Nesta
Three years later
Adriata
The Summer Court
As Nesta made her way through the winding city streets of Adriata, she couldn't help but admire the view. The city was built upon a mountainous island in the middle of a sparkling turquoise bay. The climate was warmer than she was accustomed to, the shimmering heat responsible for the light sweat that coated her sun kissed skin. The air was hot and heavy despite being early spring.
Nesta had spent the morning exploring various shops that lined the harbour front, admiring the various silks, exotic spices and other curiosities freshly arrived from the endless supply of merchant vessels. She was happy to lose herself among the hustle and bustle of the busy harbour front, largely ignored by the citizens going about their day. To them, Nesta was just another visitor from a neighbouring court, here to spend a little silver while on holiday.
She took a moment to rest under the shade of a large oak tree, enjoying the cool breeze as it rolled in from the bay. She started to munch on an apple purchased for an exorbitant price from a younger fae manning a fruit stand. She'd taken one look at the girl's threadbare clothes and tossed her another silver. The wide tooth grin received in return was payment enough.
She rolled her shoulders and leaned back against the tree, lifting her gaze to the towering palace at the top of the city. Despite her position near the base of the island, Nesta could spot the banners raised to commemorate their High Lord's return to the city. If the citizens noticed a marked increase of city guards patrolling the streets they doubtlessly wrote it off as extra security for their High Lord. After all, there was nothing to suggest that anything of note was currently underway in the distant palace. As far as the average citizen was concerned, Tarquin had simply returned for his annual visit.
Nesta, however, had it on good authority that this was not the case.
Standing once again, she tossed the apple core into the water, wiped her hands off on her trousers and rejoined the rush of merchants and tourists as they hastened along the bustling walkway. She was in no particular hurry, happy to simply drift along and enjoy the warm caress of the midday sun.
Nesta was in the midst of sidestepping a family hovering over a vendor's stall when awareness crept into her senses. Intuition kicked in. She could feel a pair of eyes on her. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed nothing suspicious. Still, she couldn't quite shake off the feeling that someone was watching her. Nesta kept her casual pace while subtlety assessing her surroundings. No one stood out. Unless… Nesta stepped off the walkway and searched the sky for a wayward Illyrian warrior.
Nothing.
She is just a little spooked, that's all. And besides, Cassian had the habit of occasionally popping up when she least expected it. Apparently completely cutting contact from every member of the Inner Circle hadn't made it expressly clear that she was no longer interested in seeing him. Nesta wasn't sure if Cassian followed her on Feyre's instructions or if there was a more personal reason behind his search.
She was never able to determine how Cassian tracked her movements. Sometimes months would pass before he would make an appearance. Sometimes only a day or two went by. There was never a consistent pattern when it came to the dogged Illyrian.
He only wanted to talk at first. At least, she was pretty sure that was the case. Nesta never stayed around long enough to confirm either way. It's not like she purposely tried to avoid him back then. Nesta had been preoccupied at the time, trying to avoid Tamlin's guards. They were really unhappy to find her in their master's personal library. Nesta was only going to borrow the grimoire for a couple of days but, upon reflection, she conceded that it could appear like she was stealing it. So when faced with half a dozen angry guards and her sister's ex-fiancé she did the reasonable thing.
Nesta ran like hell.
She had been tearing through the outlaying forest at her top speed, glancing over her shoulder to gauge her lead, when she quite literally ran into Cassian. Nesta bounced off of the hulking warrior and landed on her ass. She was stunned to find him there. After all, it's not like the Spring Court was the customary meeting spot for mislaid Illyrians. It was their first time laying eyes on each other in over half a year.
"Nesta" he breathed out, as if he couldn't believe they had reunited.
He knelt down in front of her and Nesta became lost in those warm hazel eyes. His throat bobbed and half a dozen emotions flirted across his face. She forgot how big he was. She forgot how handsome he was. Gods, did he always smell that good? He lifted a hand to caress her face when the approaching shouts of Tamlin's guards snapped them out of their reverie. Her small lead was quickly diminishing; the guards were almost on top of her. So it wasn't like they were destined to have a great romantic reunion right then and there. Nesta did the first thing that came to mind.
"Monster!" Nesta shrieked and pointed in the direction she was fleeing from.
It wasn't a lie, not really. Tamlin had made a terrible first impression and it only went downhill from there.
Righteous determination washed over his face as he rose to face this new threat.
"Stay here, Sweetheart." He ordered as he charged off, twin Illyrian blades in hand.
Okay, so maybe that wasn't her best idea. Nesta was fairly certain that Cassian held a grudge against Tamlin ever since the whole Hybern fiasco, so it could be argued that the resulting brawl wasn't entirely her fault. Besides, Nesta did remain motionless. At least she did until Talmin's cry of pure rage echoed throughout the forest. Cauldron save her, they were close. She scrambled over the forest floor and jumped into the first body of water she saw, which happened to be a disgusting scum-filled pond.
So, really, everyone suffered that day.
She had also lost the grimoire in her rush. You could argue that she was the biggest loser in that squabble.
Her following run-ins with Cassian didn't fair much better. Next was that business on the boarder of the Autumn Court. She had it on good authority that Cassian didn't exactly mesh well with the ruling family. Nesta didn't even push Cassian towards Eris Vanserra. It wasn't fair that she took the blame.
Nesta had been running up the rolling hills of the mountainside, gasping for air, when she tripped and gracelessly slid down ten feet or so. She was exhaustedly pushing herself back up when she spotted Eris a hundred yards away, hands raised in preparation to lob a bolt of his magic towards her. Before Nesta could move, before Nesta could breath, Cassian landed in front of her in a blast of rage and fury. The sheer force of his power knocked her back down, the wind from his powerful wings sending dead foliage eddying around them.
"Stay behind me!" Cassian snapped, eyes locked on the male downhill.
The High Lord of Autumn dropped his hands slightly, startled by the Illyrian's unexpected arrival. Cassian took no time to launch himself at Eris with a wordless scream, forgoing his weapons and attempting to beat his opponent to death with his bare hands. Nesta sat bewildered as she watched Cassian attack a High Lord for the second time in the span of a month. She regained her equilibrium and took a step towards him.
"Cassian?" She called out, voice wavering in alarm, "Cassian, be careful!"
Cassian had managed to wrap a meaty arm around Eris' neck, securing his adversary in place while he rapidly delivered three quick punches to his head. He dropped Eris and stalked his way back towards her.
"It's over, Sweetheart. Let's go home."
Nesta froze. Home? Home as in… Velaris?
Eris, taking advantage of Cassian's distraction, scrambled up and launched himself onto Cassian's back. Cassian fell to the ground and tumbled with Eris, both males sliding down the hill as they exchanged blows. Nesta stood there indecisively, watching them grapple for dominance.
Cassian wants to take me back to his home. Back to Velaris. The one place she had been running from. I can't go back.
She took a step back, and then another. And then Nesta swirled around and bolted up the mountainside. She'd previously spotted a glacial-fed stream a little further east. Nesta sprinted there with all her might, knowing she had mere seconds before anyone noticed her disappearance.
"Nesta!" Cassian roared.
She stumbled but kept going, risking a quick glace over her shoulder. Cassian was out of sight, still downhill and slightly to west if she were to judge by the sound of his voice. The crash of the underbrush was enough to warn her that he was on her trail. She breathed a sigh of relief when she made it the clear running waters.
"Nesta! Nesta, wait!" He bellowed.
If he took to the skies she was out of luck, a clear target in the open hillside. She would be able to shift before he could reach her, but not before giving away the secret to her disappearing act. And with Cassian on her trail she needed to hold all the cards close to her chest. Nesta splashed into the fast running stream, trying to ignore the freezing cold water that rushed past her shins.
"Where are you? Nesta!"
Bracing herself with a grimace, Nesta lowered herself into the glacial water and shifted away from Cassian, doing her best to forget the pain in his voice as he pleaded for her return.
To her complete and utter lack of surprise, any future encounters went quickly downhill from that point forward.
The next few run-ins didn't occur in a time of crisis, perceived or otherwise. No, she was simply minding her own business, exploring other cities or towns within Prythian. Nesta was out dining, or perusing a bookstore, or visiting a museum. One minute she was immersed in her surroundings, the next her attention drawn to the sound of his powerful wings. Nesta would run. Cassian would follow. Their game of chase would begin anew. So Nesta stayed alert when out in Prythian. She did her best to remain close to a water source so she could escape to freedom at any possible moment. It worked. Well, it worked so far.
That Nesta constantly eluded him seemed to result in Cassian's growing aggravation. His eyes no longer shone with hope whenever they met. No, hope had long since been replaced with frustration. His expression grew darker and darker on every meeting, furious that she'd rather avoid him entirely than return to Velaris. The past few times he even stopped trying to reason with her. He would simply lunge for Nesta, knowing his brute strength would overwhelm her, barring her from escape. Cassian had been training since before her grandmother's grandmother walked the earth. Nesta knew her best odds remained in keeping her distance.
It's not that she thought Cassian would do anything to hurt her. His first priority was Nestsa's safety. He would always disarm anyone who dared to threatened her. Over the years everyone from City Guards to lowly gutter trash had fallen under Cassian's wrath. She was safe with Cassian, at least physically.
The problem was Cassian wasn't safe with her.
No, more than a few things had changed since she originally fled from her sister's Court. Some of those things were a threat to Nesta. And some of those threats had no qualms harming those she loved. Her family was a weakness that could be exploited, a tool to lure Nesta away. They would have no problem targeting her allies in order to draw Nesta out.
And Nesta was sick of loved ones dying for her.
Her father's last moments on this earth were spent trying to defend her, only to die for his troubles. The immediate aftermath and eventual fallout had almost killed her. It had taken years to recover. She couldn't live through that again. She could accept Cassian's anger if that meant keeping him alive. Nesta couldn't picture a world where Cassian didn't exist. She'd rather not try. So for now Nesta would remain vigilant, would keep far away from the Illyrian in order to keep him safe. And she would hope that one day he would forgive her. Still, the complicated mess that was her connection to Cassian could wait. She had more urgent matters at hand. Nesta gave her surroundings once last glance before turning her attention back to the distant palace.
The people of Adriata had no idea their beloved city was currently hosting the leaders of Prythian.
At his moment, way up in that palace, the seven High Lords of Prythian had secluded themselves away from the world. It had all been organized with the utmost secrecy. Orders had been enacted to ensure that the High Lord' agenda could be discussed without outside influence. There had been months of advanced preparation. Every small detail had been carefully considered to ensure the gathering had total privacy and security.
The members of the City Guard more prone to gossip had whispered theories that the tightened security was due to an overzealous Captain, eager to impress his newly returned High Lord. The majority of palace staff had been given the week off. Only a few trusted servants remained, little more than a skeleton crew avowed to secrecy. All had agreed to remain until the end of the Summit. Not one creature would exit the palace before the week was out.
And that was fine with Nesta, because she was going to break in.
Feyre
The Adriata Palace
The Summer Court
To say the Summit is going off track is a complete underestimate, Feyre thought with a sigh as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat for the third time that hour. They had been working steadily since dawn with only one break for midday meal, where the High Lords and Ladies retreated to their personal chambers for a short recess. That had been hours ago. There were too many large personalities to be contained that relatively small conference room. Hell, she didn't think the entire palace was large enough. Too often the group would often lose sight of the agenda. Old wounds were reopened and the dialogue would run off topic. It felt as if they had been running in circles all day long with little progress to show for the effort.
Feyre was also starving. She would kill for another slice of the warm fig bread she had been served at breakfast. But that was neither here nor there.
Rhysand, seated at her side, shifted his attention to his wife.
Are you feeling well, my Darling? He asked through their bond.
Feyre gave him a tired smile and patted his thigh under the massive sea glass table. Just wondering if Tamlin is ever going to arrive at his point. Do you think he would take the hint if I pitched this water glass at him?
His mouth twitched in response as he returned his gaze to the High Lord of Spring, appearing enthralled by Tamlin's words to anyone who bothered to glance his way. I would be first in line to do so if I thought that would work, my love. But let's not pretend like you successfully avoided my question. Are you uncomfortable?
Feyre shifted once again as she rubbed her heavy belly. I'm not in pain, she assured her worried mate, but a long time has passed since I've felt truly comfortable. I'm so large that I barely fit into this seat and your son has been pressing on my bladder for the last twenty minutes.
Hush, you're as lovely as the first day I met you, Rhysand assured her and brought her hand to his lips for a kiss, the small act helping to reinvigorate her lagging spirits. And I'll happily toss Tamlin into the bay myself if you need a break.
Feyre laughed. She could always trust her mate to lift her mood whenever she found herself tiring, which seems par for the course these days. The healers assured her the fatigue was to be expected during the last month of pregnancy but she felt good otherwise. Still, if Rhysand were to have his way she would be laid up in bed like an invalid. His protectiveness was sweet, if a little unnecessary.
"Do you find this whole situation amusing, Feyre?" Tamlin's sharp voice cut into her musing.
Feyre jerked her head up and realized everyone was staring. Shit.
"Of course not." she defended. "I was just thinking that we could all use a break. We've been sitting for hours now. I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels this way."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that I've been boring you. Yes, I can see how the affairs of the mortal Queens can be tiresome for you. After all, the Night Court is miles away from the Moral Lands, with your people safely tucked away from any direct threat the Queens may pose."
Feyre squeezed Rhysand's hand in warning when he growled at Tamlin. The icy diplomacy between their two Courts may have thawed in recent years, but one misplaced insult could easily set it all back to the days of Hybern. Besides, she didn't need her mate's assistance at handling the prickly male.
"May I remind you that Night was the first to quarrel with the human Queens. And besides, you damn well know just how personal the fight with the Queens is to me. You were there when they helped drag my sisters into the Cauldron."
Tamlin's claws shot out in either anger or frustration, but he kept any further snide remarks to himself.
"Feyre does have a point," offered Viviane, High Lady of Winter, "We could all benefit from a break. If we haven't been able to find the Queens in the last four years then another thirty minutes shouldn't matter."
"Indeed. If Feyre needs a break then I'm more than happy to oblige. I would hate to run off one of the few High Ladies to grace us with her presence." The High Lord of Day added with a conspiratorially wink.
Feyre grinned at Helion. He was a charming bastard, that much was certain.
"Oh yes." sneered Eris Vanserra, "Gods forbid we're bereft of the High Lady of Night and all the knowledge she may possess. Who knows, an art class may be just the thing needed to tip the conflict to our favour."
Feyre groaned internally, not bothering to caution Rhysand against a warning growl. Relations with the Autumn Court had definitely soured after Beron's accidental death a couple of year's prior. While she was glad they were no longer beholden to assist Eris in patricide, she wished relations between the two courts were on better terms. A stronger partnership would benefit commerce for both territories. She had thought Beron was the fae standing in way of harmony, but Eris proved even more difficult than his late father.
"Eris, enough." Tarquin snapped as he stood to survey the room "You only serve to prove Feyre's point. Everybody is on edge right now and infighting will push us further away from our cause. Let's break for an hour. After that I will have the kitchen bring up dinner. Perhaps we will find ourselves in a more amiable mood with a good meal in our bellies"
The High Lord of Summer's comments were met with the sound of laughter and the shuffling of feet. The other Lords and Ladies were quick to make their exit, Eris included. Feyre carefully pushed herself up from the chair, her heavily pregnant stomach throwing off her balance. She groaned in pleasure as she was finally able to stretch out her sore back, delighting at the chance to finally massage a particularly nasty knot.
"You know, Feyre Darling, it wasn't too long ago that I was responsible for drawing those sounds out from you" Rhys purred in her ear as he took her arm, the picture of a perfect gentleman that fooled absolutely no one at hand.
"It's your fault that I'm in this position to begin with." Feyre reminded him as he took her arm to lead her out of the room. She couldn't help but roll her eyes when he slowed their pace. "Pregnancy doesn't make me an invalid, you know."
"Of course not, my love. It makes you a delight. I'm particularly fond of the way you wobble around the house. And of the way you balance a plate on your stomach when you curl up for a late night snack."
"Hey!" she cried in mock indignation and jammed a finger into his side. Rhysand laughed and slung his arm around her, drawing her in close as they strolled out into the hallway. They were met with Thesan, High Lord of Dawn, and his husband Kapena.
"Eris has been a real treat to deal with today." Thesan said by way a greeting, jerking his head towards the male in question. Eris stood a few feet away, conversing with Helion. He looked up at the sound of his name and shot them a glare before turning his back entirely. Helion gave her a knowing smile before returning his attention to the Autumn High Lord.
"We're only helping the Queens at this rate." Rhys muttered. "Too much time is wasted bickering among ourselves. We came to ratify a plan of attack against the mortal Queens, not to dredge up old slights."
"Do you think the rumours are true? Do you think the Queens have a coven of witches at their disposal?" Thesan asked. Feyre suspected that was the real reason he stayed back. He wanted to get to the meat of the matter.
"That's what our Spymaster believes." Feyre confirmed with a quick glance at Rhysand.
The whole point of the summit was to share information about the mortal Queens. The women had been threatening Prythian for years now, with more and more troubling reports coming in from the continent. The addition of the witches to the Queen's growing arsenal had been the final straw that broke the camels back, the driving force behind their meeting. Prythian could no longer ignore the threat that lay at her door.
Witches were rumored to possess dark magic, wholly different from the natural magic that wove itself through Prythian. Feyre heard that a single witch had the ability to immobilize an entire legion of fae. If it was true that a whole coven were at the Queen's disposal… she shuddered to think of it.
What they also struggled to determine was how, exactly, the Queens were able to secure the loyalty of the witches. They were notably independent creatures and thought themselves above humans. An allegiance between witches and the mortal world was incredibly unnatural. Rhysand thought an outsider of great influence must have brokered the unlikely alliance. But why would that be the case? What could the human Queens offer as recompense? There were too many parties at play, too many unknown variables.
And they had spent the better part of the week going in circles. Rhysand was right. They had to find a way to unite in defense of Prythian or risk losing it all.
Thesan looked like he was about to press for further details when the sound of a disturbance drifted down the hallway. They looked over in time to witness a squadron of Royal Guards disappear into a passageway that led to a closed off section of the palace. A harried looking Tarquin closely followed.
Now that looks intriguing, Rhys told her over their bond.
"What do you think that's about?" Feyre questioned out loud, mindful of her companions.
"Not a clue. Whatever it is, I'm sure Tarquin would prefer to keep it concealed." Thesand said offhandedly as he made way to follow the disappearing Royal Guards, Kapena at his side.
"I'm think you're right." Rhysand agreed, voice thick with amusement "I'm sure he'd want guests to stay here, far away from any trouble."
"Too bad we're a nosy bunch." Thesand called over his shoulder as he disappeared down the same passageway.
Rhysand huffed a laugh and turned Feyre. She held out a hand to stop him.
"Before you get any foolish ideas like asking me to wait behind, I'm perfectly able to defend myself."
He arched a jet-black brow at her. "Darling, you're hardly able to walk up a flight of stairs without becoming winded."
She stuck out her tongue in a very un-High Lady like fashion and trailed after Thesand. She ignored Rhysand's woe-is-me sigh, fully aware he was as equally curious about the unraveling situation. He caught up to her within seconds, placing a protective hand on her lower back.
"Just promise me you'll winnow out at the first sign of trouble. For the babe."
And trouble, it seemed, wasn't too hard to find. They had barely made it halfway down the corridor when she spotted Tarquin approaching. His crystal blues eyes locked on them and he hesitated momentary, a grimace crossing his handsome face so quickly she almost missed it. Tarquin took what she assumed to be a calming breath and made his way towards them.
"What did you do now?" She whispered to Rhysand.
"At the moment? Nothing. Or, at least, nothing that would concern Tarquin."
Before Feyre had the chance to ask Rhys what that was supposed to mean, Tarquin had reached them and the moment was gone. She made a mental note to bring it up later and gave their host her full attention.
"Tarquin, it looked like you had bit of excitement head down here. Anything we should be worried about?" Her mate asked in a causal tone.
"I don't know, Rhysand. Why don't you tell me?" he responded acidly.
Huh? She shot Rhysand a glance. His apparent confusion mirrored her own.
"We really don't know what's going on." Feyre said defensively. Tarquin's icy blue eyes locked on her, and she took half a step back. He was simmering with rage. Whatever had happened, he believed they were involved.
"Oh, you have no idea why you sister was caught lurking in a restricted area?"
What? Now Feyre was absolutely confused. Elain wasn't in Adriata. She had elected to remain at home in the Night Court. The newlyweds had taken possession of their new home only a few weeks prior and she was busy setting up their household. Azriel would slip home every evening to see his wife, returning before dawn. Tarquin knew this, had given his blessing.
"I have no idea what you mean." She responded frostily "Elain isn't here. She's in Velaris. You know that"
"Not that sister."
Feyre's whole world swayed as the air went rushing out of her. She was dimly aware Rhysand's supporting hands at her side, propping her up in case she lost collapsed entirely. Did Tarquin mean… Nesta?
It was impossible, wasn't it? Feyre hasn't seen her eldest sister is over three years, had long given up hope of tracking her down. No one could find her. Not Rhys. Not Cassian. Even Elain refused to speak a word about their missing sister. Nesta had simply walked up and our of their lives entirely.
They had been at odds for far too long. The pain she felt at Nesta's absence never fully went away. It hung around like an old wound, festering just below the surface. Feyre would forgive Nesta everything, if only to embrace her one more time. Her family was stronger together. She wanted her sister back.
But… there were rumours about her missing sister. Tamlin had once accused Nesta of stealing an old artifact from the Spring Court. Cassian confirmed she had been on the grounds at the time, but managed to slip away during the resulting melee. Gods, that whole scenario had been a nightmare to untangle. Feyre had vowed to throttle Nesta the next time she laid eyes on her.
Nowadays she just wanted to hug her.
And then there was Cassian. Her friend had never given up on his search for Nesta, had refused to accept her disappearance as the end to their story. Once, a while back, she'd ask Cassian why he refused to let Nesta go. He simply replied that he wouldn't let her go without saying a finale goodbye. Feyre hadn't mustered the courage to ask him about it since. And to think Nesta had finally appeared when he was still back home in Velaris. Fate could be unbearably cruel.
Still, she couldn't ignore the stories that circulated the first few months after Nesta's disappearance. Couldn't ignore the whispers that accused her sister of stealing from various great houses within Prythian. Feyre refused to believe it at first. Nesta may be many things, but she was never a thief. Yet Cassian had seen her near Rosehall with his with own eyes. It was too much of a coincident to be dismissed outright.
Regardless, there hadn't been new accusations for years now. She had hoped Nesta simply stopped walking whatever dark path she was heading down. Feyre tried to persuade herself that there was a simpler explanation for everything. Or, barring that, Nesta was simply trying to raise funds by burgling the various fae who would be least affected by the loss.
But it had been years since Feyre had heard of Nesta causing trouble. So why was did her sister chose to reappear here, during the summit, of all places? Like everything else about Nesta, none of this made sense. Feyre took a shuttering breath and leaned against Rhysand for support.
"You didn't know." Tarquin mused as his face softened.
Feyre shook her head, her vision suddenly blurred by unshed tears.
"I'll take you to her." Was all he added.
Nesta
The Adriata Palace
The Summer Court
Possibly near the Guest Wing, but also maybe not
It's probably safe to say today is not going according to plan, Nesta thought with an ironic twist to her mouth. She shifted her position on the uncomfortable limestone bench. She'd been here for a while now and her ass was starting to fall asleep.
Today had been her first time on palace grounds and Nesta had lost her bearings somewhere between the six and seventh floor. She was heading towards the guest wing - at least she thought it was the guest wing – when a pair of loitering servants brought her trek to a standstill. She hoped to wait them out but was forced to slip down a small staircase in order to avoid detection from a pair of sentinels. It shouldn't have been a huge setback. She intended to simply traverse the distance one floor below, find another stairway and then return to her original route.
Except luck wasn't with her today. Maybe she had overshot the corridor. Maybe the lingering servants had thrown off her internal clock. Whatever it was, Nesta had definitely not expected to meet a group of patrolling sentries in the middle of a tight, spiraling staircase that offered absolutely no chance at escape.
"Oh, hello!" she offered cheerfully.
Perhaps she could convince them she was a misplaced member of a High Lord's entourage. Perhaps she could persuade them she was a harmless thing who wandered off by accident. Perhaps there was a reasonable explanation for her to be found in a restricted space with wet hair and a modified swimming costume. The Royal Guards immediately withdrew their short swords.
Perhaps not.
That was how Nesta found herself shackled to a bench within view of a dozen Royal Guards. Varian, their Captain, was quick to identify Nesta when he arrived shortly after. He barked an order to a curious servant to notify their High Lord of events as soon as Tarquin emerged from his meeting. Varian then turned his attention to his prisoner.
"So, how's Amren?" she asked conversationally.
Verian shot her a look and his hand fell to the scabbard at his side. Point taken. She thought it best to hold her tongue from that point on. That had been about an hour ago. And while the view from the vast corridor was likely a step above the dungeon, it was rather drafty and she was starting to catch a chill. Sitting around in damp clothes probably wasn't great for one's constitution. She was considering asking for a robe when the sound of approaching footsteps caught her attention.
She spotted the High Lord of Summer at the head of the approaching group. She offered him her most innocent smile.
"Hello Tarquin," she said sweetly, as if greeting an old friend, "I would stand to greet you but..." Nesta lifted her shackled hand and rattled the chain, which was used to secure her to the bench. Sometimes you let your actions do the talking.
It wasn't Tarquin who spoke next.
"Nesta!" called out a familiar voice, freezing her in place. It couldn't be.
Feyre stepped around Tarquin, presenting herself to Nesta for the first time in years. She had not seen her sister since the day she left Velaris. Had not heard Feyre's voice since the morning her banishment was decreed. Nesta looked at her sister and felt the blood drain from her face. Pregnant. Her baby sister was pregnant. Quite far along, judging by her appearance. Nesta was so far removed from her sister's life that she had no clue Feyre was expecting a child.
Their reunion wasn't supposed to happen like this. In all the dozens, hundreds, of way she pictured their reunion it was nothing like this. Not when Nesta was chained to a bench like a common criminal. Not when she had been brought down even lower than before. Shame filled her and Nesta dropped her gaze to the floor, unable to meet Feyre's eyes.
Today wasn't supposed to go like this.
"Varian, report." Tarquin ordered.
The Captain of the Royal Guards gave a succinct account on the movements leading up to her capture. He alluded that the guards were unable to detect her point of entry, but they were scouring the grounds in search of possible accomplices. The palace was warded against winnowing so it unlikely that she made it this far on her own. Her outfit was peculiar but a body search turned up no weapons. She was just a damp, lost female of little threat. The only reason she was secured here at not the dungeon was solely due to her relations with the ruling family of the Night Court. It was probably bad policy to imprison the sister of your esteemed guest.
"Do you know what she was looking for?" asked Rhysand as he peered down at her, nose wrinkled as if faced with a particularly unpleasant bug. Bastard.
"Not currently, no." admitted Varian.
"She was definitely found in an out-of-bounds area, Rhysand." Tarquin reminded her brother-in-law.
"I know she was, and I'm sorry." Feyre quickly spoke up, "Please believe me that we'll address this as soon as we're all back home."
Wait, what?
Even Rhysand seemed surprised by his wife's words. Apparently he didn't want to bring her back to Velaris, either. Who ever thought the two of them would agree on anything? Nesta was dimly aware of Eris and Helion joining their little party.
"What's this, then?" sniffed Eris. Her gaze flicked up to meet his amber eyes and she quickly looked away.
"Is that Feyre's sister chained up? My, my! What a marvelous little situation we've stumbled across here." Helion added, voice filled with apparent delight.
Rhysand shot Helion a look.
"It's a misunderstanding." Feyre tried to explain as she took a defensive step in front of Nesta, "Trust me that this will all be straightened up and proper restitutions will be made."
The High Lord of Summer frowned as if he didn't like his idea. Nesta was going to have to side with Tarquin here. She didn't think she would prefer being chained in a dungeon, but that was the kind of day this was turning out to be.
"I'm not just going to release her. She was caught trespassing on Summer grounds. The consequences are not up to you to decide."
"She's my mate's sister, Tarquin. She a citizen of the Night Court and it falls to our authority to merit out her punishment." Rhysand argued.
Yeah, it was really in her best interest to avoid Velaris for the indefinite future.
"If I'm not mistaken, Nesta Archeron was banished from the Night Court a few years prior. Other than sisterly relations, you really have no claim on her." Helion pointed out.
"Enough! This matter will be resolved at a later time. Varian, please see that Lady Nesta is placed in quarters respectful of her station. See that it is secured." Tarquin added with a quick glare at his prisoner, "In the meantime, I believe we are late for dinner."
Tarquin began to usher the various High Lords of Prythian out of the corridor. Feyre looked like she was about to complain before Rhysand took her arm and lead her away. She cast one last desperate glance at her estranged sister and followed her husband's out the door. Nesta was left along with the Varian and half a dozen Royal Guards.
"So, now what?" she asked.
Quarters benefiting Nesta's station apparently meant a step above the dungeons, but it wasn't much better. She was ushered into a small, single room chamber. Its furnishings had been stripped away prior to Nesta's arrival. A cot, the cell's lone piece of furniture, sat underneath a barred window. Her only creature comfort was a thin blanket tossed haphazardly on the bed. She doubted the window was left unlocked, but would check as soon as her jailers left.
"Is there any chance I can use the bathroom to freshen up?'
Varian merely jerked his head towards a chamber pot in the corner.
"Help yourself." he offered with a thin smile, and closed the door behind him.
It was worth a try.
She stepped onto the bed and slid the windowpane back in order gain access to the bars. She gave them a halfhearted tug and was unsurprised to find the bars locked in place, bolted from the outside. Nesta dropped down on the cot with a put-upon sign, draping the itchy blanket around herself for warmth.
She couldn't very well take offense to her treatment - she was found lurking around uninvited - but she had hoped for a little more leeway. Well, its not like she was trapped indefinitely. Feyre was her sister, after all, and she highly doubted Tarquin would let her languish for too long. Her jailers would eventually allow her to bathe, where she'd have the occasion to vanish entirely. She wasn't eager to reveal her powers but it was the easiest way out of her predicament.
It was a waiting game at this point. Tarquin was unlikely to release her to the Night Court's authority before several rounds of questioning. If she were on her best behaviour they may reward her with the opportunity to bathe. Worse case scenario; they hold off until they were ready to hand her over to Feyre. She doubted they would release her to the High Lady of Night in less than presentable condition. Nesta would eventually have a chance to escape. Nesta just needed to bide her time and wait for an opportunity to present itself.
So, not the greatest turn of events but certainly something she could rectify. There was little to do now, but wait. She stretched out on the thin mattress and relaxed.
And then, just before the setting sun dipped past the horizon, Nesta drifted off to sleep.
The sound of clanging metal tore Nesta from her slumber. She shot up in bed, slightly disorientated. She didn't mean to fall asleep, had wanted to remain alert for Varian's return, but the stresses of the day had caught up to her. She cast a look around the room, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dark. Nighttime had long since fallen. Moonlight spilled in from the open window, the only illumination inside her cell.
She stood back up on the bed to peek outside. Nesta's foot caught on the blanket and she staggered forward, throwing out a hand to steady herself. She gripped the window bar for support but stumbled even further when it swung out on its hinges. Startled, she braced herself against the wall as she struggled to regain her balance.
What the hell?
The bars were unlocked? She peered outside and, sure enough, the lock had been removed from the bars at some point. Could that have been the sound that woke her? She pushed the bars fully open and peeked her head outside, trying to get a better idea of the exterior surroundings. The courtyard was cast in deep shadows but seemed to be empty. It looked to be an eight-foot drop down. Not ideal, but manageable if she timed the landing properly.
Nesta turned back to scan her cell door, listening for the sounds of footsteps in the outside hall. Nothing. She was alone. Was it a trap? Probably. Locks didn't magically fly off of prison windows and anyone who could be of assistance wasn't really in position to help at the moment. But the opportunity was presenting itself; she'd be a fool to ignore it.
Besides, how would she hide the missing lock? Staying in her cell would raise some uncomfortable questions. As far as her sister was aware, Nesta had simply been off gallivanting across the countryside. Nesta didn't need Feyre to start wondering why Nesta thought it prudent to stick around when escape was so close at hand. If Feyre started poking around she might uncover the reason for her extended absence, and then there would be no stopping her sister.
So, yes, it was probably a trap. But Nesta was certain she was jailed next to the interior courtyard. She knew there was a large fountain in the middle of the grounds. She'd just have to search for it by moonlight and escape, the High Lords being none the wiser of her cauldron-given magic.
Mind made up, Nesta pulled herself up and awkwardly positioned herself half in, half out of the window. With a finale check to confirm that her door remained shut, Nesta swung her legs outside of the window and slowly lowered herself down from the ledge. Or, at least, she tried to. Her fingers slipped and she landed on her ass, falling onto her back with a feeble grunt. She gave herself a minute to catch her breath, staring up into the night sky while seriously contemplating the life choices that lead up to this moment.
Well, she was committed to the escape now. There was no way she could pull herself back up and into her room, the window was fully out of reach. Nesta rolled onto her knees and pushed herself to her feet. Thankfully the only thing that seemed overly bruised was her ego.
Nesta scanned the courtyard again. There were no guards lurking in the shadows. The only sound that permeated the air was the buzz of nocturnal insects. She hunched down and picked her way through the manicured grass. If she recalled correctly, there were several stone pathways that twisted around the courtyard, eventually meeting at the fountain in the center. She would just need to find one and follow the path to her freedom.
Luck had finally smiled down upon her; she found a pathway with little effort. She could hear the sound of running water only a few seconds later. Nesta hurried down the pathway, her leather flats padding quietly against the stones. She spotted the fountain as soon as she turned a corner, just beyond a row of soaring hedges. Biting back a grin, Nesta redoubled her effort and made her way towards freedom. She was ten yards away from the fountain when a pair of hands snaked out from behind and pulled her back. She let out a startled cry as a large hand wrapped itself around her mouth, effectively silencing her. The other arm wrapped around her torso and Nesta was yanked back into a much larger body.
Nesta fumbled wildly in attempt to throw him off, but he held on with ease, as if she weighted nothing. He was strong. He was much too strong. She kicked back, her heel glancing off his lower leg. He grunted and hauled her up until her feet were dangling over open air, unable to make purchase. Full-blown panic was overtaking Nesta; she began to shout in earnest, hoping to attract the attention of a passing guard, but no sound escaped the hand against her mouth. He then began dragging her back into the shadowy hedges.
Oh Gods. Oh Gods. Oh Gods.
Tears of alarm began to fill her eyes, blurry her already dismal vision. She kicked back and this time made direct contact with the fleshy part of his thigh. He dropped to his knees with a grunt, taking Nesta down with him. He threw out the arm holding her in an attempt to stop their fall, releasing Nesta. Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, she lurched forward in a desperate attempt to crawl away. She made it less than a meter before he grasped her ankle and yanked her back. He threw his weight onto Nesta's back, pressing her into the damp grass. Trapping her.
His hand was back on her mouth, silencing Nesta before she could draw in a breath. His other hand grabbed her arm and pinned it to the ground, locking her in place. Not good. Not good. Not good. She was trapped, only steps away from freedom. An involuntary whine rose up from the back of the throat.
He lowered himself down until he was only a hairbreadth away. Nesta could feel his breath on her neck as he leaned in closer, his cheek pressed against hers.
"Hello, Sweetheart." Cassian whispered into her ear.