely safe, protected, and loved in his arms. 

It was a childish fantasy. 

And a confusing one.  Blending and warping constantly, flipping perspective. One moment, she was the lady getting the promise from her brave knight, another she was giving the pledge, feeling her Cl- lady quake under her. Protector and protected.  So damn confusing.

But it still worked every time.

Chapter Text

Nesta woke up at dawn as she always did. She looked out at the sunrise as she went through her morning stretches and made a mental to-do list for her day. When a knock rapped on her door, she called for Jenny to enter. In walked her maid, holding only a tray of tea. Odd, she normally brought a full cart with breakfast.

“Does Mrs. Cowell have another kidney stone?” 

“No, she’s fine. But your father has requested you join him for breakfast in Elain’s room.” Jenny poured her a cup, “I figured you’d like your morning tea before seeing him.” She flashed a knowing smile as she passed Nesta the cup. 

“Thank you.” Nesta took a sip, enjoying the strong balck tea. “I’m surprised he’s up already.”

“He might be planning on leaving today. He stopped by Connor’s room last night and asked him to have a carriage prepped this morning.” Oh, did he walk in on you, too?  

Nesta finished her tea and dressed. She knew he was planning on leaving soon, but this soon? She headed over to Elain’s room and knocked on the door. 

“Come in,” Elain called. Nesta walked in to find both her father already in the room. Elain had her meal on a bed-tray. Their father was sitting in a chair next to her. He was fully dressed, complete with his heavy traveler’s cloak. 

“So you are leaving today.” 

“Nesta,” he started, but Elain cut him off. 

“Already?” she asked. 

“I was going to tell you yesterday after Nolan and I decided on it. I already have a shipment leaving for Neva at the week’s end. I can accompany it without seeming suspicious.” 

“But it’s so soon and you’ll be gone so long,” Elain complained. He reached over and cupped her face with a sad smile. 

“I know my dear. I was going to offer to bring you with me,” he looked back at Nesta, “both of you.” She scoffed but he kept going, turning back to the daughter that loved him. “But Elain, dearest, you can’t travel with that ankle.” She looked at her foot. It was wrapped in bandages and even more swollen than the day before. She knew she was bedridden for 2 weeks, at least, and nodded. 

“So this is good-bye then,” Nesta was calm, unsure if she was happy he was leaving or pissed that it was hurting Elain. He turned his head to his eldest. 

“For now, yes.” 

Elain started crying, and he went back to comforting her. Nesta stayed in the corner of the room, letting them have their goodbye. She never understood their relationship, how Elain just forgave him for everything. She wanted to yell at her sister to save her tears, that he wasn’t worth missing, but it wouldn’t make a difference. It would only serve to make Elain more upset. 

They took their time with breakfast, both of them drawing out this already excruciatingly long goodbye. Nesta wanted to leave, wanted to go about her day, wanted to be anywhere but here. But everytime she made to leave, Elain would direct a question or comment to her, and draw her back into the conversation, pinning her place. 

By 8, there was a knock at the door. Lionel’s voice came through. “My lord, you told me to get you at 8.” Their father nodded, and made his final goodbyes to his youngest daughter, giving her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, promising to write often. He walked over to Nesta, she worried for a moment he was going to try to hug her as well, but he just asked her to accompany him to the front door. 

When they had begun their walk down to the front of the house, he spoke to her again. 

“You can come with me, you know. See Neva, the continent.” He didn’t meet her eye, just staring nervously at his hands as he played with his gloves. 

“You’re seriously suggesting I abandon Elain?” 

“I’m offering you a chance to see the world,” he did sound frustrated, actually working up the courage to face Nesta. But once he saw her expression, her punishing glare so much like her mother’s, he shrunk away again. “Elain can meet us in a few weeks,” he mumbled. 

“No, she can’t. The waters won’t be safe to sail on in a few weeks. You know that.” 

“I just, I just wanted to make the offer.” An empty one.

“You knew I wouldn’t accept it.” Coward. 

“I did,” he was quiet, keeping his head down. They made it to the open front door. Connor was waiting with a carriage, already loaded with trunks. Her father turned to face her. He paused for a minute, studying her face, looking like he was about to cry. He started to say something but stopped himself, closing his eyes for a moment before finally saying, “Take care of Elain.” 

“I don’t need you to tell me that.” Nesta turned on her heel and headed back into the house, pissed that he wasted her morning. 

Yesterday was a wash and the morning was already halfway gone. Too much to do. Not enough time. With Connor gone, Nesta had to ask an assistant stable hand to saddle her horse. They were mid harvest and had already discovered that they had grossly miscalculated how much space they would need to store wheat. She had to quickly send a request to the Hales to get a new storehouse up. It would have been cheaper to expand the current one, but they couldn’t have the already harvested wheat exposed to the elements. So a second house it was. Luckily she had stopped her father from buying the wood, directing him to use their new mill. 

Next summer, we’re signing tenant farmers. Let them manage their own farms on the land.  Spare her this headache. 

Isaac greeted her as she trotted up. Progress was going, but slower than she’d like. Another problem with using hired hands and not residents. Hired hands didn’t care about anything other than what they were paid for. Tenants would have the same sense of urgency she had, the same need to save the harvest. They would also have families to help her nag them into working. 

“You’re going to give yourself an ulcer,” Isaac joked.

“You don’t have 10 acres of wheat with nowhere to go,” she retorted. 

“No, I don’t. But I do have a pregnant wife who likes it when I’m home at a reasonable hour.” 

“Get it done in two days and you can take a sheep. I’m sure Rebecca would prefer mutton to your presence.” 

“You’re serious?” 

“Finish in one day and you can have a lamb.” 

Nesta wasn’t particularly happy with giving up an extra sheep, but it wasn’t like they were making her much money at the moment. Bastards couldn’t be shorn until spring. Besides, the Hales were always good people, she wanted them to take up her offer of a lease next year. Maintaining good relations now was just smart business. 

After checking on the farm would be meeting with Lionel, getting an update on whatever was going on in the house and checking on the correspondence. Society invites she could send off to Elain to answer as she saw fit. But inquiries and invoices would go to her. She also needed to look over the property records today, see if there is any precedent of leasing on the property, specifically agreements she could look over and rip off. And she wanted to spend some time with Elain today, keep her from going stir crazy. 

All that came to a crashing halt when she trotted up to the stables to see a new horse tethered to its outer side. A guest had arrived. Worse -  a surprise guest. Nesta dismounted and handed off the reins to a stablehand and before walking back up to the house. One of her butlers greeted her by the side door. 

“Excuse me, milady, Lord Graysen is waiting in the parlor.” Great, lover boy is here. 

“I’ll be in a minute, thank you Henry.” he bowed and went back to inform the guest. Nesta paused by a mirror to check her appearance. Her face was flush from the ride, but her hair was still securely braided up. Her dress was a little casual for guests, but at least it wasn’t muddy. It would have to do.

Graysen in the parlor, pacing back and forth behind the couch, inspecting various chachkies on the side table. He nearly dropped one when Nesta entered the room. His greeting was equally hurried and sloppy. She motioned for him to sit on the couch and took a seat in one of the chairs. 

“Hello Graysen, I didn’t know we were expecting you today.” 

“You weren’t. I was uh, going for a ride, and thought to check in on Elain,” he twisted the gloves on his hands nervously. Nesta wanted to roll her eyes. 

“She’s recovering in her room. Unfortunately not in a state to receive guests.” Go home, I’m busy. 

“Of course. It’s good that she’s recovering,” he nodded, “I heard your father was leaving today.” 

“Yes, he left this morning.” 

“Oh.” he deflated a bit. They sat in silence. Nesta was hoping he’d say something before she’d be forced to offer him tea. No such luck, unfortunately. 

“Would you like some tea?” 

“No, I’m good, thank you.” Well thank fuck for that. 

“Then is there anything else I can get you?” 

“Could you- could you tell her I stopped by?” he asked. Oh for the love of - 

“I will,” Nesta nodded. “If there’s nothing else…” she started to stand, hoping he would take the message and move. 

“Actually!” He snapped his head up. “May I borrow some parchment and ink?” 

“Of course.” Nesta rung a bell and requested writing equipment. She then proceeded to sit there in silence for 30 minutes watching Graysen write her sister a note. It took all of her self control not to poke fun at him, to remark every time paused to consider his next word.  Each pen stroke was so slow, so precise. He’d look up occasionally, see her staring, blush and look back to his work. 

Finally, finally, he was done and handed her the note, asking her to give it to Elain. She agreed, taking it and walking him to the door. They made their goodbyes, but she did stop him as he walked over to his horse. 

“Graysen.” 

“Yes?” 

“Next time write the note at your own home.” 

Elain was torn between being upset at Nesta for not telling her Graysen was there so she could dress and go downstairs and being overjoyed that he wrote her a letter. She did not tell Nesta the specific contents of the letter, but she blushed happily the entire time she read it before shooing her out of the room to write her response. 

Nesta could already tell this was  going to be her personal Hell. That she was going to have to moderate their entire courtship for however long it lasted. Polite blushing and stifled giggles. It was almost enough to make her wish her father had remained to deal with it. Almost. 

Nesta had just sat down at her father’s desk in the study to start looking through the mail when Henry once again came to interrupt her. 

“Miss Tabitha Rutland is waiting for you, milady.” 

For Fucks Sake. 

She went back to the parlor to meet with Tabitha. 

“Tabitha, are you here to check on Elain as well?” Nesta hoped the answer was yes, that she could send Tabitha up to Elain’s room for a quick hello and excuse herself back to work.

“No, I’m here to see you actually. Would you take a turn with me in the garden?” Nesta was surprised enough with the request that she actually agreed. They walked out the maze of hedges and flower beds Elain and Darrow painstakingly maintained. Tabitha took Nesta’s arm and clung to her like they were the best of friends. Nesta tried to pull away but Tabitha held firm, determined to keep up the position. 

“I’m here to warn you about the Edessas.” 

“So you’re here to get Elain to back off.”

“No, well, kind of. But it’s not what you think.” It’s not you defending the only respectable marriage offer coming your way? “Graysen didn’t want to marry long before he met Elain,” she waved her free hand in the air dismissively. “His father might not care about my past, but he never got past George.” Nesta was genuinely taken aback.

“George is…” Nesta looked hesitantly to Tabitha’s belly. Tabitha nodded, her hand unconsciously covering her stomach. 

“Look, I may think you’re a stuck up bitch, and you might think I’m selfish slut, but we can both agree Elain is neither of those things. She’s a genuine sweetheart, and I don’t want to see her get hurt. And I know you don’t either.” Everything about her tone, about her opening with an acknowledgement of her family;s biggest scandal in generations, was a plea for trust. Nesta decided it wouldn’t hurt to at least hear the girl out. 

“Fine then, what is it you want to tell me?” 

“Everyone knows Nolan is a mean, obsessive old cunt who only cares about his faerie crusade. The kind of obsessive that would marry his son off to a frog as long the dowry was big enough. But what they don’t know is that Graysen would happily marry the frog for the cause. He might be polite about it, but he is his father’s son. He is as dedicated to the crusade as the elder.” 

“So he hates the fae, who doesn’t?” Tabitha sighed. 

“It’s not just that he hates the fae, he hates them enough that if it came down to it, he will marry me for my dowry, despite his misgivings about my past and hisi general dislike for my entire being. He’s a good soldier, Nesta, and he’s one on a clock. He can’t marry a girl without a dowry-” 

“Elain has a dowry, a large one.” Nesta was probably too defensive.

“But she doesn’t have access to it. Not with your father in Neva,” Tabitha countered.  Nesta considered it, while Tabitha pushed on. “And even if he was willing to promise himself to Elain without the money, Nolan would disown him, and that would destroy Elain.” 

Nesta thought about it, by all accounts, from her interactions with both Nolan and Graysen, Tabitha was right. But it still didn’t sit right, something still felt off about Tabitha’s warning. 

“So what, I get Elain to back off and you and Nolan convince him to marry you?” 

“I don’t want to marry him anymore than he wants to marry me. Honestly, I’d prefer Elain take him, they seem to actually like each other.”

“Why not just turn him down, then? Surely there are other men who will take a large dowry regardless of your past.” 

She shook her head. “I’ve disgraced my family enough. If they formally arrange a marriage for me, I will accept it.” Whoever it is. 

The unspoken words hung in the air like a guillotine. Nesta didn’t begrudge Tabitha her take on the matter. Accepting a proper proposal was her only way to restore her family’s honor. It’s not that different from Nesta resolving to marry Tomas to make sure there was food on the table. When you have nothing left but a family you care about, you’ll do what it takes. Make the responsible decision. Be the lady. 

They walked back to the house in silence. There was nothing else to say on the matter. Tabitha had said her piece, and now it was up to Nesta to do what she would with it. Nesta walked Tabitha directly to her carriage, not even bothering to pretend like she’d invite her back inside. Nesta spoke again as she helped Tabitha up. 

“I still think you’re a selfish slut.”

“You’d be right,” she smiled down at Nesta. “And I still think you’re a heinous bitch.” 

“I am.” 

Tabitha laughed as she pulled away. 

Nesta went back to her  father's study to finally sit down and review the correspondence and daily paperwork of the estate. There were several invitations addressed to the family she sorted into the “Elain” pile, a couple of invoices she sorted into an “accounting” pile, and an offer to her father from the Koffields to discuss potential “family alliances”. Nesta threw that last piece into the “trash” pile. 

She gathered the accounting pile closer and started digging around in the desk for the ledgers. She pulled out the ledger, surprised to see it thicker than the last time she saw it. Opening the cover, she found a copy of the deed to the house and all its surrounding properties lying within along with several other documents.

A deed that was in her name. 

She was shaking as she paged through the documents. The house, the surrounding lands, the Beddor land, and several associated accounts were all in her name. And on her father’s business accounts, she was named the successor. It was to all go to her. All of their vast wealth was hers by right and law. 

A note was attached to the packet. 

To the Lady of the house. 

Nesta closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair. Her chair. She looked around at the study, not her father's study, hers. He gave her all of it. He left her everything, knowing full well he might not be welcome back to this house if he had no legal claim to it. Knowing that she would take care of it better than he could. 

Lady of the house. Her house. 

She could approve Elain’s betrothal to anyone she damn well wished, now. Nesta looked up at the ceiling, sighing. Playing her conversation with Tabitha over and over. He’d happily marry that frog. 

She couldn’t decide if the dedication made him better or worse. Elain… Elain deserved love. She’d die without it in her marriage. But love alone isn’t enough. Their father loved their mother, it didn’t stop him from letting her die. He was weak. Elain deserved someone strong, someone who was dedicated, who would do whatever it takes. 

The type of person who’d marry a frog to defend his people. 

But on the other hand, Elain needed someone that was dedicated to her, not to some crusade. Was the strength of his commitment the mark of a strong man who would protect Elain as much? Or was it a sign that she would always be second to the cause? 

And what about Feyre? 

Feyre was dead, probably. If she wasn’t actually in the ground, then she was dead to them, anyway. Feyre chose her High Lord. Nesta told her never to come back. She wasn’t dumb, she knew Nesta meant it. Feyre wasn’t a factor here, not really. Though her money was. Elain would have to hide the origin of their wealth. 

Or would she? 

The broad strokes, Feyre was taken by a High Lord, they were glamored and paid off, Feyre was dead in Prythian, all of that tied them to the fae, but it didn’t necessarily make them sympathisers. They certainly didn’t see themselves as sympathizers. Nesta hated them as much as she ever did. Elain did, too. 

So it’s all a question of their love, then, wasn’t it? Does he love her enough to see that? Does she love him enough to risk being second fiddle to a crusade? Does Nesta love her enough to let her make the decision for herself?

Yes, I do. Even if it means I will die here alone. 

Chapter Text

Elain had never been the type to sit still. 

As kids Elain was always the one insisting that they play a new game, run around outside, explore the estate, whatever as long as it was either outside or with a large group of people. Feyre was content to hold up in her room and paint. Nesta enjoyed running around as much as the next kid, but when Elain organized every kid in a mile radius to play, Nesta soon discovered she preferred to sit above them all in a tree with a book. 

Even after their governess and mother began scolding them for running around outside, it didn’t bother Elain. Running around outside and laughing simply turned into standing around outside and laughing. As long as she got to do something with other people, she was happy.

So two weeks stuck in her room, alone, was Elain’s own personal torment. She was a moody, restless ball of energy, striking out at anyone who dared to enter her room. Nesta had to threaten the jobs of the entire staff to keep them from giving in to Elain’s demands for “just a short walk”. 

After three days on bedrest, Elain had managed to commandeer 4 members of the staff for no less than 6 hours, starting with Darrow (summoned to give an update on the garden), then  Victoria (sent to get Darrow), then Rachel (sent to get Victoria), then Mrs. Laurent (sent to fetch both her girls). After that, Nesta had sat down with Lionel and Laurent to work out a schedule for tending to Elain. Nesta herself spent most evenings with her sister, staying up too late playing cards or chess or simply chatting. 

Even with the constant rotation of company, she was still restless. Sitting still just didn’t fit her. The only time she seemed content where she was was when she was reading or responding to Graysen’s letters. And did that boy write letters. The two of them would trade upwards of 6 letters a day, containing goodness knows what. 

Nesta did ask her what was in them, if they were appropriate, only to get a blushing denial of anything dirty. “It’s just everyday things! You know, thoughts and jokes and stuff!” she said. Nesta rolled her eyes. Whatever Elain would or would not admit to, it was clear that she and Graysen were smitten with each other. Nesta didn’t tell Elain about the deeds, or that she was technically Lady of the house, or about Tabitha’s warning. She’d read enough romances to know that attempting to drive a couple apart would only pull them closer together. Also Elain looked happy, and it really wasn’t her place to try and dictate what or who should make her feel that way. Perhaps it was the romantic in Nesta, the one who never got to properly have a go at it with Clare, but she wanted to at least give Elain a chance.

So Nesta settled with a simple reminder that Tabitha was angling for Graysen, and say nothing more about potential pitfalls until Elain brought it up. Let the chips fall where they may. Bringing up Tabitha did seem to put a damper on Elain’s excitement, but she continued to write the letters anyway. So obviously the impact wasn’t that big. 

That’s my girl, get what you want.

After two weeks, Elain was cleared to get out of bed and take short walks around the manor, as well as visits to her garden. She couldn’t keep weight on the ankle for long, and it would be another month until she was back up to full, but she would have some freedom again. 

And the first thing she did was invite people over.

Elain invited several friends over for lunch and bridge, Nesta made herself scarce. Ten people at lunch was 8 too many people in her opinion. So she found ways to avoid being around them that day. Let Elain have her fun, it was the least Nesta could do after breaking her damn ankle. No surprise Graysen was one of the invitees. 

Over the next month, Nesta allowed Elain one (1) small gathering a week, with additional daily visits from other people. It was really all she could fucking take. The weather was getting colder, and less and less work needed overseeing on the estate, giving her less excuses to not be present. One month, one month of Elain’s friends’ visits, and then she could go back to going to them . And Nesta could enjoy her house as she liked it - mostly empty except for the servants. 

But she did find one activity that took up a good portion of her day. 

Around noon daily, Nesta would bundle up in warmer cloaks and walk to town - to the Beddor house, and back around the outskirts of her estate. Sometimes Connor, who had returned after a week, or Jenny would accompany her to town on their own errands, but she always found ways to take the majority of the walk alone. She told everyone that the walk was to check-in on their lands, but Elain and Jenny both seemed to understand she just wanted privacy. 

She never stayed long at the Beddor House. In fact, she never made it to the Beddor house. She would get to the point where she should be able to see the house, where once upon a time a roof and worn-white walls would come into view, and she’d stop. Actually getting to the wreckage, seeing the remnants of that home was too much. So when she got there, the roaring in her ears would reach a fever pitch, and she’d turn around and head back, needing the rest of the walk to wrestle her emotions into submission.

Her father bought the land for her, left it in her name. And there was nothing Nesta wanted to do with it. She had thought that seeing it would give her an idea, but she couldn’t bring herself to get close enough. It was probably for the same reason she couldn’t bring herself to get new gowns. Any proof that Clare and her family was actually dead was too much to handle. So she didn’t. 

By the time she made it back to the house, to Elain, she was fully put back together, and any emotions she might have been showing were locked deep down. 

Raining. Damn. 

The storm was coming down something fierce all morning, putting a damper on everyone’s spirits. In celebration of complete rehabilitation, Elain had invited 15 people over, and they were all going to go to town together, get sweet treats, buy ribbon, and come back to the house for a bonfire. Nesta had meticulously planned her day around avoiding them when she could. She’d walk with them part of the way to town as a member of the party, and then split off before they got to the city center. Nesta would then do her normal walk around the estate, spend the day catching up with the Hales (who had agreed to become tenants), and then hide in the study watching the bonfire until everyone left. 

But with the heavy rain, no one would be going on a walk today. The guests arrived in carriages, but had nowhere to go. Graysen had arrived first, surprising no one, and immediately became a sounding board to Elain’s ideas. Changing the bonfire to a fireplace fire was easy enough, but it was the rest of the activities that stumped them. Until Elain had the bright idea to change to a day-long chess tournament. 16 people would give them the perfect bracket. Only one person would have to sit out. 

Nesta took the out without hesitation and withdrew to the study immediately, not wanting to  be around people. Hiding in the study was a much more appealing way to spend the day, even if she’d have to invent work to do. Redoing the accounts and writing up contracts was infinitely better than being stuck in a room with a bunch of false faced sycophants for 8 hours. 

She had tea and lunch brought to her in the study and was completing yet another profit analysis on their potential wool production when Graysen knocked on the door. She called him in. Tall, but not sure what to do with his height, he stood awkwardly in the doorway, holing a plate of the treats Elain had ordered prepped for the day. 

“Oh, I was going to bring you a snack, but it looks like you already got one,” he jerked his head in the direction of Nesta’s half-eaten lunch. 

“Yes, I had Jenny bring me food.” 

Graysen was looking around the room, taking in the shelves and shelves of books. “Wow, did you buy all these this year?” he asked. 

“No, they came with the house. The previous owner didn’t see fit to take any of them.”

“Really? I can’t say I’m much of a reader, but that does seem like a waste.” 

“Neither was the previous owner, they’re mostly empty.” Graysen’s eyes got wide and he pulled out a book, only for the entire shelf of “books” to go with it. In his shock, he nearly dropped the plate of food. He gingerly set down the plate on an end table and examined the trick. The books were just cover shells, bound together and stuffed onto shelves, all for appearances. Nesta explained,  “I don’t think the owner could’ve afforded this many books, anyway.”

“Do you? Read much, that is?” He asked, replacing the books. Nesta watched him with a frown.

“Why are you hiding in here?” she asked, ignoring his question.

“Ah, I just… need a break,” he motioned in the direction of the parlor. Nesta nodded, understanding the wish to be alone, but a little uncertain about what that meant for Elain and Graysen.

“Elain likes people, events like this,” Nesta said, cocking her head to the side. 

“I know, it’s one of the things that will make her a great Lady,” he said with a small smile, though there was a twinge of apprehension in it. “And I’m glad she invited me, even if the plans changed. Though I’m beginning to suspect she planned it, she’s really kicking everyone’s ass - oh!” He covered his mouth at his swear. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t worry about it. Elain kicks everyone’s ass at chess,” Nesta smiled to herself. It was her uncanny ability. Elain simply didn’t lose at chess, or really any game. Even when she would play adults as a kid. It was like she knew whatever her opponent was going to do. When asked about it, she only answered that everyone has tells and patterns - you just gotta look for them. 

He smiled, “Noted,” and looked nervously around the room. “When is - uh, have you heard from your father recently?” He started playing with his hands. 

“He writes about once a week, but it takes a month to get here so responses are hard. I imagine it will only get harder now that we are approaching winter. 

“Ah,” he deflated a bit. 

“What are you going to do? When you inherit?” Nesta clasped her hands under her chin, leaning forward over the desk. 

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

“Well, will you continue your father’s work or do you have your own passions?” Graysen considered the question, and her body language. He might not be one for books, but he was able to read this situation just fine. He took a seat in one of the chairs. 

“My aunt was killed by a fae while providing aide to a small outpost near the Wall when they were young. Father’s work, I know people think he is obsessed, but it is important, probably the most important work any man could do.” Graysen’s voice was steady and strong, more sure than Nesta had ever heard it. “But his methods… my father’s attitude doesn’t win him allies or support. He looks down on the softer skills, reading people, conversing with them, gaining their trust with words. He prefers action, but you can’t get the number of allies we need to fight the fae if you have to prove yourself with action to each of them. There’s just not enough time.” Clearly, look how old the bugger is. “But I am also… not skilled at it. Father was already a recluse by the time I was born, and I never got to hone it. That’s why a man like your father is so valuable, he can talk to people.” 

“And that’s why Elain would make you a good lady?” Nesta wasn’t in the mood for subtlety here. Not with this. Graysen straightened. 

“Elain has the skills I lack, but that’s not why I…” he took a breath in. “Elain is the most lovely woman I have ever met. She is good and beautiful, but more than that... She is like sunshine,” he was blushing deeply, stammering to express himself. Compared to how resolutely he described his mission, this was genuine. He was in love with her. 

“So the dowry and the social skills are just an added bonus then?” she asked. 

“The dowry is nice, but it’s a one time thing,” he snapped his eye’s to Nesta’s. “It’s Elain’s tact that helps more, even if my father doesn’t see it. That she has both only proves to me it was fate - To not only find my perfect wife, but to love her as well.”

Nesta sat back in her chair, wearing a smug grin. Well alright then. 

“You should say that when you propose.” 

Giving her blessing to Graysen was the worst decision Nesta ever made. Mostly because she didn’t get the chance to tell him that it was only her blessing he needed before Tabitha came looking for him. She debated calling on the Edessa’s again, explaining the situation, but it was clear Graysen would never propose to Tabitha, and would whisk Elain away as soon as he got the blessing he thought he needed. Not telling him meant she could have Elain for just a little while longer. 

Oh, but the waiting was painful, the apprehension worse still. Every time Elain came back from an outing, she might be bringing news of her engagement. Three months. Three months of eye twitching, heart stopping apprehension as nothing happened. Elain and Graysen continued to see one another, and continued to flirt, but nothing more than what they were already doing. It made focusing on work very hard. 

Also clear from Elain’s stories of outings was that Nolan clearly didn’t know or care where his son’s heart was. He still tried to pair off Tabitha and Graysen. Even though it was more and more clear that Tabitha wasn’t expecting an offer, and had even started politely maneuvering to allow the pair that liked each other to spend time together. 

Then one winter day, when snow was falling soft and prettily, an invite came to them, only them. A request that both Nesta and Elain join the Edessas for lunch and a winter viewing of the trees at their estate. The invite mentioned news of their father that he couldn’t put in their letters, but Nesta knew that was just for Nolan’s benefit. Graysen and Elain had truly started their romance in those trees. This was it. This had to be it. 

She made sure Elain was dressed one of her best winter gowns, lined with fur and adorned with iron buttons. She had Jenny prepare their heavy muffs and cloaks, and wore thick socks in their sturdiest boots. Graysen was undoubtedly going to propose in the ashwood grove, Elain was going to be nice and warm for it. 

But when they arrived, Graysen wasn’t smiling, he seemed sad. Nolan seemed as much a grouch as always, but there was nothing in his manner that betrayed any state of affairs other than what was explicitly in the letter. 

“It’s freezing. We’ll feed you and tell you about your father,” he ordered. Elain and Nesta tried to look to Graysen for any indication of what to expect, but he wouldn’t meet either of their gazes. 

Lunch with the Edessa’s was simple, hardy. No sooner had they been served their stew, did Nolan launch into his update. 

“You’re father will be kept away for longer than originally planned,” he explained. “It seems that he is going to stay behind in Neva and try to convince more merchants of the profitability of supplying this war.”

“How much longer will he be?” Elain asked, genuinely worried. 

“According to his letter, he doesn’t expect to be back until summer at the earliest.” 

Nesta looked to Graysen, then to Nolan. She wasn’t surprised by the delay. He always loved the continent, she wouldn’t be surprised if he chose to stay behind for the weather and business. But from the look on both of their faces, there was more to the letter than they were saying. He wasn’t staying behind just to convince more merchants. He was staying behind because the talks had gone poorly. 

They tried to ask more about it, but Nolan was being intentionally obtuse, assuring them it was just business discussions. Either he or their father didn’t trust them to know the truth. Fine. Lunch was short, shorter than would normally be acceptable, but Nolan had no interest in hosting them longer than he had to. Something he made abundantly clear when he tried to shoo them back to their carriage immediately after they finished eating. Graysen had to intervene, cutting his father off and insisting they go for a stroll in the ashwood grove before leaving. 

They accepted, bundling up and accompanying him out the back door to the grove. The stunningly perfect winter wonderland of a grove. The trees bore no leaves, but each branch was delicately covered in an even later of snow, with icicles dripping from branches and twigs. The light hit it and shined in all directions. With the additional snow falling around them, there were no other words to describe the sight than magical. 

Graysen led them into the grove, smiling as Elain was slack jawed, taking in the beauty around her. Even Nesta couldn’t help but appreciate the view, wanting nothing more than to spend the full day there, despite the cold. Graysen started talking, drawing Elain’s attention, but Nesta’s entire being was with the trees. She fell behind them, eventually stopping altogether to allow them and their conversation to drift off and away. She didn’t want it. She only wanted peace and silence here with the trees. 

A year since she last walked in the snow, led by a mercenary to the Wall. It had spoke to her, teased her, and tested her. It had made her feel so very weak. But these trees, with quiet calm, their gentle power, she felt strong, at peace. The turmoil of emotions she always had shoved down to her ankles- grief, anger, guilt, hatred, worry, sorrow- it was calmed. She wasn’t fighting them, she wasn’t trying to suppress them, she was just at peace. Maybe that’s why she had thought to climb one last time. Feyre’s disapproval, Clare’s anger, her mother’s voice, it was all quiet. She was just Nesta, and she was just standing in a grove of trees, absorbing their peaceful calm.  

Nesta didn’t know how long she stood there, enjoying the embrace of their gentle power when her companions returned, both looking decidedly less at peace. Elain marched up to Nesta and grabbed her hand, pulling her out of the grove and towards the carriage. Graysen wasn’t looking at either of them, he just stalked off in the direction of the house. 

“What the hell happened?” Nesta asked, looking at Elain, noting the tears starting to form in her eyes. Nesta turned her hand to grasp Elain and pull her to a halt. “Elain.” 

“He- he asked me to marry him,” she said looking away. Nesta was shocked. She had expected the proposal, but this was not what she expected to see on her sister’s face while being told Graysen had finally asked. 

“I don’t understand. Isn’t that a good thing?” Elain turned back to Nesta, tears falling. 

“I refused him. Father won’t be back in time to sign over the dowry. Nolan would disown him, I couldn’t…” Her words broke off into sobs, a lace covered hand covering her mouth. Nesta pulled her into a hug, stroking her hair gently. 

“You couldn’t take him away from his father, could you?” She asked. Elain stopped crying and pulled away.

“ What? No. Nolan's awful,” she shook her head. “It’s the grove. We need the ashwood trees.” Nesta was taken aback once again. “Feyre told us to get a grove of ashwood. Even if we… cannot marry,” the words were forced, choked out of her. “We can still get saplings through trade, right?” She searched in Nesta’s eyes, determination plain on her face. “If Graysen is disowned, and I am the cause, we’ll lose the only source of ashwood we have.”

So stupid of me. His resolve was only half the battle. 

Nesta held her sister to her once again, stroking the back of her head gently, breathing her scent, allowing herself one last moment as the most important person in Elain’s life. She sighed and pulled away, looking deep into her sister’s eyes. 

“Do you want to marry him?” 

“Yes, but -” 

“Then let’s go.” 

Nesta led Elain back to the house, back to the sitting room where Nolan and Graysen were waiting. Graysen was standing near the fireplace, his back to them. Nolan was sitting in an oversized chair, reading a paper.

“You’re still here?” Nolan looked up from his paper, clearly past bored with presence. 

“I’d like to discuss an engagement between Graysen and Elain.” Graysen turned to Nesta at her words, his eyes red and blotchy with tears. Nolan rolled his eyes and looked back to his paper.

“I don’t have time for this. Come back with your father’s permission or don’t come back at all.”

Nesta looked down her nose at the old man. “We don’t need it. I am the owner of the estate and executor of all our accounts, including Elain’s dowry. Our father’s consent to the marriage is a symbolic blessing, but it’s my permission she needs.” 

Elain and Graysen gasped. Nolan tried to stare her down, but found an opponent that would not be so easily intimidated. 

“Very well, Lady Archeron,” he stood and swept an arm out towards the door. “Let’s discuss terms in my office.” Nesta nodded once and followed, leaving Elain and Graysen in the sitting room behind them.

Elain was flitting around the house, whistling to herself. Discussions with Nolan took almost no time, and by the time they shook on it and re-entered the sitting room, Graysen and Elain were kissing rather passionately. Nesta would have teased Elain for impropriety, but the pearl and diamond ring on her finger told her that Elain had in fact waited to be engaged first. The rest of the afternoon was spent celebrating with the Edessas - well Graysen. Lots of toasts and lots of goo-goo eyes. They didn’t get home until well after dark, both thoroughly buzzed. 

That Elain wasn’t entirely hungover like Nesta was a miracle on its own. Ten minutes downstairs with Elain was more than Nesta could take. She retreated to her room to flop onto bed and sleep off more of her hangover. It was fine. Taking the morning off was ok today. Everything was perfect. Elain was going to be married, Nesta could ban their father from the residence the day after the ceremony, and then live out her days in peace, running a successful estate. Everything was as it should be. 

Until a whooshing sound caught Nesta’s ear. She snapped her gaze out the window to see four figures appearing in front of her house. Nesta watched as one of them walked up and knocked on the front door. Even from this distance, with the hood and the dark companions, Nesta knew who it was. Who it had to be. 

Feyre’s alive. And she didn’t fucking listen.

Chapter Text

Mrs. Laurent opened the door, and her reaction to Feyre was exactly what was to be expected. Well, in all honesty, Mrs. Laurent was never fond of Feyre. She fully believed almost all the rumors about why Feyre left and had not hidden her judgement of the girl. If she liked Feyre, she might not have noted the lack of carriage or footprints. But she did, and she was afraid. 

Afraid enough to turn to Nesta as she appeared on the stairs, and not Elain. Nesta nodded to her to let their sister and her companions in. No point in kicking up a fuss about this. But it was only Feyre who entered the house, walking with a grace she’d never had before. 

Is she... taller? 

That Mrs. Laurent didn’t hold the door open past Feyre’s entrance told Nesta that her companions were probably glamoured. Just Feyre then, for now. She wasn’t supposed to come back. If she was successful with her lord, then she was supposed to be happy in Prythian. If she was unsuccessful, then she was supposed to be dead. 

That she was here now meant that something very bad was happening - something that would probably soon involve them. Was that roaring in her head her hangover or just existential dread?

Elain led Feyre to the parlor, saying something Nesta couldn’t hear. A boom sounded from outside of the house. She jumped, but no one else seemed to hear it, or notice. She listened for another moment, flapping. There was flapping around the house. Fucking Fae. 

Nesta followed to the parlor where Feyre was warming her hands by the fire. Longer - her fingers were longer. Paler. No calluses. Her face, too, was longer, smoother, paler. She was a ghost of who she once was. This wasn’t Feyre. This was… something else, something that looked like Feyre, but wasn’t. 

But what did everyone else see? What did it want her to see? 

Nesta took a seat on the couch next to Elain, forgoing her usual spot in the chair. If Elain noted the difference, she didn’t show it. But she did grab Nesta’s hand, and together they waited while Lionel poured them tea. Nesta shot him a silent order and he left the room. Whatever this pseudo-Feyre was going to say, it was better the staff didn’t overhear it. 

“Where is Father?” Even her voice was Feyre’s but different. Smoother, more perfect. All of this Feyre was like someone met her sister and decided to remake her without any of the interesting imperfections. 

“In Neva,” Nesta decided a diplomatic answer was in order, a partial truth. “Trading with some merchants from the other half of the world,” but then again, was she supposed to trust this Feyre? Perhaps just a bit more detail, a bit more of what Nesta would say if Feyre was really here when she was supposed to be dead. “And attending a summit about the threat above the wall. A threat I wonder if you’ve come back to warn us about.” 

Elain picked up a teacup, it shook a little bit, but that could have been due to the sobs of relief she was releasing not 10 minutes ago. ” Whatever the reason, Feyre, we are happy to see you. Alive. We thought you were—”

Feyre pulled down the hood of her cloak and everything in Nesta shut down for a moment. Pointed ears. This was fae. And from the way Elain stopped and her tea cup rattled, she saw it, too. This fae wasn’t hiding, wasn’t glamouring. 

“I was dead.” The thing that looked like Feyre said, looking them square in the eye for the first time. Those eyes that looked the same, that were not a too-perfect replica of her sister. Those were the real deal.  “I was dead, and then I was reborn—remade.” As a Fae. Nesta angled her body in front of Elain, trying to find a way to get her out of here. This was worse - worse than an imposter. This was Feyre, remade with all of her human edges sanded off. This would be able to hurt, be able to hurt Elain. This could ruin everything. “I need you to listen.” 

Neither sister moved, unsure of what to say, how to react. Yelling “get out monster” seemed like the wrong reaction, but it was all Nesta could think of, so she said nothing and listened as Feyre explained what happened to her after she left them. 

She described going back to the Spring Court and finding it in ruins, only to learn that there was never a “blight”. There was only Amaranthra, Hybern’s best general, who had taken control of Prythian and the High Lords. Nesta felt her head spin as she remembered the histories she read as a child. Who Hybern was, what he and his generals had done to humanity, to the hero Jurian. Feyre explained that this was that general, and Nesta’s blood ran cold. This was the person who was attacking the human lands for the last 50 years. This was who had taken Clare. 

Nesta shoved down that realization. She couldn’t think about what that meant right now, she couldn’t start hyperventilating when she needed to hear how Tamlin had made up that bullshit about the Treaty to get Feyre to fall in love with it. That it had almost worked, but Feyre wasn’t capable of saying I love you until it was too late. Runs in the family.  

Feyre described going to Amaranthra’s lair Under the Mountain, and agreeing to complete trials. She befriended that other High Lord, Rhysand, making a bargain for its assistance. She traded away a week of her life every month to survive the trials. But the way she talked about it, Feyre wasn’t mad, or even put out. She was… understanding. “Rhys was doing what he could to work against Amarantha by helping me,” she explained. Nesta wanted to throw up. 

Feyre completed the trials, but didn’t survive them. As a gift for saving Prythian, the High Lords each gave her a kernel of power, and it remade her as a Fae. Explains the uncanny Feyre. From there, Feyre seemed to have a harder time explaining her story. She went back to her High Lord, only it wasn’t happy ever after. It wanted to keep her locked in, wanted to make her a proper Lady. Feyre didn’t need to explain more than she did. Of everything she had said, this was the most like Feyre. This was their sister, the wild child, the hunter, the furthest thing from a lady. It was what let her hunt and keep them alive, it was what let her save the High Lord. 

Why the fuck did it want to change that about her? 

When it failed to do so, and before Feyre was forced to turn Tamlin down at the altar (though Nesta wanted to point out that she kinda did anyway), Rhysand showed up again, calling in the bargain. He told her that Amaranthra was not the only threat, and was just the start, the beginning of Hybern’s assault. Hybern is still around? Feyre moved to the Night Court, and agreed to help Rhysand prevent another war. 

This involved something about a cauldron Nesta didn’t really understand and a book that was in the hands of the Queens of the Realm. And that’s when Feyre finally got to the real point. She needed to meet with the Queens in neutral territory. In a place that was in human lands, but whose occupants wouldn’t attempt to kill the Fae on sight. 

Nesta was silent as she processed what Feyre didn’t quite ask, but heavily insinuated. It was Elain who confirmed the request. 

“You—you want other High Fae to come … here. And … and the Queens of the Realm.”

Feyre nodded once and Nesta gave her answer. “Find somewhere else.” It was a huge risk. It put every resident of the estate at risk. And if Graysen or Nolan found out they were allied with the Fae, if they at all caught wind of Feyre’s current species… there would be no marriage. She repeated herself as Feyre turned pleading eyes towards her. 

“Find somewhere else. I don’t want them in my house,” Nesta gave an involuntary side eye to her human sister. “Or near Elain.”

 “Nesta, please. There is nowhere else; nowhere I can go without someone hunting me, crucifying me—” Nesta cut her off before she could make herself sound more pathetic. Feyre always had a knack at making her suffering sound more dire than others, only now it ran hollow. As if any human could catch her in this new fae body.  

“And what of us? When the people around here learn we’re Fae sympathizers? Are we any better than the Children of the Blessed, then? Any standing, any influence we have—gone. And Elain’s wedding—”

“Wedding,” Feyre blurted out. She finally looked at her sister’s ring finger. Didn’t even bother to look at us then? Are we so far below you now? Elain looked at her own ring as well, no doubt considering what this meant for her relationship with Graysen. 

“In five months,” Nesta said. “She’s marrying a lord’s son. And his father has devoted his life to hunting down your kind when they cross the wall.” Your kind, not ours. Not anymore. Nesta steadied herself. “So there will be no meeting here. There will be no Fae in this house.”

Feyre was obviously taken aback. She heard every slap Nesta included in her response.  “Do you include me in that declaration?” She asked quietly. 

Did you forgive Rhysand for sentencing Clare to die? Did you come home to drag your mortal sisters into a war even you couldn’t survive? 

Nesta’s anger was beginning to boil over, white spots were forming on her vision. She was going to lose it. She was going to - 

“Nesta,” Elain said, squeezing her hand. When Nesta didn’t react Elain repeated her name, and squeezed harder, dragging her sister back to herself again. When Nesta turned to look at her, Elain gave her own answer. “If … if we do not help Feyre, there won’t be a wedding. Even Lord Nolan’s battlements and all his men, couldn’t save me from … from them,” Elain searched in Nesta’s eyes, but it was clear she wasn’t convinced, so Elain kept going. “We keep it secret—we send the servants away. With the spring approaching, they’ll be glad to go home.” This is their home! Nesta wanted to scream, but she caged it. “And if Feyre needs to be in and out for meetings, she’ll send word ahead, and we’ll clear them out. Make up excuses to send them on holidays. Father won’t be back until the summer, anyway. No one will know.” Elain put her other hand on Nesta’s knee, squeezing there as well. “Feyre gave and gave—for years. Let us now help her. Help … others.” 

Nesta looked at the ring Elain wore. The happy future Elain was willing to put at risk, the future that the Fae were already seeking to destroy. The future they had just yesterday negotiated into existence. Elain married to a man she loved, Nesta, here with the estate. If they did this, they could lose it all. If they didn’t do this, if the Fae were successful, they would all die anyway. 

“There is no other way,” Feyre said with a shaky voice, full of regret and guilt. She didn’t want to ask this of them. She didn’t like this plan either. This really was the last option. Nesta looked up at her sister’s eyes. Feyre’s eyes. Her own eyes. Their mother’s eyes. It was the only thing about her that was the same. The last shred of her humanity under all that foreign power. 

“We’ll send the servants away tomorrow.” 

“Today. We don’t have any time to lose. Order them to leave now.”

I think the fuck not. First of all that is sketchy as -

“I’ll do it,” Elain interrupted Nesta’s train of thought. She took a deep breath and strode out of the room, calling for Lionel and Mrs. Laurent. Nesta sighed, this was going to be a right mess to clean up later. Feyre watched her leave and asked the question that she’d no doubt been thinking since learning of the engagement. 

“Is he good—the lord’s son she’s to marry?” It was such a Feyre question. Do not marry Tomas Mandray.

“She thinks he is. She loves him like he is.”

“And what do you think?” Nesta looked at the one part of Feyre she recognized. She saw the same look of adoration and respect Feyre used to give her as a child and found herself answering honestly.  

“His father built a wall of stone around their estate so high even the trees can’t reach over it,” she sighed, “I think it looks like a prison.” 

“Have you said anything to her?” 

“No. The son, Graysen, is kind enough. As smitten with Elain as she is with him. It’s the father I don’t like. He sees the money she has to offer their estate—and his crusade against the Fae. But the man is old. He’ll die soon enough.” 

“Hopefully.” Nesta wanted to laugh. So different, all three of them were so different from one another, and Feyre now even more so, but they all could agree Nolan’s funeral couldn’t come soon enough. Sisters. Despite everything else, they were sisters.  A wave of love came over her, followed by a second attack of guilt for hating her for something she had no control over.

 “Your High Lord … You went through all that”—she gestured to Feyre’s entire new body - “and it still did not end well?” It was the most surprising thing of the story. Feyre never hid anything about herself, how the hell did it so fundamentally misunderstand who it wanted to marry? 

“That lord built a wall to keep the Fae out,” she nodded to the door where Elain went, “My High Lord wanted to keep me caged in.” 

“Why? He let you come back here all those months ago.”

 “To save me—protect me. And I think … I think what happened to him, to us, Under the Mountain broke him. The drive to protect at all costs, even my own well-being … I think he wanted to stifle it, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t let go of it.”

“And now you are at a new court.” Good. Some part of Nesta was proud that her little sister had left the bastard, grateful to Rhysand for offering her somewhere safe to go. Annoying, considering she had already settled into hating it forever. But whatever, she could separate Feyre’s friend from the conniving bastard in her head. Easy, since she’d never meet the Fae, just think of them as two different beings. 

“Would you like to meet them?”

Fucking Hell. 

Before Nesta could say no, Elain came back into the room. 

“Nesta, what’s the code to the safe?” 

“Why do you need the code to the safe?” she asked, taking the opportunity to leave Feyre and go help with the staff. Elain’s decision to bribe the staff wasn’t the wrong one, but it was a costly one. 15 gold pieces each, 5 to cover any lodging for the next few days, and 10 to keep quiet and leave immediately. 

Most of the staff was convinced to depart with Elain’s smiles and Nesta’s order. Lionel tried to insist on staying, but a direct order from his mistress was enough to convince him to take the money and go. Jenny was happy to have a surprise break, but she was also desperate to know why. Nesta promised to tell her later, when “the new Feyre drama was settled.” Mrs. Cowell offered to prep food for the next couple of days before leaving, but otherwise seemed happy for a day off. Laurent was the only truly hard one to convince to leave. The old bat really did fancy herself Elain’s new mother or governess or something. Elain spent most of the afternoon convincing her to depart while Nesta finished up with the rest of the staff. 

She can go with Elain to the Edessas.  

The second they got Laurent off the property, a knock came at the door. Nesta’s stomach dropped, she was going to be nauseous. Feyre suggested the dining room might be the best time to have this interaction, and Nesta wasn’t going to argue. A twelve foot oak table between Elain and the Fae was absolutely the best outcome. Nesta moved Elain to stand with her by the window. They could break it and run if needed. 

Feyre and her guests were making small talk as they entered the room. Feyre was first, leading them. Then came a tall, disturbingly handsome, well-dressed, and ridiculously powerful human-looking fae. Its skin might have been sun-kissed, but it was night that rolled off of it in waves. Standing by the window would do nothing. This fae could kill them with a thought, they wouldn’t even be able to think about running before they’d be dead. 

Then came a fae kissed by a different sort of darkness. It, too, was shaped like a handsome human man, but it wasn’t the too-perfect beauty of the first faw, or of Feyre. She would have thought it human if not for the massive wings and the Shadows swirling around its ankles and wrists. Where the first fae was dressed in formal attire, this one was dressed head to toe in leather armor. Nesta immediately noted the knife on its belt. Odd. She’d never seen a fae use a weapon before. 

A third and final fae entered the room, dressed similarly to the second, also possessing wings. The tallest of the three, and the bulkiest. And by far the most dangerous. This one looked… normal. He was handsome, yes, but he was not outrageously so. His nose had been broken, probably several times. His hair was chin-length, half tied up behind his head. She noted two red gems embedded in his vambraces, gleaming with slight power. But other than that, there was no power coming from him, he didn’t feel alien. Even with the wings, she could almost mistake him for a human. Dangerous.

The three fae took up a stance behind Feyre, all clearly stating with their body language that they were here for her, would defend her. Nesta took a step in front of Elain, letting them know that she, too, would fight for her sister, that she would not be intimidated, no matter how scared she clearly was. 

Feyre introduced them in reverse order of their entrance. The first one was, in fact, Rhysand - the High Lord of the Night Court. Azriel was the middle one, and Cassian was the last one. And he was staring at her with such a smug look of superiority that Nesta momentarily forgot her fear for want of launching a fork at his head. 

The only thing that stopped her was the High Lord of the Night bowing to her and Elain. It smiled at them, trying to be polite, but it was hard to be endearing when you’re that lethal. And when one half of the audience knows you’re directly responsible for the Beddor massacre. Nesta wanted this whole affair done with as soon as fucking possible. 

She summoned the part of her that managed to be mostly civil talking to a clump of vines and turned to Feyre, “The cook left dinner on the table. We should eat before it goes cold.”

Nesta took her usual seat at the head of her table. Elain squeaked out a greeting before taking her seat to Nesta’s left. The rest of the party took seats down the table, with Feyre to Nesta’s right, the high lord next to her, Azriel next to the lord. Cassian looked right at Nesta as he sat next to Elain, as if he was daring her to complain about his choice of seats. His smug dare was soon defeated not by Nesta’s brewing retort, but by the sheer absurdity of watching him attempt to sit in a chair with his ridiculous wings. 

Pleased with her free little victory, Nesta served herself some food. Nothing too heavy as she was liable to throw up any minute now, but something to fill the cavern opening in her stomach. She watched as the intruders took turns serving themselves as well. The men ate the food with no complaints or trouble, but Feyre… It was worse than the last time. She was barely able to take a bite without gagging. Nesta waited for Feyre to catch her staring. 

“Is there something wrong with our food?” 

Feyre forced down another bite, struggling and grimacing her way through it. You’d think someone forced her to eat shit. 

“No,” she lied. 

“So you can’t eat normal food anymore—or are you too good for it?” Weren’t you the one who told us to be happy with hot water instead of tea? That any food was good food so long as it kept you alive? The High Lord dropped its fork on its plate. Nesta’s dig might have been meant for Feyre, but it was getting a rise out of Rhysand. Interesting. 

“I can eat, drink, fuck, and fight just as well as I did before. Better, even.” Feyre’s response surprised everyone but Nesta, who could only laugh, low and wicked. Feral Feyre was still in there somewhere, easily baited into bickering by a single insult. Good, I’d hate to lose you entirely. Nesta was ready to respond, to see more of her little sister’s hot temper and revel in their familiar game when she was rudely interrupted.

“If you ever come to Prythian, you will discover why our food tastes so different,” the polite, murderous bastard butted in where it didn’t belong - defending Feyre when she didn’t need defending. This doesn’t concern you, asshole. 

“I have little interest in ever setting foot in your land, so I’ll have to take your word on it.” Nesta let every word drip condescension and even threw in a little smile to make sure it was properly offended. 

“Nesta, please” Elain asked, taking the tone she used whenever Nesta’s patience with her guests would wear too thin. Usually Nesta would just leave at that tone, but not tonight. These assholes had inserted themselves into their lives, used Feyre to beg for the favor, and then this mother fucker had the nerve to try and butt in between Feyre and Nesta. As though Feyre needed protecting from Nesta, as though this wasn’t the game they played. 

Nesta would have continued to stare down Rhysand, daring it to say something else but she felt another gaze from beside Elain. She turned to see Cassian staring her with that smug little grin again. 

“What are you looking at?” His grin dropped and his eyes hardened as he launched onto the offensive, attempting to scold Nesta for her behavior. 

“Someone who let her youngest sister risk her life every day in the woods while she did nothing. Someone who let a fourteen-year-old child go out into that forest, so close to the wall. Your sister died—died to save my people. She is willing to do so again to protect you from war. So don’t expect me to sit here with my mouth shut while you sneer at her for a choice she did not get to make—and insult my people in the process.” 

Nesta looked him up and down. He had managed to pinpoint her every insecurity when it came to Feyre. But there was nothing that he said that she hadn’t thought meaner to herself in the last ten minutes alone. Nice try, but this isn’t your fight. She didn’t bother to respond, turning back to Feyre, waiting to see what the person with actual beef had to say about the matter. 

That must have pissed him off, because Elain immediately launched into diffusing the situation. “It … it is very hard, you understand, to … accept it. We are raised this way. We hear stories of your kind crossing the wall to hurt us. Our own neighbor, Clare Beddor, was taken, her family murdered …” And managed to stumble into the one topic that was guaranteed to escalate Nesta’s rage. 

She watched as the high lord cowered into his plate at her name . She didn’t need to ask after Clare’s state to know the truth. From Feyre’s expression to its reaction, she knew enough. Clare died. Horribly. Murderer. Elain kept speaking, kept apologizing for them, for their behavior, as if they had any reason to apologize to these things. To Clare’s murderer and its friends. But they are helping Feyre. Look at it, it loves her. Doesn’t she deserve that as much as Elain? But why this one? Why did Clare have to die for it? 

“Can’t we just… start over?” Feyre asked. 

Anger, guilt, outrage, grief, horror, love, and vicious pride all took turns rolling through her veins. She watched her sister, watched her hopeful anticipation. From where Feyre? From the start of dinner? From before Clare disappeared? From before the years in the cottage? Before their mother died? Absolutely not. She wanted to rage, to scream and claw at her sister and her new high lord. Make them understand that you can’t just ignore the past and move on. To demand where they got off asking anything of humanity after all the millennia of shit they put humans through. Asking anything of them after Clare. 

But one glance at that fucking fae male, Cassian, at that bastard’s cocky smile stalled her. He looked eager, like he was expecting her outburst, hoping for it even. He wanted her to throw a temper tantrum like the petulant child he already believed she was, just to win the game he started. Under no circumstances would she let that happen.

“Fine.” Nesta shoved food in her mouth before something more emotional came out. She felt the eyes of that fae, of Cassian, on her the entire time. At first she thought he was merely disappointed in his loss, but no, he hadn’t lost. He might not have the ability to read minds like his lord, but he saw her emotions clear as day, saw the explosion coming and wore that sneer purposefully to diffuse her. 

Dangerous. 

Elain tried once more to make small talk with the intruders, noting their ridiculous bat wings. “Can you truly fly?”

The quiet one, Azriel, set down its fork and answered, gracing them with its voice for the first time that night. “Yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We’re born hearing the song of the wind.”  Nesta decided that jealousy did not, in fact, pass through her mind. Absolutely not. 

“That’s very beautiful. Is it not frightening, though? To fly so high?” Ah, Elain and her fear of heights. That fear is what made trees and roofs such fantastic hiding spots, she’d never climb up. 

“It is sometimes,” Nesta couldn’t help but pay attention to this explanation. “If you are caught in a storm, if the current drops away. But we are trained so thoroughly that the fear is gone before we are out of swaddling.” Nesta considered the explanation, and its previous answers. 

“You look like High Fae, but you are not?” she asked, hoping the quiet one would answer. Unfortunately, Cassian did. 

“Only the High Fae who look like them are High Fae. Everyone else, any other differences, mark you as what they like to call ‘lesser’ faeries.” Nesta was surprised to hear dissatisfaction in his voice as he referred to Feyre and Rhys. 

“It’s become a term used for ease, but masks a long, bloody history of injustices. Many lesser faeries resent the term—and wish for us all to be called one thing,” Rhysand explained. 

 “Rightly so.” This was a clear thorn for Cassian. It was too easy, Nesta chose to let that topic slide for now and considered Feyre for a minute. 

“But you were not High Fae—not to begin. So what do they call you?” Do they have an offensive term for human-turned-fae, too? 

“Feyre is whoever she chooses to be.” 

Nesta felt her very soul roll its eyes at Rhysand’s useless goddamn response. Even if she didn’t already resolve to hate the lord, Nesta decided that it was absolutely not a being she could enjoy.

Chapter Text

The fae requested side by side rooms with two beds each. Not an unreasonable request, except they had sent the staff away and neither sister felt like they’d be capable of moving the beds around. Nor did they think they could properly explain it when the staff returned. 

Whatever, Feyre and the High Lord are probably sleeping together anyway. 

Nesta gave them directions to Feyre’s room and the kid’s room next to it. They could figure out who was sharing and who was sleeping in a child’s bed all on their own. Nesta really hoped Cassian and his shit-eating grin got the tiny bed.

Nesta and Elain gathered up the empty plates and walked them into the kitchen, setting them on the table before grabbing a couple of aprons. They were tying them on as they reentered the dining room to gather the leftovers. One look at the table, still full of way too much food and Nesta regretted not grabbing the cart as well. 

“Do you have letter writing supplies we may use?” Azriel asked. Elain piped up an answer immediately. 

“Yes! They would be… in the study, I think?” she cocked her head to the side, trying to remember the last time she fetched supplies for herself while downstairs. 

“There’s some in Lionel’s office,” Nesta hefted up the trays and jerked her head towards the kitchen. “Follow me.” Azriel nodded and grabbed the two heaviest platters before following her. At least this one has manners . She set down her trays on the large prep table and gestured for it to do the same. “You can set them down here.”

Nesta started pulling out the wooden bowls and containers from the shelves by the backdoor, and called over her shoulder. “You passed the office on the way in the kitchen, second desk drawer.” To Elain she said, “Start moving the food into the wooden containers.” Both followed her orders and started working on their various tasks while Nesta started heating water for the dishes.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing?” Azriel reappeared with the supplies. Elain happily answered. 

“Nesta has all of our leftovers sent to the orphanage!” It wasn’t an everyday thing, but whenever the cook suspected there would be guests, she always made way too much. Part of the appearances of the Archeron’s was wasteful wealth, but they had spent too many days starving to let any of it go to waste. 

If Azriel was surprised, it didn’t show. The fae just nodded and offered, “If you would like help delivering them, since your servants are away, I’d be happy too.” 

“It’s cold enough that it’ll keep until the staff returns,” Nesta finished transferring the fish to a lipped wooden platter with an accompanying lid. “Thank you though.” He nodded to her and left. 

Elian was transferring the potatoes into a wooden bowl, trying to scrape out every last piece. “They aren’t what I imagined,” she commented. 

“What did you imagine?” The kettle of water began to whistle, Nesta walked over and poured some in a bin with soap. 

“More like the Beast. Less… human, less mannered.” Elain dropped the chicken pieces in with the potatoes and covered them both. “It’s almost more terrifying.” 

“Get the baskets - top shelf. I’m going to start scrubbing. Why?” Elain grabbed the baskets down and moved the containers into them as she explained. 

“It’s like… they are almost human, almost like us, but not. I mean, look at Feyre. She’s Feyre, our sister, but everything is just…” 

“Uncanny” 

Elain nodded. “Exactly. And even though I know in my head we can trust them, that they want to help, I still… I can’t shake the feeling that I should be afraid.” 

She was right to be afraid. These guests could kill them with almost no effort, glamor everyone around the house to think it was an accident, or that they had run away, and nothing could stop them. Hell, they could set the house on fire and leave bodies and even throw in a gilded note taking responsibility for the deaths and there was still nothing the humans could do. 

And maybe it was that realization that was the most unsettling.

There would be no sleeping tonight. She finished cleaning up dinner and bid goodnight to Feyre. She and the fae were still trying to compose the letter to the queens and barely acknowledged her leaving. Nesta didn’t even bother going to her room, she just went right to the study to distract herself with accounting. 300 gold was a pretty penny to spend at the drop of a hat, she’d need to cut back some for the next few months. It would be tricky, though. Wedding planning and saving did not go hand in hand, she’d have to outline a solid budget for that event as well. Elain definitely was going to want the best of everything. 

She sat back with her scotch, taking a sip and debating if she could live without meat or sugar for the next month. 

“The night court would be willing to reimburse you, if needed,” a night-smooth voice spoke from by the door. She snapped her gaze up, she hadn’t heard Rhysand enter, but there it stood, leaning against the closed door to her study. 

“We’ve had enough trouble covering up the origin of fae gold,” she took another sip, watching it. “Are our beds as distasteful as our food?” 

“I provided my own bed, actually. The room only had one.”

“And here I was doing you a favor,” Nesta leaned forward.  

“I don’t want favors from you,” it practically spat at her. Anger. It was angry at her - on Feyre’s behalf, no doubt. Nesta laughed, something cold and bitter. 

“Your plan jeopardizes both our safety and Elain’s future,” Nesta finished her drink and wiped her mouth. “You’re already asking a lot from us.”

“If hatred for the Fae runs that deep, is it really a good future?” Rhysand walked a step closer, just a step. 

“It’s not unjustified. You hate me for being neglectful to my sister, can we not hate your kind for enslaving, murdering, raping, and torturing us for millennia?” 

“We fought in the war to end that, you know,” he answered. 

“Ended it? Really?” The scotch must have gotten to her head. “Then Feyre wasn’t bound to you against her will? And Clare is just fine- living it up in Prythian, is she?” She felt her voice rise, becoming overfilled with equal parts venom and grief. She wanted her words to hurt, to see this ridiculously overpowered lord cower in shame again. But mostly she wanted to bait it into admitting what it did to Clare, even if it destroyed herself in the process. 

It worked. Rhysand’s entire being deflated, its head dropping. “I did what I could for Clare,” it said simply, sadly. Slowly, it walked over to a couch and put its head in its hands. After a moment, it spoke again. 

“I saw you,” it said gently, “in her mind.” Nesta went still. “When it got… when she needed to be somewhere else for a while, the only place she wanted to go was here.” Rhys looked around the room, taking in the real life details he remembered from Clare’s mind. “She wanted to go back to the solstice party. She wanted to relive that day, right up until-” 

“The dancing,” Nesta finished for him, looking away. 

“No, until she said no.” Nesta’s eyes snapped back to him. “She didn’t regret saying no then, didn’t think she was wrong to, but she… she wanted to die your wife.”

Everything in Nesta collapsed. But Rhys kept going. 

“It’s a very odd thing, to see someone through another’s eyes. In Clare’s memories, you are this strong, perfect queen, a poised force of nature, full of laughter and joy. But then I see Feyre’s memories, you are nothing like that at all. Cold, mean, lazy, selfish, spiteful, and it’s almost worse. It’s not that you weren’t capable of being a better person, it’s that you couldn’t do it for your own sister.” His tone had turned bitter once again, his spine had regrown, and whether he knew it or not, his power had flared, filling the room with the blackest night. 

He really fucking loves her. 

There was no doubt about it. Thinking Nesta was kind of a shitty person was par for the course for most people, and something Nesta was used to. But to hate her so, to feel this strongly, he had to love Feyre. But love or no, mind-reading or no, he was an outsider, an interloper, and Nesta had no patience for his unwarranted opinion or his show of power. He could try and intimidate her all he wanted, but they both knew his hands and power were bound by love for Feyre. In this fight, they were equals. 

“Did you give Feyre your power because you wanted her to live or because you didn’t want her to die for someone else?” Nesta shot the words at him as though it was one of Feyre’s ashwood arrows. She notched another before he had the chance to respond. “When she went back with him, was it harder knowing she was fucking him or knowing he didn’t deserve her?” Another. “Is that why you waited until her wedding day to bail her out? Or did you want to punish her a bit for ever going back to him?” Rhys was, frankly, horrified at Nesta, and the words that came out of her mouth. She didn’t know him enough to know if the words actually hurt or if it was just horror at the accusation, but it didn’t matter. “I don’t care what do claimed to do for Clare, you killed her. You let my sister die for your kind, robbed her of her humanity. Then - then left her alone with that bastard for months . You did that. As an adult, as a full grown king. You do not get to march into my home, corner me in my study, and throw in my face that I was cruel or incompetent as a child .” Nesta was standing by the end of her speech, and Rhysand looked like she actually had shot him. “Now get the hell out.” 

He disappeared into his own darkness, leaving Nesta alone once more. When she was sure he was gone, she sat back down, picked up her quill and went back to setting a budget for Elain’s wedding. 

__

Madame Cartright had Nesta and Jeremy by the backs of the neck as she marched them up to the table where Lady Archeron was having tea with her friends. 

“My Lady,” she said, bowing her head slightly. The young and impossibly beautiful mother turned and looked over the state of the children. Nesta’s hair had been pulled out of its braid, her dress was covered in dirt and ripped along the sleeves and hem. Jeremy was next to her, equally disheveled, but also sporting a back eye. His mother, one of Lady Archeron’s friends, floated over to him, scooping him up into a hug and looking over his injuries. Nesta’s mother simply arched a brow. 

“What happened?” 

“Nesta hit me!” Jeremy complained, pointing at Nesta. 

“Only cause you asked for it!” Nesta yelled back, crossing her arms. 

“Liar!” 

“Am not! You said Morrigan wasn’t real-” SMACK! 

Nesta was cut off by the sound of her mother’s hand colliding with her cheek. Before she could register the pain of it, the same hand grasped her jaw, forcing Nesta to look up at her mother. Her mother’s face was hard and cold, terrifying to little Nesta.

“Are you a wild animal?” She asked.

“N-no.” Nesta mumbled. Lady Archeron shook her child’s head in her grasp. 

“Louder, Nesta.”

“No,” Nesta answered.  

“Then why are you bleating like one?” Nesta looked to the floor and her mother shook her jaw harder. Nesta looked back up. “What are you?” Nesta knew what the answer was. 

“A Lady.” 

“Exactly, and Ladies do not rough house. Nor do they ruin their dress” she let go of Nesta jaw, flicking it away from her. “And what do Ladies say when they misbehave?” 

“I’m sorry,” Nesta looked back at the floor, feeling tears well in her eyes.  

“Very good. Now go get changed and fix your hair. Ladies never look less than their best.”

Madame Cartright took Nesta by the shoulders and led her back to her rooms to change, giving the only order she ever gave in situations like this. “Dry your tears child, you’ll ruin your face.” 

__

Nesta woke with a start. An old dream and an older memory. She wasn’t sure what triggered it, but it was never a good sign when she dreamt about her mother’s lessons. She was still in the study, hunched over the desk. Her neck and head pounded, and from the ink smudges on the open ledger under her, she probably looked as bad as she felt. A glance to the window told her it was near dawn. 

She stretched a bit, trying to work the concrete out of her spine as she left the study. If she was lucky, the fae would still be in bed, and she could sneak to her bathing chambers and wash up before anyone saw her. 

“Sweet Mother you look like Hell,” Cassian was leaning against the stairs. Of course, just my luck. She tried to ignore him and walk around, and he did let her pass, but certainly didn’t let her ignore him. “What, long night?”

“Not all of us are nocturnal.” 

“We aren’t either?” he scrunched his face in confusion. Ah, she was too tired for this. 

“No echolocation either, I’m guessing?” she asked with a yawn, reaching her door. She had it closed and locked behind her when she heard Cassian finally piece it together. 

“Are you calling me a bat?” 

After spending a half hour washing down her face and changing into an ice-blue gown, Nesta rebraided her hair and pinned it back into its usual tight bun. She put on simple matching pearl earrings and a necklace. Elegant and understated like her mother had taught her. Ladies do not show off.

Dawn had fully broken when she opened the door again, finding Cassian leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the hall. He made a point of looking her over. 

"I don't know, I think I like the ink better." 

Could she just real quick jab out his eyes? Would that be ok? No one would complain, right? Ladies do not fight with fists. Fine. 

"Aren't bats supposed to be blind?" she turned and started walking back down the stairs. She was absolutely not in a mood or state of mind to deal with this one and his fake flirting. Losing control would be too easy. Time to change the subject. “When are you leaving?” 

Cassian clicked his tongue. “You’re not even going to offer us breakfast?”

“I wasn’t planning on it, no,” she could wait on breakfast until after they left. Or skip it entirely. But another meal meant a longer stay, and she really just wanted her house back. 

They got to the foyer in time to hear the front door click. Looking out the window, she could see Rhysand and Feyre walking off to the grounds. The other Illyrian was also up and about already, watching them leave. 

“Where are they going?” And why aren’t you all going with them? 

“Pre-breakfast training,” Cassian smiled, “Feyre’s helping Rhys hunt.”  Rutting hell, how long were they planning on staying? 

“They should be careful, we sent the staff away, but there are still some farm hands that tend to the animals.” 

“Rhys is aware, he’ll keep them away from humans,” Azriel answered. Nesta nodded and headed off to the kitchen. If these bastards weren’t going to be leaving any time soon, she was going to need hot, strong tea. She went out the back to fetch water from the well. The snow dampened her thin house shoes, freezing her toes. The wind stabbed her fingers as pulled on the rope. Damn I’ve gone soft.

Walking back into the kitchen was somewhat of a relief, but not much. It was dry, but without the usual fires burning in the ovens, it was almost as cold as outside. The stone floors were just cold and hard as opposed to cold and wet. She quickly set about boiling the water and assembling the tea set. She also stopped in Lionel’s office to gather the mail she’d ignored the day before. 

As soon as the water was ready, she filled the teapot and rushed from the kitchen. She walked into the parlor, surprised to find it delightfully warm. Azriel and Cassian were standing next to a roaring fireplace, each warming their hands. Cassian called over his shoulder to her as she entered. 

“I hope you don’t mind, we started a fire.” she couldn’t tell if the lack of bite in his words was because there was none or if she was just relieved to be somewhere warm. 

“Not at all,” she set the tray down on the coffee table and poured herself a cup of tea and picked up the mail before taking her usual seat at the head of the room. She kicked off her wet shoes and tucked her feet under her thighs, taking a simply delectable sip of her tea. The others looked to each other, the tray of tea, and back to Nesta. 

“There’s only one cup,” Cassian commented.  

“Elain won’t be up for a little while yet, and she knows where the cups are.” Nesta took another sip, savoring the warmth, watching them, seeing what they would do. Cassian looked back at the teapot and grinned.

“So you’re sister’s not much of a morning person, then?” Cassian picked up the entire teapot and sat sideways on the couch closest to Nesta, letting his wings spread down its length. He took off the lid and started drinking right from the pot. He was watching her, waiting to see what she would do. She glared at him for a moment and decided to not give him the satisfaction of getting a rise out of her and continue with the strategy of mostly ignoring them. 

“She doesn’t need to wake up this early, so why bother?” Nesta took another sip of her tea and opened a letter. The High Lord reentered the house and joined them in the room. Rhysand avoided eye contact with Nesta after last night’s conversation, hiding in the corner of the room. He did note Cassian sitting so close to her, and the teapot, but simply shared a look with Azriel and shook his head. 

“Must be nice to have such care-free existence,” Cassian’s musings were undoubtedly a trap, but she let him have it.  

“Mmhmm,” she glanced over the letter, just a congratulations for Elain’s engagement. So the Edessa’s already got the news out. Or the staff did.  A formal announcement would have to go out today. 

“To live in a huge house you didn’t pay for.” 

“Mmm” she kept reading. 

“I wonder if Feyre would have liked it here.” 

“Mmhmm,” she opened another letter. 

“Though I think she’d get bored of picnics and tea parties.” 

“Mmm” Oh, Rebecca had her baby. A visit was definitely warranted then, Elain would probably want to go, too. She’d need to bring a gift. Maybe they could pick something up while they were in town mailing the letters.

She heard Azriel stifle a laugh. Glad someone is enjoying this. She had work to do, and babysitting these damn bats wasn’t going to keep her from it. 

Nesta set down Isaac’s letter and picked up a new one. Cassian snatched the letter and started glancing over it. “What’s so fascinating that you are ignoring your guests?” Nesta shot a hand out and tried to snatch the letter back, but Cassian whipped it behind his head, out of reach. 

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to mind your own damn business?” she snapped. 

“Didn’t yours teach you how to treat your guests?” he retorted. She huffed and stuck out her hand.

“That letter is private.” 

“Cassian,” Azriel scolded. He growled and handed back the letter. Nesta straightened it and placed it back in the open pile. She went to open the other letter when Cassian spoke again. 

“So do you have any real books or do you only read letters?” Nesta didn’t want to give into his prodding. He was just bored and looking for a toy, obviously. But he had said something she couldn’t ignore. Nesta put all the letters down on the side table next to her and looked at him properly.  

“When, exactly, did you go into my study ?” 

“While you were fixing breakfast,” he smiled. “I wanted to find something to do while I’m waiting. Imagine my disappointment when I pull out a book and the shelf comes with it. Did you buy them for decoration or just to trick guests?” 

“Well they tricked you, but I’m not sure I’d qualify you as a guest,” she smiled back, leaning towards him.

“What would you qualify me as?” he purred, leaning in as well.  A dangerous pain in my ass. 

“An annoyance,” she said with all sweetness. Whatever he was going to say next got cut off by something. The three fae all whipped their heads to the window. Rhysand disappeared into darkness as the pen he was holding clanked on the floor. Azriel nodded to Cassian and blinked out of existence. Cassian stalked across the room with an elegant and lethal grace. He stood at the door, his right hand resting on the back of his neck, ready to grab the sword he kept strapped to his spine. 

Nesta walked up behind him, but he stretched out his left hand, silently telling her to stay back. Nesta nodded, despite knowing he couldn’t see it and stepped back a little. 

“Is Feyre-” 

“Rhys and Az went to her, she’ll be fine,” he answered. This tone, this posture, it wasn’t the teasing, flirting ass she’s spent the last 12 hours trading veiled insults with. This was a warrior, a knight, all business- fulfilling the duty he’d been assigned. 

“Elain’s upstairs alone.” 

Cassian glanced back over his shoulder. Marking the worry on her face. He nodded and started to move forward. Nesta followed behind, careful to not lose a single step. Their pace faltered when incoherent shouts filled the air, but they kept moving. When they got to the stairs, Elain was already on the top landing. Her eyes were wide with fear. 

They beckoned her to come downstairs and Cassian led both girls back to the parlor. Nesta held Elain’s hand on the couch, while the fae stood guard over them both. Each moment felt like an eternity, and as much as Nesta wanted to demand answers, she knew this was not the time to interrupt his focus. 

After another moment, Cassian relaxed, turning back to the sisters. “Danger’s over - they’re just flirting now.” 

Elain let out a sigh of relief, but Nesta just downshifted from apprehension to indignation. Cassian walked over to the door and Nesta got on her feet, following him. 

“What danger did you all bring to our house?” 

“How would I know? I was in here with you,” he had fully retreated into his mocking tone, grinning at her again as he opened the front door and stepped outside. 

Nesta’s temper flared as she followed him onto the stoop. “Don’t play stupid, you know what was out there.” 

“With my echolocation?” he smiled. Nesta huffed. She knew she shouldn’t have tried talking to him before her tea. “Ok, say please, and I’ll tell you.” 

“How about you tell me and I don’t kick you off my property?”  

“Ooh, not a good deal, sweetheart, I’m already leaving,” he said, gesturing to the flash of black that was Feyre and Rhysand returning. “Maybe next time you’ll treat your guests properly and get what you want.” Cassian bowed to her, not as a sign of respect, but as an actor, pleased with their own performance. Nesta returned the gesture with a vulgar one of her own. 

He only laughed darkly and looked her up and down one last time. His arrogant smile mixed with the electric look in his eyes and Nesta could hear his unspoken “ Watch this.” He launched himself into the air with a boom that echoed through the estate. Nesta indeed watched him go, trying to decide if she was more relieved that he had left, or angry that he got the last laugh.

Chapter Text

Nesta stood barefoot in the snow for longer than was appropriate. She probably would have stayed out there even longer, but the painful icing of her toes pulled her out of her head. She shook off the fog and walked inside, trying to clear away the thoughts of Cassian and the retorts she wished she’d lodged at him. 

Nesta closed the door behind her and saw both Feyre and Rhysand staring at her. 

Before she could demand to know what happened outside, or for them to hand over the letter and leave, Elain piped up.

“Breakfast?” 

“Please,” Feyre responded, clutching her gurgling belly. Elain led them back to the dining room, leaving Nesta without an opportunity to object. Fine. She wanted to know what the hell happened anyway. 

“It was the Attor,” Feyre explained as she took a bite of scone. Mrs. Cowell had left them an assortment of scones, muffins, and biscuits as well as various jams and spreads for breakfast. 

“The thing that kidnapped you-”

“Under the Mountain, yes.” Feyre’s tone was short and dark. She cast a sidelong glance at Rhysand, “Apparently it’s been looking for me.” Nesta knew that tone, that was the tone Feyre used when she was trying to imply they weren’t pulling their full weight but didn’t want to say it. So he didn’t tell her about the hunting then. 

“That’s awful!” Elain exclaimed, leaning her cheek into her hand. 

“It’s settled now though, Azriel and Cassian have taken it into custody,” Rhysand looked to Feyre as he said it, then to Nesta, whose deadpan glare spoke volumes. She really hoped he was looking into her mind at the moment to hear the strings of profanity she was too much of a lady to say out loud. 

But you’re not too much of a lady to flip off Cassian? 

Nesta dismissed the thought. She would consider that problem, along with Cassian’s uncanny ability to get under her skin, exactly never. It had just been awhile since she was around someone who wasn’t too tied up by noble manners to play. That’s all. He wasn’t special - she was out of practice. 

“If you leave the letter, we’ll get it to town today,” she said, wiping her mouth and getting up. Suddenly she didn’t have much of an appetite. 

“We’ll come with you, if you don’t mind,” Feyre stated.  

“Why?” Nesta asked. 

“We’re leaving right after, why not accompany you to town?” 

Nesta raised an eyebrow and nodded to Feyre’s entire body. 

“We’ll be glamoured.” Rhysand assured. “No one will even know we are there.” 

I’ll know and it’ll piss me off. 

“Fine,” she sighed, looking at both of them, “If you are ready.”

They weren’t but Nesta left anyway. She just wanted this all to be done. She wanted to go back to her quiet life of planning Elain’s wedding and managing the estate. She didn’t want to think about the war that was absolutely guaranteed to destroy any hope of a peaceful existence. She shoved her feet in thick socks and boots, wrapped a scarf around her neck, and covered her hands with mittens.

She then stopped by her study and collected some of the other documents she should send out while in town. Mailing multiple letters would make it less conspicuous, even considering neither her nor Elain had posted a letter themselves in months. When she was ready to go she stood by the door and waited for everyone else. They weren’t far behind. 

The walk to town was quiet. Rhysand and Feyre followed behind them. Elain occasionally would quietly ask the air if they had left yet, only to have Feyre tap her on the shoulder. Nesta just walked straight to the post office. She could still see them fine. Glamours still don’t work, I see.

When they got to the post office Feyre and Rhys stayed outside. It would be testing fate a little too much for either to try and enter the post office without being detected. The mail clerk was surprised to see them, as Nesta knew he would be, but Elain came in for the save. 

“I just had to mail this letter myself,” she let herself look more giddy, more ditzy, than she was. Elain motioned for the clerk to lean in, unnecessary with how loud she was whispering. “I got engaged!” She flashed the ring and then the letter. “I just had to mail Dad myself!” 

The clerk congratulated her and asked far too many details about the lucky young man. Of course Elain had a rapport with the mail clerk. Nesta posted the letters while Elain gave the man details about the proposal. The whole affair took much longer than necessary, but no one would possibly question why they were sending a letter to the continent. 

By the time they were done, Feyre and Rhysand were gone.  No good byes or anything, they didn’t even stick around and confirm the letter was sent. What was the fucking point of following us then? 

“C’mon Elain, you’re going to want to stop by the toy store.” 

The first two sets of knocks on the front door didn’t do much to get anyone’s attention. With the ruckus behind the door, she wasn’t entirely sure anyone heard the knocks. A third set, harder, with the meat of her fist managed to get a response. 

“Abe! Door!” 

The door was wrenched open by a younger, stouter Isaac Hale with far worse acne than Nesta remembered Isaac ever having. Then again, it was Feyre who always paid the most attention to Issac in the old days. Abraham Hale immediately recognized them and took in a breath. 

“Nes- Lady Archeron!” he turned slightly to Elain, standing next to Nesta, “Lady Archeron!” He bowed awkwardly, as only a 14-year-old could. Limbs are hard to manage when they are constantly growing on you.  

“Isaac in?” Nesta asked, not bothering to correct the kid on either of their titles. They technically weren’t Ladies, not yet, but if you act like one enough, and have money, people just call you that anyway. 

“He’s in the back,” Abe stepped aside and let the sister’s in. 

Where their hut was small and barren, the Hale home was a decent size and far too full. Three bedrooms should be plenty of space… unless you have three generations living in one home. Well, four now. They walked through the kitchen, covered in dishes, leftovers, spare tools, and what looks like the unfinished pieces of a rocking chair. As they passed the stairs, Nesta noted the toys that littered each step, a death trap set by Isaac’s youngest sibling, no doubt. Finally, they reached what might have once been a sitting room. 

The seating was pushed aside to make room for a bed in the center of the room. Rebekah was bundled up neatly, quilts and afghans resting on her shoulders and laying on her lap. Isaac was sitting next to her, clothes askew and clearly worn for several days. Both of them were focused on the tiny thing swaddled in Rebekah’s arms.  

Nesta always thought newborn babies looked weird. Just little red squashed frog creatures. But she had to admit they were astonishing. So small and so new. She wasn't old enough to remember meeting Elain, but she did remember climbing into her mother's bed the night Feyre was born. She and Elain and their mother and father all huddled together watching the tiny red thing sleep. No one moving or speaking about anything else, just listening to her breathing, amazed at the new life that had come to join their family on that cold night. It didn't matter how weird she objectively looked, that night Feyre was the most adorable thing Nesta had ever seen. 

She couldn't say the same for Isaac's kid. 

Poor Jacob was just head too red and too blotchy. His hair was patchy and his body was swollen. Are babies supposed to be this wrinkly?

Elain was cooing though, thoroughly enamored with the little guy, practically running up to the little family and blowing raspberries and rambling utter nonsense at the babe. She pulled a small stuffed rabbit out from her cloak, shaking it gently in front of the boy.

“We brought you a little present,” she said as Jacob reached for the toy. She helped guide it back into his arms. 

“Thank you milady,” Rebekah smiled, obviously surprised to see them, but too exhausted to express it properly. 

“We’ve come to offer congratulations on your new family,” Nesta smiled to Rebekah and Isaac, “And we come bearing a gift for the parents, too,” Nesta smiled as she pulled a packet of papers out from her cloak. Rebekah’s brow knit slightly while Isaac’s jaw dropped in surprise.

“I only sent you the acceptance yesterday!” Isaac had gotten up and walked across the room to Nesta. 

“And I commissioned the house the day you told me she was pregnant,” Nesta jerked her head to Rebekah. “This place is not big enough for your current family, let alone your new one.” Isaac took the papers and started reading them over. It was, in Nesta’s opinion, a very agreeable lease. The house would be theirs for almost no rent, provided they tend to the farmland around it and produce at least 3 tonnes of yield. The estate would take a percentage of the yield, scaling up the percentage based on the amount produced. In the event they produced less than the amount specified, only then did they need to pay rent. If Isaac wanted to make up the income as a carpenter, he could. 

“Isaac?” Rebekah looked to her husband, sitting up and holding their child tighter to her. He squinted at the paper when he read the description of the house. 

“I built this place,” he said with no small amount of disbelief. Nesta smiled, pleased with her victory. 

“So you can be sure it’s a quality house.” 

Isaac laughed quietly and closed his eyes, dropping his shoulders and head. He knew he had gotten played in the most delightful way. Nesta had offered him a potential lease several months ago, and his answer was a vague no. He couldn’t leave his family, he couldn’t impose on them, not that he didn’t want to. Then this morning she read the missive from him. Rebekah gave birth in his family’s living room, with his 4 siblings, his parents, his grandparents packed in around them. No privacy, no space, no peace and quiet for a sleeping baby. And goodness help them if they have a second one. His letter was less an announcement of Jacob’s birth, and more an inquiry to see if her offer was still on the table. 

“It’s a lovely little house,” Elain assured Rebekah. “Plenty of room for you to bring Sarah to help with the baby if you need,” she smiled. “And you’ll still have your own space.” 

“There’s enough room for the entire family, if we wanted,” Isaac corrected. 

“Only if you want to suffocate there as well as here,” Nesta muttered. “But it’s up to you, sign and you can move in as soon as you like.” Nesta motioned for Elain to follow her and made her way back out to the door. 

“Wait, I’ll see you out!” Isaac followed after them, and joined them on the street, closing the door behind him. His expression got more serious as he looked at the two women. “Is this really ok? These terms are-” 

“Of course!” Elain smiled. “Besides, after everything you did for Fey-” Isaac cut her off. 

“If it’s just because of my relationship with Feyre, then I can’t-” 

“I didn’t choose you as a favor,” Nesta stood up straighter, dropping any hint of jovial friendliness from her tone. “It’s business, an opportunity- for both of us. The terms aren’t just favorable to you. You do well, we do well. You do poorly, I still get paid. In three years if you turn out to be a terrible tenant, I’ll just evict you.” 

“But why me?”

“Because you married Rebekah to get Abe an apprenticeship,” Nesta’s knowing grin was as evil as it was intimidating. Tomas loved to complain about how his brother should have gotten it. Blacksmithing was hard work, but it made good money. He didn’t bother hiding his disappointment in missing out on a good marriage from Nesta. “You do what you have to for your family.” 

Isaac looked away, his expression oddly solemn, but he nodded. “That I do.” 

“And taking care of this land is the best thing for them.” 

The staff came back that afternoon. Nesta “confided” in Jenny that Feyre had come to them for help. Her fiance turned out to be a criminal and she had come to meet an escort to the continent. Her paranoia demanded they turn the staff out before help arrived. It was a terrible cover story, and probably would have tarnished their reputation more, but all that really mattered is that there were no rumors about the fae. 

If the queens ever show up, they’d need a better cover story. At least they had time before then. 

“Am I allowed to embellish this one?” Jenny asked, braiding Nesta’s hair for bed. 

“Don’t you always?” Nesta countered. Jenny smiled. 

“Never to you, milady.” 

__

Jenny’s command of the domestic gossip chain remained incomparable. Even Elain’s engagement seemed like dull news when compared to the latest chapter in a fallen woman’s misadventures. No news travels like bad news.

Nolan had them summoned to the estate the next day, sending his own carriage to fetch them. Elain was immediately concerned that he was withdrawing his support, but Nesta knew better. The old crank didn’t care if any of them were two bit whores so long as the money was coming his way. No need to rush or panic, and certainly no need to leap because he said jump. Elain could rush over to assure the affections of her betrothed, but Nesta would take her time, spend her morning seeing to her own affairs. 

She waited until after lunch to have Connor prepare the carriage for her. Nesta sat at the head of the carriage just behind Connor on the trip over, wrapped neatly in fleece blankets. She spoke over her shoulder. 

“I shouldn’t be there long, so I ask that you remain at the Edessa estate, please.” 

“Yes, milady.” 

“You should be able to wait in the kitchens though, no need to stay with the carriage.” 

“Thank you, milady.” Nesta nodded though he couldn’t see it and let herself just listen to the rhythmic clopping of the horse hooves. She sat there for a few minutes when Connor spoke. “You know you can trust us, Jenny and I, I mean.” He said it gently. 

“Can I?” 

“She likes you a lot, and I do, too. So does Mrs. C and Darrow. Lionel, too... Henry’s got a crush on you even.” Nesta smiled to herself. She thought she’d caught the young butler staring once. 

“He’s not really my type.” 

Connor snorted, “We know.” He recovered, taking a solemn tone again. “I would have liked to serve Miss Clare, too.” Nesta took a deep breath, holding on to the edge of her seat. Connor continued to speak. “I know there are things that you think you can’t tell us, but you can, if you wanted. We will keep your secrets.” 

Nesta really wanted to believe him. She knew the staff knew more than they ever let on, knew that they didn’t believe a single lie she’d fed them about Feyre. But the truth… even if they stayed at her side it would only put them in greater danger. From men like Nolan, from creatures like the Attor, from King Hybern himself. 

“Let me know when you and Jenny are ready for your own home,” she answered. 

_____

Weeks passed and no word came from either the fae or the queens. Their father sent letters she’d long since stopped reading, her new tenants moved in, and Elain’s wedding planning continued without a hitch. Nolan had given her some trouble after Feyre’s visit, but an early payment from the dowry was enough to shut him up. 

Life was peaceful, and for the most part, Nesta was able to push the thoughts of the war, the queens, and the fae from her head. Nesta found herself more involved with the wedding planning than she would have guessed, and spending more time at the Edessa estate, and with Graysen, than she ever thought she would. But it didn’t bother her so much, mostly because a trip to his estate almost always meant some time in the Ashwood grove. Honestly, she didn’t know if she actually was growing fond of Graysen, or just entirely associated him with those trees. 

But it wasn’t like he was unpleasant otherwise. He wasn’t an idiot, nor was he too proud to not realize that his family’s financial instability was the direct result of his father’s actions. And while he realized Elain’s social graces were her strength, he hadn’t missed Nesta’s airtight control of her own estate. He’d even ventured to ask once where exactly Nesta thought his father had gone wrong with their territory. 

“Well you’re first problem is your taxes,” Nesta tucked her hands into her muff, trying to keep them warm. 

“Excuse me?” he asked, more surprised than offended.

“You overcharge your taxes. No one can build wealth.” 

“We only charge 25%. That’s more than fair.”

“When you only make 100 silver a year, that 25% has way more impact. Demand 10% or less on income under 100 gold, 40% on income over 100,” Nesta explained. Elain yawned next to her, nothing bored her quite like math and taxes.

“But then you end up with less money than the poorer person,” Graysen said.

“No, you don’t tax all of it at 40%,” Nesta took a hand out of her muff to try and gesture with her explanation. “Look, let’s say I make 200 gold a year. On the first 100, I pay 10% in taxes, so 10 gold. On the second hundred, I pay 40% in taxes, or 40 gold. In total I pay 50, and keep 150 gold.” 

“My brain hurts.” 

Nesta rolled her eyes “It’s fairly common on the continent.  Based on the income statements you showed me last time, you could bring in an extra 3500 gold a year right there,  not even counting potential future growth” 

Graysen squinted at Nesta, Elain jumped in to explain. 

“Nesta’s always had a knack for maths. When she was little, she would skip music lessons to practice with father’s books.” 

“And the tax law, where did you learn that?” 

“I was the eldest, I was always groomed to inherit the family estate. Mother had me start learning how to manage a household when I was 5.”  

“That early?”

“How old were you when you learned to ride or fight?” Nesta asked. 

“Touche,” Graysen conceded. 

Lady Archeron accepted that her eldest had no talent for tapestry, embroidery, music, painting, or any of the fine arts. A waste of a pretty face , her mother had told her.  Nesta would never be a debutant or a courtier, she was much too hard for that. But, she was smart. Elain and Feyre could become courtiers and charm their way through society with their personalities and talents. Nesta, she decided, would have to learn to win her place in life with wits and grace. Nesta had to already be a lady if she was ever going to be treated like one.

It took an extra 8 years, but it seemed that training finally paid off.

Chapter Text

Life had been peaceful. 

Until one late winter day when she found a note with no return address tucked in with the rest of her mail. It was short. 

One of us will check in and drop off another letter tomorrow, two hours past sunset. No need for extra privacy. 

 

R

 

She read that note at least ten times, trying to determine if it was anything other than what it really was. But there was no doubt. One of them was coming to check on them tomorrow night. She threw the damn thing into the fireplace. 

No need for extra privacy

No need to send off the staff, then. Only one of them would be there, probably glamored. She could answer the door herself and let them in. But where to talk to them? Elain would be home, and Nesta really didn’t want Elain any more involved than she already was. There was only one place Nesta could guarantee they would not be disturbed. 

It better be the polite one.

Not knowing which one was coming was the worst part. She could reasonably assume it wouldn’t be Feyre, as she didn’t know how to glamor. But it could be any of the others. She looked over the gowns in her closet, looking for one in particular. If she was going to deal with these Fae fucks, she was going in armed. She pulled out a lavender gown, the first one Clare had tailored for her. It served two purposes. For its first, wearing it gave her strength, like Clare was with her, holding her hand. For the second, if that prick Rhysand was the one dropping off the note, he’d recognize the dress from Clare’s memories and back off. 

After dinner, Nesta stayed in the parlor with a deck of cards, playing a game by herself. It was unusual for Nesta to spend an evening on her own, with neither Elain nor the staff when they were available, but it wasn’t entirely unheard of. With the dress she had chosen, Jenny immediately determined that this was more of a “leave Nesta alone” day. 

Nesta heard the tell-tale flapping before anything else. She stood up immediately, expecting to hear the thud of a landing, but it didn’t come. She moved to the foyer and waited for the fae to land. Every moment was an eternity, but the flapping just kept going. It was circling the house. She started counting, a single rotation took about 10 seconds, and she counted 60 before boots thumped on the doorstep.  

She had a hand on the doorknob, stopping herself from jerking the door open before a knock came. One card, she only had one ace. One it seemed Rhysand hadn’t picked up on. The second she heard knuckles meet wood she threw open the door.

Shit

The annoying one was on her doorstep, right where he had left a month before. She took a steadying breath and moved back, trying to look as casual as possible and not like she was leaving just enough room for a burly bat to pass through. 

“Is someone at the door?” Mrs. Laurent called, her steps coming closer from the back rooms. 

“Thought I heard something, but it’s just the wind,” Nesta called back, closing the door as soon as Cassian had cleared its reach. Laurent walked out the foyer, confirming for herself that Nesta was alone. “I’m going upstairs, tell Jenny not to come up for an hour.” 

“If you are going to bed then she should -” 

“Tell Jenny I said not to disturb me for an hour.” Nesta turned on her heel and started walking up the stairs as casually as possible.  Fucking Hell she couldn’t wait for Laurent to leave with Elain. This woman matched unwarranted nosiness with complete willful ignorance. Any other staff member would just say “yes milady” and let it go. Even Jenny would just give her a cat’s grin and make a not-so-subtle comment to take her time. Hell, she could tell Jenny to leave her alone with Cassian in her chambers for an hour and she would probably have the same response. 

No. Bad. Bad thought. Bad.

A blush filled her cheeks at the thought. Sure she was leading him to her bedroom, with the intention of letting him in this time, but this was a war meeting. He wasn’t thinking of her like that. She most definitely wasn’t going to either. He was a bat. Just a very large, handsome bat. 

Cassian walked around Nesta as she opened the door, slipping inside. She shut it behind her. She tried to choke down the nervousness of having a man, even or especially Cassian, in her room. Not even the butlers entered her chambers. 

Nesta walked across the room to the fireplace, trying to put as much distance between her and Cassian as possible, took a quiet, deep breath, and spoke. 

“You're ten minutes late.” 

GO READ WINGS AND EMBERS  AND COME BACK LOVE YOU （*＾3＾）/～♡

“I’ll mail the letter tomorrow morning,” Nesta stopped at the door. She was absolutely going to have the last word here. “You know nothing about who I am, and what I’ve done, and what I want. And while we’re on the subject… Send someone else next time. If I see you on my doorstep, I’ll scream loud enough for the servants to come running.” 

She slipped out of her room and started walking down the hall. Jenny was already walking towards her with a cart of water for her bath. “Done already?” Her knowing smirk was the last thing Nesta wanted to deal with right now. 

“I’m going for a ride.” She needed the cool air, now. 

Nesta walked right out the front door, slamming it behind her in time with the boom of wings that filled the air. She looked up as Cassian launched himself into the night, flying at a dizzying speed back to the otherside of that damn Wall. Nesta turned to the stables, saddling her horse herself, not wanting to deal with anyone else tonight. 

Once she led her mare from the stables, she hopped up onto its back and kicked it into gallup. The air pierced her face, stinging cold against her skin. But it was exactly she needed right now. 

Because she was, in a word, hot. 

Hot with anger. 

Hot with desire. 

Hot with shame. 

She thought last time she was so worked up because she hadn’t played in a while. But this… this was different. Cassian was different. He managed to find every exposed nerve and stroke them. He pinpointed her lack of experience with men and prodded at it. He seemed to stumble onto her history with women without even realizing it was a target. 

How he managed to figure out what Tomas had done she had no idea. But he didn’t tease her about it. The bastard tried to defend her, avenge her. Avenge her in the direct, masculine manner she wasn’t allowed to use. She was bare to him. Completely clothed, in the dress Clare made her no less, but she was bare in front of that man. 

Wanting. 

The devil help her, she wanted him. She wanted him to keep kissing her neck, she wanted him to press his body on hers, she wanted his hands to grip her chest, her ass. She wanted those lips, that tongue, to do all the things she had read about in her old filthy romance novels. 

And then he licked her and she jumped back. Not because she wanted him to stop, but because it felt so, so... electric. 

Fuck, she was in over her head. And fuck him for doing that to her. For working her up so perfectly that she was ready to beg him to keep going. For stopping and throwing venom back at her. It was a damn unfair, how easily he threw her around. How he didn’t even know what the fuck he was talking about and he still managed to hit his target perfectly. 

“It’s easier, isn’t it? To wield the words and the coldness as armor to keep everyone from seeing where and who you failed and how you did not care until it was too late.” 

He thought he was just talking about Feyre. And if he was, she might have been able to shake it off as easily as she did his High Lord’s barbs, keep control. But Cassian’s words were broader, encompassing all her most grievous sins. 

How she watched her mother waste away, powerless to stop it. 

How she let her sister keep them alive, unwilling to help her. 

How she couldn’t step through the Wall, unable to work up the courage. 

How she didn’t love Clare until it was too late, too frozen to see what was in front of her. 

Nesta hadn’t gotten angry like that since she was a child. It was like he was undoing every restraint his mother had painstakingly trained into her. Suddenly she was acting out again, striking out again. Not a righteous fury, not life or death fear, just simple, white-hot anger. Suddenly she was 7 and he was Jeremy, denying that Morrigan of the Truth was real and fought in the War, and instead of beating him with words and wit, she just wanted to beat him. 

But she’s not 7, and he’s not Jeremy. He’s a fully grown fae warrior, a general. So he held her, held her knee and her waist and if she wasn’t so angry she might have noticed that being held like that, by him, turned her on. But she was angry, and she wasn’t 7 anymore, and he was already clearly taken with her. 

So she adapted.

She knew how to hunt men. She hunted them better than Feyre hunted wolves. All it takes is the tiniest bait, the tiniest hint that a woman might be interested, and men lose all their senses. 

That is what pissed her off the most, she decided, finally slowing down the horse from a gallup to a trot, ready to turn back to the house. It wasn’t that he turned her on, or that he managed to target all of her insecurities, or even that his entire being seemed designed to get a rise out of her. It’s that despite all that, he was still just some stupid man, easily distracted by very small possibility of kissing her. 

By the time she made it back to the house, she was entirely calm. The red on her cheeks was from the cold, not the bat. Connor was waiting by the stable, ready to take the horse. Jenny was leaning against him, arms crossed. Both of them were watching her with concerned looks in their eyes. They didn’t ask about whatever bothered her, not because they didn’t want to know or wouldn’t listen, but because they knew Nesta wasn’t going to talk about it unless she wanted to.

She was glad for their understanding. What could she say anyway? “I just had a very hot encounter with the general of the Night Court. He’s got perfect hazel eyes and hair you just want to run your fingers through, but manages to find every possible avenue of pissing me off. I’ve never been attracted to a man before and the one woman I was probably attracted to was kidnapped by the fae because my sister and her current beau really fucked up. Is it weird that I have never really experienced attraction to someone else like this? Is there something wrong with me? I feel like I might be a very repressed person, but I don’t know if it’s my general dislike of most people, my incredibly high standards, or the result of my awful relationship with my parents. But it’s fine. I’m fine.” 

Yeah no, she definitely couldn’t say that. 

Nesta just stayed silent while Connor took her mare and Jenny walked her inside. She spotted the letter on her night stand as she re-entered her room. She’d deal with it tomorrow. Right now, a bath and sleep were in order. She would deal with Cass later. 

Or never. 

But that didn’t work last time, did it?

2 weeks passed since her encounter with Cassian. And she was still thinking about it. Not all the time, like at first. But enough. When she was alone, when she was bored, when she was trying to sleep. She ultimately decided, on her walk back to the house from a visit with the Hales in their new farmhouse, that the part that stuck with her the most was his frank goodness. 

I’d do it for anyone. 

She had never met anyone who’d just do the right thing for a stranger, for a woman, for no other reason than it was just the right thing to do. She’d read about it in stories as a child, fantasized about noble knights, defending maidens and the weak for no other reason than it was the goodness that compelled them. But those characters were fake. People didn’t act like that. They had personal motivations and dedications, and they looked the other way if anyone outside of their own circle was in danger. 

She had seen it time and again. Her friends let her family starve. The villagers that just watched as the mercenaries attacked Elain. The entire Mandray clan. People don’t just help each other. The world doesn’t work that way. 

And here this asshole was, just… offering his services. Wanting nothing in return, making no accusations, asking for no context. Someone was hurt, someone else did the hurting, he was going to make them pay. 

“Are all fae like that, or is Cassian just a simple idiot?” she asked no one in particular. 

“Not sure of the context, but Cassian is an idiot,” someone responded next to her. She whipped her head around to see Azriel walking next to her. He was dressed in the same dark leathers he wore last time, though he was coated in a fine layer of tan dust. 

‘“Shit! Where did you come from?” she asked, taking an involuntary jump back. 

“The continent,” he pulled out a letter and handed it to her. “The queens sent a response.” 

She ripped it open, reading through the text. 

“Two days? When did you get this?” Her voice rose a bit too much, but they were far enough away from others that there was no real cause for concern.  

“About ten minutes ago.” 

“Did you send a response yet?” She looked up at him. She could clear the staff easily, but on such short notice, it was going to be suspicious again. 

“No, I wanted to confirm with you and Elain first,” he gave her a little nod. “I also want to confirm the coordinates with you.”

Nesta sighed. “Confirm the meeting. Follow me to the house, I’ll double check the coordinates.” Azriel nodded and flicked his wrist. Nesta assumed he had glamored himself again. She continued her walk back to the house, keeping her eyes ahead. “How many of you should I expect?” Is Cassian going to be there? 

“It will most likely be 5, Feyre, Rhys, Cass, Mor, and myself,” Azriel’s voice answered beside her. 

“Mor? The one that walked Feyre out of Tamlin’s home?” She was trying to remember what else Feyre had said about the woman. She was blonde, maybe? 

“Yes, Rhys’s cousin, Morrigan.” 

Nesta stopped walking. Feyre hadn’t used her full name before, just calling her Mor. She turned to face Azriel, her face betraying incredulous disbelief. “You- you don’t mean Morrigan of the Truth?” 

“You’ve heard of her, then?” 

Nesta idolized her when she was a child. There was hardly a little girl who knew their history who didn’t. She was a hero of the war, a friend to the queens, the female fae who saw the truth of the horror of human slavery. And she apparently wasn’t a myth. Morrigan was real. Not only real, she was still alive. Alive, and coming to her house. 

“H-How old are you?” she asked. Azriel cocked his head. 

“We’re all old enough to remember the War,” he answered. “We all fought in it- allied with the human alliance.” 

Nesta took a second to register that sentence. She knew fae lifespans were vastly different from humans. But all of them, all of them were old enough to not only remember the war, but fight in the damn thing. Nesta turned forward again, and resumed walking to the house. 

This wasn’t the first time, then, that Feyre’s court had fought on the side of humans. She had dismissed their aide now with a wish to not lose their sovereignty to Hybern again. And perhaps they had similar reasons the first time around. But she couldn’t get Cass’s stupid, simple sentance. I’d do it for anyone. She had to ask the question, she had to know. 

“Why?” she said slowly. “Why did you fight in the War?” 

Azriel took a second to answer; Nesta could hear him fiddling with his mangled hands. Ultimately, he said  “I won’t speak for others, but for me there was no choice. No one should live their life in captivity.”

Chapter Text

Feyre was naked. 

She wasn’t naked. But she was naked. 

Her gown was white chiffon and silk and left little to nothing to the imagination. The lingerie they just ordered for Elain’s wedding night was more conservative. It took all of Nesta’s self control to not walk Feyre upstairs and put her in real clothes. 

Then a blond woman appeared behind her, wearing the same scandalous type of dress, only in bright blood red. And Nesta didn’t need to be introduced to know who this woman was, what she was. Morrigan of the Truth, the only woman recorded to fight in the War, lover of humanity, friend to the Queens. Some scholars theorized that humanity had Queens instead of Kings because of her, to honor her. 

And there she was in front of Nesta and Elain, hugging and reassuring Feyre. She barely glanced Nesta’s way. 

For the first time in a year, Nesta felt the beast of envy roar inside her skin. She had felt it everyday Feyre had picked up a bow like it was nothing. In the past year, she had found some peace with it. The envy was still there, but its roar was more of a dull moan. Not today though. Today Nesta wished, for a moment, that her mother had never taught her to be a lady, that she could forget all decorum and just gush at her childhood hero. 

She glanced over as Azriel, who didn’t bother to look away from her, to hide how he was gauging her reaction to Morrigan. It didn’t bother Nesta, that he was keeping an eye on her. His observation didn’t reek of judgement, like his High Lord’s gaze, or of patronizing arrogance, like Cassian’s. It was his job. 

Nesta could accept that, the professionalism. She didn’t know how Azriel actually felt about her and she honestly didn’t care. He minded his manners and answered her questions with frank honesty. It made working with him to bring together the details of this meeting easy. The queens had demanded that the meeting be at 11 on the dot, along with their request to know the coordinates and layout of the house. Nesta sat in her study, pouring through the house blueprints while Az looked over her shoulder, noting what to put in his response. When she asked why they needed this level of detail, Azriel was open with his own confusion at the request. He assumed that they wanted to plan out escape routes or something if it ended up being a trap, but wasn’t satisfied with that answer either. 

Nesta looked to the clock, it was getting close to 11 now. Whatever the reason for the request, they would find out soon enough. Nesta checked the braid Elain had made for her. She had the staff leave the night before, leaving the door unlocked for the fae to let themselves in the early hours of the morning. They didn’t come downstairs themselves until it was nearing the time for the meeting; partially because Nesta didn’t want Elain around the fae for a second longer than necessary, and partially because it took that long to get ready.  

Elain pulled her locks into a tight braid that crowned her head, ending in a swirl at the base of her skull. Similar to the style she wore at the Rutland ball. She and Elain were re-wearing their dresses from the Ball, too. It was a bit early in the season, but it was their best. The lilac-and-silver fabric of the dress shimmered with every little motion, catching and reflecting the late morning sun against her curves. After Cassian’s crack at the volume of her skirts, she half expected him to make another one at the extra fabric of her sleeves. And while she did catch him taking in her full dress, it was her neck and ears he stared at. She knew it wasn’t the thumb-sized amethysts that caught his attention. He was noting the iron settings and wire work. 

He looked… good today. Fancier. His hair was neatly pulled back into half-pony, no wind-swept flyaways in sight.  He was still in leather armor, but it was cleaner, tighter against his chest. He was wearing more of those red gems, not just on the back of his vambraces, but on his knees, shoulders, and one over his sternum. The gems themselves seemed to glow and vibrate. 

Cassian smiled at her in that perfect taunting grin of his. He had caught her staring. He turned slightly, ready to no doubt give her guff about it, when a powerful wind blew through the room. The queens had arrived. 

And something about them reeked.  

Nesta had to stop herself from gagging on the scent of chalk, seaweed, and rust. She looked around, no one else seemed to note the smell. Or if they did, they hid it well. 

“Well met,” Rhysand applauded, stepping forward and observing the queens. The five of them all seemed as different from each other as they were from her. She had never seen such a variety of women in one place. The oldest had to be pushing 70, deep wrinkles cutting into her warm brown skin. She was hardly frail though, standing tall and firm. She wore a dark blue gown, with matching crystals knotted into her long white dreads. With the colors she wore, the simple iron circlet across her brow, there was little doubt she was Queen of Bremerhaven. 

The next two were opposites of each other, and dressed like it. One was dark as moonless night, dressed in a gorgeous pale white gown. The only thing betraying her age was the smile lines in the corner of her eyes. The next was pale to the point it was concerning, from her hair to her eyes to her skin. But she was dressed in a matte black dress. Both had matching rings and matching iron and silver coronets. The queens of the united lands of Rhine-Weser, then. 

The other two were young, the same age as the sisters. One was wearing an emerald diadem etched with the sigil Oder, standing a head shorter than everyone else. Her eyes and hair a matching black silk. She looked suspicious of everything around her, holding a tight grimace as she took in the people. 

And finally there was the golden lioness, the queen of Elbe. She was as beautiful as the rumors suggested, honey-brown skin contrasting the bright yellow of her hair, so curly and large it extended almost a foot behind her head. In lieu of a crown her whole body was powdered with gold dust, the trademark of her country. 

But one was missing.

“Where is the sixth?” Rhysand asked at the end of his initial greeting.

“She is unwell, and could not make the journey,” the oldest said, not even bothering to look at the High Lord of Night. She was far too busy studying Feyre with a look Nesta had only seen on debutants coveting their friends’ jewelry, “You are the emissary.” 

“Yes,” Feyre’s voice cracked as she spoke the first word. This was a bad idea, Feyre was not like her sisters. She was not raised for this. You need someone to crawl around in the dirt, hunt down a wolf, skin it and keep you alive? Call Feyre. You need someone to play politics with 5 of the 6 most powerful humans in the world? Call anyone else.  

The queen dismissed Feyre entirely after that misstep. She’s not trained for this. “And you are the High Lord who wrote us such an interesting letter after your first was dispatched.” 

So they had gotten the second letter.

“I am,” Rhysand gestured behind him, “And this is my cousin, Morrigan” 

Most of the queens gasped, following the involuntary outburst with some attempt to mask the shock. But not the golden lioness. She just eyed Morrigan as the fae stalked up to Feyre’s side, taking note of the way Morrigan moved, her grace, her power, even the way she bowed. 

“It has been a long time since I met with a mortal queen.” That’s an understatement. 

“Morrigan - the Morrigan form the War.” The pale queen said, her voice sounding as frail as she looked. 

Mor only bowed once more in the face of their astonishment. “Please- sit”

Each queen took her seat, keeping their attention to Mor and Rhysand. Their guards remaining in formation around the room behind them, eyes locked solidly on Cassian and Azriel, standing in perfect attention at the front of the room. Only the lioness took the time to notice the humans standing in the corner not 10 feet from the bats. 

“I assume those are our hosts.” 

Nesta didn’t bow. This woman, all these women, were queens, but not her queens. Her island was unclaimed by a monarch, the slip of land below the Wall deemed too risky for any of the original queens to want ownership. Here, lords and ladies owned property, and either leased or collected taxes from the people who lived on or next to that land. Each landowner was technically equal to the other, and decisions were made through a series of complex alliances and friendships. It was a confusing mess of a political climate, but it was resilient. Power was too spread out for any one lord or lady to be an effective target. The flip side was they did not move well as one. 

Nesta held the lioness’ gaze. Let her learn what it means to deal with an islander. She could have sworn the queen wanted to smile.  

“My sisters,” Feyre explained. The queen turned her head back to Feyre, back to the ridiculously unsubtle crown she was wearing. 

“An emissary wears a golden crown. Is that tradition in Prythian?” 

“No, but she certainly looks good enough in one that I can’t resist.” His smile was the only one in the room. He could play it off as flirting all he wanted, but it sent a message as clearly as Nesta’s iron-wrapped jewelry did. Feyre was to be treated and respected as a Fae Queen, his Fae Queen. 

“A human turned into a High Fae… and who is now standing beside a High Lord at the place of honor. Interesting.” Just say you know they are fucking. 

“You have an hour of our time, make it count,” the old one said. Only an hour? Fuck I only needed to send the staff away for the day, then. 

“How is it that you can winnow?” Morrigan spoke first. Getting the elephant out of the way, then. She was answered by the gold queen and her mocking grin. 

“It is our secret, and our gift from your kind.” Not yours. Not yours. Not yours. Mine. The words flitted through Nesta’s thoughts before she could truly register them, along with the image of a deep well. Feyre started speaking, turning to the real topic. 

“War is coming. We called you here to warn you - and to beg a boon.” 

“We know war is coming,” the ancient woman scoffed. “We have been preparing for it for many years.” In her defense, it was a dumb way to phrase it.

“The humans in this territory seem unaware of the larger threat. We’ve seen no signs of preparation,” Feyre stated. Nesta choked down her laughter, glad that no eyes were on her. That old geezer. His stupid subterfuge actually fucking worked, they really thought no one on the island knew about the threat. 

“This territory is a slip of land compared to the vastness of the continent. It is not in our interests to defend it. It would be a waste of resources.” Nesta’s amusement died. There it is. Their ancient dismissal. Neither the lioness nor any of the other queens ever gave a damn about the island or the people that lived here. Why would they start now? 

“Surely the loss of even one innocent life would be abhorrent,” Rhystand’s tone was distant and cold. She could have stabbed him. 

“Yes. To lose one life is always a horror. But war is war. If we must sacrifice this tiny territory to save the majority, then we shall do it,” she explained. Objectively, she wasn’t wrong. Even the ancient war wasn’t fought on the continent. These lands were just assigned as the result of the latitude the Wall went up at. Sacrificing this territory was the smart play. But Nesta couldn’t see it as just a territory. It was home. 

“There are good people here,” Feyre argued, seeing the same visions Nesta no doubt saw. Not impersonal numbers of a census, but the actual people they had grown up with. 

“Then let the High Fae of Prythian defend them,” she said sweetly, as though there was no further argument to have. 

It was an argument Nesta herself would have made under different circumstances. If she didn’t know first hand that leaving human lives in the hands of the Fae spelled death. It did for Clare. It did for Feyre. She couldn’t leave Elain in their hands, too. Or Jenny. Or Connor. Or Isaac and Rebekah and their ugly baby. Or even Tabitha. 

“We have servants here. With families. There are children in these lands. And you mean to leave us all in the hands of the Fae?” Nesta stood as straight as possible.  

“It is no easy choice, girl-” 

“It is the choice of cowards ,” Nesta spat through her teeth, summoning her mother’s voice and expression, the one that used to scare her more than her slaps. 

“For all that your kind hates ours… you’d leave the Fae to defend your people?” But Feyre just had to get in her way and say exactly the wrong thing. From the amused smile on the gold queen as she responded, she was clearly enjoying toying with her opponent. She didn’t even bother to correct Feyre that the islands weren’t her people. 

“Shouldn’t they? Shouldn’t they defend against a threat of their own making? Should Fae blood not be spilled for their crimes over the years?” 

“Neither side is innocent,” Oh shut the fuck up you overpowered piece of shit, what the fuck could humans even do to you fucks. “But we might protect those who are. Together.” Like you did for Clare? Nesta was saved from tearing into the High Lord by the old drone of a queen. Saved by the sheer luck of the queens wholly ignoring the humans in the corner. At least that’s what she hoped.

“Oh? The High Lord of the Night Court asks us to join with him, save lives with him? To fight for peace?” She was laughing at him, dark and bitter. “And what of the lives you have taken during your long, hideous existence? What of the High Lord who walks with darkness in his wake, and shatters minds as he sees fit?” Nesta hated everyone in the room at the moment. She hated that she agreed with these cowardly queens. She hated that they had let Feyre take the lead on negotiations. She hated that the only way to save her home was in the hands of fae who so clearly had no idea what they were doing. “We have heard of you, even on the continent, Rhysand. We have heard what the Night Court does, what you do to your enemies. Peace? For a male who melts minds and tortures for sport, I did not think you knew the word.”

Feyre tried to press them again, seemingly unaware that her court had already lost. She had told Nesta and Elain that Rhysand’s reputation was all an act, something he chose to put on to protect his home. And speaking to Cassian, to Azriel, seeing how Feyre lit up when she looked at him, Nesta was sure that it was.  But that act still came at a steep price. A price he didn’t have to pay. Clare paid it. And now all the humans on this forsaken island would, too. 

Feyre begged, pleading for mercy. And Nesta just stood there, stewing with more and more anger. Feyre was laying her heart bare to these vultures, and there was no way it would work. It was just words. Nesta could begrudgingly trust Rhysand, even if she hated him, because her sister trusted him. But Feyre was a stranger to these queens. Who cared what her story was? 

These women were all well aware of the cost of losing this war. They had entire kingdoms of people to protect. They couldn’t risk it all on a stranger’s words. Not with 500 years of rumors and common sense telling them the High Lord of the Night Court was not to be trusted. The old queen was probably going to tell Feyre as much when Rhysand cut it. 

“Do not insult Feyre for speaking with her heart, with compassion for those who cannot defend themselves, when you speak from only selfishness and cowardice.” Nesta felt herself separate from her physical body. She wasn’t allowed to insult them, but Rhysand was? 

“For the greater good-” 

“Many atrocities have been done in the name of the greater good.” And how many did you commit? The question was also in the queen’s expression as she held Rhysand’s gaze. Nesta had no doubt every human in the room was thinking the same thing. But the old queen only responded. 

“The Book will remain with us. We will weather this storm-” 

“That’s enough,” Morrigan of the Truth finally got to her feet, deciding at the eleventh hour to finally fucking do something. 

“I am the Morrigan. You know me. What I am. You know that my gift is truth. So you will hear my words now, and know them as truth- as your ancestors once did.” The room stopped, waiting to hear what she had to say. “Do you think it is any simple coincidence that a human has been made immortal again, at the very moment when our old enemy resurfaces? I fought side by side with Miryam in the War, fought beside her as Jurian’s ambition and bloodlust drove him mad, drove them apart. Drove him to torture Clythia to death, then to battle Amarantha until his own. I marched back into the Black Land with Miryam to free the slaves left in that burning sand, the slavery she had herself escaped. The slaves Miryam had promised to return to free. I marched with her- my friend. And your ancestors, those queens who signed that Treaty,” she looked down a moment, solemn and sad, remembering something old and painful and… “They were my friends, too. And when I look at you…” her tone changed again, to contempt, “I see nothing of those women in you. When I look at you, I know your ancestors would be ashamed.”

“You laugh at the idea of peace? That we can have it between our peoples? There is an island in a forgotten, stormy part of the sea. A vast, lush island, shielded from time and spying eyes. And on that island, Miryam and Drakon still live. With their children. With both of their peoples. Fae and human and those in between. Side by side. For five hundred years, they have prospered on that island, letting the world believe them dead-” 

“Mor,” Rhys stopped her. There was such a thing as too much truth.  

The queens considered Mor’s words, the truth she revealed. No doubt noting the differences in the stories from the history books. Maybe she should have tried to talk to them before this, go over details of the human accounts of the war. Like that Jurian was a legendary hero who defeated one of the deadliest fae generals and died trying to take out the second. And that Drakon was a bit of a controversial figure. He was a hero of the war, yes, but the stories painted him as a corruptor. He drove the wedge between Miryam and Jurian, separating them and indirectly leading to both of their deaths. Poetry sometimes redeemed him by emphasizing his glorious death and sacrifice, but it was rare. 

If she was speaking the truth, that Miryam and Drakon live, happy and isolated on a little island, it would be a revelation. On one hand, yes, fae and humans living together in peace is remarkable. But the telling was so important here. Framing it as the happy ending Jurian bought them would be better, help it go down easier. 

The only thing that they had going for them right now was that it was Morrigan of the Truth speaking. The friend of humans, incapable of lying, able to see, know, and show the truth to anyone willing to listen. The crone spoke again. 

“Give us proof. If you are not the High Lord that rumor claims, give us one shred of proof that you are as you say - a male of peace.” It was not an unreasonable request. It was the most reasonable thing anyone had said yet, and far more generous an offer than Nesta thought they were going to get. So why did the Night Court look so grave? 

“You desire proof? I shall get it for you. Await my word, and return when we summon you,” Rhysand answered.  

“We are summoned by no one, human or faerie,” the lioness stood. 

“Then come at your leisure,” Rhysand spread his arms out, finally letting some bite through. The guards stepped forward, but a single smile from Cass had them cowering. “Perhaps then you’ll comprehend how vital to the Book is to both our efforts.”  

“We will consider it once we have your proof. That book has been in our possession for 500 years. We will not hand it over without due consideration.”  

“Good luck” the lioness smirked at them.

And they vanished, taking their wretched scent with thim. 

Elain sighed, “I hope they all burn in hell.” 

I hope they side with us.

Chapter Text

The fae left with almost no discussion, just a promise to return with another letter in a matter of days. Nesta took the chance to decompress with Elain as soon as they left., collecting tea cups as they spoke. 

"You can't really blame them. They have their own lands to protect." Elain wishing they to go to hell was a little harsh, in Nesta’s opinion. Though she had the presence of mind not to say that in front of the fae. Less that she cared what they thought, more that it would probably start a fight and drag out their visit. 

"They didn't ask any questions Nesta." Elain answered, a harsh tone contrasting  her soft voice. She picked up a teacup and turned back to her sister. "They never asked why we needed the book, or the cauldron, or the wall"

"I assumed it was all in the letter."

"Rhysand wouldn't put such sensitive information in a letter. And even if he did… they didn't ask about Hybern, or what we knew about their forces, or where he might strike first, or anything."

"Perhaps they just wanted to feel us out first, figure out if they could trust us before getting potentially purposely false information.” It felt like a stretch as she said it.  

“This isn’t gossip, Nesta,” Elain’s harsh tone took Nesta by surprise. Elain rarely spoke with such hardness. “This is war. You take any information you can get your hands on and verify it later.” Elain shook her head. “But they didn’t ask for any, they just....” Elain scrunched her eyebrows, looking off in the middle distance. “They just wasted our time.” 

Nesta was quiet for a moment. Elain was always a lot smarter than people gave her credit for, including Nesta. Sure, she was optimistic to the point of naive, and never bothered to pay attention to her studies, but sit her down and play a game? Elain never lost a game. 

She could see every move her opponents were going to make and devise a counter strategy for it. Forget 5 moves ahead, Elain had entire matches mapped out before they even began. And what war but a game with terrible stakes? If she was worried, then they all should be. 

“What do you think they want?” Nesta asked, watching her closely. Elain took a breath, considering. She had probably been trying to figure the queens out from the moment they appeared in the living room. 

“They don’t care about us,” she said carefully, “but that’s not news. They’ve been ignoring Nolan and Graysen’s pleas for aide for years.” 

“They have?” 

“Yes, though, originally they responded that Nolan was just paranoid. But recently, the letters were more in line with what they said today. This island isn’t worth the resources it would cost to save it,” she sighed. This was clearly not the first time she’d had this conversation. How many times were her and Graysen’s walks just strategy sessions? Did he value her input? Did he listen to her the way he alluded he would? “But even if they don’t care about this island, why not ally with Rhysand? Or appear to ally with him, at least.” Elain started pacing back and forth. “Even if they can’t send forces here, why not encourage fighting on the island separate from the continent? It would only serve to split Hybern’s forces. Even if they couldn’t trust Rhysand, even if he was the threat, it wouldn’t be any worse of a position than they are in now. It doesn’t make sense. It’s like… ” Elain stopped and looked at Nesta. “it’s like we’re playing chess and they are playing bridge.” 

Nesta expected the next letter to the queens to be hand delivered, like Cassian’s. Hopefully by Azriel. She’d use the moment to voice Elain’s concerns to the Night Court. She didn’t trust them anymore than the queens, but at least they had skin in the game on the same continent. 

But no one came to visit. The letter for the queens just appeared in her pile of mail 3 days after the queens left. Whatever the Fae were off doing, they seemed to be too busy to bother filling in the lowly humans. She posted the letter and started making failsafe plans with Elain. 

Nesta was walking through a frozen forest, her feet cold and sore, but not unbearably so. Griffin was next to her, commenting on how close they were to the Wall now. That they should walk slowly, so they don’t walk into it full force. 

Nesta. Nesta. Nesta.

The wind called to her, beckoning her to approach. Nesta knew they were at the Wall before Griffin had said anything, she could feel it siren song. The wall thrummed. Vibrating and calling to Nesta. 

Nesta. Nesta. Nesta. 

Cassian was so close to her now, she should back away, walk away. But there was that pulsing again. A warm heart beating, calling to her. 

Nesta. Nesta. Nesta. 

His lips came to her neck, her steps approached the wall, and the call only grew louder. 

Nesta. Nesta. Nesta. 

She wanted to feel the source of that vibration, the power that lay within. She extended her hand to the surface of the Wall, to Cassian’s chest, and lightning shot through her, sending her back. The spark ran from her fingertips to her eyes, fading to black as quickly as it had come. 

Not yet. 

The early morning sun poured through her bedroom window. Bright and clear, she watched the dust dance around them. Nesta yawned and stretched, leaning into the fingertips that traced lines down her cheek, jaw, and neck. 

“Are you sure this is all you want for your birthday?” Clare’s golden hair was loose, flowing freely all around her. She was propped up on her side, watching her lover with a look of contented awe. 

“Yes, I’m sure,” Nesta pushed herself up and turned over, finding Clare’s lips with her own. Clare smiled on her mouth and gently pushed Nesta back. 

“It doesn’t seem like that much of a gift. I could make you a new dress you know.” Her tone was light, joking, loving. Nesta’s response was heavy and pleading. 

“No, all I want is one day here with you.”  

Clare smiled. “Well if you insist.”

This time Clare leaned in for the kiss, letting her free hand snake around the back of Nesta’s neck. Each kiss was deeper than the last, but none of them were rushed. Her lips were so soft, softer than Nesta had ever imagined them to be. When Clare’s tongue met Nesta’s lip, she parted happily. Each second, each moment, each feeling perfect. 

Clare’s hands started working this magic elsewhere. Starting with languid strokes down Nesta’s arms and side, eventually getting her ample breasts. She fully groped one, feeling it heavy in her hand. Giving it a good squeeze, Clare pulled away for a moment. “Lay back” 

Nesta did, beyond pleased to have Clare follow and straddle her. With two hands available now, Clare lavished attention on Nesta’s breasts, her nipples. She moved from kissing Nesta’s lips to her jaw and neck, finally arriving at her ears. 

“They’re just so good” she laughed, pinching a nipple. Nesta cried out at the sensation. Clare laughed softly and continued her work. Nesta’s own hands took their time feeling up Clare’s sides, marvelling at the creamy smooth skin. She eventually worked up the courage to have her own fun with her friend’s bosom. Smaller than hers by far, but so perky, so responsive. 

On hand left Nesta’s breast and traveled south, finding a wet home waiting. Nesta gasped, trying to focus on returning the favor, only to be unable to control her hands when Clare’s finger ghosted her clit. “Just feel it, Nesta”. 

A dangerous order, but for the first time in who knows how long, Nesta wanted to feel it. She relaxed and let the sensations wash over her. She kept her hands on Clare, but they did little more than grip flesh as Clare worked her to an orgasm with her fingers. Nesta yelled out as she came, curling her toes and unconsciously digging her nails into Clare’s thighs. When she finally stopped clenching Clare’s fingers, Clare removed her hand, bringing it to her mouth. Clare’s green eyes met Nesta’s icey blue ones as she sucked the juices from each digit. 

“Delicious,” she smiled, scooting her legs back and leaning down. “I bet it’s even better here.” If her fingers felt good, Clare’s tongue was phenomenal. Nesta clenched and relaxed and came and felt and was. Nesta yelled and screeched with each orgasm until every limb was jelly. Finally, Clare lifted her head from between Nesta’s legs and laid it on her belly. 

“Like your gift?” 

“Loved it.” Nesta breathed, her head back against the pillow. She wiped the sweaty hair from her brow and picked up her head, looking down at Clare’s perfect, red, swollen lips. She cupped her face, leading her back up her body and kissed her again. “And I love you.” Nesta let her hands explore Clare’s side and legs, each stroke getting closer to the target. “Your turn.”  

“Ah ah ah,” Clare pulled back, still fully stradling Nesta.