I’m your secret snowflake! As such, I commissioned an art of your amazing fic: Like Pristine Glass. You did such a great job portraying what a maternal Nesta would be like. Canon Nesta is a very private person , so I enjoyed how lovingly you wrote her and Cassian’s best traits coming alive in their kids. I tried to make sure that this captured Avery’s loving spirit, Oliver’s sweet shyness, and Nicky with his inquisitive and bold nature. I enjoyed learning about your process and hearing about the things that were going through your head while writing. I think writers put a lot of themselves into their writing, and it takes a lot of courage to share that with the world. So thank you for that.
Even if we are strangers who live miles apart with perhaps simply a fandom in common, I had fun getting to know you (albeit stalkerishly). I admire how you moved around a lot yet still try to see the best of it. I love how passionate you are in all things Nesta. It wasn’t surprising when you told me that you relate a lot to her, because your analyses of her always feel introspective and thoughtful.
And thank you so much for organizing such a fun exchange. I hope you and your family have a wonderful end of the year with a lot of joy to look forward to in the next.
This commission was done by the ever talented @girraffle. She’d never read the series, and I really wanted to get the physical details right, so may have overworked her lol. But she took all the changes in stride. :)
yay im glad that you’re asking for prompts!!! i’d love one where ava or ollie see their parents sleeping in the same bed and how they will react pretty pls 🥺 (i love how awkward nicky was when it was him who found them and i’m curious to see how the other two would react haha)
consider me always asking for prompts!!
hope you like this one!! (btw, this is obviously lpg-verse, but really i think anyone can figure out this prompt without being intimately familiar with that fic.)
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Being four is so much better than being three. It’s only been a month, and already Ollie can say this with confidence.
There are things you just know when you’re four. Like how to tie laces without any help from Mummy at all. And all the letters. And how to count all the way up, as high as numbers go, if you want to.
And there’s just so much more you’re allowed to do! Like flying, even when Appa is gone and it’s raining so Mummy doesn’t want to stand outside. Only you have to promise you’re not going to go any higher than that branch over there. And when you bake with your aunt, you can crack the eggs. She can even show you how to do it with one hand, if you’d like.
The best part of being four, Ollie knows, is that you get to make your own decisions. All the time. You can pick your clothes right out of the closet and you can even choose mis-matching socks if you want! You can choose what to eat for lunch, and what kind of jam you’d like on your toast, and sometimes you can even choose to not have any carrots at dinner at all.
Being four means you’re big, and being big means you have independence. Independence means taking care of yourself.
Mummy and Appa still live with them, as he and his brother and sister are always quick to clarify when they share this. And they still cook and walk with them to nursery and help them take off their swimsuits when they’re too wet and stick to their skin. Independence doesn’t mean you’re alone. But it does mean you have to make your bed in the morning because with privileges come responsibilities.
Ollie likes some responsibilities. Like feeding Bugsy the caterpillar. That’s his favorite responsibility. Or taking all the plates off the table and giving them to Appa to wash. He likes that one because he’s the only one who does because Ava and Nicky haven’t yet learned not to run when they’re holding cutlery.
But some responsibilities aren’t any fun at all. Washing the mud off his boots is one of the worst of them. Or picking up toys even when he wasn’t the one who threw them around like that, but Nicky’s got a fever now so he has to do it.
Privileges are always good, though. Like staying up all night for Starfall. Or getting to keep Bugsy even while Mummy still won’t let Nicky get a dog. And the newest privilege they each got has got to be the biggest and the best. Their own room.
It’s only in the Velaris house. In the Sugar Valley house, they still all share a room. Ollie likes that room, and he likes talking to Ava and Nicky at night after Mummy thinks they’ve all fallen asleep, but he loves choosing whatever color he likes for the walls and picking which of his toys go on his bed and which go in the playroom. Plus, when it’s just him in his room, Ava never makes him let her hold Bugsy.
There are some—well. They aren’t really bad things. Just things he doesn’t like so much.
Like in Sugar Valley, if he has a bad dream, and he wakes up, he doesn’t feel scared anymore. Because Ava and Nicky are right there. But in Velaris, he wakes up and he’s all alone.
And now Ollie is at a crossroads, like Mummy is when she wants to stay home and read a book but he and his siblings really want to go play in the park. Mummy has to decide what will make her happier—doing what she wants to do or doing what they want to do, which will make her happy because she loves them so much.
Mummy always chooses going to the park.
Ollie swallows, pulling his blanket tighter around him. He looks over at his nightstand to see Bugsy curled up in his favorite corner of the aquarium. That makes him feel a little better, a little less alone…but he’s still a little scared.
He doesn’t need to wake Mummy up. He just needs…to see her. Bugsy’s little, so it makes him feel a little better, and Mummy’s bigger, so that’ll make him feel a lot better.
So he’s just—he’s just going to go to her room and see her and he’ll go right back to his own bed and he’ll be fine.
Oh, but he hates walking through the hallway at night! The shadows always look like they’re reaching out to grab him. Uncle Az told him shadows are nothing to be scared of, but that’s easy for him to say. Uncle Az is just as big and strong as Appa is. They never have to be scared of anything.
Four’s big, but not that big.
Ollie takes a deep breath at his doorway. He’s just going to run clean across, right to Mummy’s door, and then run right back. That’s all he’ll need to do. He’ll count to four, for good luck.
Ollie holds his fists tightly together, and begins to count. “One…two…three…four.”
On the last number, he dashes, as fast as he can, right to Mummy’s room. He doesn’t wait any time as he pushes open the door and steps in—one look is all he needs, then he’ll feel better and run right back—
But he doesn’t see Mummy.
Someone else is already there.
Someone with black wings big enough to cover the whole bed.
“Ollie?” Appa says, sitting up. “What’s wrong?”
Lying on the bed beside him, Mummy begins to stir. She turns over and sits up, too, when she sees him.
“Come here, angel,” she says. “What’s wrong? Are you coughing?”
Did…why is Appa here? In Mummy’s bed? Has he had a bad dream, too?
Ollie stares at the both of them, bad dream forgotten. “Why is Appa in your bed, Mummy?”
Mummy’s face is normally a lot whiter than his or Ava’s or Nicky’s and especially Appa’s, but now she turns pink all over. Appa bites his lip hard.
“S-sometimes,” she says, still very pink, “sometimes Mummies and Appas sleep in the same room.”
Ollie frowns. “Why?” Only triplets sleep in the same room. And they don’t do that when they grow up. That’s the whole point of the Velaris house.
Mummy’s mouth goes very thin, so Appa speaks instead. “Well, you know, Ollie, Aunt Feyre and Uncle Rhys sleep in the same room.”
That’s true, at least. But…
“But they’re married.”
Mummy stands up. “I…Ollie, did something happen? Did you…were you feeling unwell?”
“I had a bad dream,” he says. He looks at Appa. “Did you have a bad dream, Appa? And now you came to sleep with Mummy?”
Appa smiles at him. “That’s exactly right.”
“All right,” Mummy says. She still hasn’t changed back to white! Maybe she has a fever like Nicky did. “I can take you back to bed now, Ollie.”
“I will,” Appa says, still smiling. “Give Mummy a kiss, Ollie.”
He does, putting a hand on her face as he does so. She feels a little warm, but not like Nicky did. Probably not a fever.
Appa carries him back to his room—he doesn’t even notice the shadows, Ollie thinks, envious. And he doesn’t stop smiling the whole time he tucks him into bed.
“Hey, little lieutenant,” Appa says, which is his special nickname for him. “Can I ask you something secret?”
Ollie squirms in his bed. He’s so much better at secret-keeping than Ava or Nicky. “Yes.”
“What would you think if Mummy and I did get married?”
Ollie blinks. “In Velaris or in Sugar Valley?”
Appa chuckles. “Well, Mummy still has work to do in both places.”
“Why do you want to marry Mummy?”
“Because I love her and all of you.” He taps his nose.
Ollie yawns. “That’s good,” he says.
Appa laughs. “You think it’s a good idea?”
It’s hard to talk when it’s late at night and Appa tucks you in for the second time, but Ollie manages it. “Yeah,” he says.
Being four means you know things. Like you know sometimes Appa tells you he wants to marry Mummy because he loves you, but that can’t be true, because he loved you all before. So you know the real reason is he just wants to keep sleeping in her bed, even when he doesn’t have any bad dreams at all. But that’s all right. It’s better for Ollie, anyway, if they’re both in the same room. They’ll always be together…and they’ll always be with him and Ava and Nicky.
hey, y’all! here is chapter sixteen, and the longest one yet! (and probably ever.) normally i feel like i have a lot to chat with you about, but i don’t have much this time, so...thanks to @thestarwhowishes for betaing and you for reading, and i hope all y’all stay safe!!
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December 18 - 4 years after
The park tires them out completely, so Nesta and Cassian lay the children down for a nap before dinner.
"It's a new restaurant," Cassian tells Nesta. "Very up-and-coming. But we have a private room for us."
"Who's us?"
"Your sisters. And us."
"All right." Nesta doesn't ask about the others she still hasn't seen. Azriel, Morrigan...Amren.
Cassian takes a deep breath. "There's something you should know. About who's coming to Solstice."
Nesta freezes. She already knows who's coming—all of Feyre's new friends (although she supposes they're not so new anymore)—her husband, obviously, Morrigan, Azriel, Amren. Amren's...paramour. If they're still together.
"It's Emerie."
Nesta jerks backward. Emerie? "Em...from...why is she coming?"
Her employer, her...friend. Sort of. Nesta had not been in the right mindset to properly have a friend; she did not treat Emerie the way she treats Amorette, but she might have gotten there. If she had not left.
"She's actually...well, this isn't her first Solstice with us. She's not really spending it with us, honestly. She's spending it with...Mor."
She blinks. With Mor?
"They're together. They have been for a few years now, actually."
Nesta could not have been more shocked if he had told her he was going to leave to move in with Maz. Two of her worlds colliding in such a bizarre way, such an unexpected match. It all dawns on her slowly: if Emerie is with Morrigan, and she has come here, to Velaris, for Solstice with all of them, then she knows Feyre. She knows Elain. Had they spoken of her?
And what is Emerie doing with someone like Morrigan, anyway?
She doesn't voice any of this to Cassian. "All right."
He studies her carefully. She can feel his eyes tracing every minute movement. "Are you upset?"
"No," she answers—truthfully, because she's not. She's baffled. And disappointed in Emerie's taste.
She supposes she doesn't have any right to be upset. She can't exactly see this as a betrayal, for Emerie did nothing to deserve Nesta leaving and following silence. And, well, she never exactly spoke of the quiet, violent mutual loathing she and Morrigan shared. Not with Emerie, at least.
But still, Emerie can do better.
She keeps this to herself, though. Cassian loves Morrigan, she knows this.
"What exactly is the itinerary?"
"Well, I thought we could just show the children Velaris," Cassian says, "with your sisters, maybe. And then Solstice at Feyre and Rhys'. Was there...something in particular you wanted to do?"
Does she want to see someone outside the mandatory Solstice she signed up for, he means. And the answer is no, most certainly not. Or, well, it was, before she knew Emerie was going to be here. But perhaps Emerie doesn't want to see her. So she just says, "No, that sounds all right," and tries to find something to busy herself with until it's time to go to dinner.
When they finally do go, Cassian holding Avery and Nesta holding Ollie and Nicky walking between them, Nesta can see that the place is indeed popular. It's in an area of Velaris she doesn't know very well—not close to any of the establishments she frequented while living here years ago—but there's a rather large crowd of people waiting outside. Reservations are probably booked more than just a few days in advance.
A perky red-haired female at the front leads them to a private room, where Feyre and Elain are already waiting. Elain leaps up when she sees them and throws open her arms for Nicky to run into.
"I missed you!" she says, laughing, and pulling Avery and Ollie in for a hug too. "Hi, Nesta, I missed you too!"
"You as well," she says, a bit curtly, even to her own ears. But she kisses Elain on both her cheeks and gives her a small smile as she sits down.
"This place is really amazing," Elain tells them.
"It...looks nice," Nesta says, gazing around. It does look nice, but all restaurants do. None of the stained glass lampshades warrant waiting outside to be seated, in her opinion.
"I've never been to a restaurant before," Nicky says, excited.
"Nicky, don't be ridiculous, of course you have."
"Not all the way across the sea!"
Nesta catches Cassian's eye and stifles an eye-roll as he grins.
"He's right," he says.
"Quite."
"Are you three excited for Solstice?" Feyre asks the children.
"Yeah, we're so excited."
"Our friends are not here," Nicky says.
"Oh, I know, but we're here! That'll be fun, right?"
"Right!"
"Are you excited for Solstice presents, Ollie?" Elain asks him.
He blushes and nods, looking down at his lap.
"Ollie wants a caterpillar," Avery informs Elain.
"A caterpillar? Well, I guess we'll have to wait and see what we all get."
Nesta bites on the inside of her cheek. In a rather unprecedented move on her part, before leaving Sugar Valley, she had purchased gifts for her sisters and Cassian as well. She had spent probably a month discussing her thoughts with Amorette on the matter (that is, blathering on while Amorette offered her sympathetic support), came to the firm decision that she was not buying any gifts, and then suddenly rushed out the day before they left to buy things. She still isn't sure what came over her.
"So, I thought tomorrow we could go see my gallery," Feyre says. "You three like to paint, don't you?"
They chatter in excitement, eager to see all the things their aunts and father are promising them. Nesta loves to see them like this, bubbling over in happy anticipation. But she swallows hard as she watches them—they are so good at this, Cassian, Elain, and Feyre. It comes so naturally to them; joy and cheer and infectious laughter. And she has to work so hard at it.
Jealousy writhes inside her, like nothing she's ever felt before. Disconcerting, to say the least—but this was never her holiday season.
---
December 27 - Year of
The heavy snow that winter always brought into their tiny village was nothing compared to the blizzard that hit the Illyrian mountains; and Emerie assured Nesta that it happened every year. Nesta was sure that this meant Cassian would not be coming back any time soon—how could he fly in this?—but she saw the legions take to the skies day after day, and eventually, it was Cassian soaring down. She hurried away from the window and threw herself into her favorite spot on the couch, opening her book to a random page and pretending to read.
She felt him approach the door, felt his hand linger for a moment too long on the knob before opening it.
"Hey," he said, stepping inside. "I'm back," he added.
Nesta did not lower her book, but raised her eyes to look at him. There was snow stuck in some crevices of his wings, ice in his hair.
He grinned when he saw her eyes tracing him. "Still reading that?" He nodded towards her book.
"Re-reading," she lied. "It was good. And I'm out."
His grin widened as he crossed over to the fireplace. "Is that so?"
She didn't answer, only tensed as she saw he was going to light a fire, and braced herself for the snapping sound, like the cracking of a neck, her father's neck.
"Don't know how you stand sitting here without it," he said, more to himself than to her. "Well, anyway," he continued, turning around, "I guess I made a—what's wrong?"
Nesta jerked her head downwards to the book, forcing herself to concentrate on counting the letters on the page. "Nothing."
"Is it..." He didn't finish his sentence. She knew what he was thinking. He had only just come back; how was she already distant?
She couldn't bring herself to say anything. He wanted the fire burning, of course he did, he was freezing. It was normal. This, this fear of the mundane, was not. She had conquered her—it still mortified her, even to think it—aversion to baths, but there was no way to ease into hearing something. You either lit a fire or you did not. Striking a sole match did not make noise. The bonfires Emerie had dragged her hadn't been much help, either, for they had not gone close enough to hear anything over the noise the hundreds of Illyrians had been making.
She was up to thirty-seven when Cassian put out the fire.
"You're hogging all the blankets," he said. "Give me one."
Wordlessly, she pushed one off her, letting him take it as he sat next to her. She couldn't meet his eyes—how had he known?
"So, I guess I made a good choice. With your Solstice present. If you're rereading this garbage."
Now Nesta did look up, to see him smirking at her.
"This isn't garbage," she said, closing the book. A present...she didn't think he was going to get her anything. Especially since she hadn't exactly accepted his present last year.
She hadn't gotten him anything. The thought hadn't even occurred to her, really. What would she even get him?
"It's in the bag," he said pointing to something he had dumped by the front door.
Definitely not what he had gotten her last year, then. A much bigger bag than anything he had had on his person last year.
Nesta wrapped one of the blankets around her as she went to see what it was. She slipped out a box, wrapped in deep blue paper, and brought it back to the couch.
It felt rather heavy. She figured it was books.
"Open it," he encouraged.
She did, careful with the wrapping. A brown box, with the words NightWrite printed in swirly lettering. She looked up at him.
"Open it!"
She did. There was indeed a book inside, but that wasn't all. There was a candle, coffee scented, a set of rather fine pens, a beautiful, leatherbound notebook, a bar of what she knew was some of the Night Court's finest chocolate, some little flowers she thought might be soap, and a few other small things. There was a card, too.
"A subscription?"
"For the female who reads. Well, that's their slogan, anyway."
A book each month, she read. And different things along with it.
"You can choose the books in the next months. But I chose the first one. I think you'll like it. It's children's stories...I knew some of them, growing up."
It was...incredibly, surprisingly thoughtful, first of all. The kind of thing she would never think to buy herself, because she wasn't aware anything like this existed. And it would come every month. Which...while she was here...meant a lot. Every month, a new book, just for her. Along with all this other...stuff. Stuff she liked.
She looked up at him. "Thank you."
He pulled back—was he surprised? But he moved closer to her, after a moment. "You're welcome."
They didn't say anything else for a short while, but then Cassian told her he was going to take a shower, and she said she would get started on dinner, and they both turned to their respective new tasks.
But her eyes kept wandering in the direction of his bedroom, and she knew he was staring towards the kitchen.
---
December 20 - 4 years after
While her fellow townspeople in Sugar Valley are probably wreathing sugarberry crowns around their heads, Nesta is cleaning Cassian's kitchen. He's spent the past few days referring to it as their home, but that doesn't sit quite right with her. The location is wonderful; close to the shallower areas of the Sidra, all the necessities, and a park. But it's still in Velaris, and this isn't Nesta's home.
Tonight is the first time Nesta has had some proper time to herself since she's gotten here. Cassian has not left her side until a few hours ago, when some unexpected work came off and he had to leave before dinner.
It's not exactly uncomfortable, this never ending domesticity, it's just odd. Having him at her side all waking hours of the day. Not even Illyria had been like that.
The shift into it had been strange, and now the lack of anyone around her, the complete silence, is rather jarring, so Nesta doesn't even pause to wonder who is at the door when she hears the knock; just goes to open it.
And there she is: ink black hair braided over her shoulder, brown, wide set eyes unblinking, smooth brown skin seemingly unaffected by the cold—no trace of red in her cheeks, no raised hairs. But there is a slight quiver in her scarred wings that gives her away.
Emerie.
The pair don't say anything for...Nesta doesn't even know how long. But Emerie recovers first, and she says, "Can I come in?"
And Nesta, opening the door wider, says, "Of course," like this is a normal calling, like she's been expecting her.
The Gilameyvan hospitality Aysel, Miri, and Zeyn have carefully taught her escapes her now. She offers no tea, doesn't take her coat...Amorette would be disappointed. She likes to think Nesta's made progress.
"So," Emerie says finally. "You had children."
Who had told her, Nesta wonders. Was it Morrigan? "Yes. Three."
Emerie nods, looking around the living room, where they both stand. There's a bit more to look at than there was when Nesta arrived a few days ago—the children had picked out a painting from Feyre's gallery to hang on the wall—but not nearly enough to warrant the heavy silence.
Nesta doesn't like to talk about what doesn't concern her, so she doesn't ask about Morrigan. She doesn't need to, though, because after another minute of quiet, Emerie says, "I'm with Mor now."
"I heard," she says.
"I think you might like her, actually."
Nesta bites her tongue. Emerie notices.
"I meant if you two knew each other. Really. I know you both," she adds. Then she frowns a little.
"Emerie..."
Where to begin? Nesta's got no shortage of mistakes in her repertoire, but before her stands the result of one she is particularly sorry for. Emerie did nothing wrong.
There's a bluntness that must run in the veins of the Night Court people, because when Emerie says, "Why did you leave?" her voice is not accusing, but low and flat and hollow.
"Sit down," Nesta says, finding a spot on the couch herself.
Emerie sits, folding her skirts in as she does so. Nesta's lips tug upwards slightly. Despite being with Morrigan, Queen of the Dream Court, Emerie is still bedecked in her Illyrian simplicity. Does it drive her spare, what with her inclination towards those strips of crimson silk she calls dresses? Or does she like it, seeing Emerie as some kind of peasant fantasy?
Emerie doesn't repeat herself, but she sees the question etched in her face.
She's not cut out for these sort of conversations. She doesn't speak her mind, doesn't directly address any issues on the table. So if Emerie had done this to her, she would've just ignored it—perhaps pretended like it never happened and acted distant, perhaps never spoken to her again. But she's in the wrong here, and Emerie deserves what she wants: an explanation.
So Nesta steels herself, takes a deep breath, and tries to summon what Cassian had once seen in her. "I know I hurt you, but my leaving had nothing to do with you. I'm sorry." Then she holds her breath.
Emerie's eyes wander around the room. "Oh," she says finally.
Oh? Is that it? Emerie's not one for passionate displays of emotion—one of Nesta's favorite things about her—but she'd expected more of a dramatic response.
"So why did you leave, then?" she asks again.
Nesta blinks. "I couldn't stay. I thought...I deserved more."
Emerie is quiet again. "So why didn't you say anything to me?"
"I thought you'd talk me out of it."
"Well, you should've known better than that." There's not any sympathy or sharpness in her words. They're just there, black on white, clear as day, honest.
Nesta flinches. She's right. Emerie has only ever told her to do the smart, right thing for herself. By way of poorly formed metaphors about her own regrets, maybe, but nonetheless. "I'm sorry."
"I should go," Emerie says, standing.
Nesta stands too. "I'll walk you out."
Every step is painfully awkward and also just painful. She never meant to hurt Emerie, but she's not sure how much that's worth.
Emerie stops abruptly at the front door. "I'll meet them tomorrow?" she asks.
"Meet whom?"
"Your children."
"Oh," Nesta says. "Yes. Well. If you'll be there for dinner."
"I will."
"Then...yes."
"All right," Emerie says, then leaves. She doesn't look back, but Nesta can't stop staring at her.
When she finally does manage to tear herself away from the front windows, long after Emerie has disappeared from sight, Nesta drags herself to bed, glass of wine in hand. She knew a trip to Velaris and all it brings might trigger some...old habits of hers, so she makes sure to leave the bottle downstairs in the kitchen and sip slowly.
She hears Cassian come in a half an hour later. He finds her in her room, staring unblinking out onto the dark waters of the Sidra.
"Nesta?" he asks.
"Oh, hello," she says, not moving her eyes.
He walks over and sits on the bed, blocking her view. "Are you all right?"
She focuses on his face. His eyebrows are pulled together, his lips pressed. "What's wrong?"
She drains what's left in her glass and sets it down on the nightstand, then lays herself down on the bed. Tucking a hand underneath her head, she pulls her hair from its ties and braids and sprawls it out.
He lies down next to her maneuvering his wings so they aren't touching her. "Emerie came?"
She doesn't answer.
"What did she say?"
Nesta waits a few seconds before saying, "She asked why."
"Oh."
He shares in the quiet with her. Minutes go by, and he doesn't say anything, only waits. She doesn't know if he means it as an offering of partnership, but she takes it as such.
"I don't have a good answer for her," she whispers.
"That's all right," he tells her, matching her pitch. "She's fine. She missed you but she's fine."
"It was wrong."
"That's all right too."
If Emerie forgives her, does she have to forgive everyone else? If that's true, then does she want Emerie to forgive her? Of course she does—the only other option is that Emerie is angry with her, or that she doesn't matter to her anymore. Which is worse, she wonders, causing someone pain, proving your importance to them, or having them move on? She doesn't trust herself to come up with an answer. What if she's too sel—
Cassian puts his hand on hers. "Stop thinking so loudly." His tone is teasing but Nesta knows he's serious.
She moves her eyes from the ceiling to his face, tilting her head a little.
"You're back now," he says quietly.
Nesta looks back at the ceiling.
"Emerie loves you more than you hurt her. It's true," he adds, sensing her doubt. He squeezes her hand.
She holds her breath. Is he going to say what she suspects? She doesn't know if she wants him too.
But Cassian only rubs his thumb on hers. "You've said your piece. All you can do is wait for her to make her choice."
"I'm not very good at saying my piece." She's never been good at talking on the spot. She doesn't have the natural charisma Cassian or Feyre have, none of Elain's likability. She's too prickly and stiff.
"Some of us like you anyway."
That makes her laugh a little. "Thanks."
"Let go of your thoughts," he says. "Focus on your breathing and mine."
She listens to him, and at first, it takes up most of her concentration, and then it all fades away. Before she slips under, the only thing she's aware of his hand on hers and the shadow of his wings over them both.
---
December 20 - 1 year after
Sugar Valley was all closed for the holiday, but everyone was still outside, wandering the town, shouting festive-themed pleasantries instead of the usual "come round for jam!"s that Nesta normally heard. Snow fell to the ground, but not so much as Illyria had had last year. Little enough that she could walk around outside.
She hadn't expected to actually go to this silly party that Zeyn had told her about, but he and Miri and even Leyla, one of the other archivists, had spoken to her about it at length and prodded her again and again to come.
So she did, opting for a dress in a pale lilac instead of her usual grey, in an attempt to be festive. She was never one for bright colors, but before it all, she did wear more than just charcoal and the occasional blue.
Leyla seemed to like the dress, as she complimented her on it as soon as Nesta entered the store, shrugging off her cloak.
"Where did you get it?" she asked, beaming at her.
"Maternity aisle at Classia's," Nesta answered, referring to a small boutique in town. The female who ran it was from Prythian, which had made Nesta tense before stepping inside. But she hadn't seemed to recognise her, or at least, she hadn't said anything if she did.
"I love maternity clothes," Leyla gushed.
Perhaps she was trying to be nice, but Nesta just didn't know what to reply to that. But Zeyn came in from the back room just then and lit up when he saw her.
"You came!"
"Yes," she said. They all said odd things here, didn't they?
"Have some of the isti," Zeyn said, waving her towards the table. Isti was what they called that delicious berry-chocolate drink he had given her before.
The store was handsomely decorated, with sugarberries strung up along the shelves and tiny twinkling faelights dotted here and there. Her dress, as it turned out, was not as festive as she thought, because everyone here was dressed in deep burgundy; the same color as their patron fruit. Oh, well. Shades of purple, all the same.
"Nesta," Miri greeted her from behind. "Here, take a wreath." And she placed something atop her head.
Nesta took it off to look at it. "What does Solstice have to do with sugarberries?" she asked, genuinely curious.
"Every solstice and equinox is a chance to celebrate our home," Miri said.
"Do they bloom year-round?"
"They do here."
Sugarberries looked very much like the stuff that had grown on trees by their shabby little cottage under the Wall. Nesta remembered Feyre eying them one winter, and Elain informing her not to bother, that they were poisonous.
Perhaps the magic kept them from being so. Or perhaps that which was harmful to humans was pleasant to faeries. Or maybe they were just a different fruit.
"How are you doing?"
"All right," Nesta answered automatically. She was most certainly not doing all right. Pregnancy was a nightmare. She was vaguely aware of passers-by eyes lingering on her for longer than strictly necessary, and, to be frank, she had seen her own reflection—she knew that the weight she had gained in her first trimester only rounded out her curves. But nothing about Nesta was lovely when she put herself to bed at night, feet blistering from simply standing, and waking up a few short hours later to violently vomit everything she had eaten the previous day.
Amorette Dadashov, her healer, assured her it was normal for a fae pregnancy. That might comfort Nesta later, when she wasn't starting and ending every day in pain.
"Have a seat," Miri said, pulling up a chair. "You look tired."
She was exhausted. Amorette had told her that was a normal part of pregnancy, too.
"Good of you to come," Miri said.
"It's very important to the shop, isn't it?"
"Yes," Miri said, after a short beat. "Sit here, dear. I'm going to drag Adil out."
She came back a few minutes later, a grumbling Adil in tow. "Don't see what the point is. We see each other every day. We'll see each other tomorrow at the town's parade."
"Hush," Miri said. "Sit with Nesta. String wreaths."
Nesta had not been to any real holiday parties, but this one still struck her as odd. Adil was right—they did see each other every day. It wasn't even the holiday yet, it was still the day before.
"Do you not like Solstice?"
Nesta looked up from her wreath. She wasn't very good at making them. She kept dropping the berries trying to string them. "You don't look like you're particularly enjoying yourself."
"I am," he said seriously. "Well, Miri is. That's the same."
Nesta averted her eyes. How did you look at someone when they spoke of another person like that?
Adil cleared his throat. "I think there might be something I have you should read."
"Oh...human-authored?"
"No, not a book. Well, it's not really mine. It's from the bank."
Nesta frowned. Her account was all in order, and it wasn't through her employer. "The bank?"
"I...spoke to Erest. Our councilhead?"
She'd met him. She'd been expecting someone like the High Lords, and he was irritating, but in a harmless way. Like everyone else she had met here. "All right," she said, wondering where this was going.
His brow furrowed, deep blue lips a thin line. "You're not registered as a citizen of Sugar Valley yet."
"I know," she said. Amorette had mentioned something about it to her in passing.
"Well, if you were...it'll be easier for you to buy a house here. Easier to sign up for nurseries, too."
Nurseries? All Nesta had decided was that she wasn't terminating the pregnancy.
"Well, I don't think I'm in the market for a house."
"There's a property in one of the younger neighborhoods," he said. "Spacious...enough. Nice yard. Close to the town's center. You should look. It never hurts to look."
"I...really don't think I can afford a house right now—"
"No. You'll be able to afford this one." He didn't look at her, just picked at his wreath. "You should look at it."
Had he struck some sort of deal with the councilhead? No one had ever attempted to give Nesta her own space before...
"I will."
He gave the slightest nod in answer. She didn't thank him, but she got the feeling she wasn't supposed to.
---
December 21 - 4 years after
Nesta's quiet, contented sleep is interrupted before the rising sun hits her through the window by an excited little voice rushing in along with small footsteps.
"Mummy, Mummy, it's Solstice morning, come—"
Nicky stops abruptly as both Nesta and Cassian sit up in bed. His eyes widen, and dart between both of them. He wrings his hands in front of him and sucks in his cheeks.
Nesta's face burns, splotchy redness surely covering her cheeks. "It's all right!" she says, trying to speak calmly and failing miserably. "It's all right! You can come here, Nicky!" She holds out her arms and waves him over.
Nicky, unsure of himself, walks towards her slowly. He stops every few steps and looks around. His cheeks redden slightly, too.
"Good morning," she says, pulling him closer and dropping a kiss on his forehead.
"Happy Solstice," Cassian adds.
Nicky looks up at her. She nods at him encouragingly. "Did you want something from Mummy, angel?"
"I was going to tell you that it's Solstice."
"It is, you're right."
"Are you hungry? Do you want breakfast? We can go get started while Mummy wakes up Ava and Ollie."
"Do you want to go make breakfast with Appa?" she asks him. He nods and she gives him another kiss. "All right, go on."
Without making eye contact with Cassian, she passes Nicky to him. She smooths her hair as they leave.
She'll have to talk to Nicky, of course. Tell him...what? She'll have to ask him what he thinks, first. To see if she needs to reassure him or answer his questions—oh, fuck, he'll tell his siblings, won't he? Of course he will. It's Nicky. He doesn't have a discreet bone in his body. Hopefully Cassian will have distracted him enough by the time she brings Avery and Ollie down.
What'll she say to Cassian? She's not angry he stayed; just mortified Nicky saw them. Is she mortified? She's not sure. She won't be able to tell what she's feeling until...well, it'll be a while until she gets to talk to Amorette, won't it? And that's how she normally decides her feelings on matters of this sort.
She thinks she's managed to pull herself together enough to rouse Avery and Ollie, but she must be mistaken, because Avery asks her what's wrong before moaning that she's still tired.
"Nothing, ladybug," she assures her. "Everything's fine. Come, let's brush our teeth...Appa and Nicky are making us breakfast..."
As she helps the children with the sink—there's no step stool in this house—she comes to the conclusion that she's furious with herself. She had to pick today to fall asleep in bed with Cassian? Today, before seeing the Feyre's Inner Circle for the first time in years? Amren and Morrigan and Rhysand and even Azriel...why has she done this to herself?
"You'll be smarter than Mummy, won't you, Avery?" she mumbles.
"What, Mummy?"
"Nothing, nothing..."
Thirty seconds after entering the kitchen, where Cassian is holding Nicky in one arm and preparing eggs over the stove in the other, it becomes clear to Nesta that avoiding talking about this is going to be difficult, because Cassian seems as determined to catch her eye and talk to her as she is against doing so.
"You all can stay here with Appa, can't you?" she says brightly. "Mummy's going to get dressed." And take a bath for much longer than necessary. Perhaps that'll help her clear her head.
January 18 - Year of
Cassian hadn't left since coming back from Velaris. Nesta didn't ask why the trips to other camps had been canceled, nervous about his answer. But while he was here, while he did not bring her letters from her sisters...she was...enjoying it.
Things at the clothier were doing better. Nesta's ordering strategy worked, and Emerie seemed pleased. She shared lunch with her every day, and went back home in the evenings to have dinner with Cassian.
Even the throbbing pain in her head had ceased. Occasionally, Nesta still wanted a drink, but it had been over five months since she last had one, and sometimes there were whole days where the thought didn't cross her mind even once.
When Cassian showed up to Emerie's shop one afternoon in mid-January, basket of sandwiches in hand, Nesta didn't make up an excuse to rush out like she had last time.
"Lunch break?" he asked them both.
Emerie looked at her sideways. A small smile tugged at Nesta's lips at the sight of her unease; for someone who had only ever seen Cassian as an untouchable, more mythic creature than real person, she imagined him walking into your place of work and offering you a picnic basket would be very odd indeed.
But Emerie might have been a bit more used to Nesta and all things that came for her, because she shrugged a little and said, "All right."
So there they sat, in the back room, which Nesta had once told Cassian was employees only. She hoped he didn't remember, but judging by his smirk he did. She rolled her eyes in response.
"How's business?" he asked.
Emerie glanced at Nesta with narrowed eyes before answering. "Good. How is..." Emerie trailed off. What could she say? How is the growing restlessness amongst the legions, the steadily rising number of rebels, the threats of civil war?
"Everything's fine," Cassian said.
"You've been here more often," Emerie noted.
"More for me to do here."
What that could possibly mean, Nesta had no idea. She saw him going over reports sometimes, but that was about it. And Cassian wasn't like her; he couldn't just sit at home and read a book. An afternoon walk was not enough to invigorate him, he needed something properly challenging.
"Although I'm going to be leaving soon," he continued. "Train a group of females."
"Who are they?" Nesta asked.
"Soldiers."
"I thought you didn't have female soldiers."
"We should," he said. "It doesn't make sense to cut out half our possible numbers automatically."
"Do they want to be soldiers?" Nesta asked, looking sideways at Emerie. Nesta would not want to be one—for anyone, but definitely not for an army who sliced their daughters' bodies like that.
"Of course they do," he said.
She frowned. "I don't think wanting to be a soldier is such an obvious desire."
"They're Illyrian," he said, pouring them juice from the jug he had brought.
"I don't want to be a soldier," Emerie spoke up.
Cassian's eyes slid towards her. "We don't force anyone. But females should be allowed, if they want. If they have something to give."
Emerie shrugged.
Nesta didn't love a land enough to be willing to risk being torn apart on a battlefield for. "Why are you so keen on females fighting in combat?" she asked. "Don't you think if they really wanted to, they would have found some way to do so by now?"
"It's not true that you don't force anyone," Emerie said softly.
Cassian flinched.
"It's not Cassian's fault your cousin died, Emerie," Nesta said, without missing a beat.
Cassian seemed to hold his breath, but that was unnecessary. Emerie and Nesta knew each other well enough by now to allow for such statements.
"I know that," she said. "I don't blame him."
Nesta thought Cassian might have some long-suffering response to that, like You're the only one, or something noble, like I take responsibility anyway, but when she turned to him, he was only staring at her. Hazel eyes tense and studying, like she was one of his reports.
December 21 - 4 years after
Per Nesta's request to Cassian, Solstice dinner has been moved up several hours, so the children can participate. By five their carriage pulls up in front of Feyre's manor, and the children are vibrating with excitement.
"Nesta, maybe we could have a word before we go in?" Cassian says to her in a low voice.
"I think we want to go inside and see our presents," Nesta says, loudly, brightly, so the triplets' cheers drown out Cassian's request.
He frowns only a little—it's hard not to be taken with the sheer joy on their tiny faces. So he quickly grins and says, "All right, let's go in, then."
Nesta had her own suitcase full of gifts from herself and Sugar Valley townspeople delivered earlier (except for what she had intended to bring Cassian—she has left that at his house), and she has nothing to hold in her hands as a buffer. So for the second time this evening, she uses her children to her advantage, and picks up Ollie; the child least likely to try and wriggle out of her arms, leaving her defenseless.
Cassian leads them up to the front door. It's thrown open before they have a chance to get there, and Elain hurries out to greet them.
"Happy Solstice!" she trills, pulling in Avery and Nicky for a hug. "Come in, come in! We're all waiting for you!"
Feyre, beaming, takes their coats. She has a circlet set atop her head, her golden-brown locks lightly curling down. A gift from Rhysand, no doubt. But not for Solstice.
"Happy birthday," Nesta says to her.
Feyre's eyes flutter. "Oh, thank you!"
Nesta stifles an eyeroll. Did she think she had forgotten?
"Now, we thought you might like to keep things casual, you know, with them, so we haven't really planned for a sit-down meal...we thought they'd like presents more...is that all right?"
Nesta frowns. "I mean, we haven't fed them—"
"No, I know, I meant we're just not going to make them sit around a table. There's food! Lots of food! Just on tables. And we're all in couches. Is that all right? Right in here, see?"
See she does. Everyone.
She is pleased she's holding Ollie, as it appears to be working in his favor too, judging by how tightly he grips her as he takes in, for the first time in his life, five adults he has never seen before. Even Avery and Nicky seem a bit taken aback, with Nicky stepping a little closer to Cassian's legs and Avery looking up at him, slightly dazed.
The Inner Circle sits on assorted couches and armchairs, all dressed for the occasion. A large table of food is on the right side of the room, with bottles of fine wine and fruit drinks too. In the middle, creating a small mountain on the floor, is a pile of presents.
Amren is there, already clad in a dozen glittering jewels. Her hair is shorter than it had been last time Nesta saw her, but her silver eyes are the same: unblinking, unwavering in her stare. Their gaze locks, but she draws her eyes away, towards Cassian, when he speaks.
"These are Ava and Nicky," he says, scooping them both up and smiling down at them when they giggle, "and that's Ollie with Nesta."
Morrigan, sharing a loveseat with Emerie, is the first to stand. "Hello, Nesta," she says, face blank. Nesta does her best to keep her expression free of ire as she nods in return. "Hi there," she says, much more warmly. "Ava and Nicky and Ollie...hi. I'm Mor." She gives them an affectionate smile, brown eyes crinkled and twinkling. She reaches out her hand...to touch them? She doesn't seem to know what to do, hesitating, and settles on patting Avery's leg.
"Are you hungry?" Feyre asks. "Look, we've got food here...Nicky, you like turkey, don't you?"
"No, I don't," he answers.
"He does," Nesta tells her. "He just doesn't remember what it's called."
"Oh. Here's the table..." Feyre waves over, rather unnecessarily, at the spread of food. Normally Nesta doesn't like buffet styles, but she admits to herself that it'll definitely go over better. She can see each of her children eyeing the gifts. There's no chance of getting them to sit at a table.
"We're getting plates of food before we're opening presents," she says, looking at them. "All right?"
Nesta hasn't eaten since lunch, but being here makes her appetite disappear, so she only fixes a plot for Ollie. She sits on one of the empty couches with him on her lap. Avery sits with Cassian and Nicky sits with Elain.
The initial awkward quiet is quickly dissipated by her sisters' determination to keep the evening lovely, so they force their friends and her children into conversation. Avery, of course, takes to them all like a dragon to the skies, and Nicky does too (after looking at his elder sister, and following her lead), but Ollie keeps looking down at his lap and blushing.
"It's all right," she murmurs, kissing the top of his head. "Would you like to open presents now?"
He nods, still looking down, but his siblings hold no such qualms.
"Yes, I want to!"
"I also want to! Mummy, can I?"
"Can they, Nesta?" Feyre says, nearly begging, batting her eyes.
"Sure."
"Yes! All right, Ava...this one's from me..."
"Here, Ollie," Elain says, radiating joy as she grabs a box and walks over to him. "This is for you!"
"Thank you, Aunt Elain," he says shyly. He looks up at Nesta.
"You can open it," she encourages him. "Nicky, what do you say?"
"Thank you!"
The flurry of presents commences, with the adults in the party opening theirs as well. Glittering trinkets for Amren, of course, and some jokes about Morrigan getting everyone the same thing.
"Here, Nesta, this is from me," Feyre says, handing over a gift.
Nesta blinks. "Oh. Thanks."
She gently slides Ollie over to Elain, but he is so taken with his—eugh—live caterpillar, in an aquarium, he hardly notices. Acutely aware of Feyre's eyes on her, Nesta opens the present. A small gasp escapes her.
Four portraits—just like the ones that decorate this house, except inherently better, because these are of her children. One of each of them, grinning broadly, painted to perfection—Feyre's quite good, isn't she—and one of the four of them. Remarkable, Nesta thinks, how her sister has managed to create something she has never seen before, for she has never seen Nesta playing with the children in the park like this, in these positions.
Nicky looks over. "It's me!" he says. "It's me and Ava and Ollie and Mummy!"
Nesta picks up her head. Feyre's hands are held tightly at her mouth. She's bouncing up and down a little—much like the children do, actually, she thinks with a small smile.
"Do you like it?"
"I do," Nesta says, pleased to find her voice is even. "Thank you."
"I'm so glad," she says, relieved.
"Feyre, this is for you," Azriel says, passing Feyre a smaller package. "Elain, this one's yours..."
"Oh—Nesta, is this from you?" Elain asks, surprised.
"Yes," she says shortly.
"I...thank you."
"You haven't opened them yet," she says to them both.
They exchange a look before they do. In fact, it seems as though everyone except the children pauses to watch Elain and Feyre open what Nesta got for them. What are they expecting? She knows her sisters. She knows what they like.
"Oh, wow, Nesta," Feyre says, looking at the paint set. "From the Continent?"
Of course it is. Nesta lives on the Continent. "It's natural paint," she says. "Locally made. With the berries. And that's a sugarberry tree sapling, Elain."
"Oh, I've got my work cut out for me, don't I!" Elain says, excited.
"Why have you got your work—"
"They're really hands-on outside of Gilameyva...I've been doing a bit of research...oh, but it's actually best to plant them right in mid-winter, so this is perfect...Nesta, this is for you, from you friends in Sugar Valley, I think."
The gift exchange still is not over, after another ten minutes—the sheer amount of nonsense gifted to her children is staggering, but she cannot bring herself to be upset at the irrationality of it. They're overjoyed. But Nicky asks for a pause, so Nesta can take him to the bathroom, and then asks for orange juice on the way back, and because there wasn't any in the sitting room, she takes him into the kitchen herself. She intends to ask him about what he had seen earlier that morning, but when they enter the room, Emerie is there, sitting at the bar.
She stands when she sees them. "Hello, Nesta. N-Nicky." She gives Nesta's son a curt nod.
"Hi!"
"Hello, Emerie. Nicky...here's some orange juice. Appa will pour it for you."
"Okay, thank you Mummy," he says, taking it from her, holding the carton with both his hands.
Nesta waits until Nicky is out of earshot before she blurts out, "Can I ask you something?"
Emerie startles. Oh, had she wanted to say something? Cassian had told her that it is Emerie's turn to speak, didn't he?
"Unless you want to say something."
"Er, no, that's...all right."
"Well," Nesta says. How to put this delicately. "Nicky walked in on Cassian in my bed this morning. With me."
Judging by how wide Emerie's eyes go, that was not the correct choice. "We didn't do anything," she hurries to say. "He just fell asleep."
"Oh," Emerie says, the color of her cheeks going back to normal. "Well. Is that so bad?"
"I don't know," Nesta says, miserable. Amorette would know. She should have just waited to go home and ask her. Emerie doesn't know children.
"I don't think it's so bad," Emerie says, trying to be helpful. "I mean...if he sees it a lot more, he'll think it's normal."
"I don't know if he's going to be seeing it a lot more. So this might...confuse him."
"Oh," Emerie says. "Oh, we assumed...oh."
"You assumed what? Who's we?"
"Er, Mor and I. And, ah, everyone. That you two...would be...well. Together."
Nesta shakes her head and looks around the room. "Well—I don't know why you would assume that," she says lamely.
"Oh," Emerie says again.
"We're not. Together, I mean."
"And you won't be?"
Nesta purses her lips.
"Oh."
"It's complicated," Nesta says, finally.
Emerie plays with her braid, her wings relaxing slightly. "That's what I love about Mor, you know. She makes everything simple. Everything's easy." A slight trace of amusement shines through Emerie's dark eyes. "One would think three children and a love story would be simple, too."
"There's no..." Nesta starts to protest, but stops. Emerie was there for it, after all. There's no point in pretending with her. So she changes pace. "We used to be simple," she says softly.
"I told Mor that," Emerie says in the same tone. "I know you two...don't get along. But I told her...I always tell her, we were...friends."
They were. At a time where Nesta didn't have any—and Emerie didn't, either. That makes Nesta's leaving her without even saying goodbye more reprehensible.
"I don't think Nicky will be traumatized," Emerie says. She smiles slightly. "I wasn't, after all."
A short, breathless, embarrassed laugh escapes Nesta's mouth. She had forgotten about that. "Well that's...good to hear."
Emerie opens her mouth, but she is cut off by the sound of Nicky and Avery having a conversation in the hallway.
"I think Mummy stayed in the kitchen because she was angry," Nicky is saying.
"Mummy doesn't know how to be angry," Avery replies. "Mummy?" she calls out.
"In here, ladybug."
Nicky and Avery walk in, hand-in-hand. Emerie looks a little taken aback.
"Are you coming back, Mummy?"
"Yes, angels," she says. "Ah, Emerie, are you coming?"
"Yes," she says shortly. She hesitates. "Did they walk here by themselves?" she says to Nesta, under her breath.
"Yes," Nesta answers, bemused.
"He remembered the way?"
Nesta laughs. "Avery, Nicky, why don't you tell Emerie what you like to do at school?"
The entire walk back, Nesta watches Emerie's eyes grow wider and wider as the pair of them trip over themselves trying to talk about their friends and their drawings and their trips to the park and their flying lessons.
She knows Emerie's reaction well. She experiences it herself often enough. Three real, unique people.
Hours later, when Feyre declares the evening a success, and she and Cassian carry the children's sleeping forms into the carriage, and Rhysand and Azriel carry out the trunks of gifts for them, Emerie whispers to her, "I hadn't realized...perhaps you should talk to Nicky."
And when Cassian finally catches her eye—there is nowhere else to look—she knows she has to talk to him, too.
i think i’ve talked about this chapter more than any other. i’m VERY nervous scared excited to post it, and i cannot wait to hear what you think. please noe: any character’s views on God and/or the universe do not reflect those of the author
as per usual, thanks a million to my lovely beta, @thestarwhowishes, and to you all for reading!!
---
November 9 - 4 years after
When Feyre sees Cassian the day after he arrives in Velaris after over a week away, he is unrecognizable from the day before. It had been depressing to see him like that. Somehow worse than when they had lost Nesta years ago. That unhealthy anger was better than this proper misery, this depressing lack, the only trace of anything in his being guilt.
But the day after, the usual twinkle is in his eye and he says to her directly, looking over Rhys, “Nesta and the triplets are coming for Solstice.”
She jumps up. “Are you serious?”
"She just sent word. I’ll tell Elain. Where is she?”
“Garden.”
He shoots her a grin before leaving to find her, whistling slightly as he goes.
Feyre laughs. “He’s happy now.”
Rhys hums in agreement. “Are you?”
She takes a minute to think about it. “I’m...happy with you,” she says slowly. “With our people. And our family, here. But it’s not just that Nesta isn’t here. It’s that things aren’t right with her.”
“Cassian wants her to move here.”
Feyre hesitates. “I don’t think she will.”
“What about what you want?”
She shrugs. “Sure, I want that. I want my sisters and my niece and nephews close to me. Why wouldn’t I want that? But Nesta worked hard for her home on the Continent.”
“There’s nothing there that doesn’t exist here,” he says gently.
“I don’t understand,” Feyre says, a wry smile on her face. “Do you miss Nesta?” She doesn’t feel any guilt thinking that—there is no love lost between her mate and her sister, not on either side.
An identical smile tugs at Rhys’ lips. “Can’t say I particularly do. But if you and Cassian want her here...and the children, obviously.”
“Nicky looks so much like Cassian,” Feyre says for the umpteenth time. She can’t keep the excitement out of her voice—it will never cease to amaze her, how she can see bits and pieces of Cass and Nesta and even herself and Elain and their father in three little creatures. It never fails to make her long for her own child, the little boy the Bone Carver had shown her. With Rhys’ hair, with her lips...lips that Nesta and Ava share as well. Will the resemblance be clear enough, if they all stand together one day? Will everyone know just by looking that they are a family?
“Cassian looked at a house.”
“What, here in Velaris?”
Rhys shows her the outside. Bigger than Nesta’s house in Sugar Valley, and not the same style at all. In fact, this one looks vaguely similar to the townhouse they had once spent most of their time in.
“Four bedrooms,” he says.
Feyre’s heart sinks. Four bedrooms. For a family. But what are the chances that Nesta will actually to agree to live there?
I really want her to. Even the voice inside her head sounds small. She misses her sister.
At once, Feyre decides she can’t wait till Solstice. “I’m going to visit her,” she says.
If Rhys doesn’t think she should, he keeps it to himself. “With Elain?”
“No,” she says. “I’d like to speak to her alone. Without a buffer.” Without a shield. “This is long overdue.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. She won’t...” Feyre struggles to find the right words. “She’s agreed to come for Solstice. I think we should keep her interactions with you...to a minimum.”
Rhys laughs as she grins apologetically. “Fine,” he says. “But...hurry back.” He tilts her face upward to kiss her.
She floods the love he sends to her back at him, tenfold. I will, she says silently.
But not before she gets what she’s going for.
---
November 22 - 1 year after
With the mess of her finding out she was pregnant with triplets across the sea from everything she had ever known, Nesta thought she might be entitled to a bit of courteous privacy, but evidently, the citizens of Sugar Valley disagreed, and when she arrived at work, Miri was waiting for her in the area of the back room she normally worked in, with two steaming mugs of something.
It wasn’t that Nesta hated these people, it was that she could not understand why everyone in the world couldn’t simply mind their own business and why they had to be so interested in other people’s lives. Namely, hers. But the smell from the mugs was the same as that chocolate-berry drink Zeyn had given her yesterday, and since she had had it, it was all she could think about.
Well. That and the three fetuses currently growing inside her.
So she sat down and took the mug.
“Nesta, dear,” Miri said, voice dripping with sympathy.
Nesta stifled the urge to roll her eyes—she didn’t need coddling or anything of the sort. Sure, yesterday had been a bit of a shock, but she was fine now. Her thoughts were gathered. She would go through with the pregnancy and…well, that was the most important thing. That she knew that, at least.
But Miri only continued with, “You must be so hungry and tired,” and that, because it was the exact right thing to say, was apparently the exact wrong thing to say.
Nesta knew very well how to deal with people saying the wrong thing to her. Perhaps it could be argued that she did not deal with it particularly well, but she had her methods. But someone saying the right thing to her was so much more rare. And she wasn’t sure if it was being away from her sisters, or him, or the three little parasites in her uterus, or maybe the berries in the water, but—to her horror—Nesta could feel her throat and eyes begin to burn at Miri’s innocent statement.
“Oh, poor dear...”
“I’m fine,” she nearly sobbed, sounding shrill even to herself.
“It’s all right,” she whispered, running a hand up and down her back. “We’ll take care of you...we’ll write to whomever you want…”
This nearly made Nesta lose control completely, and she shoved a fist against her mouth to keep from crying out. She didn’t want to send a letter…she didn’t want this in writing, didn’t want it to be real.
Nesta’s pathetic attempts to stop herself from making any noise and the tears blurring her vision and the sudden uptick in her body’s temperature left her, unfortunately, in a coughing fit. Her whole form shook, racked with emotion, and for a very frightening few minutes indeed, she couldn’t even feel Miri sitting next to her.
But she came back to herself eventually, and Miri was still there. Still stroking her back, still murmuring to her, half in the common tongue, half in Gilameyvan.
“It’ll be all right,” she kept saying. “Everything will be all right.”
Nesta didn’t think she believed her.
---
November 11 - 4 years after
Nesta’s had quite enough of her own cowardice and marches herself to the table Zeyn is sitting at, ignoring Xeyale’s greeting. “I need to talk to you,” she says to him.
His brown face tenses for a moment. But it disappears quickly, replaced by his usual friendly, patient smile. “All right,” he says, standing up.
She turns on her heel and leads him to the back room. “Out, Maz,” she commands.
“I’m working!”
“Well, work in the front,” she snaps.
“Sorry, Maz,” Zeyn says with a laugh, as he passes by with a scowl. He laughs again. “I guess this’ll be a good talk, then. Nothing makes you happier than yelling at Maz.”
Nesta ignores the guilt stirring her stomach at the twinkle in his eye. “I didn’t yell.”
“Oh, semantics.” He sits down. “What’s up?”
Nesta allows herself a few more moments to summon her nerve—swallows once, squares her shoulders, then says, “I’m taking the children to Velaris for Solstice.”
The teasing glint winks out of his eyes and his deerlike ears still. “And you...think this is a good idea.”
She’s not sure how much of a right he has to be upset, but it does irritate her a bit. “I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t think it was a good idea.” She tries to keep the bite out of her voice. “I’ve never cared much for Solstice, you know that. And their father does. So it does seem to make sense that they celebrate it on his terms.”
As if presenting the argument as entirely logical, as only sensible, will make him believe and accept it.
“But we celebrate Solstice here.”
They do—they have, since she came here. And it’s...fun. It was always nice to see her children enjoying themselves. Last year they were even old enough to not only appreciate getting gifts, but also anticipate Solstice before it happened. It was important enough that they remember it, and still bring it up occasionally.
“Maybe we can celebrate two Solstices,” she suggests.
He frowns. “Summer?”
“No, I mean...one here, one there.”
“I always thought of it as our holiday,” he says. “Just the five of us.”
This definitely irks Nesta. He should know better than anyone she doesn’t see any holidays as her own. It’ll always feel frivolous and treacherous to her. “We’ve never celebrated it just the five of us,” she says. “We’ve always done something with the whole shop.”
She really hates this—arguing with Zeyn. She always feels like she’s in the wrong. He’s never seen her as she is; he always sees her as something better.
He hates arguing with her as well, and she can see by his eyes darting around and the slight shuffle of his hooved feet that he’s going to drop it. She’s relieved, because she’s a coward, but a small part of her is disappointed. They are long overdue for a lengthy discussion regarding his vision for a happy little mixed family of five, and her desires for her children and herself.
It’s her fault, of course, that they had not had this conversation years ago, and so she can’t be upset with him when he finally gives a little shrug and says, “I’m sure you’re doing what you think is best.”
If it’s the tiniest bit irritating, that is prickly Nesta’s own fault, too. He isn’t trying to upset her—he’s Zeyn.
“You know I wouldn’t if I didn’t.”
He smiles at her, sweet and sincere. “I do.” His warm brown eyes crinkle. “When will you be going?”
“Only next month,” Nesta says. Probably only a day or so before Solstice—just because she wants them to enjoy the holiday with Cassian doesn’t mean she’s been deluded into thinking she’s going to have a particularly fun time herself. No need to make it longer than necessary.
"Let me know. I can help you pack.”
There’s no malice, no bitterness she can detect in his voice. She stifles a relieved sigh. “Thanks.”
He doesn’t answer, only smiles.
“I need to find Adil,” she says. “I’m going to be scouting for authors.”
He raises an eyebrow. “In Prythian? They don’t traditionally publish here…”
“It’s a new age,” she says, shrugging. And it’s true. While Prythian has generally been secluded, she has learned, since the defeat of Hybern they have tentatively been more open with trade amongst nations that hadn’t sided with their enemies. She imagines it’ll take longer for any partnerships with Montesere to kick in.
Adil is torn when she tells him of her plans. On the one hand, she knows, he is skeptical of her going. He has never liked Zeyn’s affection towards her, but he has also no reason to like Cassian or her sisters.
His blue lips purse, and she suppresses a smile as she can see the other side of the equation spin around in his head—that he definitely wants to be the first Gilameyvan bookstore to publish an author from Prythian.
“You’re a good mother and a sensible employee,” he says finally.
She tries to stifle a blush, but she’s too taken by surprise. “Thank you,” she says.
“Let us know before you leave. We’ll give you gifts to take with you.”
“I will,” she promises. He and Miri dote on her children; Solstice is a fun time for her to watch the five of them.
That's the thing about Solstice, Nesta thinks as she gathers her children from nursery and heads back to her house. It’s not that she’s against the familial nature of it all, the loving closeness during the coldest time of the year. She’s not a monster. It’s a nice idea, and it’s fun to watch her children get excited over gifts and whatever art projects they’re doing in nursery.
Before she had them, her main issue with Solstice was that it felt like giving in to the Fae. Like surrendering the last of her humanity. For they did not have holidays South of the Wall. Why should they? What was sacred to a people abandoned by the gods? If one had to be powerful to be loved by the faes’ so-called Holy Mother, she didn’t want anything to do with Her anyway.
And now? Now she likes the joy it sparks in the people around her. But this time of family only ever serves to remind her that she is missing half of hers. Blame can be shoved this way and that, but when everyone around her is thanking their Creator for all their loved ones around them, whose fault it is is the last thing on Nesta’s mind.
“Mummy, when is Appa coming back?” Nicky asks her when they get home.
“I still don’t know, Nicky,” she says patiently. Then she pauses. Now seems as good a time as ever to tell them, she guesses. “We’re actually going to visit him soon, though.”
“Go and visit?” Avery asks.
Nesta helps Ollie take off his outer things. “Yes,” she says. “Do you know where he lives? With your aunts?”
“Do they all live together?”
Well. “Yes.” It’s true enough. She doesn’t think Elain has gotten her own house in the past three years—there’s no way she’ll live on her own, and as long as she isn’t married, she won’t live with a male, so she’s definitely still living with Feyre. And Cassian hasn’t bothered to get his own place in Velaris in the past five hundred years or so; she can’t imagine anything has changed as of late.
“In a very big house, Mummy.”
“Yes, it’s a very big house, Avery.”
"It’s very very very very big!” Nicky says.
"They live all the way across the sea,” she says, stopping them before they can get into her least favorite game.
"Where’s the sea?” Nicky asks.
"It’s to the west.”
"Are we going on a boat?” Ollie asks.
"No,” she laughs. “We’ll probably winnow.”
"Maybe we can fly,” Nicky says hopefully.
“Absolutely not.”
“Maybe we will.”
“No. We will not. Does that sound like fun, though? Does going to spend Solstice across the sea with Appa and your aunts sound like fun?”
“It sounds like so much fun!” Avery says.
“Do they have orange juice across the sea?” Nicky says.
“We can’t fly because it’s too far and Mummy can’t fly,” Ollie says.
“Yeah, Nicky, Mummy can’t fly.”
“Do they have orange juice or not?”
“All right,” Nesta cuts in. Apparently they don’t care as much as everyone else seems to. She’s sure they’ll bring it up again closer to the date. “Let’s get something to eat.”
There’s lots she has to think about, she realizes. Duration of their stay, how they’re getting there...she doesn’t ever take them along on her—ahem—preferred method of travel. And oh, she’ll need to take a trip to the lake before they leave. She’s not going to want to have all that magic pent up inside her while she’s there, and it’ll be best for all parties involved if she’s at her calmest upon arrival.
Amren will be there. Her first...friend, in Prythian. So different from Amorette, and yet the comfort she feels in the latter’s presence is so reminiscent of what she used to feel doing a jigsaw puzzle at that demon’s apartment. She’s not spoken to her for longer than she hadn’t spoken to her sisters...neither of them had attempted to seek the other out after their last fight.
“Can we go to the park now, Mummy?” Nicky asks her after they’ve been fed.
Nesta glances outside. A light drizzle has already begun. “No, angel, it’s going to rain. Let’s play inside today.”
There’s a bit of grumbling about this, but they are—as always—mollified when she starts out the game herself. Sometimes it’s coloring, sometimes building blocks. Today she’s situated herself inside the little house Cassian had erected for them during his visit. The three of them scramble to join her; it’s only a few seconds before Avery has declared the rules of this little house and their roles in it. This game lasts an hour and then, mercifully, transforms into “art projects” at the kitchen table. More of a mess for Nesta to clean up later, but less exhaustive.
She’s allowed not to partake in order to prepare dinner for them. She smiles to herself as she cooks; she’s always loved listening to them talk amongst themselves. They’re good friends; she thinks they would be even if they weren’t siblings.
After dinner, bathtime, a bit more play, and a bedtime story (Ollie’s turn to choose), Nesta walks back downstairs to make something for herself to eat. She pours herself a glass of wine and sits in the living room, in her favorite corner of the couch, with a notebook. She’s got to make a list of everything she needs to prepare before leaving. She’s never taken them anywhere farther than Privet Falls a town over.
A knock on the door interrupts her. She sighs as she stands up to open it. Probably Zeyn, upset at her decision. She did think, earlier, that he had given in a tad too easily. Although such is Zeyn’s way: he never confronts her. He’s not a warrior type.
But it is not Zeyn’s warm brown eyes staring back at her when she opens the door. It’s her own grey-blue.
“Feyre,” she says, too surprised to say anything else.
“I know I probably should’ve given you some notice,” her sister says apologetically. “Sorry. I just...had to see you.” She swallows and tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear.
“Come in,” she says, stepping aside.
She’s not sure what her feelings are on Feyre showing up on her front doorstep. She’s too taken aback to think straight, so she says, “Can I get you some wine? Or something else to drink,” she adds.
"Whatever you’re having is fine.”
Nesta pours her sister a glass of white on crushed ice and hands it to her. She takes wordlessly and downs half of it.
“Are you staying here?” Nesta asks suddenly, the thought only just occurring to her.
"I don’t know,” she replies. That depends on you, she doesn’t say.
Well, she’s not going to throw her sister out onto the street, but she hasn’t decided if she wants her sleeping here. Will she go to the inn to spend the night? Or will she winnow back? Or fly? Does she still fly very often?
“How are the triplets?” Feyre says, finally breaking the silence.
“Well,” Nesta says. “Very well. Happy. Healthy.” Well, Ollie might still be a little underweight...but as long as his lungs are strong, his healer says...
“I heard you’re coming for Solstice.”
“Oh. Yes.”
Feyre nods. She opens her mouth a few times but can’t seem to find anything to say.
Not for long, of course. Not her brash little sister. On her fourth try, she says, “Why didn’t you write to say you were pregnant?”
Nesta doesn’t hesitate. “Why didn’t you write to say you were alive?”
Feyre flinches. Then she laughs a little; more bitter than amused, but there isn’t any malice. “I guess that’s fair.”
Elain would never say so. And as a mother she can’t really say that two sisters hurting each other makes it fair, but as a sister...well, she’s not upset that Feyre agrees, at any rate.
“You know, that first letter,” Feyre starts, her eyes on Nesta but clearly seeing something else—Nesta’s own eyes see that dock in Montesere— “we ripped it open. We were so...after the note you left Cassian? And then we were so angry…”
“You were angry?”
Well, we were hurt. And the lines kind of blur when emotions run high.”
Nesta has nothing to say to that. A few moments ago she was more pleased that she and Feyre shared the same thoughts; now she is remembering how much she used to hate it as a girl.
“Your other letters weren’t much better.”
"At least I sent them,” she snaps.
"I know,” Feyre says. She sets her wine glass down. Her voice is thin, tight. "But...in your letter. After your note."
Nesta slowly moves to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. They have not yet spoken outright of her leaving, just of her having been gone.
"Because you said you were drowning."
"Feyre." Nesta stops herself.
"Why did you leave?" she blurts out. "I thought things were going well! I thought you and Cassian..."
"I know what you thought."
"So what happened?"
"I don't want to discuss this, Feyre."
"Well, I do!" Feyre says, and she straightens, snapping herself up. "I want to know why you had to leave, when we had finally got things going well for you!"
At this, Nesta freezes. "When you...had got things going well...for me?"
If Feyre is unsure of herself at Nesta's tone, she doesn't show it. She nods once, firmly.
Nesta sucks in her lip slightly, but tries to keep it from curling upwards. The children are excited for Solstice, she says to herself. And she doesn't want this to end in anger. Again.
But Feyre has quickened her pulse and risen her temper.
"Tell me, Feyre," she says, her voice cool. "Why was it so sinful, so unforgivable, for Tamlin to keep you in the Spring Court, and yet your right to send me to Illyria?"
Feyre’s mouth parts. “I...”
She’s begun to tremble, and Nesta is irritated at her for this reaction. She shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place. She shouldn’t get upset.
“Nesta,” she says, voice catching. “I...I didn’t...I never meant...”
“I know what you meant,” Nesta says, gruffly. She doesn’t want to talk about this.
“I just need to know...if you left…” Feyre trails off. This is unlike her, this anxiousness. “Nesta, am I your villain?”
She blinks. Is she her villain?
"I don’t have a villain,” Nesta says, slightly bewildered. “I’m not a story.”
Who put this in her head? Her idiot husband, probably. He’s the villain, we’re the heroes, or some stupid shit like that, as if they were simple fable characters, one-note and flat, instead of people, capable of kindness and manipulation with conflicting desires.
“But...when you said…” Feyre’s lip trembles. Is she—is she going to cry?
Nesta’s mouth parts open a little. When was the last time she saw Feyre cry? That night she got Elain back, during the war?
“When you said you were drowning...in your letter...I need to know if—if I did that.” Her sister’s eyes are wide and searching, fighting back tears. “And now...if I’m like—if you felt how I felt... Please tell me. Because...if that’s true...then I—I’m sorry, Nesta,” and tears do spill out of her eyes and down her cheeks, still rosy from the cold. Or maybe the wine. “I’m sorry.”
Out of love for the first baby Nesta remembers holding, she stifles an eye roll. She moves closer and pats her shoulder tentatively. When Feyre was very young, she had shown her a lot of physical affection, but she doubts she remembers any of that, and it would probably be weird for both of them if she hugged her. “Feyre,” she says, trying to be gentle. How to explain to this...this little girl, made to believe by a male, oh, twenty-seven times her age or so, that she is the most powerful creature in the world, special and essential to the function of the universe...that not all of her elder sister’s choices revolve uniquely around her?
She doesn’t fault Feyre for this, of course. And she doesn’t think Rhysand put it in her head directly—You’re the reason your sister left does not strike her as the kind of thing he would say—but Feyre’s always been rather miserable at connecting dots.
“Feyre,” she says again. “I don’t have a villain. I chose to leave. Just like you did,” she reminds her, bumping her knee lightly against her. Referring to more than one time, of course. Leaving home and then leaving the Spring Court. “I went of my own volition.” Were there other factors? Of course there were. But nothing she needs to share with her baby sister; certainly not while she cries. Nesta has no desire to hurt her further. She remembers the day Feyre was born. She remembers teaching Feyre to speak. That Feyre does not remember these things is irrelevant; it does not have anything to do with the sacredness of the acts. “But if I did,” she continues, moving closer to her sister, “it wouldn’t be you. You’re not like Tamlin,” she adds. She doesn’t tell her that she thinks her old High Lord and her new one share far more than their race and title.
Tamlin ruined their lives. He sold them out. His treatment of Feyre was enough to make Nesta vomit, and that was only from what she saw at that stupid High Lord meeting. The only thing she doesn’t loathe about her idiot brother-in-law is his patience with Elain.
But she doesn’t blame Feyre for those things. When you meet someone as a baby, she thinks, you see them that way forever.
Feyre wipes at her eyes and takes a deep breath, and Nesta feels another surge of irritation towards her idiot husband. Placing this girl as monarch over a people, after just learning how to read, no political experience or knowledge whatsoever...this is what it’s done to her. Feyre makes mistakes with her sister; the three of them do. But now Feyre believes there’s some echoing magnitude to everything she thinks about. People are angry at Nesta for not hunting alongside Feyre when she was fourteen, but she was only seventeen herself. Seventeen is not old enough to hunt either, just as twenty-six is too young to rule a country forever.
“But...you’re still angry at me.”
There she goes again, with her black and white world. Nesta gives a little shrug. “I’m not thrilled. I don’t carry anger.”
Feyre frowns. “What do you mean, you don’t carry anger?”
“I just...ignore things. Forget about them.”
“That doesn’t strike me as particularly healthy.”
“Well, I haven’t died yet, so…”
They both pause, and after a moment, laugh a little.
It’s not that Nesta is at peace with everything that has happened in her life. She most certainly is not. It’s that she doesn’t want to let things affect her relationship with her children. And if there’s one thing her parents taught her, it’s that you can’t be a good mother when you’re carrying pain.
“I’m really happy you’re coming for Solstice,” Feyre says softly.
“I’ll make up a bed for you,” Nesta replies, which is not quite forgiveness, but Nesta is still not quite forgiving.
But there are better uses of her energy than turning her sister out.
what’s this?? a chapter for lpg, not 10 day after the last one?? bet your bottom dollar!!
thanks so much as always @thestarwhowishes!! and thanks to all my marvelous readers. i love you all so much. thanks for taking a chance on my weird maladaptive fantasy and sticking around<3
---
December 20 - Year of
Nesta hadn't realized Emerie's shop was closing for Solstice, and apparently, Emerie hadn't realized Nesta wasn't celebrating.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, eyebrows raised, as Nesta entered.
"Working."
"The Commander left last night."
"So? I'm not his keeper."
"You don't...you're not going for Solstice?" Emerie frowned, like she couldn't understand.
Nesta shrugged. "I did not grow up with this holiday. I don't care about it."
"But it's fun," Emerie said, bewildered.
Nesta rolled her eyes as she began rehanging coats. She certainly did not classify an hours-long sit-down meal with her sister's in-laws as fun. Last Solstice, in fact, was a contender for Least Fun Night of Her Life.
"Your sisters probably bought you presents," Emerie said, pestering, which was quite unlike her. It was this obsession with Solstice, this worshipping. Apparently, her employer was infected with it as well. "Don't you like presents?"
"I prefer to buy things myself," Nesta said. She never did get the point of surprises. If you chose something yourself you couldn't possibly be disappointed, which she told Emerie.
"You can ask for something."
"Why do you have to wait for Solstice, then?" Nesta said. "If you want something, just buy it. If you have money. And if you don't, you can't celebrate anyway."
"Solstice isn't just about gifts."
"I don't worship your gods," Nesta said carelessly, making her way behind the front desk. She rifled through some of the papers she had on file—they ought to start thinking about spring wear, if they wanted to stay ahead of everyone else. "We should order lighter wear in January. Start putting things on the racks in February. Judging by how much we've sold this month—"
"I'm not very devout," interrupted Emerie.
Nesta looked up from the papers. Emerie's dark eyes were unblinking, her brown face schooled in a different expression from her usual indifference.
"All right," Nesta said.
"I don't go to any temple on Solstice."
"Fine," Nesta said. She didn't care. She had never been to a temple in her life.
"I still celebrate."
"Fine," Nesta said again. "I think we should order lighterwear in January."
"You should come to mine for dinner tomorrow evening," Emerie said.
Nesta narrowed her eyes.
"I was just going to go to the bonfires," she said. "But we could have a proper dinner."
"You're not spending it with your mother?"
"No...I eat breakfast with her."
Eugh. Breakfast with the whole family. Nesta cannot imagine any day deemed worthy of waking up early and then immediately being barraged by people.
"Fine," she said. "Will you look at this? My predictions for February..."
Emerie wasn't religious, as she said. This wasn't a dinner of worship. Or insufferable so-called family—Emerie never pretended to be Nesta's adoptive sister. Just...someone whom she got along with.
That was fine. This wasn't...instead of something else. It was just dinner. She'd had dinner with Emerie before. Before...before she'd started having it with Cassian every night.
This was fine.
December 15 - 1 year after
Their beautiful new archivist walked like a queen: back straight, chin set, stormy grey eyes surveying all that she saw as if considering everything in her path. All that went away when she picked up a book to read, melting like sugarberry ice in the summer, and it was Zeyn's favorite way to see her.
Her posture changed. Nesta always stood like she had a broom tied to her spine—did it not hurt, he wondered, to be like that all the time?—and when she found herself a quiet corner of Sugar Books, she folded into herself, unaware of her surroundings. Sometimes she would even mindlessly tug on a lock of her hair, tug it right out of the precise braid, and it would curl downwards, playing on her lashes—
"You're staring at her again," Maz snickered.
Zeyn snapped his head back to the book he was supposed to be working on. "I am not."
"Hush, Maz," Leyla said. "He's in love. It's sweet."
"It's creepy."
"I am not in love with her. And keep your voice down," he added, lowering his own dramatically. He risked a glance towards Nesta. Whether she was ignoring them or truly couldn't hear, he could not tell.
He wasn't in love with her. He had only just met her. But how could he not stare? She was so perfectly beautiful. Like she hadn't been born, like she'd been expertly made, sculpted by gods.
"You only think she's beautiful because she's High Fae," Maz said, sounding a bit sour.
"That's ridiculous," Leyla said, cutting in before Zeyn could himself. "Nesta is beautiful. But don't worry, Maz, we think you are, too." She winked as she picked up her crate of books and left.
Maz's eyes followed her out of the room.
"I'm sure she meant it," Zeyn teased.
"Oh, shut up. Go back to staring at Nesta."
"I wasn't staring."
"Were so..."
There was no point in arguing. It sounded pathetic, and it felt it, too. But it didn't need to be that way, right?
"Oh, great, there he goes," Maz muttered under his breath as Zeyn stood. "Off to swoop in on the scary pregnant lady."
Zeyn sincerely hoped she hadn't heard that. Nesta didn't appear to like to talk about her pregnancy much. She didn't like to talk to anyone about anything much. She was private to the point of secrecy.
"Good book?" he asked, sitting down next to her.
"It's all right," she replied, not looking up.
"Never did read any human-authored stuff much," he said. What was that flicker in her eye? "Maybe you could recommend some to me."
"That's my job."
He laughed. She didn't.
He cleared his throat. "So," he said, trying to find something else to talk about. "Are you excited for Solstice?"
That got her to look up. "You have Solstice here?"
He laughed. "Of course we do."
"No, I mean...the holiday?"
"Yeah. Why wouldn't we?"
Nesta looked back down. She closed her book, though. "They don't have it everywhere. In the Summer Court," she added. "They...only celebrate the one in the summer."
"Oh," Zeyn said. "Well...we like to celebrate whatever we can in Sugar Valley." He grinned. "I suppose you've already seen the list of Solstice festivities." Erest, the town councilhead, had been proud to announce it at last week's town meeting. He had hung it on the notice board at the inn, and she was still staying there—although not for much longer, he thought, as Adil definitely had some sort of plans to find her somewhere else.
"I have not," she said.
"Oh. Are you...going back for Solstice? To Prythian?" Perhaps, because she had not realized it was a holiday here as well, she had made plans to leave.
"No. I'm...I don't have anything planned." Something was sitting on the tip of her tongue, behind her red lips, pursed shut. But she didn't let it out.
"Well, you should come to one of the town's celebrations!" An idea clicked into his mind. "I mean, you'll have to come to ours, right?"
"Ours?"
"The Sugar Books celebration. We have a staff party. Solstice Eve."
No one did anything on the day before Solstice, did they? So when he announced to them that they all had to come and pretend like it wasn't only for Nesta, they wouldn't—well, Maz wouldn't be too cross. He doubted the rest of them would mind. Miri would probably even help him plan it.
"Oh. I didn't realize you were...so close."
"We are!" Well, they got along. For the most part. That was enough. "It'll be a lot of fun. You'll come?"
Nesta's eyes darted around the room. She smoothed her hands over her skirts—always a shade of grey, always modest. But not so form-hiding that he hadn't noticed the slight changes in her body over the past month or so. Early pregnancy flattered Nesta. "Sure," she said.
Zeyn bit back his broad grin, not wanting to scare her off. He couldn't stop the excited twitch of his ears, though.
December 21 - year of
This Solstice, Emerie thought, was shaping up to be even less festive than last, which was saying something, because only a few short months before that one, various males in her family had died on the front lines in the war against Hybern.
She had shared a quiet breakfast with her mother, who hadn't spoken too much. Mostly just shot her wary glances. Probably because of the demonic scent all over her.
And now she was preparing dinner to share with that demon.
She didn't blame her mother. Nesta's scent was sweet in the same warding way of venom. Any living being innately knew to stay away from it. And Nesta didn't exactly have a winning personality that encouraged otherwise.
But she did good things for her shop. Emerie liked her for that enough.
Nesta Archeron wasn't a bad person. She didn't deserve to have Solstice alone, even if she didn't celebrate it.
The hair on Emerie's neck prickled when she heard her short raps on the door, but she ignored them. She wasn't scared of her Other employee.
Emerie didn't have much finery, but she did make an effort on Solstice. She wore shoes that were prettier than they were sensible and her hemlines sparkled. A glittering pin kept her braid at the side of her head—her usual hairstyle, but the ornament was only ever worn a few times a year.
Nesta made no such changes to her wardrobe, but she didn't need to. She wore her hair in crown-like knots and braids every day and no matter how drab the grey she wore in her dresses, nothing could dull her beauty.
She had even, Emerie noted, filled out a bit in the weeks she had been here. Her frame, once pitifully thin, had sparked gossip when she had first arrived at camp. Emerie remembered hearing rumors about how the Commander did not feed the High Lady's terrifying sister...
"Happy Solstice," Emerie said.
Nesta grimaced.
Emerie turned so Nesta wouldn't see her roll her eyes. "Wine?" she said, looking over her shoulder.
Nesa's jaw clenched. Her eyes closed. "No," she gritted.
All right, then. Emerie thought perhaps it would be better if she didn't have any, either. She put the bottle down and said, "Don't suppose you saw any of the shows last night." Some of the males put them on—flips and tricks, flying through the air.
"No."
"Neither did I," she said, and she couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice. That was another thing she liked about Nesta Archeron. She genuinely did not care about anything Emerie's people did. She hadn't liked it at first, but now, seeing her disdain for some of the most respected people in the camps, the absolute apathy she had for the cruel ones who mocked females like her on what was supposed to be a sacred day...
Well. She supposed she had a few reasons to be glad Nesta had decided to enter her shop the day she wandered around their camp alone.
December 18 - 4 years after
It takes an enormous amount of power to winnow all the way across the sea, so on the agreed-upon date, Feyre is to fly to Sugar Valley. Along with her husband.
Things have been much better with her sister over the past month—both of her sisters, actually. Feyre has visited a few times, and Elain came to stay for a whole week. The children had loved that, as Cassian had also managed to spend a few days then.
But she has still not seen Rhysand since that day in September five years ago.
She assumes they—Rhysand and Morrigan—will summon the strength they need to mind themselves in her presence. She doesn't ask for much. Only quiet.
Nicky bounces with excitement all morning, rattling off to Ollie a list of all the things they're going to do "across the sea", courtesy of the stories his aunts and father have spent the past few weeks filling his head with. Avery keeps tapping Nesta's legs and asking when they're going to leave.
Nesta lets them amuse themselves, for the most part, as she double—and triple-checks their bags. Presents for the children that she was instructed to take and keep as surprise until Solstice evening by various townsfolk (some for her as well), clothes, medication for Ollie's lungs—he hasn't needed it in a while, but it never hurt to have it along—some favorite toys, books, the purple cup Avery needs, jars of jam...
All of this, of course, to keep herself busy. Until half past ten, when she hears the knock on her door.
Steeling herself is not particularly easy to do with her children's cries of "I want to open the door!" chorusing around her, but she manages.
Nicky gets there first. He lifts his chubby hand high above his head to reach the doorknob and throws himself at Feyre when he sees her.
"Hey!" she says, laughing as she catches him. "Oh, hello to you, too, Ava!" For Ava has also launched herself at her aunt.
Ollie stays safely behind her legs. He had been excited to see Feyre, but Rhysand, standing behind her, throws him off. He looks up at her, and she smiles down at him reassuringly.
"This is your uncle, Rhys!"
Nesta cannot stop her lip from curling upward. She might deny the relation on her side, but Cassian obviously has not on his.
"Hello," he says, smiling along with Feyre. "Nicky, and Ava...hello, Nesta. You're looking well."
"Hmm."
"And you must be Ollie," Rhys says, bending to his knee, to meet him at eye-level. "Hi. I'm Rhys."
Ollie looks up at Nesta again.
"It's all right," she says to him quietly. "But you can stay with me."
Nesta pulls Avery and Nicky into a hug and tells them she'll see them soon. Rhys holds onto two of their bags and then swoops the pair of them into his arms. With a nod at Nesta, he disappears.
"Ready, Ollie?" Feyre asks him, picking him up and holding him close to her chest.
He nods against her and leans on her shoulder. Nesta grabs the other bags and links her arm in her sister's.
"Let's go."
And they do.
It is, as usual, a most disorienting experience, and Nesta loses her sense of self for a few moments, but Avery's laughing voice brings her back.
She sees Cassian first, holding Ava and Nicky. Ollie squirms out of Feyre's arms to run to him, too.
She feels an arm on her shoulder. "Are you all right, Nesta?"
"Fine," she says to Feyre.
They're in her home, the third one, on the banks of the Sidra. One of the living rooms. Nesta recognizes the stained glass windows, the midnight blues—and, of course, the painted pictures of everyone. Herself excluded, obviously.
She remembers when Feyre had shown her the house. She hadn't mentioned the original Archeron decor, but she hadn't needed to. It had been impossible not to notice, and it still is. Had she expected her to say anything? To ask why?
Perhaps it had bothered her then, but it doesn't now. Nesta has her own house. Contrary to what her sister believes, not everyone you know by blood or happenstance needs to hold an intimate place in your heart, a spot of honor on your walls.
"Nesta? Are you sure you're all right?"
Nesta looks up at Cassian. His smile from seeing the triplets has dimmed. "I'm fine." She clears her throat. "Where can I put our things?"
"Oh, well, actually...we'll take a carriage."
She could swear Cassian bites his lip—in nervousness?
"All right," she says, giving a little shrug. The townhouse doesn't include much better memories than this place, but she guesses it'll be better. At least they'll have their own place, at least she won't have to be around all of them for the whole time. "Let's go."
Feyre and Rhysand help them bring their things down where the carriage is waiting for them.
"We're all the way across the sea, Mummy!" Nicky exclaims, rushing to clasp her hand in his.
"We are, angel."
"And we're...we came the whole way!"
"The whole way."
"For Solstice!"
"Mm-hm," Nesta says, keeping an eye on Avery pulling Ollie along.
"Where are we going now?"
"We're going to take a short ride," she says, lifting him up into the carriage. "Now you Avery—yes, sit tight. We're going to take a short ride to where we'll be staying."
"Where are we staying?"
"With our aunts?"
"No, we'll—"
"Actually," Cassian cuts in, placing Ollie in, "we're going to my house."
Nesta gives him a sharp glance, but he doesn't meet her eye as he helps her in.
"I didn't know you bought a house here," she says, low so the children can't hear her.
"Yeah, I...I mean, do you want to stay at the townhouse? That's empty now."
"No, no, I'm sure yours is fine. I mean. Is it—have you—?"
"Yeah, yeah, I've got beds for them...and you...and there's...I think you'll like it. Close to a park."
No matter how low they talk, all three of them pick up on that.
"We're going to play in the park?"
"Are our aunts coming too?"
"All right," Nesta says, a bit loudly, over them all. "We're going to go to Appa's house first and eat lunch and get settled and then we'll go to the park."
She hides a smile at their answering cheers.
"Where is it?" she asks Cassian.
"Near the Rainbow."
She doesn't particularly like the hustle and bustle of Velaris' city center. Too many people, too loud. Sugar Valley residents can be plenty loud, sure, and all the forgotten gods know that town meetings can be ridiculously stifling, but there are not so many people that Nesta does not know them all by face if not by name.
But she sees the house—Cassian's house—is not too close to the Rainbow. In fact, it's closer to the Sidra. A nice bank, shallow waters. There are some families with small children playing there.
It's styled like most of the houses in Velaris—in fact, it looks a bit similar to the townhouse. She likes the novelty of her blue-boarded house in Sugar Valley, but the maple brown of this one is nice, too.
"Here we are," Cassian says, getting out first, to help them all down. He takes the bags in one hand and Ollie in his other. "Let's go."
The sparsely-decorated inside reminds her a bit of his home in Illyria, but perhaps with a bit more child-proofing done. There are no sharp edges in his living room; the chairs and tables are all rounded, so she doesn't stop the children from rushing off to explore the rooms on the top floor.
"Wow," Nesta says, looking around.
"Do you like it?"
She peers in through a doorway. "You have a proper dining room." She's not jealous. She loves her home. Just...she wishes she had one. It might be nice, one day, when the children are older.
"I haven't got much for it yet."
"I can see that." Beige appears to be the predominant color, which is...interesting. "Why...were you waiting for my sister's Solstice gifts? To match the decor to?" Feyre gives them all paintings every year—or at least, she used to.
Cassian laughs. "No, I was hoping...well, I don't know. I've never decorated a house before."
"You realize how insane that is?" she asks him. "You're nearly six hundred years old."
"I'm not nearly six-hundred years old..." he trails off. They've had this conversation countless times—teasing, gentle, mostly. And then one time, very much not.
"So," he says, clearing his throat. "This is the ground floor. Living room...dining room...kitchen...do you like the cabinets?"
He must be more anxious than she thought. "They're great."
"Do you want to see the upstairs?"
"Sure."
There are four bedrooms. "These two are smaller, so...oh, there you all are!" For the children have made their place in the room clearly meant to be theirs, with little beds corresponding with the colors of the ones in their home in Sugar Valley. "Right. Here's...the master..." He dumps their bags unceremoniously on the floor.
"Nice view," Nesta says, looking out onto the park. She can see the Night Court's mountains in the distance.
"You can stay here," he says. "You know, while you're here."
Nesta turns to face him, blinking. "What?"
"If you want."
"It's your room. It's your house."
"I can sleep in one of the smaller rooms."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"I—please, just take it."
She blinks again. "All right." If he wants her to...
"Mummy!" Avery calls as she runs in. "Mummy, can we have lunch and go play?"
"Yes, ah—you have...do you have food?"
"Yeah, I've gone out and I've got the kitchen stocked...I'll get started, why don't you...settle in?" He leaves her with a parting smile, Avery trailing after him.
Get settled, she thinks. She's not quite sure what that entails, but she decides it includes a few minutes to herself before the overwhelming onslaught of Velaris crashes over her.
this has been delayed far too long, so i’ll leave a note at the end.
---
November 5 - 4 years after
Nesta cannot fight the broad grin on her face when she wakes to find her sons back in full health. She’s happy they’re better, and thrilled to have her daughter back in the house. She rushes through her day at the shop and still can’t help herself; she leaves to the nursery at three fifteen. She tries to make the walk as long as possible, stopping to chat with Aysel along the way, but arrives at twenty to four. She won’t take them out early, as that would probably only upset them. But it feels like too long since she’s had all of them together, to herself, that she only barely manages to stop herself outside the building.
“Oh, hello, Nesta,” she hears behind her.
She turns. “Hello, Classia.”
“All alone today?” she asks cheerfully. “Me too, Ulvi’s at the boutique. I’m rather miserable with numbers, you know.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“How are the boys?” she says, tone more sympathetic.
“They’re here today!” Nesta can’t keep the excitement out of their voice. “And Avery’s coming home!”
Classia blinks, unused to seeing such enthusiasm from Nesta. “Oh, where was she?”
“Cassian had her. At Miri’s house. I didn’t want her to get sick,” she says, hurriedly adding the last part. That’s the last rumor she needs spreading around; she is dividing up her children between herself and her...their father.
“It’s wonderful that he’s here, then,” she coos. “I know you’ve had such help from the whole of Sugar Books and Zeyn and Adil and Miri especially, but it’s not the same as a partner, is it? To share the emotional burden?”
And that is enough to wipe the smile of Nesta’s face, but not enough to completely dim the light inside her at the thought of holding all three of her children in her arms again.
He’s been here over a week. Probably the longest he’s been away from his duties as General Commander… ever. She knows it’ll end soon, which is why she is forcing herself not to let him share the emotional burden. Sure, he can love them and he’s been a great help with the boys these past few days, but she is the primary parent and caregiver.
The timer on the locked gate to the nursery finally ticks four and swings open; she is the first through it and to the door. Nicky sees her first and runs to hug her. She bends down and catches him, then Avery and Ollie follow, all of them laughing through their chatter and blissfully, blissfully, normal-temperature.
“I missed you three,” she says to them, a bit muffled as she drops a kiss on the top of Avery’s head.
“Where’s Appa?” Nicky says.
“I missed you, Ava.”
“I missed you too, Ollie!”
“Where’s Appa?” Nicky asks again, more insistent, squirming out of Nesta’s grasp.
She lets them go. “At home. Come on, let’s go.”
They held hands as they walked, Avery and Nicky on either side of her, and Ollie holding Avery’s hand. She’s more tuned into their conversation than normal, having missed the sound of their little voices together.
She’s so engrossed in them, watching them, she doesn’t notice Cassian before them until Nicky calls his name and breaks free from her, running and leaping into his arms.
“Hi,” she says to him when they get closer.
“Hi,” he says, putting Nicky down and taking hold of Ollie. “I didn’t realize you had already picked them up.”
“I missed them,” she says. Oddly, she feels a little guilty. “I was bringing them straight home.” It’s not stealing his time from them, but it feels that way.
But he grins easily. “Straight home?”
“I want to go to the park!”
“I also!”
“Home first,” Nesta says firmly, ducking her face into her coat and fiddling with the buttons. “We’ll go later.”
“Mummy’s rules,” Cassian says to them, looking down.
“I’m hungry.”
“We’re almost home,” she says, picking up her face now the burning has faded. “Come along.”
Cassian moves closer to her. “Could we have dinner together? Tonight?” His voice is low enough that she knows only she can hear it.
Her throat tightens. She doesn’t open her mouth for a few moments, afraid of what she might say.
“Sure.”
---
November 14 - 1 year after
Somehow word had gotten around, in this tiny, gossiping town, and by the time Nesta came back to her room at the inn, everyone knew she was pregnant.
Brilliant. Perfect.
They were being whatever their definition of tactful was, she knew. Which wasn’t very impressive. But she could hardly blame them, could she? She imagined a pregnant, Other female from Prythian was hardly something that shook the rumor mills of Sugar Valley every day.
No one was malignant. No one said much of anything, really—not to her, at least. But everyone at the bookstore smiled at her more often. Zeyn kept offering her water. Miri had urged her to sit while she sorted the books—here, she’d be happy to help!
The healer, Amorette, was competent enough. She had explained her options to her, which weren’t anything novel. She could either terminate the pregnancy or give the child away to someone else.
She couldn’t have the thing herself. That much was clear.
And so Nesta wasn’t particularly worried. This was unfortunate, sure. And emotionally disturbing and physically a nuisance. But nothing to write home about.
She should write… to her sisters. In general. Not about this, of course. This was nothing. This was… not her child. And so not their business, as it was barely hers. Either all this would be over in a week, or she’d be carrying someone else’s child, and that didn’t concern her sisters.
It certainly didn’t concern Cassian. This was… no. No reason to say anything.
She didn’t want other people’s opinions getting in the way of her own, after all. She needed a quiet room to keep a clear mind and make her choice.
Her room in the inn was nearly silent. The only noise was the scraping sound her nail made as she ran it over the coin.
Because that, it appeared, was what it would come down to. A coin toss.
Would she spend the next nine months creating life? Building a whole new person, half herself, half… Illyrian? With dark hazel eyes and wings and curls like hers and maybe some warm brown skin, the shade between theirs...?
Or would she… move on?
Yes, that was a nice way to put it.
She shut her eyes tight, ridding the image of a child from her mind by counting upwards by seven. It was too much. Little hands, little toes, little… kicks… inside her.
And that nearly made her decision. Pregnancy was gruesome. She didn’t want that. A whole other person inside of her she had to take care of? Clearly, Nesta wasn’t even good at being around people next to her. For just a few hours a day. She couldn’t do this.
And then… for what? For giving it away?
Of course, she told herself immediately. You can’t be a mother.
That much was true. Certainly not alone. It took a village, didn’t it? And while Nesta did stay in this small town, well… she didn’t really have it, did she? And she didn’t have… anyone. To be with.
Coward, a voice inside her head jeered. She ignored it. She didn’t owe this to Cassian. She was—hurt. And angry. He didn’t need to be privy to any of this.
She wasn’t ready. She couldn’t be a mother alone. She probably couldn’t be a mother ever. She was broken inside. She thought she wasn’t, for a while… that he had helped her get fixed… but no matter. She would go to Dadashov, schedule an appointment, and… all would be done.
A few weeks, at most. She would go through the procedure, spend a few days at home, and then go back to the bookshop. Continue her new, quiet life as an archivist.
---
December 6 - Year of
Cassian knew he had his work cut out for him this time.
He had to be smart. He couldn’t sneak up on her like he had at Emerie’s shop—that was miserable. But he also couldn’t give her too much time to… well… run away. But after nearly a week in one of the rebelling camps, with his days occupied with strategy alongside Rhys and his nights taken up only by her image in his eye, he felt he knew what to do.
He waited until an hour they both knew she would be home and awake. Too late to be working, too early to be asleep. He made no effort to hide his steps to the house, and made enough noise as he could while still in the realm of conceivability while opening the door. He did so slower than usual, giving her ample time to hide in her room.
He didn’t let the unmoved chocolate bar on the kitchen counter deter him as he made his way to her door.
He knocked twice, and said—cheerfully, normally, “Hey, Nesta. I’m back!”
And then he waited.
He could practically feel her incredulous look through the door—she thought he was stupid, she thought he must be joking—but all that didn’t matter, because she opened the door.
“Hello,” she said carefully, her face devoid of any real emotion. That same detached politeness they had shared last week; as if they were neighbors and he had knocked on her door to ask for a cup of sugar.
“How was your week?” He could feel her bemusement in his bones, along with slight suspicion. But ever the cards-player, Nesta’s face betrayed nothing.
“All right. And yours?”
“Long,” he said, grinning. “I’m exhausted. Join me for dinner tomorrow?”
This threw her off-guard, and she narrowed her eyes a touch. “Sure,” she said.
Sure. A resounding success, he thought. Now she would be there. All he had to was not fuck it up.
---
November 5 - 4 years after
Perhaps they had not had enough running around time today at nursery, Nesta thinks as she watches the triplets run themselves ragged at the park. Or they’re just excited to be playing together again.
“Good to see them all together, isn’t it?” Cassian marvels, throwing himself on the bench next to her, echoing her thoughts.
She nods and doesn’t say anything else. He sits with her for another few minutes, until he joins the triplets again and she watches them until the sun has nearly set, and calls them to walk back home.
“We were having so much fun at the park, Mummy, do you remember?”
“Yes, Nicky,” she says, unbuttoning his coat as Cassian herds Avery and Ollie inside. “It was seven minutes ago.”
“I had so much fun!”
“I’m glad. Take off your boots. Ollie, you too.”
“I’m not tired.”
“Yes, you are. Upstairs, let’s go.”
“I can give them their bath,” Cassian says. “Why don’t you get started on dinner?”
Nesta glances upstairs to wear the children are climbing together. “Sure,” she says, and turns to the kitchen.
Cassian always eats at least twice what she does, so she prepares four times what she would for herself. She works quickly and sets the pot to keep warm on the stove when she’s done, and goes upstairs to the children’s room.
She hears them laughing before she enters the room. Pushing the door untill it’s slightly ajar, she leans against the wall and watches them. He’s wrestling all three of them, with Nicky latched onto his neck from behind, and Avery and Ollie on either arm. They’re so… like him, she thinks. Avery and Ollie’s eyes, Nicky’s hair. And their wings. How had she ever managed to look at them and think they were all hers?
It scares her and she’s not even sure she likes it. But there’s no more denying it: he’s a part of them. Just as much as she is.
He catches her standing there and grins at her. “All right,” he says. “Time for bed.”
They tuck them all in, and Nesta starts on the story Ollie chooses, but they’re all asleep before she finishes, truly beat from their time at the park. She and Cassian creep out together, careful not to stir them.
Cassian pours her a glass of wine in the kitchen as she ladles out dinner. She takes a large swallow before she says, “Now what’s this about?”
He laughs. “Don’t fear the worst. It’s not the end of the world.” But his smile fades. “I… have to go back tomorrow.”
Something inside Nesta sinks. “You’ve been here long,” she says.
“Not long enough,” he replies. “And I’m going to come back as soon as I can. You know that. You know that, don’t you?”
“I do,” she says truthfully.
He relaxes for a moment. Then he tenses and says, “I wanted to ask you something.”
Nesta raises an eyebrow as she takes a bite of pasta.
“I want you to think about coming over for Solstice. To Velaris.”
Nesta cocks her head. Lets out a dark laugh. “You…cannot be serious.”
“Just think about it,” he says, raising his hands. “And really think about it. I know you… I know how you feel about Rhys and Mor. But they’d love them, if you’d let them. And they really want to. And your sisters,” he adds, and she does appreciate that he pretends not to see her flinch. “They miss them. And you. Just… think about it. Sleep on it.” He swallows his own forkful of pasta, then he says, “How are things at the store?”
Which is kind of him, she supposes. Or… perhaps kind is not the right word. But she likes that he approaches the topic and then switches to one she is more comfortable with without making her respond. “Not the best,” she admits. “Adil and Miri came back. No brilliant authors just yet.”
“Have you signed anyone?”
“Three,” she says. “Two from Leyla and one from Maz.” She rolls her eyes. “As if Maz’s author is going to be any good.”
“Zeyn’s not back yet?” he asks casually.
“No,” she says, keeping her voice even.
She’s not gone so long without talking to him since she moved here. It’s jarring. She feels she’s done something wrong, even though she knows she hasn’t.
“Well, maybe he’s got ten authors in tow.”
Nesta scoffs. “You sound like Adil. He’s being so weird about it all.” Although, privately, Nesta wonders if she’d be the same if not for Cassian’s money.
“I really don’t want to see anything happen to this shop,” she says suddenly. “Adil was… he helped with all of this, you know.”
“I know,” he says, nodding solemnly. “I owe him so much.”
He had truly taken her in his care; giving her that job, helping her buy the house. She hates seeing him so stressed over this.
Perhaps, she thinks wryly, he would like her to go to Velaris. See if she can find some authors there.
She's still too upset with her sisters to know if she’d go there right now for them. But she’d definitely go for Adil.
---
November 15 - 1 year after
The quiet of the bookstore was not the bliss she once might have wanted; it is—she cringed as she thought the word—pregnant. She knew they were all awkwardly tiptoeing around her, unsure of what to say.
“Nesta,” Zeyn said, approaching her for the umpteenth time that day.
“I’ve said I don’t want tea, Zeyn,” she said through gritted teeth. Really. Courtesy was one thing, but Nesta never liked hovering. No one liked hovering.
He laughed. “No, I know. I guess I’m annoying you.”
“No, of course not,” she said flatly, making him laugh again.
“I’m sorry. It’s just… you probably know how fast the rumor mill turns here. And. Well. We’re… the whole shop, we’re here for you.”
Nesta restrained a roll of her eyes. “Thank you,” she said. As if no one had ever been pregnant before. “But I think I’ll be fine.”
“Of course. Just, you know. You think you’re alone here, but you’re not. We’re a community.”
Nesta picked her head up from the book she was spining. She narrowed her eyes a bit, taking in his earnest expression. The slight nervousness alongside the warmth in his brown eyes. “Thank you,” she said again, more easily this time.
He grinned. “Can I… I mean, you’re probably. Well. Would you like me to show you around Sugar Valley? Have you been to Jamal’s?”
“No,” she said, vaguely aware that he was talking about a diner, and then very aware that he was asking to take her out to dinner. “But I won’t be able to go out any time soon,” she said hurriedly. “I’m very busy.” She snapped her book shut and turned without waiting to hear anything else, walking briskly to the back room. She gave no sign she heard his “oh, all right, another time, then!” as she left.
Neighborly pleasantries were one thing. Agreeing to go to dinner with a male was quite another. She wasn’t nearly there yet.
---
December 7 - Year of
Emerie nodded slightly to Nesta as she walked in the door, in their typical morning greeting.
Nesta didn’t nod back today. Instead she said, “I’ve agreed to have dinner with him.”
Emerie’s lips parted slightly. “Oh,” she said, after a beat of silence.
Nesta glared as she forcefully took off her cloak. “That’s all you have to say?”
She blinked. “What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know,” Nesta gritted. “Something useful, perhaps?”
Emerie’s lips quirked upwards a bit, while squinting her eyes, which Nesta very much didn’t like. Her sister’s looked at her like that, whenever they weren’t taking her seriously. “Well, why did you agree to dinner?”
“I don’t know. He asked. It was… strange. It was cordial.”
“You like cordial.”
“It was fake cordial.”
“You’re fake cordial.”
“That’s not how I want to live my personal life.”
“He’s a part of your personal life?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped, pulling some folded climbing pants off a shelf to re-fold. She was very skilled in hiding her emotions and managed to keep her face turning the burning crimson her heart was trying to color, with the sudden rush of blood to her cheeks.
“Are you scared of him?”
When Nesta picked her head up a minute later, Emerie was still looking at her expectantly. “No,” she said finally, unsure of if it even counted as a lie or not.
Emerie was quiet for a few minutes, too. Then she said, “Just… remember what I told you. About my… cousin.” When Nesta didn’t acknowledge her, she said, “I hated him for not fighting for me. But… not enough to wish him dead. And now he is.”
Nesta bit back her Yes, I remember your riveting tragedy, because she liked Emerie and she did feel for her. Emerie was perhaps the only person alive whom she could stand right now. Instead she said, “If we’re smart, we’ll start selling light wear next month. Others will start in February. We should be ahead.”
And the day passed as slowly as she could stretch it, painstakingly laying out the details for every day of sales for the next six weeks, but evening fell before long, and since she made the mistake of telling Emerie about her dinner plans, she kicked her out before the sun had truly set.
She took her time walking back, going as slowly as she could without truly terrifying the young Illyrian female walking hand in hand with a child. Nesta wasn't sure if it was her own. The pair walked in front of her, and the girl kept turning her head, discreetly trying to tell if Nesta was still there. Following her. Hunting her, perhaps. The thought made her scoff.
Other girls had always been intimidated by her, she thought. Even when she wasn’t trying to make them feel so. Elain once told her she stood too straight and narrowed her eyes too much.
But she couldn’t help it, even when she was very young. It was just her natural posture, her face. Up until now, she had been perfectly pleased with everyone steering clear of her, but now it was ridiculous. She’d never killed anyone.
The walk was not long enough and Nesta found herself standing in front of Cassian’s house. She gave herself a few moments of lingering outside before forcing herself to go in.
“Good evening,” she said as she walked in the kitchen, stiffly, in that same odd tone they had used yesterday.
He looked up from the pot he was stirring and grinned at her—wholly unlike anything from their exchange yesterday. “Hi, Nesta.”
She bit the inside of her cheek.
“Sit down,” he said cheerfully. “Please. I’m just about done.”
“All right,” she mumbled, sitting at the table. He set it. With… mats. She didn’t even know he had mats.
“Here we are,” he said, bringing over two dishes. She narrowed her eyes when she saw them. Duck and a sweet potato casserole. He was clearly trying to get in her good graces.
But what was this new tactic he’s using?
He took her plate and scooped too much food onto it; she’d never be able to eat that much. But she took it from him anyway. He poured her a glass of water.
This was too odd.
“How was your week?” he asked her.
“Fine,” she said after a beat. “Yours?” She stabbed some of the duck with her fork and twirled it.
“Long, as I said.” His expression turned more serious. “And I didn’t like how we left things.”
Nesta froze. This was not fake cordial. This was entirely too confrontational.
“I know you won’t forgive me any time soon, but can you let me try and make it up to you?”
She wanted the earth to swallow her up or some bird to crash into the house and carry her away—some Illyrian, maybe. The hope and sadness on his face was entirely too real, disorientingly different than what she was expecting and had prepared for.
Her eyes darted around the room—then at her own hand when he covered it with his.
“I’m really going to try, Nesta,” he said, voice low.
“Try what?” she said, finally finding her voice. It didn’t sound as scared as she felt, which she considered a win.
“To do right by you,” he said.
Nesta’s eyes dropped from his face back to their hands. He still hadn’t let her go.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she said in a small voice, “How?”
Here he grinned again. “We can start with dinner.” He took his hand back and began to eat, watching her intently.
After a few seconds, Nesta did too, trying the duck. Lemony, which she wasn’t expecting, but… she liked it.
He could tell. She looked at him and she knew he could tell.
---
hey guys!
first i want to say i hope you're all keeping safe. i know it can be hard to stay in your home--work, necessities, just cabin fever--but it's so important. for your safety and your weaker loved ones and even young and healthy people because actually, we are not immune.
i have been thinking about you guys. i really hope this fic has managed to give you a bit of escapism, or comfort, or anything to take your mind off the trauma of day-to-day life in a global crisis. i really am going to try to update much faster to do the smallest thing i can to maybe make someone just a bit happier in these rough times.
lastly, i want to say to those of you who mostly read fic: write some! even if it's horrible and you don't want to share it with anyone ever! with so little we can do safely (my country has restricted movement; no one is allowed 100 meters away from their house), creating is one of the few active, productive things left. so write. or draw. something that isn't passive enjoyment. keeps your soul healthy.
i love you guys. stay safe. stay healthy. stay home.
hey hey hey!! i’m back with chapter eleven after only two weeks!! i was actually procrastinating writing my poetry essay and working on my novel by writing this, so that counts as productivity, right?
thanks to my fantabulous beta @thestarwhowishes and thank to you all for reading!! i am just floored by all of your support, it means so much to me!!
(and psst!! if you like my writing maybe try out my sideblog where i post original content @liorzoewrites)
anyway, chapter eleven! enjoy!
---
November 2 - 4 years after
When Hazar finally arrives at the shop, Maz, Amir, and Xeyale start to tell the whole staff what happened at Amalike Orchards’ berry fair.
“Chokecherry already had booths set up when we got there,” Maz says, grimacing. “With Morrisey’s new novel.”
“And they had agents with them,” Xeyale adds.
Adil frowns. “What do you mean, agents?”
“Publishing agents.”
“They were signing authors at the fair?” Hazar asks, disbelief all over his normally cheerful face.
“Not exactly,” Xeyale says.
“They were taking in manuscripts,” Amir says. “For short stories, we think. We think their plan is to publish a collection of them.”
“And that’s their brilliant archiving strategy?” Nesta says. “Just taking any short story from any writer who shows up at the berry fair and tying it all together into a book?” She shares a look with Adil. No one appreciates the art of literature anymore.
“It is a brilliant strategy,” Hazar says, reluctant to admit it.
“We think so, too,” Amir says, and Xeyale nods behind them. Before any of them can protest, Amir raises their hands in surrender. “Look, you’re all archivists. Readers. Some of you are writers. But from publishing and marketing standpoints...it goes faster. If one author writes a three hundred page novel, that one author has to have a good idea and a good execution. Or people won’t buy it. But if you get ten authors each writing thirty pages...even if four of them aren’t that great, people will still buy it for the sixth.”
“Or one big name author with a few other smaller ones,” Hazar says. “That’ll sell just the same.”
“But the same number of books get sold,” Adil says. “Don’t they lose money, with all the authors they have to pay per book?”
“More books get sold,” Hazar says.
“It suits a larger audience,” Nesta realizes. “So more people buy it.” Because those six authors they’ll buy the book for are different authors for everyone.
Sometimes Nesta hates individual taste. Especially if it’s poor.
Adil puts his head in his hands. “How many publishing agents do they have?”
“Not many,” Maz says. “We only saw three at the fair.”
“For all those new authors?”
“I imagine the authors aren’t treated very well,” Hazar says, frowning slightly. “But they might not care, if they get published quickly.”
“That’ll be bad for them in the long run, though,” Leyla says, speaking up.
“I agree with you, but again, they might not care.”
“Do we have to start publishing short story collections?” Zeyn asks.
Nesta thinks about what would go into that. They would need to find so many new authors. Sugar Books--and Adil--believes in the separation of genre, so they couldn’t just cram any random ten stories together. It would go against their idea of what the literary world should be. What would that take, to find a variety of authors who write on the same subject, with the enough of the same general style to create harmony, but each unique enough to justify its presence in the book?
She shivers involuntarily, very thankful for Cassian’s shared account.
"We’ll definitely have to start signing more authors,” Adil decides. “We’ll...send out scouts.”
“To Chokecherry?” Maz says.
“No,” Adil says. “But everywhere else. Where authors frequent. We’ll have to go overtime on reading manuscripts. But we will not--” he slams his hand down on the table quite suddenly, startling them all “--compromise on the integrity and quality of literature.”
“Hear, hear!” Zeyn calls, and Nesta suppresses a smile. He catches it and winks at her.
“We’ll split up. Xeyale, Amir, and Nesta, you’ll stay and run the shop. Hazar, you stay here, too, and wait for our new clients. Miri and I will go to Berries’ Rivers, Maz, you go to Privet Falls, Leyla, Wintergreen Glen, and Zeyn, Juniper Hills. We’re talent scouting. Find places authors frequent, approach them, if they’re any good, send them here.” He looks at them all intently.
Zeyn and Nesta exchange a glance.
“Ah, Adil,” Zeyn says, rather timid. “You do know that that’s insane, don’t you?”
“I don’t want to hear it,” he says, already making to leave the room and go back to his office.
“All the gods,” Hazar says, standing up. “I’ve got to go get a cup of coffee.” And he leaves too.
“I mean, that’s insane, right?” Zeyn says.
“I think we’re all in agreement of that, yes,” Leyla says, nodding.
“I think it’s a good idea,” Miri says.
They all look at her.
"Maybe it’s time for a change,” she defends. “Maybe this is the way to do it. This is what they do in the acting industry, right?”
“But this isn’t the acting industry.”
“He’s really stressed about this,” Miri says. “He doesn’t want this place to lose anymore than Chokecherry has already taken from it.” He doesn’t want any of you to lose anymore than Chokecherry has taken, she doesn’t say, but they all see it in her eyes. “I think it will work.” She stands. “And at any rate...it’s what we’re doing.” She leaves.
“I hate what this is doing to everyone,” Maz complains, and Nesta hates to agree with him, but she does too.
“I can’t believe I’m going to be the only archivist while you’re all off turning into the acting industry,” she says, shaking her head.
Zeyn and Leyla laugh.
"Don’t worry,” Xeyale says, grinning at her. “We’ll be here to keep you company.”
“A real comfort,” she says dryly. She stands too. “Well, I suppose we’ve got work to do. We need to find all the places...authors frequent.” She rolls her eyes.
“Yeah, in a fifty mile radius,” Maz grumbles. “This is never going to work.”
“Don’t say that,” Zeyn says lightly. “It might. And wouldn’t it be great? To discover new talent like that?”
Nesta knows the question isn’t directed at her, but she wonders anyway--what would it be like? In publishing? She didn’t think she’d like archiving before she started; she thought reading was the only thing she enjoyed.
That’s not something she can explore now, though, and that’s why Adil is having her stay here. So she shakes herself and goes to find maps of the surrounding towns.
---
November 20 - Year of
She avoided him for days after she snapped. He caught her in the living room when she came back from work one day.
“Wait, Nesta,” he said, jumping to his feet as soon as she walked in.
Nesta stifled a groan. She didn’t want to have this conversation.
She didn’t like that tentative, detached politeness. She was angry.
(And Cassian was anything but tentative and detached. It felt abnormal sharing that with him.)
“Please,” he said. “I just wanted to apologize.”
Nesta said stiffly, “Don’t worry about it,” and tried to push past him.
“No, Nesta,” he said, raising his hands and blocking her path to the hallway. “Not for breakfast. I mean, yes for breakfast, but also...for everything. For bringing you here. For...leaving you here.”
She froze. He did too.
She moved her eyes from his face. She couldn’t look at him.
Why was everything so hot all of a sudden?
“I...should have known this wasn’t the right thing to do,” he said, slowly, carefully. Nesta could tell he was thinking hard about each word before he said it. “To bring you here and leave you alone. Here, of all places. We thought...I thought it would be good for you. I thought...you would have space and maybe you would want to train and that would be a good outlet for you the same way it is for me and you’d get....”
Better, he didn’t say.
“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was hoarse and Nesta was scared to look at him so she didn’t.
He sat back down. “That’s...all I wanted to say,” he said lamely.
Nesta kept her eyes averted as she nodded slightly and ducked into the hall, into her room, shutting the door behind her.
He apologized.
She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t that.
And he certainly seemed sorry--just by his voice, of course, because she hadn’t seen his face.
He’d thought she might want to train...he didn’t know her at all, clearly. And he hadn’t mentioned all of it; not all that happened in Velaris and the fact that she was this thing now, but she was glad of it, because all he did say was nearly too much to bear.
And she couldn’t spend the rest of her night going over everything, playing it all back in her head until she knew the words by heart, so she tried to best to put it all out of her mind.
Because...was she supposed to forgive him now?
---
November 2 - 4 years after
The staff is gone later that day, as Adil is determined to discover five brilliant new authors before the month is over. Nesta is glad Miri is going with him; she might talk some sense into him.
“Does he actually think Gilameyva’s just bleeding ingenious writers?” Leyla had muttered to her before they all left.
Nesta laughed a little. “He’s just anxious,” she said, echoing Miri.
"I can’t believe I have to go to Wintergreen Glen. It’s so boring.”
"Well, maybe you’ll find a whole new world to fall into.”
"Right. I’m sure we’ll find the next Morrissey in Wintergreen Glen.”
"Why not?” Zeyn had said, appearing next to them. “Morrisey’s from Privet Falls.”
And Morrissey, Nesta thinks to herself as she walks back home, isn’t even that great of a writer.
She doesn’t have to pick up the children from nursery because Cassian’s already got them. It’s quite nice, actually, to be able to spend a little while longer at work locking up and stop for a coffee from Jamal’s without worrying too much.
Aysel is there, too, and she walks back with her. “So,” she says to her, eager to get to the point after what was surely a painful exchange of pleasantries for the town’s resident busybody, “I hear that Cassian of yours has been staying for quite some time.”
"He comes and goes.”
"He’s been here a week.”
“That’s true,” she says.
“I saw him today. He picked the children up. Oh, they’re so cute, you know. Just the sweetest little things.”
“I agree with you.”
“You do such a good job with them!”
“Thank you, Aysel.”
“I remember when they were born. Ooh, Ollie was so tiny, do you remember?”
“Their birth?” Nesta laughs. “Vividly.”
Aysel laughs too, in that hurried way she always does. “Of course, of course. He’s so big now.”
“He is,” she agrees. She can’t believe it, sometimes, how much they have grown in three years. Especially Ollie; he had been so small.
“And his father,” Aysel says, in a tone she thinks is supposed to be sly. “Well, he’s not small, is he?”
“He’s tall,” Nesta says neutrally.
“ Very tall. Probably the tallest person in Sugar Valley, ever.”
“We had some tall people in for the last Berry Fair.”
“Tallest one now.”
“Probably.”
“How tall do you think your boys are going to be?”
“I don’t know.”
“And Ava?”
“Taller than I am, I hope.”
“Oh, don’t say that, dearie. You’re such a darling height.”
They reach their street then, and Nesta might’ve invited her for strawberry tea and jam, but she’s not going to. Confirming personally that Cassian is her children’s father to Aysel is one thing, inviting her inside to meet him is quite another.
“Well, have a good evening, Aysel,” she says.
“You too, dearie. Kisses to the babies!”
She waves at her over her shoulder and strides up to her porch.
She might’ve guessed something is wrong by the fact that she can’t hear any noise from the inside, but she knows for sure because Cassian rips the door open as soon as she reaches it. His face is pale.
Nesta’s heart drops. “What is it?” A million different scenarios run through her mind, each one worse than the last.
“Come inside,” is all he says.
They rush up the stairs, Nesta’s pulse going faster than it ever has before when he leads her up the stairs and to her children’s bedroom. She braces herself as best she can for when she goes inside, but she knows there isn’t a good way to prepare.
But they’re all there...whole. In three perfect pieces. Nicky and Ollie laying in the beds, Avery standing in between them, her hand on Nicky’s form.
She looks at Cassian, his face still ashen. “What?” she asks.
His eyes widen. “They’re sick!”
Nesta throws a hand to her forehead. For mercy’s sake. “Don’t,” she says, rubbing her temples, “ever deliver news to me that way.”
Her heartbeat back to normal, she joins Avery in the middle of her sons’ beds. She settles herself on her knees and pulls her close. She doesn’t feel hot.
"How are you feeling, ladybug?”
"Good,” she says, slightly muffled against Nesta’s body. She looks up at her. “Nicky and Ollie are sick.”
"Yes,” she says, nodding. Then she looks at Cassian. “It’s flu season.”
"Emilia’s sick, too.”
"Yes,” she says, still looking pointedly at Cassian. “Probably the flu, poor thing.”
He glares at her, but she can see his coloring darkens slightly, which probably would have delighted her once.
She doesn’t hate it, now.
She puts her hand on Nicky’s forehead and then Ollie’s. A fever, each of them. Ollie is sleeping soundly, and Nicky seems like he’ll fall asleep soon.
"Mummy will bring you something to drink,” she whispers to him, dropping a kiss on his forehead.
She leads Avery and Cassian out of the room.
“I don’t want to be sick.”
“You won’t,” she assures her. “You’ll be fine.”
“I don’t want my brothers to be sick.”
Nesta feels the same rush of overwhelming emotion she always does when her children express how much they love each other. “Don’t worry,” she says to her, smiling. “They’ll be better soon. Why don’t you go play outside for a bit?”
“Are you out of your mind?” she says to Cassian when she’s gone. “Do you know what went through my head?”
"They’re sick!”
“Children get sick! People get sick! They’ll get better!”
“Well, I’ve never had children get sick before!”
Nesta softens at the fear in his voice, shining through his eyes as well. “They’ll be fine,” she says in a more gentle tone. “It’ll be a few days...it’s properly miserable to see them, but they’ll be fine. I only don’t want to keep Avery here...I don’t want her to get sick, too. Normally I’d ask Miri and Adil,” she says, talking more to herself. “But they’re gone, and I can’t ask Amorette. I guess I’ll keep her in my room. Oh, and I’ll have to stay here. Oh, but I’m alone at the store....”
"You’re alone at the store?”
"Yes, Adil’s got everyone traipsing around the country, looking for authors,” she says, waving a hand. “Unless...when are you going back?”
“Not before they’re better.”
Nesta straightens. That was the right answer. “Well, could you watch them during the day?”He nods, his expression casual, but Nesta can tell he’s terrified.
"It’s really not that big of a deal,” she says. “I’ll show you which medication to give them, how often. I’ll make soup. They’ll need fluids. Oh, and Nicky can’t have plain water when he’s sick, he’ll need tea...I’ll write this down for you...but it’s not like I’m going to be leaving you alone,” she adds at the sight of him. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere. Just work.”
“I know,” he says. Hesitates. “I just...”
“What?”
“I’m...worried.”
Nesta puts down the pen she’s picked up and crosses the room to his side. She moves her hand to take his, but thinks better of it. “You don’t need to. They’ll be fine. So will you. You’ve been...” her eyes dart around the room, but she meets his gaze when she says, “very helpful. This week.”
His head lifts slightly, and that all-too-familiar cocky grin appears. “Yeah?”
“Yes. In fact...” Now Nesta hesitates. “Maybe...if you would feel comfortable...you could spend the night with Avery at Miri’s house?”
His grin slides off his face.
“If it’s too soon,” she says quickly, “then--you know what? Forget--”
“No!” he says. “No, I can! I can--sure. At Miri’s...yes. I can. I know what she needs. I can...yes.”
“All right,” she says, relieved somewhat. “I’ll...make you a list.”
“Okay.”
“And...she’ll have flying lessons tomorrow. Maybe you’d like to go with her? And I’ll stay home with the boys?”
Nesta’s never seen his eyes light up the way they do now.
---
November 12 - 1 year after
She didn’t feel exactly ill, but she felt off. Like the world had been tilted a few degrees. She had been hungrier than normal for her the past week or so, but it’s not till that day she wondered if something was wrong with her.
Only briefly. Then she pushed the thought aside. Things were going well, and she didn’t need to look for something to be upset about.
"Good morning, Nesta,” Zeyn greeted her cheerfully. How was he always so happy all the time? It was jarring.
"Hello, Zeyn,” she said, rubbing her temples.
“Headache?”
“No...” she said, because her head didn’t hurt, it just felt...weird. “Just tired.” Perhaps that was it.
“I’ve got a lot of new books today. Maybe you’d like to read one. Do you like mystery?”
“It’s all right,” she said. Most mystery novels were predictable to her. “I’ve got to finish mine, though.”
“How have you been with all those?” he asked, following her to the back room.
All that is Holy, she thought. “It’s going well, thanks.” It was reading. And fixing up books. And setting a price. As long as you could read, it wasn’t hard.
“I just get so overwhelmed sometimes,” he said. “You know, all those books. In such a short amount of time. And how do you set a price!”
“Length and demand,” she said, frowning slightly. How else would you set a price?
“Yes, but it’s hard to foresee demand at a store that sells used books,” he said. “I imagine it’s even more so for you, because human-authored books are so unpopular. Not that they aren’t good! Just so, I guess, uncommon. Yes, that’s the word. It’s rare to come across one. But now that the Wall is down, we might trade more. It’d be really fascinating, don’t you think, to see what books are popular with humans. Don’t you think? Nesta?”
“Just...” Nesta said, “I. Oh. Oh, I have to...” she trailed off, not being able to hear herself suddenly.
“Here, lie down.” She could feel a pair of warm, strong hands lower her gently to the ground. Oh, it felt so-- wrong , to be touched like that. By another male’s hands. Oh, she didn’t like it...
The room was spinning. She could hear more voices. Emerie was yelling. No, not Emerie. Not Emerie, right? Who was that? Who was speaking?
Someone was saying her name. Someone...but she couldn’t hear.
And then she couldn’t see.
---
November 2 - 4 years after
Cassian’s still has yet to regain his power of speech, but it doesn’t matter, because Ava keeps the conversation going on her own.
“And I will put my horse here, and I will put my dog here, and I will put my owl here...” she sing-songs, placing her stuffed animals in various spots on the bed he has set up for her in Miri’s house.
She’s ready to go to sleep, after being fed and bathed at Nesta’s house. But she wants to set up the room the way she likes it first.
“Well,” he says, wishing Nesta were here, “we’ll go home tomorrow morning, and we’ll bring your giraffe then.”
Ava looks outraged. “I want it now!”
She hadn’t mentioned this. Nesta didn’t say anything about a giraffe. And he’s never been out with Ava before; how was he supposed to know? “But...we’ll let Nicky have it. Because he’s sick. Just for tonight.” Maybe that tactic will work?
Ava considers it. “Tomorrow I will get my giraffe?”
He’s nothing if not strategic. “Yes. Tomorrow.”
“Not tonight?”
“No, not tonight.”
Ava thinks some more. “All right, tomorrow.”
Cassian breathes a sigh of relief. Ava’s been throwing crisis after crisis at him. He feels like a novice, back when he did simulations. When his commanders had given them every possible thing that could go wrong, all at the same time. There was an Illyrian expression that loosely translated into “difficult training makes for an easy battle”--but there is no training for parenting and it is by no definition an easy battle.
“Tell me a story,” she orders him when he finally convinces her to get into bed.
Cassian nods. Nesta had told him one as they packed, reciting the important lines a few times over for him to memorize. “I’ll tell you the one about Jack,” he says.
“No, I don’t want Jack.”
Fantastic.
"Well,” he says, trying to keep a level head. “What...story do you want?”
“Not a Mummy story.”
“What’s a Mummy story? Oh, not one of Mummy’s stories.” She wants one of his? Nesta wouldn’t like him telling any Illyrian tales...and he doesn’t think it’s a particularly good idea either. “Maybe...” Cassian rack his brain. He has stories, doesn’t he? One of them must be child-friendly. Or he can edit it to make it so.
Had he ever gone on some sort of quest that didn’t end in bloodshed?
“Not too long ago,” he says, in the way Illyrian tales always start, realizing as he begins that it’s quite eerie, but no matter, “there was a male who loved a female very much. And the female loved...very much...more than anything in the world...chocolate.”
Ava laughs. “I love chocolate!”
“You do? Well, the female loved chocolate so much, but there was one type of chocolate she loved more than all the others. But she hadn’t had it since she was a little girl, and she now lived very far away from the place where they made it. One day, she was very sad...and he knew only that chocolate would make her happy again. So he decided he would travel to find it.
“He had to cross an ocean and many lands, for only one tiny little town across the world made this exact kind of chocolate. When he got to the tiny town, he searched and searched for the chocolate shop. And then...he found it. And he bought some chocolate...and he brought it home...and then the female was happy again,” he finishes lamely.
Ava looks at him, unimpressed. He doesn’t blame her. Although in his defense, it had been more exciting when it had actually happened.
“Tell it again!” she says.
He does, trying to make it sound better this time around, but he isn’t very good at it. He might’ve laced the story with bits and pieces of other (real) quests he had been on, but he isn’t sure what he’s allowed to say.
After the second time, Ava looks at him thoughtfully. “That was not a good story,” she tells him.
He laughs a little. “I’m sorry. Should I tell you the story about Jack?”
“Yes!”
He recites the story Nesta had told him, exactly the way she had instructed, and Ava is thrilled. She laughs and claps along.
"Again!” she says when he finishes. And again and again.
Until he says, “It’s time for you to go to sleep, now, Ava.”
"So let’s go home.”
“We’re sleeping here tonight, Ava, remember?”
To his horror, her eyes well up with tears. “I want to go home with Mummy and Nicky and Ollie.”
“Don’t cry,” he says, fretting. “Don’t--it’s okay, don’t--oh....”
“I don’t--want--to stay here,” she sobs. “I want to go home!”
“I’m sorry...we’ll go home tomorrow, Ava.”
“I want my giraffe!”
“But we said we’d let Nicky have the giraffe tonight, don’t you remember?” he says desperately. But Ava doesn’t care. He can’t quite make out exactly what she’s saying and he doesn’t know what to do.
So he picks her up out of bed and lays her against his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he says, trying to bounce her. That’s how to calm children down, right?
“I don’t want to stay here all by myself!” Her cries are muffled against him.
“Well, you’re not all by yourself,” he says. “I’m here. I’m staying with you.” Would that be enough? Please let that be enough. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if that’s not good enough for her. Just for one night.
She sniffles a little and lifts her head, looking up at him with his own eyes. Except so innocent, so pure. “Can I sleep in your bed?” she asks, voice still wavering.
Relief crashes over him. “Sure,” he says. “Of course.”
The smile she gives him is vibrant, and he marvels at how little he loved her at the beginning of the week compared to now.
---
November 30 - Year of
She’d told her sister, once, that the last thing she would want would be to be remembered as a coward. She felt like one now.
Like a coward and angry and hurt, perhaps, more than anything. Which made her feel stupid.
Sometimes Nesta thought she felt too much.
After Cassian had apologized, she’d fled to her room and avoided him successfully for over a week. It was made easier by the fact that he did have to leave a few times during the week, to one of those neighboring camps he always went off to.
She didn’t want to think about it. Especially the pain. Because if he had hurt her...she didn’t let herself finish the thought.
But one afternoon, at work, while counting out jackets in the back, she heard Emerie say, “What are you doing here?”
And then she heard him reply, “I came to see Nesta.”
She nearly dropped the jacket she was holding. She normally felt him before she heard him. Where had that gone? It was of no use to her when they were both in the house, and now it was too late to sneak out the back, because he was coming.
"Nesta,” he said, pushing open the door.
“The sign says ‘employees only’,” she blurted out, which she knew was the stupidest thing she could have said, but it was too late.
“Emerie said I could go in.”
Traitor.
“I needed to talk to you.”
“It couldn’t wait? I’m working.” Perhaps he’d make some snide comment about working in a clothier as opposed to being the Night Court’s Emissary and then she could pick a fight over that and kick him out of the shop and they’d go back to the way things were when she got here. Except she’d have Emerie and her drinking habit more under control, so it’d be better.
But he just said, “I know. I’m sorry, it couldn’t wait. I’ll be leaving again soon. For about five days, I think. Maybe longer. And I couldn’t go without...” he trailed off. Ran a hand through his hair and let out a frustrated sound. “I keep doing things wrong with you, Nesta.
She averted her gaze. She couldn’t do this. This was too much. And if he mentioned...that day...the battlefield...she didn’t know what she would do.
But he did.
“I promised you time, once,” he said softly.
No. No, she could not do this.
“I have to go,” she managed. She pushed past him, quickly, careful not to touch him.
“Wait, Nesta, please--”
“Nesta,” Emerie said, turning as she entered the room. “Where are you--?”
But Nesta didn’t stay to hear her finish. Instead, she ran.
---
November 3 - 4 years after
This time it is Nesta who rips open the door as soon as she hears Cassian approaching.
“Mummy!” Avery calls, reaching her arms out for her.
“Hi, ladybug,” Nesta croons. She holds her tightly against herself. “I missed you so much.”
She had regretted sending Cassian out with her the moment they had gone. She hadn’t spent a night away from them, ever. She had never not tucked them into bed. And now...Avery had had a night without her. It felt like she should look different. There should be some mark upon her face.
But her daughter looks just as she did last night, just as cheerful and chattery. Cassian looks relatively unscathed, too, if a bit tired.
“Did you have fun?” she asks her as she ushers them inside.
“Appa told me a boring story,” Avery says, and wiggles out of Nesta’s arm onto the ground. “I want some orange juice in my purple cup, please.”
“Boring story?” Nesta says to Cassian.
“She didn’t want yours. And I didn’t want to tell her something you wouldn’t approve of. She still asked for it again, anyway,” he says defensively.
Nesta looks at him. “And you told it to her?”
“Yes.” Now he looks unsure. “And then she wanted yours...so I told that one, like, three times.”
Nesta shakes her head. She looks at Avery. Her daughter knows how to get what she wants, that’s for sure. “Did she ask to sleep in your bed, too?”
“...is that bad?”
Nesta rolls her eyes. Avery wraps everyone she meets around her little finger. Why should her father be any different?
“How are Nicky and Ollie?” he asks.
"Still ill,” she says. “The main thing is just to keep them on a constant stream of fluids so they don't dehydrate. Soup, if they feel up for it. Talk to them if you can, but they might be too tired.”
“Shouldn’t we take them to a healer?”
She hadn’t realized how much she’d appreciate hearing him say we . “We don’t need to,” she says. “It’s the common flu. They’ll be fine.”
“So...you never take them to the healer? If they have the flu?”
“It’s not necessary if it lasts only a couple of days,” she reminds him, “for adults and children both.”
“Infants--”
“Not the same,” she explains patiently. “They can digest medication. Infants can’t.”
She finishes putting Avery’s breakfast in front of her. “When you’re done, Mummy will take you to nursery.”
“I want to say hello to Nicky and Ollie.”
“Finish your breakfast and then go,” she says to her. Then she says to Cassian, “Well, other than that...how was it?”
“She cried,” he admits. Then he grins. “But I calmed her down.”
“By letting her sleep in your bed.”
“Why is that not allowed?”
Nesta shakes her head again. “You were only with her. What if they all wanted to sleep in your bed?”
“What then?”
“They would kick you out and you would end up on the floor.” Nesta had thought moving them into their own beds would be a hard step, and it was, but as soon as she woke up from her first night alone in over two years, she didn’t miss it anymore.
Cassian laughs. “I can take them.”
Nesta hides a smile. “Finish up, Avery,” she says. “It’s almost time to go.”
She busies herself around the kitchen with nothing in particular, just feeling his eyes on her.
---
November 12 - 1 year after
She could hear everyone around her before she could see them. Low, hushed voices. Some whirring sound, too. She shivered from the cold and from something else.
“Oh, she’s waking up,” she heard someone whisper.
“Nesta?” another voice said. Miri, from Sugar Books. What was she doing here?
Nesta opened her eyes. Where was here, exactly?
Here was a small room Nesta didn’t recognize. Pale blue walls decorated with tiny sugar berries; the sheets on the bed she was lying on the same design. The curtains on the window were a cheerful yellow and the expressions on Zeyn and Miri’s faces were anything but.
“Can you hear us, Nesta?”
Nesta struggled to sit upright. “Of course I can hear you,” she said, grumbling slightly. “What are these?” She shook her arm as she spoke, at the needles prodded inside her. She was in an infirmary of some kind. She vaguely remembered blacking out at the store, but since she could feel no pain, she assumed she was fine. Probably just dehydrated. After all, she had been Made. The epitome of perfection, was she not? She didn’t get sick anymore.
“Fluids,” Zeyn said unhelpfully.
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course they were fluids. But Zeyn was harmless, if annoying, and she didn’t want to start an antagonistic relationship with the coworker who clearly liked her best.
“You blacked out,” Miri said, her wide dark eyes searching Nesta’s face. “We brought you to the clinic. A healer is seeing to you. Her name’s Amorette. She’s fairly new here, but I’ve been told she’s very good.”
Nesta nodded. “Thank you for bringing me here,” she said, hoping they’ll hear the dismissal.
They do. “Feel better, Nesta,” Zeyn said, reaching her hand to squeeze it. She tried not to flinch.
“We’ll be by to check in on you,” Miri said.
Oh, for the love of all things Holy. “That’s very kind of you, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She smiled as she spoke, hoping she did so normally.
Cassian used to make fun of her forced smiles. You look like you’re in pain.
Why was she thinking of him all of a sudden?
They left as the healer stood in the room. She looked to be about Nesta’s age--although with Fae, you couldn’t really tell, could you? But at any rate, a pretty, High Fae female, with light blue eyes and blond hair that kept tied at the nape of her neck.
“Good afternoon, Miss Archeron,” the healer said. “I’m Amorette Dadashov. I’ll be your healer today. May I come in?”
Nesta raised an eyebrow. “Sure,” she said, pleasantly surprised at the healer asking permission.
Healer Dadashov closed the door behind her. She was holding a notebook in her hand. “I can see all your vitals have returned to normal,” she said, without checking them like a mortal nurse would have to. “All things considered.”
"All things considered?”
“Yes,” she said, flipping through the pages of her book. “I understand you’re new in town?”
What on Earth did that have to do with anything? “Yes.”
“And, forgive me, you’re here alone?”
Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
“And you’ve not been to our clinic yet, correct?”
“Correct.” Shouldn’t that all be in her book? Why is she asking all this?
“So your options have not yet been explained to you?” Dadashov looked Nesta in the eye as she spoke.
Nesta’s patience was wearing thin. “Look,” she snapped, “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’d very much like if you could just tell me what happened and what I have to do so it doesn’t happen again and let me go. Please,” she added as an afterthought. It didn’t sound very gracious.
Dadashov’s eyes widened. “Miss Archeron,” she said, not quite stuttering but certainly with none of the confidence she’d had before. “You do...I mean...you know that you’re pregnant?”
Nesta’s favorite book as a child was about magic. It wasn’t called magic, of course, for in the tiny human section of their island, magic was shunned. But that power to manipulate nature; that was what it was. The heroine was a girl named Avery, and Avery’s villain was a woman who could make things vanish. The most terrifying part of the story, in eight-year-old Nesta’s opinion, was the part where the villain made the floor vanish right from underneath Avery, and she fell and fell for miles until she could get her magic working to pull herself back up.
Nesta felt that. But there was no one to pull her back up. Because she was alone. There was only falling.
“I...can see you did not know,” Dadashov said softly. “All right, well...” She pulled a chair towards the bed and sat down. She gripped Nesta’s hands, hers a warm peach next to Nesta’s stark white. “It’s going to be all right,” she said soothingly. “The clinic is very well prepared for any option you choose. We have three healer’s for female reproduction, myself included. We’re all more than capable of treating you in whatever...oh, dear. Here,” she said, passing her a wad of tissue paper.
“Oh,” Nesta said, taking some and wiping her eyes. “Oh, er, tha--”
But she choked on her words.
What was she supposed to do?
“I can’t be pregnant,” she whispered aloud. Because she couldn’t. Then she realized--she truly couldn’t. “This...can't be possible. I haven’t...been with anyone in months.” Even with the gravity of the situation, Nesta still felt a slight blush creep up on her cheeks. Perhaps she had not entirely thrown out the excessive modesty of her upbringing with her few months of numerous partners in Velaris, and the few months living with Cassian.
Oh, Mother. Cassian.
“It’s...possible for a female to get pregnant months after intercourse,” the healer said slowly, carefully, like Nesta was an idiot.
“It is?” she replied, feeling like one.
“Yes.”
Of course, Nesta thought, thinking it through. Because her cycle was so slow...and that meant her whole system was so slow...and if pregnancy once would have occurred a few days after sex, now it happened months.
And she had stopped taking the potion. Because she had stopped sleeping with people. But that didn’t matter, because it had only been...Nesta counted backwards in her head...a month since she had last slept with Cassian.
(A month? Had it really only been a month?)
Nesta put her head in her hands. “All right,” she said, summoning her nerve. “Tell me about the other two healers.”
“Well,” Dadashov said, slightly taken aback, “there’s Huseyn Por--”
“Male.”
“Er, yes.”
“No. The other one.”
"Marya Kamal. She’s brilliant, one of the best in the field. We’re lucky to have her. Her studies--”
“How old is she?”
“Er,” Dadashov said, eyes darting around. “I believe...twelve-hundred, or so?”
“No. You, then. All right.” Nesta paused to take a deep breath. “I don’t know anything about faerie reproduction. I wasn’t born faerie. And I...can’t have this baby.”
Eugh, why did she say baby?
Dadashov’s eyes go even wider.
She’s a patient from Hell, she imagined. But Healers liked a challenge, didn’t they?
---
November 3 - 4 years after
The day spent with his sons is miserable. He sits with them all day, talking to them while they’re awake and running his hands down their backs while they sleep. Nicky seems to be doing a little better towards the late afternoon, and sits up to have soup, but Ollie barely takes the water Cassian makes him drink.
He’s beyond relieved when Nesta and Ava come home.
Ava rushes up the stairs ahead of Nesta. “We’re going to flying lessons now, Appa,” she sing-songs. “We’re going now, we’re going now, we’re going now.”
"Hi, angels,” Nesta says, coming into the room and sitting by Nicky. “How are you feeling?” she asks him, putting a hand on his forehead.
“Better,” he says, but his voice is still so weak.
Nesta kisses the top of his head and hugs him. “What about a bath? Would that make you feel better.”
He shrugs into her.
“I think it would,” she says, standing up. “How’s Ollie?”
“Sleeping, mostly.”
“Poor angel,” she sighs. “All right, you go on to flying lessons. Have fun, Avery. Say hello to Madam Sabina for me.”
“Bye-bye, Nicky! Bye-bye, Mummy! Let’s go now, Appa!”
Ava takes his hand and starts dragging him towards the door. “Bye,” he says over his shoulder. “We’ll come back soon.”
“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go now!”
Ava keeps up variations of her chant until they arrive at one of the parks where flying lessons commence. The children all look to be around her age, accompanied by a parent or two. They’re all various types of lesser fae, none of the likes of which he’s seen in the Night Court.
Madam Sabina is a round, pink female with large, feathery wings.
“Hello,” he says, introducing himself. “I’m here with Ava.”
“You’re her father?”
“Yes. Nesta’s at home. With the boys. They’re sick.”
“Ah, flu’s going around. All right, then. Normally I fly with the triplets, but good. You’ll do it. Wonderful. Are you excited to fly with your Daddy, Ava?”
“He’s my Appa,” she says. And then she starts singing again, “We’re at flying lessons now, we’re at flying lessons now.”
Madam Sabina shrugs. “Excited enough, I guess. All right, students!” she cries, clapping her hands. Let’s all gather around in a circle--mummies, daddies, uncles, let’s get behind them. Let’s start our stretching exercises.”
"Hi,” says the female next to him in the parents’ circle. “I’m Nuray, Zehra’s mother. I’m a friend of Nesta’s. You’re the triplets’ father, right?”
He nods. “Cassian,” he says.
“Nicky looks so much like you,” she says. “Where are the boys?”
“They’re sick,” he says, wondering how many friends Nesta has here, or if everyone who has a child in the same age group counts as a friend. “The flu.”
“Oh,” she says, clucking. “Poor dears. Well, it’s going around. Nice that Nesta’s got you here now, to help out. Especially with Zeyn gone.”
“Oh, yeah,” he says, struggling to maintain a casual tone. “Good stretching, Ava,” he says to her.
“All right, now, let’s just flap our wings. Just like that. No, Fidan, not too fast! We’re just flapping, we’re not flying! All right, good!”
Ava grins up at him. “I already know how to fly,” she tells him.
“Oh, do you?”
“I’m so good at it.”
“I bet you are.”
“We’re not allowed to fly until Madam Sabina says it’s okay.”
“That’s right.”
“Because we have to stretch first because it’s very important.”
“It is very important, you’re right.”
“And, now we’re going to run all the way over there and then back again, all right? Go!”
Ava shoots off as fast as she can, making him laugh in delight. He feels a rush of gratitude towards Nesta for giving them such a beautiful, quiet place to learn to fly.
"I think it’s great that you’ve moved back in,” Nuray says. “In a town like this, people talk, but they’re good. People talked when my wife and I separated, but now we’re back, and people stop talking, you know?”
“Oh!” Nuray brings a hand to her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry! I just...assumed. I’m sorry.”
“No, that’s all right,” he says, eyes darting around. This is so--weird. Sugar Valley is so weird. People he doesn’t even know congratulating him on moving back in with Nesta. No one here knows who he is. No one here has served in any military. He’s not even sure Gilameyva has a military. It’s so detached from Prythian, so different.
“Well, at any rate...I think it’s great that you’re stepping up.”
“Thanks.” Is this a normal conversation?
Thankfully, Ava comes back then.
“All right, everyone,” Madam Sabina announces. “Pair up, pair up. We’re going to go up! Stand by your partner!”
Ava stands in front of Cassian, beaming up at him.
“Okay, just high enough to their heads. Now...up!”
Ava kicks herself off the ground--it isn’t graceful in the least, but he’s so proud, prouder than he’s ever been in his life.
“And now we’re all going to do a lap around the park together. No higher than six feet, parents! And uncle!”
Ava takes his hand as they fly together. He’s going abnormally slow, but he doesn’t care at all.
