Chapter 4

Poison burned through Cassian's veins, put there by none other than Nesta Archeron.

He'd finally stopped seeing it over and over again- the moment when she dashed into the woods while he watched from his bedroom window. She wasn't subtle about leaving, he wasn't subtle about watching her leave.

At the time he felt perfectly fine- maybe even better than he had since he met the demon. But as he calmly gathered his possessions a whisper of smug satisfaction bloomed in his chest. Nesta would push herself to the point of breaking to get away from him. She would no doubt throw herself through ravines and marshes, exhaust herself beyond all sanity, and most of all- she would do it sober.

In a way he won… but in every way that mattered, he lost.

Cassian wanted her to suffer in her escape. He wanted her to struggle against a foe that didn't exist. Let her be cold, hungry, even frightened. Let her feel a fraction of what he'd felt those endless months he worked to save her from herself.

If possible, he also wanted Nesta to one day know her suffering was in vain. No one was trying to find her. Not again. Cassian wanted her to feel as stupid and foolish as he felt every single time she called him a bastard, a son-of-a-whore, or a mongrel. Every one of her insults was a knife to the heart that he'd born willingly in his blind struggle to reach her.

Let her waste days or even weeks in pain and agony only to find out it was all pointless.

'I don't care that you're leaving!' he wanted to shout after her. He wanted to scream and rant and list every last sin she'd committed against him and then leave her.

And yet… he already felt guilty about failing Feyre. He didn't need to hear his own words echo in his ears and spend sleepless nights cursing himself for not staying silent.

Unspoken words left a bitter, icy knot in his chest that wouldn't go away. He didn't say much to Rhys or Feyre when he returned to Velaris that night. He didn't have to. Before Nesta even knew she was being banished to the Illyrian Steppes, Feyre told Cassian that he should be prepared to run into the same wall everyone else did each time they tried to reach the eldest Archeron.

Cassian simply walked back to his room in the House of Wind, closed the door, and sat in glorious and torturous silence.

Mor was the one who drew him out again. His best friend and rock- the female he loved in that strange, different way. Not romantically of course, Cassian had seen her slipping out of Rita's with a female in tow too many times to think she had any interest in him. Azriel and Rhysand were his best friends, Feyre like a sister, but Mor- she was closer to him than all the rest. She knew Cassian's moods and how to coax him from his temper.

Even so, it took her a couple weeks.

The whole time he burned in rage and shame, disgust at Nesta and self-loathing for his own failure. He couldn't understand why she wouldn't let him help her- but he was torn between writing it off as her own damn problem and chiding himself for not thinking of some other approach.

Nesta had given up on the entire world, herself included. Cassian swore he wouldn't give up on her… and then he found out she was trading blow jobs for alcohol. He'd known for weeks before faking his trip to Velaris, he kept trying to reach her until-

-until his soul was exhausted, his temper frayed, and he had no choice but to let Nesta go. For his own sake. She was killing herself running from her demons and he was killing himself trying to help her face them. He had to step back before she drowned him too.

Cassian was finally treading water on his own. He was learning to accept that he'd done everything he could and more for Nesta- they all had. Things were starting to settle back into relative peace for the first time in two years.

When Cassian saw Nesta in the throne room, his fragile world shattered again.

He was ashamed of every insult he'd hurled at her in their imagined arguments. He wanted to fall to his knees, beg her forgiveness, and swear to never give up on her again. Cold dread rolled over him at her silhouette in the corner of his eye. It was all starting again. He would force himself to endure every tantrum, every fight, and a mountain of crushing disappointment. Just like the last time.

He wanted her forgiveness. He never wanted to forgive her. He wanted her by his side. He wanted her gone. He hated her… and he loved her.

'If you want to create a wind-funnel around the mountain you'll have to go a bit faster,' Rhys' voice murmured in his mind. 'You've been circling for an hour, can I take that to mean you didn't find any mysterious armies out there?'

Cassian hadn't even noticed where he was. The flight back was long, he'd made his way by instinct as much as anything. But looking at the palace atop the Court of Nightmares- he didn't want to land and rest his tired wings. If he landed there, he was suddenly within range of Nesta Archeron. As long as he was in the sky, she couldn't reach him. Couldn't draw him in for another round of torture and abuse.

'She's in a courtier guest suite down in the Hewn Palace and is forbidden from reaching out to anyone. You only have to see or hear from her if you want to. Even Nuala and Cerridwen have been warned against passing notes.''

Cassian considered Rhys' words, then forced himself to bank right and make for the balcony off the main hall. It was the High Lord's favorite perch.

Unfortunately, Nesta wasn't the biggest of Cassian's problems, and he knew he didn't even have the option of heading back to Velaris until she ran off again.

"I'm sorry," Cassian said as he landed on the cool marble of the palace. A warm breeze pushed back the chill mountain air and sent goosebumps across his arms as he folded his wings.

Rhys was sitting on one of the velvet sofas lining the sides of the hall. He was holding a mug of coffee in hand and conjured a second as his brother approached, "You have nothing to be sorry about. I understand perfectly."

Cassian took a long drink from the mug Rhys offered him, "You should have Kier activate the Darkbringers, and have Az swing through as many camps as possible on his way back from Cretea. The Illyrians should be ready to mobilize."

"Tell me what happened," Rhys sent the command down to Kier but made no move to relay the message to Azriel. He was well out of range.

"The mist was thick, but based on the torchlight glowing through, the camp is easily large enough for three hundred. The scents were contained, but I think I heard some growling down there too, so it's impossible to judge their numbers. Humanoids and animals, that's certain."

"And I just mobilized Kier because-?"

Cassian sunk into a nearby chair while he drained the rest of his mug, "Because an eagle was at my back when I flew away. It stayed almost completely out of sight, but it trailed me the first two hours or so."

Rhys sighed, "You led it this way?"

The Illyrian shook his head, "I took it south, but it lost interest in me when it saw one of the trade roads. Eagles are neither native to those mountains nor nocturnal, so I'm willing to bet it's a scout for the army."

"I take it back- you have a few things to be sorry about," Rhys grumbled into his cup. He knew Cassian was in a bad place because of Nesta but still- to waste time when an army had invaded their land? He would have some very choice words with his best friend- but only after he made things right with his mate. On the eve of possible war, Rhys couldn't stand two confrontations among their Circle.

"The trade road leads straight here, tell Kier to seal the main entrance and make sure he has eyes in every direction." Cassian waited a moment, then added, "Any news from Azriel? Do they really have the Cauldron?"

"No, they don't. A Cauldron, but the Cauldron is secure. Azriel saw it for himself," Rhys didn't sound too optimistic. If anything he sounded defeated already. Whatever this new Cauldron was, between it and the idea of some kind of hybrid cross-species army Rhys could rule out the Mortal Queens as the aggressors. So either it was the sorcerer who held Vassa captive come to attack Prythian or a foe they'd never heard of before.

How many wars could he fight before they broke him? Blind luck blessed them the last time, but they couldn't be so fortunate again.

"Get some sleep," Rhys ordered. In spite of the command it was he himself who swung around to lay his legs across the couch, "They probably won't attack tonight and if they somehow manage to mobilize and attack at dawn, I want you rested, not exhausted."

"What about you? You could mist a few hundred easy if you're on full energy. Go to Feyre," Cassian watched the way Rhys' face sagged at his words. His lethargy didn't appear to be entirely related to war-fatigue.

"Stop reading me."

Cassian sighed and tried to muster up some of his usual bravado, "What'd you do to piss Feyre off? Usually she just calls you a prick and you two are back to normal within the hour. How'd you manage to get yourself banished to the hallway?"

Rhys growled a warning, then sighed, "I muted her. Kept her from disowning Nesta entirely."

He didn't know how to respond. On the one hand- he agreed with Feyre wholeheartedly. On the other hand- he knew how much worse Feyre would feel if she'd actually said it. Cassian survived only a couple years worth of abuse from Nesta. Feyre grew up with it, endured it, and still put her heart into trying to help her oldest sister. It was Feyre who went to Nesta with job offer after job offer as she sought some way to break through. She was recovering from traumas of her own, and yet she always worked towards aiding her ungrateful sister.

So if Feyre's love for Nesta was that enduring, how much did she hate her now to actually disown her (or try to at least)?

Cassian read the guilt on Rhys' face and offered only a simple reply, "It'll be fine by morning."

"I crossed a line. Feyre is her own master, it wasn't my place to decide what she does or doesn't say."

"Very true… but I get it. Feyre might nail your balls to the wall and leave you there for a few days, but long term I think she'll forgive you."

He stood to head off to his room, but Rhys swung his legs off the couch, "Just a minute- there's something else we need to talk about."

"What?"

Rhys hesitated a moment, "Madja was here for Nesta… this will stay between you and me no matter what- I won't even tell Feyre- but… There were some viruses and growths caused by-"

"We were never intimate in any way," Cassian snapped.

"She's going to brew up some tonics for Devlon's camp that should clear everything up, but if you were-"

"I just said we weren't."

"If you were, the healers here are already mixing up a few extra batches of tonics to treat the conditions. No one would notice if you grabbed a few vials for yourself. Madja says one dose a day for two weeks."

"It doesn't matter because we weren't intimate in any way."

Rhys shrugged and did his best to diffuse Cassian's wrath, "Alright. I believe you. I'll never bring it up again."

"Good," Cassian turned on his heels and stormed off down the hall, angry once again.

It didn't help matters when Rhys called softly after him, "For what it's worth- Madja also said she thinks this time… we might actually get through to Nesta."

Without breaking stride, Cassian picked up a vase from a nearby table and shattered it against a far wall.

-o-

-o-

He didn't sleep the entire night.

Mor was curled up on a chaise in his sitting room, utterly unconscious. He considered waking her so that he could rant and yell and vent that poison in his heart. The whole reason she was in his chambers was in case he needed someone to talk to.

Instead, he went into his bedchamber and brought out a thick red blanket to cover her with. Cassian spent those precious hours before morning on his bedroom floor, cleaning and sharpening his weapons.

He hated Rhys for even thinking he and Nesta had any real connection to one another. For even thinking they were friends, let alone-

No, Nesta didn't need to be friends with the males she took. They just needed to be positioned between her and alcohol… or vaguely fall within her line of sight.

He didn't fault her for the sex, not really. It was her right to do what she wanted with whoever she wanted. He was angry because- because she didn't want it. She threw herself at males and looked more miserable after each. She wasn't having sex because she wanted to, but because she was angry and scared and powerless to make that feeling go away.

No, the implied romance pissed Cassian off because it was just another reminder of his failure. He couldn't be in some unattached physical relationship with Nesta because he loved her too much… and he'd failed miserably at saving her from herself.

As to what that prick said afterwards-

Cassian's hand tightened around the whetstone, turning his knuckles white. He snarled at the flames in the fireplace and willed them to consume him- but of course they did no such thing.

'Please,' he begged the old gods, 'let that entire army come right now. I'll slice open at least half of them myself.'

His attention was on that piece of his mind where Rhys spoke, but no word came of an attack.

Unfortunately.

Cassian winced as something bright blinded one eye. It was coming from a rack of djerid near the door. Nine throwing spears that fit into three obsidian inlaid quivers were glowing red-gold, reflecting the light of the rising sun.

Even though he knew it was pointless, he turned to look out the window behind him, where the sun was indeed rising between two mountains. Almost on queue, Rhys tugged at the edges of his mind, summoning him to the dining room.

With a sigh he set the whetstone back into its case and sheathed his yatagan. Cassian took a moment to change from his day-old leathers into a new set, strapped the shortsword to his back, and headed for the door. He braced himself for Mor's concerned gaze and turned the handle.

Elain, not Mor, was waiting in his sitting room. Cassian's stomach churned at the worry and even trepidation in her eyes. She looked as if she hadn't slept all night, but he could hardly blame her for that.

No two beings in all of Prythian had more faith in Nesta than Elain and Cassian. They were the first to see the potential for greatness in her… and the last two to let go as she burned.

"Are you alright?" Elain asked before he could say anything.

"Not really. You?"

"Not really," she looked down and blinked back the moisture in her eyes. "I'm going to see her in three days."

"Why?" Cassian was surprised she hadn't gone to Nesta already.

Elain shrugged, "Maybe if she's still here… then it's real."

Cassian expected wrath to boil through his veins like it did when he recalled Rhys' similar hope, but instead he felt only pity for Elain. Her grip on hope was tenuous at best, and if- when- Nesta disappeared it would be the end. Elain needed one more disappointment to write off her big sister once and for all.

It was only a matter of time.

Rhys' tug came again, more insistent this time. Elain must have felt it too because she offered a sad smile and reached out to take Cassian's hand, "Don't let anyone make you do anything you're not ready for."

He stared at her for a long time before allowing Elain to pull him from the room. Why did his heart hurt so much more than it did when he thought she'd force him to visit Nesta?

The now-familiar cycle repeated itself as she walked him through the palace towards the dining hall. Shame for abandoning Nesta. A deep, aching sadness that things had gone so far. Guilt, at failing to protect her from Hybern twice, resulting in this whole mess. Frustration as he recalled everything the entire Inner Circle had done to try and reach out to her. Anger at Nesta. Righteous indignation and the absolute sureness that it was her who was at fault… Spiraling down back into shame.

It was a pattern established over two years, and a dance he'd been practicing a lot lately.

Yet another tug yanked at Cassian's mind and he snarled at the thread that bound the Inner Circle to Rhys. Not being Daemati himself, it was a dice roll if Rhys actually got the message Cassian sent. He felt something straining in the connection and frowned.

"Elain?"

"Yes?"

Cassian pushed her hand off his arm, though he never looked back at her, "Go to the Hewn Palace. Now. Close yourself in a room and don't let anyone but myself or Nuala in. You don't have to go to her, just pick somewhere with no windows."

Elain grabbed the back of his shirt as he stepped away, "Cassian-"

"Go. Now." The strain in his mind was growing, as was Rhys' summons. Something was wrong.

Elain's light footsteps retreated behind him as Cassian drew his yatagan from it's sheath. He wasn't far from the dining room, and he crept forward as silently as possible. Rhys' summons faded entirely, though their connection was still active.

He heard a strange, dull sound- almost like hooves on marble. Cassian pressed himself against the wall and slid the tip of his shortsword around the corner. He turned it in his hand until the reflection caught whatever was outside the dining room.

Rhys was standing in front of Feyre in long, dark-blue robes. Mor was in front of him, her own kilij sword drawn. All were facing something on the balcony that Cassian couldn't quite make out. There were too many figures, and too many wings to get a clear image.

"Fine, I'll ask again," Rhys' voice was… different. Lighter, and without the air of command he usually held. It held none of the strength of the Lord of Nightmares. This act was something entirely new, "Who are you, and what do you want?"

One of the figures spoke- a male with a deep, sensuous voice that somehow shook Cassian to his core. It was a voice of decay and ruin, the final sigh one made in their last seconds of life, "My name is Hades, and I have come to your land in search of my wife."