Chapter Text
Chapter One
Cassian
Feyre had found him at the House of Wind. Cassian’s chest was heaving after some early morning hand-to-hand combat with Azriel, his hands braced on his knees as he gulped crisp, fresh air into his lungs. Summer was giving way to fall, the chill hanging in the air a promise of what was to come - of the fiery riot of autumn colours as the trees shed their leaves and bracing wintery days.
It had been a long time since Cassian had fought with his brother. His business had kept him in the Illyrian mountains more often than not, but his daily sparring with Windhaven’s most promising warriors had paid off, and although he was sporting a split lip and swollen nose, Azriel was definitely the worse for wear.
Wiping away the blood and sweat from his face onto his tunic, Cassian looked up to see Feyre materialise out of thin air a few feet away from them. He grinned at her in greeting. From the way Feyre grimaced at him, he gathered his teeth were covered in blood.
“I thought we weren’t training this morning?” he asked as he spit red over the edge of the sparring plateau. Waving Azriel goodbye he shucked off his tunic, tossing it to the ground so his skin could air dry, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Feyre rolled her eyes at him and rested a hand on her hip, “Must you find any excuse to undress?”
Scraping his hair back into a messy bun, Cassian barked a laugh, “If it’s making you all hot and bothered, I can’t say I blame you. Should I speak to Rhys about properly satisfying his mate in the bedroom?”
“Such a large ego,” Feyre mused, “it makes me wonder if you’re over compensating, Cassian.”
He snorted at that, “I have the largest wingspan.”
“So you say,” Feyre huffed, which turned into outright laughter as his eyes gleamed. “Oh stop, i’m just teasing you.”
Nodding, Cassian poured himself a glass of water. He gestured to Feyre with the glass but she shook her head. When he’d finished downing it, he found her watching him apprehensively.
He surveyed her stiff posture, the way she had begun to worry her bottom lip between her teeth before he commanded, “Out with it.”
A moments pause. Then, “I want to talk to you about Nesta.”
Cassian stilled. He did not like to speak about the eldest Archeron sister if he could help it. He did not like to think about what had happened between them or about what was happening to her.
His voice was too light, too conversational when he asked, “And why would you want to do that?”
Sighing, Feyre shifted her gaze to focus somewhere over his shoulder. The sound was tormented and defeated. “I’ve been thinking long and hard about what to do about Nesta,” Feyre started to explain. “She’s tearing herself apart and I - I don’t know what to do. I’ve stood on the sidelines - we all have - but you saw her in the summer. She’s wasting away. From what I can tell from Azriel’s updates, she spends most of her time drunk or bedding other males and it’s… it’s gone on too long. We need to intervene.”
Cassian didn’t know what to do with his body so he crossed his arms firmly against his chest instead. He and Feyre had never spoken about the males Nesta took home - the males she made it her mission to find - as she sought out sleazy establishments and took her pick at the end of the night. They were always tripping over themselves to have a go. She was, after all, the female who had killed the King of Hybern.
At the beginning, when Nesta first moved out of the town house, Cassian had staked out on the rooftops of whatever tavern she was frequenting, waiting to following her home to make sure she got back safe. He never dropped down on the pavement beside her, never made a point of scaring the shit out of the male who was planning on putting his cock where it didn’t belong. No, he kept a healthy distance from Nesta whenever he could. He had razed enemies to the ground knee-deep in mud and gore and not batted an eyelid, but Nesta had a way of making him feel as if he were balancing on a tightrope between two cliffs with his wings bound.
So Cassian would perch himself on the rooftop opposite her worn apartment until a dim light cast itself out of the dirty windows. Once, he had remained beyond that - there was something about the male she had chosen that set him on edge - but in the end he had felt so sick with rage that he’d taken to the skies until the dark had bled into the pastel hues of dawn.
He hadn’t gone back, after that.
Levelling his gaze with his High Lady, Cassian tried to appear unaffected, but his voice too low as he asked, “What are you suggesting?”
“I was thinking that you could take her with you to Illyria. I know you’re leaving tomorrow.”
Everything in him went taut and loose all at once. Refraining from sending Feyre a sharp look, Cassian took a moment to calm the thrum of blood that pounded through his veins, “Is that wise?”
“I think the fresh air could do her good,” Feyre admitted. “It would get her out of Velaris. Nesta always wanted to travel and see the world. Rhys said you’re going to be stationed out there for a while and it would force her to get clean. She’s a functioning alcoholic, Cassian. She’s draining Night Court funds left, right and centre to feed her habit.”
She peered up at him. Those grey-blue eyes of hers were identical to her sisters in colour but they lacked the ice cold fire that burned so ferociously in Nesta’s. It was a fire that never failed to kindle a heat within him.
“Would you… would you do it?” she asked uncertainly.
“Feyre -“ he started gently, but she cut him off.
“I know,” she interrupted, “I know that things ended badly between you but she’s my sister, Cassian and I’ve failed her. This has all got so out of control. Nesta guards herself so carefully and pushes everyone away that I just… I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what was right. But I have two options: I watch her wither away and die - because she will die, Cass if she continues this lifestyle - or I become the evil sister and intervene.”
Feyre’s face crumpled then and Cassian allowed her to step away, to look out at the view of Velaris whilst she composed herself. The city unfolded before them like a rolling canvas of colour and light and the Sidra sparkled as it weaved itself like a serpent through the centre of the city until it met the sea.
Taking a deep breath that Cassian could tell gave her courage, Feyre said with a quiet fervour, “I’d rather be evil in this narrative than to not have tried to make things better. Nesta says she doesn’t need saving but she does need guidance - she needs somebody who will bring her out of this shell she’s become - and I can’t think of anybody else that might pull a reaction out of her. I know you travel a lot so she’ll still have her space but she’ll be in an environment that won’t feed her habit.”
Feyre turned to face him. Her braid caught in the wind and Cassian watched it fly behind her, “I know it’s a lot to ask. And I’m not asking as your High Lady, I’m asking as a friend. I know she’s been horrible to you but if we trialled this until Solstice…” Feyre trailed off at his hardened expression, “Would you do it? Take her with you, I mean.”
A muscle feathered in his jaw as he clenched his teeth, “She’d have to live with me. It’s not safe for her to stay by herself.”
“Yes,” Feyre agreed.
“I have a housekeeper who can keep an eye on her when i’m away.”
Feyre had blown out a breath - it was an exhalation of nerves, of the relief that came with him not saying no. She grabbed for his hand and squeezed, a silent thanks and he had sent her a small smile, even though he felt as if someone had punched him in the gut.
Now, in that study at the river estate, Cassian looked down at the female who would be staying with him for the near future. At the eyes that had drained of fire at the sound of her sisters words and were now nothing but hollow, unseeing.
“You’re coming with me to the Illyrian Mountains,” he told her.
Those steel blue eyes bore into his, unblinking. He waited for the retort, for the snide remark that would send him reeling but it didn’t come.
Somehow, that was worse. It meant that the situation was far graver than any of them had realised.
There was no reaction in Nesta’s expression. Her impenetrable mask was either too honed after years of practice or any emotion she should have felt had been suppressed under the claws of those demons that haunted her every move. The only indication that she had heard was in her posture, that preternatural stillness and something wholly other of hers froze, as if she were on pause.
The air around them snapped taut as everyone waited to see what she would do… how she would react.
But after a few beats, all Nesta clipped was, “When.”
“Now,” Cassian said firmly, folding his arms across his wide chest in a stance that conveyed he was taking no shit, especially from her.
“Fine,” she snapped, but her voice was flat, devoid of the anger that should be consuming her. “Am I allowed to pack my things or am I no longer allowed my possessions?”
“I told you to wrap up warm,” he gritted out, pressing the scarf he had grabbed from her apartment into her hands.
“The only thing I’ll need, I’m sure.”
Strike, parry, strike. Their insults were as sharp and brutal as their usual wordplay but something felt off. Wrong.
His gut twisted and roiled, like a serpent uncoiling ready to strike.
In his peripheral vision, Rhys stepped forward but Cassian snarled in warning, flinging out his hand behind him. Long suppressed anger bubbled to the surface so fast red slid across his vision. Fisting his hands at his side, Cassian wrestled down his rage as he tried to block out the image of her beaten up apartment, the dirty sheets and the scent of multiple males. He wouldn’t go back there. He wouldn’t allow another male near her, not if it killed him.
He’d have to have Feyre or Elain pack her a bag and Azriel could winnow it over later.
“We’ll fly, not winnow,” he said to Rhys shortly, not bothering to turn to his friend as his wings rustled agitatedly, the promise of the open skies the only thing keeping him from losing it in front of his friends.
He wasn’t even sure what he was angry about. Everything, probably. This situation, the vacant cold that laced Nesta’s every word, every movement… Her capacity for pushing away those that cared for her. For his promise that they would have time, only to see it wasting away before his eyes as she bedded male after male and drank herself into a stupor.
Cassian knew Rhys well enough to sense that he had opened his mouth to protest but had then closed it. But Cassian’s gaze didn’t break from Nesta’s as he mustered all of his strength into drawling the four words that he yearned would provoke outrage and indignation… some fiery emotion from her that would tell him that the Nesta he had known was still there under all of the layers of ice and trauma, “Time to go, sweetheart.”
Stalking out of the study into the small courtyard, Cassian stopped by the stone fountain at its centre. The water spilling down into the pool basin was the only sound - even the birds had stopped chirping, as if they too had sensed his wrath and had turned mute.
Nesta had floated out last, her chin raised, her shoulders back, as if she were a queen ready to greet her loyal subjects, despite the unkept drabness to her hair and the creases in her stained clothing.
Amren hadn’t even bothered to leave the study. She was picking her nails, a look of complete boredom adorning her feline features. Cassian hadn’t been privy to the barbed words between Rhys’ second and Nesta on that summer boat, but it must have been bad if Amren hadn’t even unleashed the power that bubbled so close to the surface of her skin.
The threat of it looming over Nesta was worse, somehow.
As if sensing his thoughts, Amren’s upper lip curled slowly. Those stormy eyes flashed and those actions alone had his blood crawling… He needed to get them out of here.
Feyre looked anxious and small amongst them all, her worry coming off of her in waves. Rhys had his hands in his pockets - a telling sign that he was refraining from comforting his mate - most likely because he had spoken out of turn earlier.
“Nesta,” Feyre tried softly, clasping her sister’s limp hands in her own. “I think it will be good for you in Illyria. To get away from everything and get some space. Elain and I love you very much. It hurts us to see you like this.”
There was no response. No barbed words or venom. Nesta just held Feyre’s gaze, expressionless.
Cassian couldn’t bear it… those dead eyes, so he closed the distance between himself and the sisters, severing the moment.
Feyre glanced quickly at Cassian and then back to Nesta as she promised, “I’ll write to you. Elain and I will both write.”
She nodded at Cassian, giving him the permission that he hadn’t even thought to seek, his mind too preoccupied with taking to the skies as soon as possible.
“Have Az bring her belongings,” he told Rhys and Feyre, securing his hair with a leather tie.
He didn’t falter as he wrapped his arms around an unusually compliant Nesta, and shot into the sky.
Air rushed into his lungs in a steady torrent, the bracing air anchoring him. He ignored Nesta’s sharp hiss at the sudden speed, at the half-moons of her nails as they dug through his leathers.
When he reached the perfect altitude, he gave a few powerful flaps before spreading his wings wide, giving himself a moment to soar and drink in Velaris for the last time before following the northern curve of the Sidra.
Neither of them spoke during the long journey. With each beat of his wings, Cassian’s anger gradually dissipated to a low hum… and then to total exhaustion. He had barely slept the night before - a constant these days - especially having known what was in store for him the following day. Somehow, the lack of verbal sparring had left him even more spent, the knowledge that things were far worse than they had thought roiling uneasily in his gut…
They should have interfered sooner. Much sooner.
Focussing on the slow burn in his wings to take his mind off things, Cassian expended some of his power to block out the climbing chill. It was a drain on his already tired body, but he hadn’t had the energy to fight Nesta into Illyrian leathers before they left. She’d have only given him hell for it anyway.
Not daring to glance down at her, Cassian kept his eyes firmly on the path ahead as he tracked his way through the sky. Despite the thick material of her dress, he could feel Nesta’s sharp bones digging into his arms and she felt too light - so light that he had to swallow down his worry. The first thing he was going to do when they got to Windhaven was make her eat something, even if he forced it down her. Perhaps he could bribe her by threatening to burn one of her beloved books - it was sacrilege, he knew, but when needs must...
Banking to the right at the first sight of snow capped mountains, Cassian flew straight into the thick snow clouds surrounding a wide mountain pass. Pure, white snow fell thick and heavy around them, so fast that if Cassian hadn’t grown up flying these skies then it would have been too easy to become disorientated. The wind was its own force now and even the best of Illyrian’s would have been tossed around like a moth on paper-thin wings. But Cassian wasn’t any Illyrian warrior and his seven siphons weren’t for nothing. As a howling gust threatened to toss them aside he dove, tucking in his wings tight as he shot towards the ground as straight as an arrow. He felt Nesta’s sudden death grip and the sharp tang of her fear as they raced towards the war camp, but he just watched the pitched tents take shape and the sparring plateau full of moving figures come to life beneath him as he waited… waited…
The wind dropped as quickly as it had come and Cassian flung out his wings, launching them backwards. Grinding his teeth, he back-flapped hard, his tendons straining and burning at the sudden drag of air.
He did not acknowledge the fear that slammed into him, nor did he express his relief that Nesta was capable of feeling something. He merely steadied himself before touching down on the powdery ground, his voice gruff from the hours it had remained unused, “We’re here.”