Rhys looked at Azriel with a perplexed expression. "You want to go back?"

He nodded. "I think additional support right now will make it that much easier for Miss Archeron to become entirely self-sufficient."

Rhys's brow lifted. "You believe in her business that much?"

"I believe in her determination that much. If success is born from sheer willpower, I've never met anyone with a greater propensity towards it."

Rhys couldn't deny that, though what his brother saw as determination and willpower, he saw as stubborn and willful pride. "How long?"

"A month." Azriel knew it wouldn't take so long but believed it smarter to pad the time and see her better settled.

Rhys looked at him warily. "I don't know that we can afford to be without you that long, tensions being what they are." Azriel nodded quietly, trying to swallow what he recognized to be disappointment. "Will a fortnight suffice?"

"I will make the most of it that I can."

"I don't doubt it." Rhys said with a nod, accepting his brother's further absence. "How soon until you leave?"

Azriel could feel his palpable anxiety to return and make sure everything was as well with the eldest Archeron as when he left but knew that he shouldn't make the immediate attempt to leave. "Two days." He pushed beyond what he wanted to wait and hoped it would be enough time to leave with a good opinion of his friends again.

Nesta and Velara walked through the market; the former keeping a close eye on the latter since her breakdown the day before. The Illyrian female seemed to be doing surprisingly well; her smile looked entirely unburdened and it made Nesta wonder if her friend had just needed to cry and feel her own pain.

The former human was relieved to have been there for her and flattered herself by thinking she had been of some help. She pulled Velara to the stand that was already her favorite in the market. "Velara, this is where I purchased the clock."

A light brightened her green eyes in recognition as she began to look at a few items, amazed by the focus and artistry necessary for such pieces. The woodworker turned at the sound of voices and grinned to see his customer returned. "I hope you are not here to collect a refund." He jested with a kind humor.

Nesta shook her head. "Actually, I was wanting to show her where our clock came from."

Velara's eyes stayed on the pieces, her hand reaching out to touch an intricately carved flower hairclip. "You made this?" The surprise in her voice was unmistakable as she wondered at the kind of effort it required to create such a delicate and small object.

"Somehow." The voice laughed and Velara finally looked up at the speaker. "These pieces don't sell too well, but I find the practice for carving smaller, more ornate pieces is the best way to better the skill." He spoke with a gentle joy for the work and Velara was charmed by its infectiousness.

"It's beautiful." She remarked with a soft smile.

"It's yours." He said, unaware of the words until after they left his mouth. As the taller female began to look at him with a lift in her brow, he quickly amended his words. "I mean both of yours." He exhaled. "Consider it a gift of good faith for when you finally decide to commission me for those bookshelves of yours."

"Bookshelves?" Velara looked over at Nesta.

She shrugged. "I mentioned it in passing yesterday."

"And I haven't forgotten." He smirked revealing finely etched dimples. "Though," He nodded with a playful solemnness. "I gather to be taken more seriously as a business contact, I should properly introduce myself." He bowed his head and a crown of bountiful copper curls flopped buoyantly into his handsome face. When he lifted his head, honey-colored eyes shined brightly. "I'm Kale Bishop, aspiring woodworker." He offered his hand and Nesta shook it.

"Nesta Archeron."

"Aspiring?" Velara asked the offered hand. "With work like this, no one would argue against your right to call yourself a practicing woodworker."

"Many thanks…" He allowed his voice to taper off, his hand still outstretched as he eagerly sought to finish introducing himself to the Illyrian female.

Suddenly interpreting the pause, Velara's eyes widened. "Oh, Velara Skrein." Hesitantly, she shook his hand.

His eyes stayed on Velara for a moment before he addressed both females. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise." Nesta replied politely.

Just as the females were about to leave, Kale's earnest voice spilled out. "Wait," He picked up the clip Velara had set back down. "For you."

Velara shook her head. "I can't just take this."

"Please," A shy smile pulled at his eyes. "A gift of good faith." He repeated. "So please consider me," Immediately he forced himself to also make eye contact with the blonde. "For future projects."

Nesta swallowed the smirk that threatened to tug at her mouth. "Of course." She bobbed her head. "Good day."

"Good day, Miss Nesta, Miss Velara."

The two continued their stroll deeper through the market as the brisk winter chill fought against the bright rising sun. While they rounded a corner, Nesta was temporarily blinded as the sun peeked over the mountain. She walked into something solid and rough.

"Ah, the Devil herself." A familiarly sloppy voice spoke and though Nesta's eyes had yet to adjust, her gut clenched unpleasantly in immediate recognition.

Dark, unkempt curls came into view and unlike before she could see harsh dark eyes looking back at her. Nesta could sense Velara's unease at her side. Tiernan seemed to be in the company of his stockier, nameless friend, yet Nesta had no desire to converse with either. Trying to make it around him, her way was quickly blocked by the graceless stretching of his wings. "That is indeed a proud strut you have there." He remarked critically.

"Better than a drunken stumble I should think." She said in tight-lipped challenge.

"Quick tongue to have without your bodyguard handy." His tone threatened.

"I have no bodyguard and am in no need of one."

"You speak too soon." He laughed sharply, noticing Velara at her side. "Ah, but I see even the Devil can take direction. Is she already on the payroll?"

"Not for any services you might be looking to employ." Nesta asserted.

"So, no ale and no fun; how ever will you hope to stay in business?"

"I would say that's hardly a concern of yours."

"And why ever not?" He opened his arms with a wide theatricality that made Nesta despise him, without the need for further information. "Is your Haven not open to the community?" Her eyes narrowed at him. "Am I not part of the community?"

She exhaled sharply. "My business will be surely open to civilized members of the community," He looked at his friend and made a crude gesture that left Nesta completely unfazed, as it further proved her point. "Yet, I have a sneaking suspicion that tea cakes and novels are not the greatest incentive to persuade you to frequent an establishment."

He laughed arrogantly. "Can't say I argue with that, but you'll notice that I'm far from the minority. You, on the other hand," His eyes roamed across her and Nesta had to suppress a disgusted shiver. "Might soon come to realize that you're out of your element here."

"More than you know," She admitted with a nod. "But that has never stopped me in the past and certainly won't now."

"Perhaps it should."

Nesta could hear the unfocused threat in his words and subtly angled Velara slightly behind her. "If I let myself be shaken and disturbed every time a rowdy, sloppy male tried to scare me, I would've stopped trying long ago."

"Some might consider that a challenge." He pressed with a sadistic smile.

"Others might consider it a warning." She served back.

"Fools," He sneered. "As if I would let myself be frightened of some High Fae." He snapped.

"I'm no High Fae!" She spit out in immediate defense.

Tiernan looked at her, utterly flabbergasted as his large, imposing wings twitched comically in the stilted silence. "Well, you're certainly no Illyrian." He scowled her way.

"I never claimed to be." She argued, her voice more hesitant after her revealing outburst.

"Then what are you," he jeered. "High Fae, that is not?"

"Who are you to believe yourself entitled to the answer?"

Her deflection bothered the Illyrian and furthered his curiosity. "If you are not High Fae, then what are you?"

"Something beyond your comprehension."

"You flatter yourself, wench."

"Hardly." She laughed. "Demote me from Devil to wench, it doesn't matter, but through any occupation, title or life that I have lived, I will always be beyond your ability to grasp."

"I don't know." He stepped closer, intent on scaring her. "You seem within reach."

With her head held high, she pushed Velara and herself around him. "Perhaps you should have your eyes checked."

Tiernan let her pass, but his voice called to her back. "What are you?"

The two females went back to Nesta's home. As Velara entered the threshold behind her friend, she couldn't silence the question any longer. "Nesta, what did you mean by that?"

Nesta needed no elaboration to know what she was asking. Hesitantly, she regarded her friend with kind, but tired eyes. "The story is still too fresh to relive." Velara seemed to deflate with the avoidance and Nesta felt guilt prod at her gut. "But I promise I'll tell you once it isn't."

Velara nodded, understanding better than anyone, that sometimes picking at a sore before it healed, often left a scar.

Azriel kept his goodbyes short and simple just as he did before every mission, yet this was different. Of course, there was no danger promised this time around, though in truth Azriel couldn't remember the last time he felt in danger; after 500 years, even death was too mild to conjure fear.

No, even without danger, something felt vastly different this time around. He seemed to be returning with anticipation. The entire household expressed discontent with his task, though no one truly sought to verbalize their opinion beyond a grunt of disapproval or by wishing his speedy return.

It was not yet noon when he descended the House of Wind in a dead drop, wings unfurling to catch the air just before his feet touched the ground. Within a magic-scented moment, cold snow was suddenly falling in his face as he stood before Haven.

He knocked and heard murmuring. A minute later the door opened revealing Velara's laughing expression. Quickly, she opened it further to let him pass.

"Welcome back." She offered kindly as they walked through the spacious dining room towards the kitchen. Azriel noticed the recently added decorations, small wicker basket centerpieces with local flora on every table, a medium length tapestry hanging in the corner stitched with a stunning forest scenery and an intricate large wooden clock carved into a tree.

Nesta stood before a bowl, mixing berries in dough. Her hair was pulled up, a few soft golden waves escaping to pester her flour-spotted face. Her countenance was fiercely focused, though not quite stern. Looking up, a surprised smile took hold of her face. "Azriel!"

The, no doubt, accidental slip of his name prodded him to respond in kind as his own smile formed, believing the double-beat pounding in his chest to be that of pure stupefaction. "Nesta." He nodded, appreciating how striking her eyes appeared against the powder blue dress she wore.

She grabbed a towel and wiped off her hands as she approached. "I must admit, I almost didn't expect you to return."

"I said I would." He asserted.

"A male of his word." She nodded, appraising him with an impressed expression.

Velara crossed over looking at the bowl Nesta had been working on. "Don't!" She chided without any real edge in her voice. "No assistance, intervention or advice! I can do this!"

Velara smirked and nodded, pantomiming her silence on the matter.

"What have I stumbled upon?" Azriel asked, humor saturating his voice.

"Oh," Nesta exhaled, pushing some hair from her face. "A challenge of sorts." She looked back at Velara, who considered and nodded. The blonde turned her attention back to Azriel. Before he could open his mouth to follow up with a question, she continued. "So, how is Elai-" She corrected herself. "How is everyone?"

He wanted to smirk but couldn't swallow his unease at the reminder of the true difference between the Archeron sisters. "Am I meant to answer the question you were wanting to ask or the one you did?"

She shrugged with a smirk. "Either, though if the latter, you might notice a rapid decline in my interest."

He grinned, charmed by her bluntness. "Elain is quite well, often found in the garden, as I'm sure you can imagine."

"Good." She nodded, hoping to remove the tightness in her throat. "I trust everyone else fares similarly."

He nodded. "End my suspense. What kind of challenge?"

"I'm trying to recreate the Hardy Roll." She admitted brightly, though her posture hinted at her own defeat.

Velara sighed. "Nesta says that in fairness to my parents, she won't ask me to bake our Hardy Roll for Haven; however, if she can make it herself without any help, then it is free territory."

"How is she doing?"

Velara quietly shook her head. Nesta seemed to know what her friend was communicating, even though her back was facing the Illyrian female. "A momentary set-back, that's all it is."

Azriel nodded to appease her. "It looks nice out there." He gestured to the dining area.

"It's coming together. In fact, your return has come at the perfect time. Tomorrow we open."

"How may I assist in preparations?"

Nesta watched him closely. "Hopefully by bringing me good news."

He pulled a sheet from his pocket. "And here I assumed my return was good news enough."

"It is." She said with a smile as she snagged the recipe from his hands. "Just an added benefit." She turned to face Velara. "The sweet braids I mentioned."

The Illyrian female seemed more than pleased to grab the note from her employer, her eyes poring over it as she quickly disappeared into the dining room. Nesta gave a small half-smirk. "Off she goes." Turning around, she went back to her waiting attempt.

Azriel followed, watching her concentrated movements. "And you?"

She looked up, slightly perplexed. "What about me?"

"How have you fared?"

"Oh," her confusion seemed to double from his inquiry as she looked down bashfully. "Haven is ready to open and Velara has the menu memorized; everything seems to be coming together better than hoped."

"That's not what I asked." He prompted her with a knowing expression and her eyes tightened slightly. "How are you? It's not the simplest task to relocate."

"No," She shook her head. "It isn't, but I like to think I'm handling the transition well."

He watched her with soft eyes. "Quite well, I'd say."

"Save such praise until after I earn it with a successful opening."

Azriel nodded. "I have no doubt you'll deliver."

"I appreciate the confidence." She said with a grateful smile, looking down as she kneaded the dough. "I fear I might be in need of it."

He bobbed his head with a brightness in his eyes. "Then you have it."

She released an airy huff of laughter as she began loading a pan with lopsided portions of dough. "I guess we'll see."

The Haven's grand opening was quiet and understated, just as Nesta had imagined it. Clea and Orman were her first patrons of the day and they received a warm welcome, as well as thorough tour of the establishment.

Nesta was surprised an hour later when a few other patrons quietly came in; a soft-spoken couple and a diminutive female who seemed some years shy of full maturity. The couple ordered pastries and tea, while the youngest patron's eyes marveled at the sight of books adorning a medium-sized shelf.

Azriel hovered, thankful for the opportunity to see the eldest Archeron in action. It was clear that she needed no assistance, nor his borrowed confidence, he noted as he watched her warmly greet all who walked in. In his observation, he could finally see the vision that she had been building towards for the past couple of weeks and it was indeed a Haven.

Nesta felt a familiar pride seeing to her customers and making sure everything was to their liking. She couldn't help but liken it to the accomplishment she felt managing their old home a little more than a year prior. It brought her a deep contentment to keep things running smoothly.

Though there was a slight pick-up in business during the late afternoon, by evening it noticeably winded down. Just when Nesta expected to have served the last customer of the evening, the door opened.

Kale's smile seemed to enter the establishment before the rest of him. Nesta quickly slipped into the kitchen. Shamelessly, the blonde returned to the dining room and leaned behind the counter beside Azriel.

"Aren't you going to see to him?" He asked with the slightest confusion.

"Shh." Nesta silenced him as she held up her hand. A second later Velara entered from the kitchen. Kale's face immediately brightened, something Nesta wouldn't have believed possible from the already jovial male, had she not witnessed it herself.

The woodworker stood and spoke animatedly with the baker, taking in the sight of the shoppe he had only heard described until now. He remarked on the empty corners that he could furnish and Velara smiled as she intently listened.

Kale's smile faltered for a moment when he realized she was wearing the clip he had given her. He softly spoke of the way she complimented the accessory and bit his lip from admitting how the mere sight made him consider it his greatest piece.

Nesta brought a kettle of tea and two cinnamon rolls over for the conversing pair. Velara misread the gesture and apologized, making a move to continue, but the blonde shook her head and insisted their day of grand opening to finally be over. Placing a closed sign over the window, Nesta made eye contact with Azriel and nudged her head in the direction of the kitchen. He promptly obliged.

Once they entered the kitchen, Azriel peeked his head around the corner to see the two lost in effortless conversation. He turned to look back to Nesta. "Who is that?"

She grinned to herself as she began cleaning up the kitchen. "Kale Bishop. He's a woodworker we met in the market a few days ago. He carved the clock."

"Ah," He nodded as he offered his help. While packing up and putting away ingredients, he glanced over at Nesta. "It seems someone has caught his eye."

Nesta nodded, looking at Azriel for a moment. There was an amber-tinted humor staring back at her and she could feel a familiar impulse scratching at her throat. "What is it that catches your eye, Shadowsinger?"

There was a gentle tease to her question and Azriel wondered if she meant to throw him off his guard. An old knee-jerk reaction brought Mor's face to mind, though her place in his thoughts felt greatly altered, no longer what it used to be. "Confidence?" He guessed.

She waited for a moment. "And?"

His mind stuttered. "Beauty," he admitted lamely to himself.

"Well, that would make the confidence all the more attainable."

"I don't tend to carry a list of attributes that I admire."

She nodded and her subtle smirk faded, a melancholy understanding filling her eyes. "Does it hurt?" She cast her eyes downward.

"Caring for the beautiful and confident?" He asked with a quiet humor, not able to discern her sudden severity. "It does have a tendency to wound one's ego."

She shook her head. "Being caught in the middle?" Their gaze met and he felt temporarily exposed. "Caring so much that you leave it all unspoken?"

He inspected her closely for a moment, unsure if she was indescribably observant or simply the first individual with enough courage to ask. Despite the genuine tone of her voice, he couldn't help but buck at the revealing topic of conversation. "I suspect I should be asking the same of you."

Her eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly as her attempt to siphon some clarity from him was thwarted. "You seem even less inclined for restraint than your brothers." His stomach turned at her unintentional and loaded phrasing. "Not one for holding back, are you, Shadowsinger?"

"I don't believe in skirting around in deceptive innocence, Slayer of Hybern."

Nesta nodded, sensing his use of such a title as a way to illustrate that he knew better than to believe she needed such restraint. "Then perhaps you might want to relay that message to the façade that seems to have taken up permanent residence in your expression."

Azriel couldn't help but respect her undeterred frankness. "Why do you ask?"

"Working beside you has made me curious how you fit into such an equation."

"How I fit into the equation or how I withstand it?"

"It doesn't seem as though you do."

Nesta watched Azriel with a tension in her eyes which quickly dissolved as he nodded. "Perhaps you're right."

"So, you just stay silent?"

"While I wait." It was the answer that he had always given himself when the tension was too much and the unspoken words, too heavy, yet now it seemed odd and stilted to say aloud.

"For what?" There was nothing cruel about her question, save for the words, as curiosity covered her features.

He was quiet as the realization dawned on him that, in nearly 500 years, he'd never thought to ask himself that question. What was it that he had wanted? More importantly, he wondered if he still did? He was no longer that same person, none of them were. Had he continued this agonizing cycle out of anything more than sick tradition? "I'm not sure I know anymore."

"Then why don't you discover whatever it is you do want?" She offered encouragingly.

"What is it that you want?" Genuine curiosity pleaded him to ask.

Shyly, she looked back at him, not expecting the shift in focus. "Purpose." She answered strongly.

"Is that what this is meant to bring?" He gestured to the building they stood in.

"No," She shook her head. "This is simply meant to be something of my own."

"Do you think it's worth it?"

"It's all that has made this relocation enjoyable."

"Surely not all…" He verbally led her, thinking of the couple of friends she'd already seemed to make in the short time since moving.

She sweetly regarded him for a minute. "No, not all."

After a week of regularly circulating business, Nesta couldn't deny that a small part of her was waiting for catastrophe. Yet, peace somehow seemed to prevail.

Azriel had apparently promised the High Lord to check on the Windhaven camp as part of the condition for his return. Though she wanted to argue against Rhys's need to compartmentalize the Shadowsinger's time, something in her chest nagged that she could stand the break away from his observant, warm amber eyes.

With Haven closed for the day, she decided to walk off her building anxiety in the market and was pleased to encounter Velara along the way. "Nesta." The Illyrian smiled with a nod. "Mother might be hurt to know you passed right by the bakery."

The blonde allowed a playful humor to coat her words. "Well now that I know how to make rock solid Hardy Rolls, I see no reason to pay a visit."

Velara laughed, remembering how awful the batch turned out as she patted her friend on the shoulder. "Well, it seems you'll never need to purchase paper weights in the future." Nesta bit her lip and grinned, unable to argue with the accurate comparison. "Where is Azriel?"

Nesta tensed and quickly questioned her own reaction to no avail before answering. "On an errand for the High Lord it would seem."

"Not too keen to share his time?" Velara inquired, her tone laced expectantly.

Nesta shook her head. "He'll return to Velaris in less than a week. I just don't see the point in heaping the General's duties on him."

"I'm sure he doesn't mind."

"No," Nesta shook her head. "Probably not, but then again, even if he did, it's not as though he would say anything."

"Well, you can't force someone to speak." Velara replied a little pointedly and Nesta nodded, feeling her own shame circle around.

Needing to change the subject, Nesta eyed her friend conspiratorially. "Were you off to a certain woodworker's booth?" The Illyrian male had come in every evening since opening, to share a pot of tea with Velara at the end of the night.

Velara couldn't hide her grin, even if she wanted to, though she decidedly did not. "I thought to pass by. You?"

"Just searching for a distraction, I guess." She answered simply, having noticed Kale waving them over.

"Search enough and I have no doubt you'll find one."

"Or one might find you." An arrogant voice spoke from behind them.

Nesta exhaled sharply through her nose. "Good day, Tiernan." She turned and looked at her least favorite resident of the village. "Unarmed of your witless companions today, I see."

"Eh," He shrugged. "They're a bit skittish now that your fella has returned."

The blonde groaned. "I guess that would make you the witless one then."

"I'm not afeared of some delicate soldier boy." Nesta rolled her eyes, but the insufferable male continued. "It don't make any sense why he hangs around you so. I'd have figured he's got more important stuff to do."

"That he does." She agreed.

"Yet, he still returned." He asserted. "Makes me wonder more than what, but who you are to keep such bumptious company?"

"No one of importance I assure you."

"That's not the entire truth, is it?"

Nesta could see Velara pointedly eyeing Kale, who soon made his way over. "Dazzle me with your theories then."

"Maybe you're the High Lord's secret wench?"

Nesta outright laughed at the suggestion. "Please. The only connection the High Lord and I share is our mutual distaste for one another. Besides, I can vouch of his undying fidelity for his High Lady. They're both quite nauseating actually."

"Why else would he keep a High Fae like you?"

Nesta could feel her brow twitch. "No one has kept me. I'm no pet."

"Not a pet and not High Fae. My interest is further invested."

"Your interest is unwelcome."

"Then answer the question."

"There is nothing to answer."

"What are you?" He pushed, eyes roaming over the distinct features that presented her as High Fae.

Kale approached and Nesta turned her full attention on Tiernan. "What I am, you wouldn't believe and couldn't fathom."

"Try me."

His challenge wasn't enough to inspire her honesty, yet Nesta noticed the eager expression in Velara and Kale's eyes. It was clear that she wasn't the only one with a palpable distaste for the rowdy Illyrian, yet his question seemed reflected in the eyes of her friends. In that moment, she felt an almost drunken desire to reveal her truth and it was that impulse that spoke for her.

"A former human." Her answer came finally, and it was clear that no one had expected it.

"Playing me for a fool?" Tiernan asked with disbelieving annoyance.

"You are either a fool or not." She eyed him critically. "Believing me cannot make that distinction for you." She spared a glance towards Velara and Kale, unable to interpret anything beyond shock in their expressions. "I'm speaking the truth. It has happened once before. The High Lady of the Night Court was also once human, as was I, remade with magic."

She took a breath and stood straighter. "Perhaps you are correct when you call me High Fae, but I can't define myself so simply as to erase everything but the last year of my life."

Tiernan looked over and addressed Velara for the first time. "She's lying, ain't she?"

Velara shook her head, her eyes not moving from Nesta. "She doesn't lie."

Tiernan snorted. "To think I thought there was nothing worse you could be than High Fae."

"Such a shame to not have the approval of someone of your caliber." Nesta scoffed. "In that regard, I once would've agreed with you, but now," Her head lifted in pride, refusing to feel embarrassed or shamed by her admission. "This is my life." Now that she finally was living it, she no longer felt the burden of her remade existence. "A human-born High Fae; perhaps not one of a kind, but certainly not a pet or mistress."

Once Nesta could see that no one knew what to say, she calmly excused herself. It no longer seemed necessary to search out a distraction, so she ignored the burning she could feel against her back as eyes watched her excuse herself and head for home.

Azriel returned from his insufferable meeting with Devlon to find Velara meandering distractedly in front of Haven. She glanced his way and her eyes quickly narrowed in a moment of consideration. "Is it true?" She suddenly blurted and then appeared embarrassed by her incomplete outburst. Exhaling, she tried again. "Was Nesta once human?"

Azriel's eyes swiftly betrayed his surprise. "Who told you that?"

"Nesta." She admitted. "She said she had been changed and I've never known her to lie." She spoke more to herself than the Shadowsinger. "So, it must be true. Right?"

At a loss for words and not wanting to divulge any more than Nesta had, he merely nodded.

A dozen questions passed behind her eyes before she finally settled on one. "Why?"

Azriel opened his mouth and his eyes widened as if the answer continued to elude him. "I still don't know."

She exhaled, needing one more answer before she knew how to proceed. "Was it bad?"

He remembered that day with brutal clarity. An image of Nesta thrashing as her worst nightmare unfolded filled his thoughts and he shuddered to remember her heart-wrenching scream. He nodded curtly. "Yes." His somber tone revealed that though he knew the reply was inadequate, it was all he could think to say.

"I understand." She said solemnly with a subtle nod, immediately turning to knock on the door.

After nearly two minutes in a stunted silence, Nesta slowly opened the door. Her transparently surprised expression was the first thing to greet the two Illyrians standing outside. She stepped aside, allowing them space to enter.

"Back from Windhaven so soon, Azriel?" Nesta asked, a tension lining her voice, though she attempted to feign nonchalance.

"I wouldn't call three hours in the company of Devlon soon by any means." He huffed, quickly noticing that Nesta's attention had already turned to Velara. "All that debating has left me parched." Azriel excused himself in pursuit of the kitchen.

Velara shrugged. "So how did you want to spend our day off?"

Nesta smirked. "I was about to make some lunch."

"Want some company?"

The blonde nodded. "I'd like that."

There was an indescribable weight lifted from Nesta's chest. It wasn't as if the topic was suddenly yanked from the table, quite the contrary. The first words out of Velara's mouth as they sat at a table were, "What was it like, being human?" Her eyes burned with transparent interest.

Nesta laughed lightly, entirely charmed by the question. "I don't think I could explain it any more than you could explain being Illyrian."

Velara seemed reluctant to halt her inquiries, but she nodded. "I've just never met a human."

"I no longer am one." She said with the gentlest melancholy tangling itself inside her tone as she finally admitted a truth she had spent the greater part of a year refusing to acknowledge. "It was another life."

"Do you miss it?" She asked.

"Perhaps for what it could've been, but not what it was." She sighed in deep thought. "My eyes were forced open and subsequently my intolerances tested and for that I am thankful."

"Well, I'm happy you're here now."

Nesta's mouth quirked into the smallest crooked smile. Velara's statement was the purest and most unintentional form of selfish affection she had ever received and it warmed her heart to be treasured so genuinely by a friend so dear. "Me too." And in that moment, she truly meant it.