"I have no regrets in my life, but this. I did not have time with you, Nesta. I will find you again in the next world - the next life. And we will have that time. I promise."

- Cassian

"I think I'd like to see what else is out there, what a woman might do with fortune and a good name."

- Nesta Archeron

Nesta

Velaris

The Night Court

Nesta Archeron, newly exiled from her sister's court and the city of Velrais, sat in her dilapidated apartment and tried to summon a tendril of anger for her current predicament. That morning Feyre had been kind enough to allow Nesta one day to put her affairs in order before shipping her off to Illyria. Nesta had spent the better part of the afternoon packing up her meager belongings. In the morning her bastard brother-in-law would arrive to winnow her away to some gods-damned war camp, effectively making her someone else's problem.

No, Nesta thought weary, not someone else. Him. Cassian.

Nesta stifled a sigh and knew she should be grateful. If Rhysand had his way he would probably cast her out with only the clothes upon her back. Nesta had ignored and avoided her sisters time and time again. Apparently you could only snub the High Lady one too many times before finally invoking the ire of her sister's husband. To be fair, using the Court's treasury to bankroll her last few tavern bills probably didn't help.

Still, Nesta was certain Cassian was the reason she was granted asylum outside of the city. He was the only remaining member of her sister's court who stubbornly refused to leave Nesta alone. There were a few stretches of time where he would disappear, but in those days he was also gone from the Velaris entirely. If he wasn't lurking in the shadows and being a general nuisance then Cassian was in Illyria, that much was certain. Elain once told her that he had a home there. Apparently that was now to be her home, too.

Nesta idly wondered how much of his last trip was spent preparing for her arrival. She'd only half-listened as Feyre explained the recent plan to save Nesta from herself. The preparations had apparently been set in motion some time ago. Someone else had decided her fate while Nesta was remained blissfully unaware. Just like old times.

And, well, that was the problem now, wasn't it? Sure, maybe isolating herself from her sisters wasn't particularly the healthiest way to manage her feelings after the war. And Nesta could also admit that her drinking had gotten out of hand. She picked up an abandoned wine glass and rolled the stem between her thin fingers.

It used to be easier, before the war, when rage was her constant companion. It kept her focused during those months when they shivered and starved, when their father sat idly by and let it all happened. Her anger kept her fueled during those lean days. It kept her sharp. But then Hybern walked into her life and ripped her world apart. Her father, once content to let her Nesta starve, died fighting to free her from the King of Hybern. Her righteous anger had finally burned itself out, leaving ashes in its wake. Nesta no longer felt anger. Nesta no longer felt much of anything.

And… how could she even begin to explain all of this to Feyre and Elain? Nesta didn't understand how her sisters could laugh and smile. Didn't understand how they could move on with their lives like nothing had happened. Gods, even Nesta knew how terrible that sounded. And its not like she wanted to deny them any drop of happiness. The Mother knew they both deserved it. But even if her sisters could effortlessly move on from the war, Nesta could not. Every time she closed her eyes Nesta was haunted by memories of the war. The way Father's eyes drained of light after the King of Hybern snapped his neck. The way Cassian used the last of his energy to brush his lips across hers while they waited for the finale deathblow. The loss. The loss. The loss.

Nesta shuttered and dropped the wine glass, the sound of its shattering pulling her out of her reverie. No, Nesta couldn't explain any of this to her sisters. If they were able to free themselves from the horrors of the war then she needed to stay far away. The last thing Nesta wanted to do was somehow drag her sisters back to those dark days. Elain was no longer a lifeless shell; she had made a home for herself in this strange new world. And Nesta's nightmares were still filled with the sounds of Feyre screams. No, the kindest thing Nesta could do for her family was to keep far, far away. Her sisters were better off without her.

But her sweet, idiot sister couldn't leave well enough alone. Feyre wasn't content to let Nesta waste away in seclusion. No, Feyre had taken it upon herself to save her sibling, regardless of Nesta's own feelings on the subject. History was repeating itself. Nesta would choose one course of action and her sister would choose another. The conclusion was always the same; Nesta's agency would be stripped away.

Nesta never really chose anything in her life. She didn't choose to live in that shit-hole village when they originally lost their fortune. She hated the decision to reintegrated back into high society once their wealth was restored, surrounded by the very people who turned their backs on the Archerons the first time. Nesta had planned to leave those vultures once Elain was safely wed. She certainly didn't choose to become Fae. And now Nesta has no choice about the new direction her life was taking. Feyre had decided Nesta was to be sent off to Illyria so off to Illyria she would go. The story repeated itself. The cycle began anew.

Except, a strange new thought crossed her mind, maybe this time I can change the story.

Nesta blinked. The thought was new and rebellious.

Nesta always followed the path laid out before her. Yes, she was quick to anger and never held back complaints, but she always obeyed. Yet, the treacherous thought remained. Could I choose my own path?

A small thrill ran through her at the idea of disobeying. Could she simply walk away and take control of her own destiny? She could admit secluding herself in Velaris wasn't working out. But she didn't think Illyria was the right choice, either. It was a war camp. The last thing she needed was to be reminded of war. She didn't think Cassian's presence would be enough to sooth the rising dread she felt at immersing herself in an embodiment of war.

Cassian….

Nesta shook her head as if to snap out the thought. If she was doing this, if she was really doing this, he was the last thing she needed to dwell on. If she thought too long and hard about Cassian she might lose her resolve. It was something she couldn't risk, not when she finally mustered enough courage to leave her family behind. If Velaris wasn't the right choice and if Illyria wasn't the right choice than she had to go with the third option; Nesta was going to strike out on her own.

Steeling herself, Nesta rose up and stepped over the broken glass, stopping to pick up the battered suitcase. She slipped on her coat and took three steps towards the door before pausing. It wasn't like she could just walk out of Velaris. Nesta never mastered winnowing. And she would need to enter the heart of the city to find passage out of the Night Court. There was a very slim chance that she would make it out undiscovered. What if Feyre or, Gods-forbid, Elain tracked her down and begged her to change her mind. They didn't understand her position. Would they demand she explain the reasons why she suffered in silence? Could she look into their eyes and deny them?

No, it was better to disappear entirely.

Nesta couldn't winnow, but there was another option. Her burgeoning excitement extinguish, quickly replaced by a foreboding new realization. Bile rose in her throat as she tried to quash her trepidation. She suppressed a shudder as a memory came rushing back.

Once, just after the war when she was feeling particularly homesick, Nesta had accidentally triggered her cauldron-given powers.

It's funny what minor details a person will remember when they find themselves in peculiar situations. She remembered that the sky was a cloudless blue, that a bird was singing. She remembered a weird, irreverent part of her brain noted that Elain would have been mortified if she knew about Nesta's predicament.

One minute she was bathing in the House of Wind, the next she was sitting naked among the ruined grounds of their former estate. She remembered how the soap suds trickled down her body into the cold, dirty water of their old reflecting pool; how the biting wind tore through her while she stayed frozen in place. For one brief second she feared she had finally gone mad.

Then all she could focus on the need get back. Before she could even begin to properly assess her situation - before she could even get out of the dirty pool water – there was a blinding flash of silver and Nesta was back in her bath in Velaris. Nesta scrambled out of the tub and dropped onto the marble floor, desperate to be away from the water in case it sent her somewhere else.

She never told anyone.

What if they demanded a demonstration? What if they didn't believe her? And, truth be told, the terror she felt during her unexpected journey was remarkably similar to her horror she felt inside the cauldron. And that was something she never talked about. Not to Elain. Certainly not to Feyre. No, all she could do was hold the fear and pain deep inside her.

Nesta refused to enter a bath for weeks afterwards, resorting to cleaning herself with a pitcher and ewer.

She started to drink excessively that night, the alcohol temporarily keeping her fears at bay. It's probably safe to say I never really stopped, she thought with a humourless laugh. If Nesta was going to change then that also had to stop. Nesta drank to escape the reality of her Cauldron-given curse. The irony that she needed to call upon her powers to avoid her immediate predicament wasn't lost on her.

That was the first time Nesta had transported. It was not the last.

A few months ago some nameless brute followed Nesta out of a tavern and dragged her into an ally. Recalling Cassian's haphazard defense lessons, Nesta delivered a swift kick to his groin. She didn't disarm him completely, but stunned him long enough to slip his hold. He regained his equilibrium far too soon for her liking and quickly gave chase, incensed she wasn't the easy target that he marked her for. He was a fast bastard and Nesta came to the sickening realization that she would need to use her powers to escape him.

She pictured the safety of her apartment in a frantic attempt to unlock her abilities. Nesta could feel the magic thrumming through her veins, unable to ignite. Willpower alone wasn't enough to trigger the ability to shift locations. She was seconds from abandoning the chase to scream for help when she spotted at a small fountain out of the corner of her eye. She was submerged in her bath the first time she shifted. Was water the key?

Nesta didn't have time for second guesses as she threw herself into the fountain, the skin of her palms scraping along the rough surface of the fountain floor. Now what? Did she need water on the other side? Was that the missing piece? But where... the Sidra! Velaris' famed river was on the opposite side of the city, well away from this bastard.

There was a disorienting flash of silver and Nesta found herself sprawled out in shallow, slower moving waters of the Sidra, close to the muddy riverside. She crawled out and dropped onto a muddy patch of grass, gasping for air. She had made it! Somehow, she had made it. For the first time since turning, Nesta was thankful of her cauldron-given powers. It was still a curse, but, perhaps, a curse with advantages. She walked the rest of the way home in that sodden, torn dress. Nesta was bleeding and miserable, but she was alive.

Perhaps her powers were not just a curse. Perhaps they were a key to her freedom. She had shifted halfway through the city with only a thought. And she shifted an even greater distance all those months ago, when she traveled into the Mortal Lands within the space of a heartbeat.

Nesta always said she wanted to see the world. Perhaps today was the perfect day to start.

With a lightness to her step that she hadn't felt in ages, Nesta threw her bag onto the bed and began to re-arrange her clothing. She packed her outwear and then did her best to waterproof the shabby suitcase. No need to walk around Prythian soaking wet if it could be helped.

When the repairs were completed to the best of her abilities Nesta began to fill the old, chipped bathtub with warm water. She spent those few minutes antagonizing over a note for her sisters, who were sure to discover her absence by morning. What would she tell them? Nesta hadn't decided on her final destination. She only knew with pressing certainty that it was time to leave her family behind.

In the end she decided against leaving a note. She would send word once she was safely settled and away from the Inner Circle. Win or lose, Nesta was taking control of her own fate.

And then, mere hours after her banishment from her sister's court, Nesta left the city of starlight.

Cassian

Velaris

The Night Court

Well, this day could have gone a lot fucking better. Cassian thought darkly as he stalked his way past the towering hedges and flowering shrubbery that lined the winding trails of his brother's estate.

He was radiating enough quiet fury that any passing groundskeepers quickly turned away when they saw approach. Cassian ignore them all, gaze firmly fixed on the distant manor. He didn't spare a glace at the immense gardens that surrounded him. He decided against flying to the manor in order to buy himself a few extra minutes before facing Rhysand. He knew the conversation would quickly turn to Windhaven's newest resident and Cassian was in no rush to discuss Nesta with his High Lord.

Cauldron boil him. The earlier meeting was a fucking disaster.

Cassian knew he should have gone in with lowered expectations. Nesta had been pushing herself away from her family for months now, choosing to languish in isolation rather than spend an extra minute in their presences. He knew Nesta would be angry at being forced out of her self-imposed seclusion, forced to stop hiding from the world around her. Cassian was prepared for her rage. He expected it.

He wasn't prepared for her dejected acceptance of the whole fucking mess.

After Nesta was told she was moving to the Illyrian mountains she merely shrugged her too-thin shoulders and asked for enough time to pack her possessions. Nesta took the news without a hint of emotion, her lovely face unmoving. She acted as if this was a quick trip to the countryside, not the upheaval of her entire existence. After she was granted the small reprieve Nesta merely nodded to her sister and vanished in a swirl of skirts, never once acknowledging Cassian or anyone else in the room.

At some point he hoped the sting of her rejection would lessen. It never did.

Like he said: it was a whole fucking mess.

All these months he had sat idly by while the female he cared about pulled further and further away. He deferred to his High Lady when she claimed that Nesta just needed time to heal. After all, Feyre herself had acted in a similar withdrawn manner when she first joined the Night Court. It hadn't been an easy process but Feyre made it through her tribulations and emerged stronger than ever. All it took was patience, understanding and a little guidance from her mate.

So then, shouldn't it be the same for Nesta? Cassian had followed his High Lord and Lady's strategy to every last detail. He had been patient, took care to never push her too far. Cassian understood that Nesta drank to self-medicate. Cassian was always readily available. The Gods above could testify how much he held his tongue when it came to the males. Still, nothing improved. Nesta only became further withdrawn, wilting away into the specter that stood before them earlier that day. He couldn't remember the last time her eyes burn with fire. Gods above, he missed that passion. He would happily give up his wings just to see her eyes blaze in indignation once again.

Cassian was so lost in thought that he almost missed the shadows gathering around him. Almost.

"I know you're there, brother." He called out.

The shadows swirled and appeared to solidify before Azriel strolled out of the darkness. The Shadowsinger tilted his head in greeting before joining Cassian. His brother hadn't been directly involved with Nesta's banishment. He knew Azriel had been spending his time on the continent, attempting to ferret out the traitorous moral Queens. Still, Cassian knew it was no coincidence that Azriel chose this day to return to Velaris. He could always rely on Azriel's unyeilding support during times of trouble.

"I assume you're up to date on the whole Nesta situation?" he bit out, trying to keep the acidity out of his voice. None of this was Azriel's fault. It wasn't fair to take out his frustrations on the Spymaster.

"I've heard enough." his brother responded, saying so much with so little words.

"He used his power on her." he spat, stomach tightening in anger "He forced her down because she didn't show enough deference. She's nothing more than a frail slip of a female and Rhysand used his powers on her."

He could feel his temper steadily rise, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side. Gods, he really needed to hit something. Preferably before he faced his High Lord. Azriel walked silently beside him for a few moments, the only sound was the gravel crunching underneath their feet.

"He is our High Lord." Azriel gently reminded him.

"And our High Lord can shove it up his ass! It was the wrong call, Az. He shouldn't have done it. Not then. Not the minute before they cast her out of Velaris. Mother's tits, you should have seen his face. He looked positively gleeful." Cassian bit back any further comment before he said something he truly regretted.

Azriel was quiet for a moment, probably considering the best way to sooth his irate friend.

"This confrontation has been a long time coming. Rhysand's loyalty will always be to his mate. None of this was done with the intention to hurt Nesta. It's clear that Feyre can't help her. Time and distance will be a balm to the sister's relationship. But you, brother, are what Nesta needs. Illyria is the perfect opportunity for her, despite the inauspicious beginnings."

Cassian felt some of his anger dissipate at Azreil's words. He was a male of few words but always spoke from his heart. Azriel didn't speak pretty lies in order to avoid an ugly truth. He wouldn't do that, not to him. Not when he spent the better part of last year watching Cassian suffer on the sidelines.

The wary Illyrian pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to shake off his remaining frustration. This was the first time seeing Az in a month and many more would likely pass before they were reunited, hopefully under better conditions. Cassian didn't want to spend their last few moments together ranting about things beyond his control. He decided to change the subject.

"Any luck tracking down those bitch Queens?"

Azriel's spies had been so far unable to track down a legitimate lead on the mortal Queens, the women seemingly two steps ahead of them. Az suspected the Queens had retained further help from someone in the fae world. Who that mysterious accomplice was, exactly, remained unseen. Still, the brothers agreed that the Archeron sisters were at threat as long as the Queens roamed freely. Azriel had taken over the hunt a little over a month ago.

"None. Jurian has heard rumours of an alliance with someone on the continent. I've only stopped by to update Rhysand before heading back out" Az grimly reported.

Cassian knew the Spymaster was troubled by the whole situation. He wouldn't rest until Elain was finally safe from the women responsible for fully dragging her into the war.

"Will you have time to visit your favourite Archeron sister before you head back out?" Cassian prodded nonchalantly, switching topics.

If he didn't know better he would swear Azriel's cheeks reddened slightly. Interesting. Nothing gave Cassian as much easy joy as teasing the hell out of the venerable Spymaster. He was mentally running though a list of explicit suggestions on just how his brother could entertain Elain when he spotted the female in question in the distance, sitting alone on a garden bench. Azriel's features softened as his gaze landed young fae.

"Oh! Hello Azriel, Cassian."

Elain smiled weakly as she stood to greet them, wiping away an errant tear. She sniffled before attempting to school her face into a pleasant expression as she set her gaze on Azreil. Mother's tits. Cassian suddenly felt like an intruder looking in on a private moment between the two. He was debating on the benefits of wordlessly abandoning Azriel to his would-be lover when she turned her attention to Cassian.

"On you're way to see Rhysand and Feyre?"

She phrased it like a question but let little doubt that she already knew the answer. Cassian wasn't sure if that particular piece of knowledge stemmed from a vision or if she simply had a conversation with Cerridwen and Nuala. Both were equally likely but, truth be told, he still found the first option to be a little disconcerting. Elain was a sweetheart in every sense of the word but he had yet to become accustomed to her cauldron-given gift.

Cassian also came to the sinking realization that he didn't know just how informed Elain was of the whole situation with Nesta. Feyre assured him that Elain was aware of plans to relocate the eldest sister to Windhaven. He never had the courage to ask just how that particular conversation went down. Or if Elain had any further comments on the whole damn mess. Would she tell him if he was destined to fail Nesta? Would he want her to?

"We are on our way to meet with Rhys now. Would you like someone to accompany you back to the manor" Azriel offered hopefully.

Oh, someone should accompany Elain? Sure there, buddy. Cassian thought with a mental snort. Azriel could be painfully obvious for someone who eked out his living in the shadows. Az sent him a pleading look and Cassian quickly straightened as he searched for a believable excuse in order to extract himself from the pair's presence.

"I can head back alone if you'd rather stay out in the gardens. It's a beautiful day and I'm sure Elain would enjoy the company. She could show you the latest roses." Cassian searched for justification. "They're… uh… pretty"

Nailed it.

Azriel turned to Elain with a hopeful expression. The bastard had it bad.

Elain gave the shadowsinger a soft smile but her attention quickly returned to Cassian.

"You're on your way to meet with Feyre to discuss… Nesta?" she asked in that soft voice of hers.

Uh oh. What exactly was Elain trying to say? Does Elain know something? Fuck dancing around the subject. It was important to determine if the seer knew anything that could help Nesta.

"Yes. You know of our plans for Nesta, right? You understand that I'll be there to support her? That I only want to help her?"

"I do." she admitted softly.

Cassian and Azriel exchanged a confused look. Elain wasn't often taken to fits of confusion these days. She seemed coherent but something was a little off.

"I know that you would do anything in your power to help her, Cassian." she continued as she grasped his large hand within her own, "I know that you would be there for my sister if you had the chance"

He took a moment to consider her words, still not picking up on her meaning.

"You do understand that she is coming with me to the Illyrian mountains?"

"No." she smiled sadly at him, "No, she's not."

Wait, what? Nesta's not coming?

Panic flooded his senses as understanding finally dawned. Cassian wasted no more time as he launched into the sky in a blast of wings and fear. He pumped his wings relentlessly as he pushed himself towards Nesta's apartment on the opposite side of the city. Too far. She was too far away. His red Siphons blazed as he poured all his frantic energy into the race to reach Nesta. By all rights her residence was a good fifteen minutes away. He had made the trip in almost half that.

Cassian slammed into the earth, ignoring the citizens who scattered at his arrival. He threw open the front entrance and raced up the rickety wooden steps, bypassing a wide-eyed Urisk who was struggling with an oversized basket of soiled laundry. Cassian almost skidded past her front door in his rush to reach her side.

"Nesta!" he yelled as he banged on the door.

Cassian paused as he put an ear to her door. He couldn't detect any movements from inside her apartment. There was no sound, just the rushing beat of his heart. Fuck it. He adjusted his weight and then slammed his shoulder into the door, the flimsy material shattering on impact. Cassian kicked aside a jagged piece of wood that hung haphazardly and stepped inside.

"Nesta!" He called again, hoping against hope that he arrived in time to stop whatever foolishness she was plotting.

She couldn't be gone. She couldn't be gone.

His stomach dropped as he scanned the area. She wasn't in the main room or kitchenette. He opened the bedroom door to find it was also vacant, bedclothes spilling from the mattress onto the floor. The armoire stood open, visibly empty. A quick sweep of the washroom reveled nothing other than an abandoned bath. He dipped his fingers into the water. Still warm. She must have left recently.

Cassian wasn't foolish enough to pretend that she had merely headed out for one last night on the town. Not when her luggage was also missing from its space above the wardrobe. Not after Elain's warning.

"Cass!"

His head snapped up as Azriel and Feyre entered the room, the latter white-faced and anxious. He walked over to meet them, separated a low-lying accent table covered in dirty dishes and empty wine bottles.

"Is she gone?" asked his High Lady, worry clear in her voice.

"It appears so." he affirmed.

Feyre let out of shaky breath as she entered the bedroom to investigate the wardrobe, taking care to step over a broken wineglass. The armoire was nearly bare. Only a few threadbare articles of clothing remained. Feyre frowned as she ran a finger down a heather gray dress, feeling the worn fabric before tucking it back into the armoire and shutting the drawer. Feyre's throat bobbed as she gingerly sat on the edge of the bed. Cassian hesitated in the doorway, torn between comforting his High Lady and leaving to sweep the perimeter. He was vaguely aware of Azriel exiting the apartment.

"I didn't mean to drive her away."

Her voice was so low Cassian was unsure if she meant to utter the thought out loud. Her blue-gray eyes – so much like Nesta's – turned to meet his. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

"Despite it all, I didn't mean to drive her away. I wanted to help her. I wanted to…" she trailed off, ducking her head.

Cassian sat down beside her, the bed frame groaning under his added weight.

"You did what you though was best, my Lady" he offered.

"I don't know what to do, Cass. Rhysand is checking with superintendent to see if they saw her leave. He doesn't think she went far. He thinks we still have time. But… what do I say when we find her? She can't do this on her own! We've been through this. I've sat back and waited but she didn't get better. She's only gotten worse. I though this was for the best. I thought this was for the best." Feyre's voice broke as she dropped her head into her hands.

Cassian did not know how to respond. This was the very question that haunted him: how do you help someone who doesn't want to be saved? Wordlessly he rubbed circles on Feyre's back, a weak attempt to offer comfort. A sudden movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Rhysand stood in the doorway, a quick jerk of his head belaying a demand for discussion. With a final pat on her back Cassian left Feyre to her grief.

Rhysand had retreated to the middle of the main room still dressed in his High Lord's attire. He was studying Nesta's dwelling with a disapproving air.

"She sure does have a habit of mucking things up, doesn't she?" his brother said almost conversationally.

Cassian felt himself sneer at the casual dig, his brother's earlier performance rushing to the forefront of his mind. Rhysand's eyes widened fractionally at Cassian's sudden change of demeanor. Perhaps he wasn't offering his High Lord the reverence his station was due, but he couldn't quite find it within himself to care.

"Have you called me here to trade insults on a traumatized female, brother? Or do you have something useful to offer?"

Rhysand rocked back on his heels, brows furrowing.

"I'm going to ignore that tone, brother. That traumatized female, which you so illustriously refer to, has once again struck a knife into the heart of my mate. So forgive me if her mere presence does not inspire great sentiment."

"Rhysand, this isn't the time." Feyre pleaded as joined them.

Rhysand's expression softened when he took in his mate. He went to her and gathered her into his arms, running a comforting hand down her side. Cassian shifted his weight and flared his wings in annoyance. They really didn't have time for this.

"Did the superintendent know anything?" He prodded.

Rhysand shot him an irritated look. It was clear they would be readdressing this little spat at a later time, possibly with fists instead of words. That was fine by Cassian, but all of that could wait.

"He didn't." Rhysand conceded, "Azriel is heading over to speak to the dock-master. We think it's possible that Nesta booked passage on a boat out of Velaris."

"It's possible, but I doubt she even made it that far."

Rhysand lifted a brow in question.

"Her bathwater is still warm." Cassian explained, "It's a long walk down to the docks from here. The water would cool before she reached her destination."

"She could have hired a coach" Feyre pointed out.

"Azriel knows to keep an eye out for her." Rhys assured his mate, "Feyre darling, will you stay back here in case Nesta returns? There is still a chance this was this was all a big misunderstanding. Maybe she ran out to grab a few new books to bring along to Illyria."

Feyre nodded but looked unconvinced.

"I can check with the carriage company if you're willing to take point on the aerial search" Rhysand offered.

Cassian nodded tightly then headed towards the door. A small hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned around and met Feyre's gaze as she bit her lip.

"Promise me, Cass. Promise me that you'll bring her back home?" Gods, his High Lady sounded young at that moment.

"I will bring her back home, my Lady" Cassian offered solemnly.

Without another word, he ducked out of the door and headed towards the rooftop.

The search for Nesta lasted well into the night. Every fae they spoke with denied seeing the missing female. While it was possible that Nesta bribed them for their silence, Cassian thought it incredibly unlikely. Feyre had a good idea of her spending habits and it was doubtful Nesta squirreled away enough silver to tempt someone into lying to their High Lord. If Nesta left Velaris it would have been on foot.

Still, the Illyrian warriors had scoured the city and outlying areas but could find no trace of her. He considered the probability that she was hidden away in the city, biding her time. In the morning they would begin questioning local innkeepers to see what they could unearth.

In the meantime, he was taking a few hours to stretch out his wings in the House of Wind. The darkness had brought the aerial search to a halt. Cassian would rest now before heading back out at first light. He stared into the roaring fire as he sipped on his whiskey, wincing as it burned its way down his throat. He didn't bother to look up from the flames when Az dropped down in a seat beside him. Cassian took a moment to brace himself before asking the question that weighed on his mind.

"Was Elain able to give you any more details?"

"No, not really. She's convinced that Nesta left the city, maybe even the Night Court"

Cassian winced. If Nesta is already out of Velaris…

"Cass, I know what she means to you. I know what it cost you to lose her"

Cassian stiffened. The Inner Circle never spoke of his personal connection to Nesta. Not to his face. He knew that once, before the war, his friends had been amused at the spectacle of their shared banter. They never bothered hide their curiosity and delight whenever Cassian found himself in Nesta's orbit, unable to resist her pull. Gods, he used to love riling Nesta up. Loved it even more when she lobbed back a scathing rejoinder. But then Hybern came and Nesta just… stopped. She stopped with the teasing repartee. Stopped stealing glances when she thought he was distracted. Stopped rising to meet his desperate challenges. Nesta stopped. And his friends stopped, too. They choose instead to tiptoe around the pair on the rare times they were all together. They purposely turned away, uncomfortable to bare witness to something they had once relished.

It was the first time in a long time that anyone had dared bring up the connection. But what Azriel said next took his breath away.

"She's your mate."

And there it was: three simple words. Something his friends long since suspected. Something Cassian had long since known. He wanted to wait until the perfect opportunity before approaching Nesta. He wanted her to be safe from Hybern. He wanted to make sure this wonderful, terrifying news would be well received. To not be overshadowed by the looming war. But then Nesta… stopped. Nesta stopped. And Cassian waited too long. And now everything was a mess.

"Yes." he breathed.

And there it was, just like that. It was in the open. It was real. Nesta was his mate. And he had lost her. Cassian clutched the armrests, the leather creaking under pressure. Oh, Gods.

"Az, I've lost her. She's gone for good"

"No. I don't believe so."

"Did Elain tell you otherwise?"

"Elain didn't see anything else." Azriel admitted, "But I know you, brother. I know you followed Rhysand's lead when it came to Nesta's recovery. It worked for Feyre so you held hope that it would eventually work for Nesta. But you secretly thought it was the wrong call. Your instincts were screaming at you the whole time, weren't they?"

Cassian was barely breathing as he nodded his head in agreement. It was true. All of it was true.

"It did not work because Nesta is not like her sister. They are two very different females, so there should have been two different avenues of approach." Azriel looked him straight in the eye. "You need to find her, brother. You need to find her and make things right. Trust your instincts when it comes to Nesta."

Azriel was right. Cassian had ignored his instincts for too long. His fear of inadvertently harming Nesta had stayed his hand. He convinced himself that Feyre knew best while ignoring the voice in the back of his head that dared suggest otherwise. But it was Cassian, not Feyre, who always saw through Nesta's defenses. He ignored her poisoned barbs and snide remarks, seeing them as the shields that they were. They were simply a method of protection. Nesta had been raised in a society where woman were coddled and defenseless. Nesta was never meant to be soft, never meant to be fragile. So she defied the expectations of her birth and horned her words and her wits into greatest weapons. She was a warrior, just like him.

Nesta was his mate. He would no longer defer to his High Lord and Lady when it came to his mate. He would find her and he would claim her. He would make her understand that she did not have to face this alone, that they were in this together.

"I need to leave Velaris. I'm going to find her, Az. I'm going to claim her and then I'm going to bring her back home" he paused for a moment, thinking, "Will you give Rhysand a run down of where I've gone off to? Maybe not… all the details, but let them know about the change of plans?"

Azriel rose up and clasped his brother in farewell. They would not meet again until Cassian returned to Velaris with his mate in tow. He would not rest until he held Nesta in his arms. Whatever her future, they would face it together.

"I know better than to ask you to be careful" the Spymaster contended, "but do your best to stay out of trouble."

Cassian shot Azriel a cocky grin.

"Fear not, brother. I'll have her home before the week is out."