Nesta hadn't slept that night. The stark chill of the Illyrian Mountains was much crueler than the fair weather of Velaris. Though the house came moderately furnished, she had to rely on a heavy coat to keep her skin from icing over. Since sleep eluded her, she began to dust and plan out just what it would look like. Standing in the large dining room directly in front of the entrance, she couldn't stop envisioning what this place could become.
She hadn't seen all of the village, but she had a nagging suspicion that she saw enough to know that there was no real place for her here; it was cold and dark, most faces walking by wore decade-old scowls that set into the fine lines of their skin and it seemed there was no refuge to be found that was both clean and quiet.
There was something about standing barefoot on the cold floor in the silence that made her imagine the place where she could belong. A hushed sanctuary with books, tea and soft cakes; it could be like a café, only more intimate, with a deep emphasis on the written word. And she could oversee it.
The eldest Archeron began to feel as silly as a child when her heart started to thrum with terrifying anticipation, but it only forced her to realize that she had never had a dream. Beyond wishing for the basic necessities and yearning for wealth, she had never had an aspiration to excite or ground her. Logic failed to produce any argument to deter her. If money was a problem, then she could find her own way, but if not, why settle to be complacent and quietly tucked away when she could be creating something to be proud of?
As soon as she began to question her resolve, she reminded herself that she had already purchased the property and owed it to herself to try and see it used to its full potential. She dreaded the conversation she would need to have with the Shadowsinger in the morning. She thought of his face after the thoughtless words had fled her mouth.
Nesta hadn't meant to hurt or condescend to him and yet she couldn't see her words being interpreted any other way. Even if she couldn't deny her curiosity of the commonly quiet Illyrian, she understood that she had no right asking such a question. If nothing else, she respected him a great deal, more than the rest of the Inner Circle; he did not deserve her callous inquiry and it shamed her.
In the entirety of her life, Nesta had only ever felt guilt twice. The first time it had been a little over a month since Feyre had begun going out into the woods to hunt. Her youngest sister had returned with a bloody hand from an accident with a sadly fashioned snare and Nesta could still remember the exact shade of scarlet as it flowed from her hand. A bitter thought had bombarded her; that this was all her fault. Her inaction had wounded her sister and though their father seemed incapable of caring, that burden too was thrust upon Nesta. She remembered how poorly she had bandaged Feyre's hand and how quickly she had set herself to learning such a skill. Even now, she could never picture herself hunting, but she knew how to mend broken skin. She laughed aloud now, to think what a useless skill she had acquired for the future she could have never foreseen. Just what effort would it take, she wondered, to make herself bleed?
She sat alone in the silence for a few hours after that; only acknowledging the passage of time when the softest streams of light skewered through her window to announce the beginning of the new day; quite a busy one it would be.
Never, in his extremely long existence had Azriel ever been the type to drag his feet, in any situation, no matter how dreadful and yet this particular morning he couldn't stop himself. The majority of the previous day had been pleasant enough and though he couldn't deny that some part of him found the eldest Archeron to be unpredictably amusing; it had been that unpredictability of hers that fueled his reluctance now. He couldn't help but be wary when he thought of her penetrating eyes like blue flame scalding him as careless words tumbled from her mouth. Her indelicate intrusion had left him shaken and thoroughly speechless by her bluntness. It was stunning to witness just what she was capable of with only a few prickly words. Still, he couldn't assume it was intentional, which felt worse somehow.
He stood before her front door for a prolonged moment and nearly regretted sending Cassian away so early. It would be a long day and he wondered just what kind of defense he was meant to have prepared against the fearsome female. Once he realized he couldn't stall any longer, he rapped on the door twice; it was less than a minute before she answered.
"Miss Archeron." He nodded in greeting, offering her a Hardy Roll from the bakery they had visited the day before. She looked at the bread in his hand, almost bashfully and for a moment, he wondered just what she was thinking.
Nesta may as well have had another coat of guilt slabbed on top of her for how she felt. An apology wafted against her tongue, but never formed itself beyond her lips. Graciously, she took the warm gift. "Thank you." She nodded, taking a step back. "Please come in. There is something I would like to discuss with you."
"Are you saying you want to manage a café?" Azriel didn't try to soften the shock in his voice.
Nesta sighed and shook her head. "Not a café, necessarily." Taking a moment, she attempted to gather the argument she had tried polishing in her head the entire night. "If this is meant to be my home, I want to contribute something different that only I could offer. Yesterday we passed nothing but taverns, butcheries and bakeries." She huffed. "If my finances could withstand it, I know I could make this," She gestured to the nearly empty room around them. "Someplace special. There would be tea and pastries, and books for the patrons to choose from."
Azriel watched her expression closely and instinctually knew that he needed no further interpretation to understand just what she was looking for, an escape. "You understand that this has the potential to be an incredibly risky venture?"
"Do you think it could be done?"
He thought for a moment and though he knew he should persuade her to abandon the idea, he found it impossible when he could finally see light looking out of her eyes and hear the excitement in her voice. Already he was surprised by her; the entire Inner Circle had been so certain that she was content to exist on the backs of others, but now he wasn't so sure, not when she was excited for the first time in months at the prospect of working. He knew the full breadth of her allowance and was sure that even beyond that it could be negotiated for a noble cause, if deemed necessary. "Money would be tight for a while and if business doesn't pick up early on, bare necessities could become luxuries."
"That's not a 'no'."
Azriel smirked at her and couldn't help but be charmed by her stubbornness. "It would be difficult and even though it will lighten your change-purse, it might be best if you acquire assistance early on." She looked away as if the thought had yet to cross her mind. "Because of the size of the space and the needs you would require, I'm sure you could easily thrive with a single staff member, as long as they are reliable."
A brief, youthful smile contorted her face and vanished within a second. "I know that I could do this."
Something about the anticipation in her gaze was undeniably contagious and Azriel realized that if she was, in fact right, he wanted to be there to see it. "Then we have no time to waste." He stood and glanced down at her.
Nesta looked up, entirely confused. "I'm sorry?"
"You have a lot of details to go through and I'll only be available to assist you for a week, two at most."
She watched him quietly and so many unspoken thoughts seemed to pass behind her eyes. "Why would you want to do that?"
He shrugged. "Call it boredom or inspiration, but this feels a lot more significant than my tasks of late."
"Even visits to war camps?"
"That's more Cassian's territory."
"A fact I find all too bewildering." She muttered.
"How so?" He asked with the subtlest quirk of his brow.
"It seems odd to have someone of his temperament thrown into a position that requires diplomacy."
He smirked. "In most cases, you would be correct, but the Illyrian army is not like a High Fae army; someone too polished would not be respected amongst our ranks."
"Yet arrogance is admired."
"It inspires confidence." He argued emptily.
"It promotes ego, not community." She said in the softest judgment.
What bothered Azriel most was that he did not disagree with her. Illyrians were proud and it led, more often than not, to their own detriment. Surely, they fought side-by-side, but when there wasn't a war to be waged, battles of discontent began to be sewn from within. "Perhaps you are right." He conceded. "But that is a matter to be handled by someone else."
She nodded. "Are you sure you want to assist me with this? I have nothing to offer in return."
He shrugged. "And I am looking for nothing to gain. I was already planning to spend some time away from Velaris, only now I have a project to invest my energy into."
"Thank you." She said with nothing but the deepest sincerity, causing her cheeks to burn bashfully.
"Your thanks are premature." He nudged his head and she stood. "We have work to do."
Nesta had been able to notice the attention she had garnered from some of the locals over the past few days. It didn't surprise her in the least as she seemed to be the only High Fae in the village of Illyrian civilians. Of course, being seen side-by-side with Azriel, the infamous Shadowsinger, war-hero and close comrade to the High Lord seemed to instigate whispers and curious glances. It was undoubtedly daunting for her, but she kept herself busy in any way she could. She tried to convince herself that mystery might pique interest in her blooming venture.
She was indescribably thankful for her business partner, even if she was unsure how to speak to him. He was kind and dutiful, but silent in a way that made her tense, uncertain if her careless mouth would search for some other way to insult him. It was an unintentional habit of hers, to push too far and test the boundaries of someone's façade. In the past, such behavior had rarely been rewarded with results, but that first evening, she had been able to see all the cracks in his mask, as if he had never expected someone to be looking close enough to begin with. It intrigued her, made her remember the way he always seemed to be silently walking around the collective entanglement of the Inner Circle, still caught himself, though not the perpetrator; completely unaware that he was the collateral damage. She was ashamed to think that she might pity him, a male of all his strengths and virtues. Yet, some small piece of her did, recognizing herself to be equally caught in the web he too had been entangled in, merely innocent fools to their calculating comrades in arms.
"Miss Archeron?"
Nesta blinked and looked back at him, having lost herself in heavy thought. "I'm sorry?"
Azriel narrowed his eyes only slightly to shame her for her focus, or lack thereof. "I was asking if you had thought of a name?"
She looked at the dozen small tables and gentle decorations that had already made her feel more at home than she ever had in Velaris. Nesta didn't have to ruminate on the decision, having realized that she had picked out a name before she had even purchased the property. "Haven."
Azriel smiled gently and nodded, touched by her transparency. "That sounds perfect."
She nodded proudly. "I was thinking about getting a sign commissioned to place directly above the door." He shook his head. "Well, we need a sign."
He shook his head again. "Of course, we need a sign, but I'm sure we could finish one in the time it would take to hire someone."
Nesta eyed him warily. "I don't know about you, Shadowsinger, but I'm not artistically inclined in the slightest. It seems Feyre is the only Archeron to receive the gift of artistry."
"That is not true." He offered. "Yes, Feyre has her painting, but Elain also has her gardening and you-"
"Possess the poetry of barbed words." She gave a breathy laugh. "I can give it an honest effort but cannot promise beyond that."
"That should be more than enough. If we work together, it will be done in no time at all."
"Fine." She conceded. "But I'm expecting you to supervise."
"I'm sure I can manage it." He said with a smirk.
Azriel was a few hours into carving as Nesta patiently approached him, having promised to paint over his lettering. She couldn't deny that it eased her anxiety to know that her big contribution was simple tracing. Placing a hot cup of tea beside him, Nesta sat across the table. "Thank you," he said awkwardly. "I'm not really thirsty."
She shook her head. "It's for your hands." There was a moment of slightly loaded silence that pushed her to explain. "You keep flexing them." She noted nonchalantly. "I assumed that the change in climate and the added tension of carving for hours is causing them to stiffen. I thought it might help."
Azriel looked at her for a second and then nodded. He set down the knife his hands had been clawed around and slowly picked up the cup. It was hot, but not enough to bother him. He hadn't even realized how cold his hands had become until the heated porcelain began to thaw his fingers. "Thank you."
She shrugged. "Just consider it practice for the opening."
He smirked. "About that…" Nesta stilled and he shook his head, as if knowing on instinct how to calm her nerves. "Although your allowance has already been settled and agreed upon, I think it would be best for me to let Rhys and Feyre know about what you're doing." He could see that the thought bothered her, the idea of her life being reported to the High Lord and Lady as if she were a child, yet he knew that keeping them up to speed would make them better able to assist and support her in such a venture.
"I doubt they'll understand, but" She sighed heavily. "I think you're right. In truth, they have just as much a right to know. After all, they are practically my investors."
Azriel was relieved that she could see it so levelheadedly. "Except investors expect to see the return of their stake, plus profit."
She nodded, not the slightest bit confused in her articulation. "Exactly and one day I'd like to make that happen. If this place is a success, Mother-willing."
He looked around and sipped slowly from the teacup. "It's already coming together." He admired the way the striking sunset cast the softest peach light through the few large windows. Already, he could see the Haven before them; peaceful and intimate, like sitting in front of a warm fire after escaping a blizzard. Nesta seemed unbothered by his impromptu break as she stayed seated at the same table and began drafting a list of some simple items to place on the menu. He nodded in the direction of her list. "You know, that might make it more difficult to conjure up business."
Nesta looked back at him with a tired expression. It had been the source of contention since the night before. On a matter of principle, she refused to sell alcohol at the Haven. In the half a week she'd been living in the Illyrian Mountains, he had insisted that she would have to understand the local businesses if she ever hoped to start her own. There seemed only taverns to visit and reluctantly they both did, usually two or so in a night.
Nesta found the entire atmosphere distasteful; it reminded her too intimately of her time in Velaris, allowing her sense to disappear behind another bottle as her body recklessly searched for its nightly distraction. The sour taste it had left in her throat was not quelled in the least when she took in the rowdy disposition of the patrons. She already knew Illyrians to be a physically boisterous kind of being, but to watch it unfold in a pub was entirely different; there was no restraint, no sense and disturbingly enough, no respect for themselves or one another. She would not stand to have her Haven corrupted so, even if that meant losing business along the way.
It was the one point on which she refused to compromise. So, although Azriel disagreed with her, he couldn't help but respect her determination. He sipped once more and flexed his hands, glancing her way before he could return to the task at hand. She continued writing, seeing no need to reply to his concern. Though her neck was elegantly angled downward, there was an unwavering poise threaded through her every movement. She looked a great deal better than when they had left Velaris five days prior. Dark circles still nested under her eyes, though they were beginning to lighten, while the paleness of her skin shifted into her natural hue. Unchanged were her piercing cobalt eyes, though they appeared less exhausted than they had upon her arrival. He wondered if it was the geography that had been holding her back or perhaps the community? Either way, it was entirely undeniable that she was changed, for the better.
"You'll never have this place together in time if you don't hire someone soon." Azriel chided after placing the sign above the door.
Nesta smirked at their handiwork. It had been no difficult feat as she just faithfully followed the deeply worked grooves he had painstakingly set for her. The blushing burgundy she had chosen was warm and inviting. "How am I to even go about that?"
"You could take out an ad." He offered and she seemed to consider.
"Perhaps." She said in soft contemplation, turning to see the view of the village from her front door. It was now dark out and the softest flurries of snow began floating down. She looked up and couldn't shy away the quiet smile that adorned her face as the snow above nearly blended in the with ivory stars adorning the sky. This seemed the Court of Dreams, she thought gently, despite the stark chill that began to set in her bones. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so… alive wasn't quite the right word, though she couldn't disagree with it. There was a sense of freedom that enveloped her as she breathed in the icy night air.
"You're proud." Azriel said, almost in gentle accusation. He could see the contentment in her upturned posture as if she were elongating her spine.
She turned and looked at him with a brightness in her eyes that made him sure that though it had slipped away without a trace, she, Nesta the Ferocious, had been smiling. There was an almost playful humor that wound itself in her expression and her voice. "Something I have consistently been made aware of."
His eyes narrowed at her purposeful misinterpretation of his comment. "No," he huffed with insincere impatience. "About the Haven."
Nesta bit her lip to keep from smiling at the sight of the sign directly above her door. It was not as if this had been some long dream of hers, but already it had helped immeasurably. Creating a space for herself in a place so different and fresh, made her feel unencumbered by the despondent existence she had survived in Velaris. She no longer was being pulled by strings; if she wanted, this could be everything she needed. She was free. "I'm proud of the potential before me and the experience behind me. At the risk of sounding an optimist, this," She pointed to the sign. "Could be something, maybe even for someone more than just myself." Azriel smirked at such an honest comment. "Thank you for your help, it has been greatly appreciated." She nodded. "I'm sure you miss the fair nights of Velaris."
He shrugged. "The nights may be fair, but I've developed immunity to their charm."
"Surely, you do not mean entirely?" Her words seemed edged in a way that surprised Nesta herself. She knew it was her curiosity that had once been no more than a fleeting thought before her 're-location' and had slowly built since the Solstice, now nagging at her in a way that made her feel brazen and nosy which propelled the leading tone and her cryptic words to jump from her mouth. "You must find charm with something in Velaris?"
His eyes tightened ever-so-subtly and Nesta felt her stomach clench. She had done it again; she hadn't even seen her provocation coming before it had already been thrown from her mouth.
Before a word could leave his mouth, several male voices seemed to round the corner in a loud argument, catching their attention. "No, I'm telling you, they said-" The voice stumbled drunkenly for a second as three Illyrian males came into light across the narrow street. The speaker appeared to be tall and muscular with eyes obscured by unkempt curls. "Oh, wait," He turned to look in Nesta and Azriel's direction. "Speak of the devil and she shall appear." He said with just enough liquor in his voice to slow his sentence, but not to adorn it with slurs as he quickly approached the two. His friends followed behind; an even taller, thin male with short hair and pale eyes and another short and stocky in stature.
The taller one spoke. "Tiernan, are you calling the devil a woman?"
"Makes the story seem all the more believable if you ask me." The original speaker, Tiernan, replied to his friend before turning his full attention on Nesta. "There's been talk about some new bonny face, an outsider, strutting proudly around town." His glance seemed an accusation to her existence, yet she stood there quietly unbothered, even more so as she could sense that in the moment she had turned, Azriel had silently bridged the gap between them at the sound of voices. "Well?" The drunken Tiernan asked.
"Am I meant to respond or is that rhetorical?" She questioned, entirely serious. He looked back at her, not sure how to reply to her unshaken poise. She continued with a tone that teetered the edge of patronizing. "Talk seems to have been accurate, which you well know to recognize me now by such description. It is clear I am an outsider, and no one could argue, least of all myself, that I have been known to proudly strut. As for being a bonny face, I like to think I see myself in a modest light but wouldn't go so far as to argue against your assumption that it is indeed me you seem to be talking about. However, you have asked me no question beyond the riveting and thought-provoking, 'Well?' as you so articulately put. Do you have a further inquiry beyond my confirmation of my own existence?"
Azriel couldn't deny himself the humblest of smirks at the way her cavalcade of loquacious snark smacked against Tiernan's expression. The drunken Illyrian looked up at the sign. "Heaven?" He said, turning to his friends. "The Devil seems to dabble in irony."
"And the locals in illiteracy." She bit back and Azriel ever-so-slightly nudged the back of her hand, wanting to remind her that such an attitude could turn away customers and sink her shoppe before it was born. She exhaled and he could see the effort she used to calm herself. "It says Haven."
"Haven; what kind of tavern does the outsider bring us?"
"It is no tavern."
"What with a name like Haven?" He turned to his friend and then eyed her lewdly. "What type of business are you seeking to strum up?"
Azriel tensed in a way that made Nesta sure, even without her eyes upon him that he was close to making a move merely for the offense; her hand flattened against his tight knuckles as if to signal him to stop before he moved. "I doubt you would be my clientele, sir, for this is a dry establishment."
"What's she mean, 'dry'?" The short one asked.
"Yeah," Tiernan asked belligerently. "What makes you think we'd turn our nose up at staying dry?" He wiped a collection of dewy white snowflakes from his face. "It's the only way to drink this far North."
Azriel was sure that his expression was that of the deepest shame and embarrassment, something he couldn't help but feel while watching the encounter unfold. Nesta cleared her throat and did her best to wipe the snark from her voice, choosing to look at the moment as an opportunity to teach something, Mother-willing without the patented smugness she always had a hard time keeping silent. "By dry, I mean to say that my business will not sell any alcoholic beverages."
"Then what's it good for?" The tallest one asked.
"Well, Stern there must be quite the entertainment lined up." Tiernan said suggestively. "Here I was thinking I might get another drink, but I don't mind settling for a show." He laughed sloppily and a loud rustling sound was heard just a few feet away.
All attention turned to see a familiar female Illyrian with tucked wings leaning awkwardly against a tree. As if feeling the eyes on her, she looked up and nearly shrunk under the attention. "Perfect!" Tiernan laughed loudly. "When the madam hires gals around the village, she's got the dizzy baker to offer at a discount."
Nesta's blood burned, but before she could even think to move, Azriel had somehow whisked his way around her and stood directly in front of Tiernan, his imposing dark presence pushing down on the man. "You have no excuse for such crude belligerence, drunk or not. If you don't get to moving on, my tested patience might fail me."
Tiernan seemed fully intent on challenging Azriel, until he noticed a dark chasm in his eyes that warned of his power, just as intently as the siphons that his drunken eyes finally recognized. It meant the other part of the rumor was true. The female was protected by a respected and feared warrior, near equal to the High Lord. "Fortunately for you, I will not search for a fight when ales have influenced my ability to stand."
"Then you are wise." Azriel said with a sharpness that actually made Nesta shiver in shock.
The three were finally able to drag themselves away and Nesta approached the female from the bakery, passing by Azriel. "It's Velara, right?"
She nodded. "Yes, my mother and father own the bakery just down the way." Shyly she looked down at her slack posture. "I was trying to move by unseen, but sometimes I'm not so lucky."
Nesta nodded. "We all have to move at slower paces sometimes."
She eyed Nesta appreciatively. "Doesn't mean it isn't frustrating."
Nesta laughed softly. "Can't disagree with that." She looked back at Azriel and gave him the subtlest nod to move a bit closer for introductions. "My name is Nesta."
"And I'm Azriel."
She bobbed her head gently. "I've seen you both in before."
Nesta nodded. "To be honest, I can't get enough of those Hardy Rolls you make. They're incredible." She looked back to Azriel.
He nodded as well. "They've become an important part of our morning routine and one of the few things she enjoys eating."
She turned back and nearly scowled at him, but Velara's soft voice spoke. "I'm happy that you like them. It's a family recipe that's been altered a bit over the past few years."
Nesta looked back at Azriel. "I really need your help finalizing the menu."
He looked at her puzzledly when Velara asked, "Menu? Are you opening a restaurant?"
Nesta smirked. "I'm still not sure how to properly explain it. It would be similar to a café; tea, pastries and most importantly books."
"Books?" The shy female inquired.
"I want there to be a place for patrons to relax and read; somewhere to soak in some silence."
"That sounds nice." She smiled brightly.
"I like to think so." Nesta grinned. "I know it'll come together."
Velara smiled and then seemed distracted by a thought. "I'm sorry to have lingered. I am fine now." She laughed gently. "I need to be heading home."
Nesta took a step closer and tried to present herself to be entirely nonthreatening. "Do you mind being seen home safely?" She didn't want to push, only she couldn't help but think of the three drunk vagrants they'd already encountered.
She scrutinized Nesta for a moment before congenially shaking her head. Her eyes warily took in the still slightly imposing form of Azriel who Nesta waved off. They walked side-by-side and Nesta was surprised to realize that in her original meeting of Velara, she hadn't noticed the freckles that adorned the kind face, like little gold specks amongst olive skin. "So, you're not sure what to place on your menu?"
Nesta nodded, her expression becoming briefly hopeless. "My experience with creating menus in the past has always been supervision of meals; I've made very few in my day and even less that are edible."
Velara laughed. "Cooking and baking are not always the same. Perhaps you are about to discover your niche?"
Nesta thought for a moment and nodded, sensing Azriel far enough behind to not be detected by her companion, but close enough to be ready to step in should they come across more drunk and disorderly deviants. "I don't doubt I could acquire the skill but creating the menu has been difficult."
"How much do you know about local agriculture regarding seasonal fruits for your pastries?"
"Embarrassingly little, so it would seem." She laughed.
Velara smirked. "I hope you're not too desperate."
Nesta shrugged. "Desperate is not my favorite word; I'd like to say I'm eager."
Velara nodded. "I could help if you'd like the assistance."
She openly smiled brightly. "That would be deeply appreciated; I really am at a total and utter loss."
A moment later they came upon Velara's home. She gave Nesta a small half-bow in thanks. "Perhaps I can stop by around afternoon to offer my services."
"I'm in your debt." She beamed graciously.
"I appreciate the escort." Nesta nodded. "Thank you both." Velara grinned smugly glancing at the Azriel-obscuring corner of a nearby home. "Tomorrow, then."
"Tomorrow."
Once Velara went inside, Nesta quickly approached Azriel. "I'm already learning names. What a productive day it's been."
Azriel eyed her warily. "You're in some kind of recruitment mode right now." He sighed. "Are you really trying to poach the baker's daughter?"
Nesta huffed. "Please, I'm trying to gain a little wisdom from someone more experienced and hopefully gain a friend in the process."
"Are you saying you have no intention to hire her?"
Nesta shrugged noncommittally. "I'm hoping to learn more tomorrow." She looked back up at the sky as they rounded the corner before her home. Snow continued to quietly fall and Azriel silently walked beside her. The indescribable feeling began to stir in her chest again and she searched for the right word. Her eyes gently drifted downward and she caught sight of the sign they had just hung; suddenly it hit her. She felt hopeful.