Chapter Text
“The human lands.”
“The…what?” Feyre was flabbergasted. Weren’t expecting me to do that, were you?
“You heard me. I’d pick the human lands over being locked in a house with that prick.” She knew refusing to address Cassian directly would set him off. She could almost picture the indignation on his face, but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him either.
“Now she’s just being difficult on purpose.” Amren said. Nesta was right. Being talked about as if you weren’t there was infuriating.
“ Nes , you can’t actually mean it.” There went Cassian, trying to sound like a kicked puppy.
“Yes, I can.” She felt resolute.
“Think about what life in the human lands would mean, Nesta,” Rhysand urged, false concern ringing through his tone, “Even though we worked together to defeat Hybern, Fae and human relations are…far from ideal. You’d be-”
“Surrounded by people who hate me? I already am.” Nesta spat. “At least the people chasing me with pitchforks and torches will be upfront about it instead of hiding it in some bullshit about being concerned for my well being.”
“We don’t hate you, we want to help you-” Feyre tried to interject, but Nesta cut her off. “But I hate you. This is the best thing that could have happened, actually. I never want to see your face again.” Feyre just sighed.
“That is enough!” Rhysand snarled, “Feyre has been too generous with you, time and time again, and you will not throw it in her face like this.” Both Cassian and Feyre shot him a warning look. Nesta wanted to scream.
“Nesta,” Rhysand tried again, using his look at me I’m being so patient and paternalistic and wise voice, “Have you ever heard the phrase 'cutting off your nose to spite your face’?”
Nesta just glared at him. “The human lands. You said I could choose.” She reveled in the looks of shock on their faces. “I bet you’ll be happy to finally send me away.”
There was dead silence. Nesta reveled in it. “So who’s going to winnow me there? Mor? Rhysand? Azriel?” She turned to Feyre, who gaped at her like a fish. “You?”
“Azriel can.” Rhysand cut in. “He’s more familiar with the human lands than any of us,” he closed his eyes briefly, “And he’s on his way.”
Both Feyre and Cassian whipped their heads towards Rhysand in shock and indignation, confirming Nesta’s suspicions that the human lands were a bluff. Feyre tried to protest, but Nesta cut her off. “Rhysand is fond of giving females choices, right? Prides himself on it. So I choose exile in the human lands. Unless you were lying, and there was no choice at all?”
Feyre looked stunned. “Nesta, please think of what you’re doing.”
“I’ve thought about it. I’m done. Honestly, I hope a mob with pitchforks comes and puts me out of my misery. I bet that would make you happy, wouldn’t it? Never having to deal with your evil sister again?”
“That’s enough!” Rhysand snarled, but Nesta had already shouldered her way past Cassian and grabbed the handle of the door. “I’ll wait for Azriel outside.”
She wasn’t coming back. She’d make good on her threat and find a human mob to take her out, or overcome her fear of water long enough to put some stones in her pockets and drown herself. Azriel’s protection be damned, she could find a way to get around it. And then they could drag her waterlogged body back to the Night Court and have a big hullabaloo over it as they all rushed to assure Feyre and Elain it wasn’t their fault, no, Nesta had just been defective. Or maybe they’d bury her right where they found her. She wondered if Elain would mention their house on the seaside, that they should lay Nesta down to rest in the only place where she’d ever been…well, not happy, but her happiest, surely. Nesta realized she’d never been truly content in her whole life, not as a child, not as a young woman, not as…whatever this was. And against her will, her misery had been extended from the seventy or so years humans could expect to eons. The years would march by in humdrum and monotony and misery, dragging Nesta along with them. No, better to end it all now. At least it would be her choice.
She hadn’t even realized she was crying or that Azriel was standing beside her. “I don’t want your sympathy,” she snapped, “Don’t talk to me. Don’t try to change my mind. Just, for once, do what I want and let me make my choice . I know it’s a foreign concept to your family. ”
Azriel remained impassive, his face revealing nothing. Nesta could hear the lumbering steps of Cassian, and her heart rate spiked. She couldn’t let him see her like this. She latched onto Azriel, one skeletal pale hand wrapping around his tan forearm like a vice. “Get me out! ” she screamed, “Get me out, get me out , get me out!”
Azriel did, just as Cassian threw open the door. The pained look in his hazel eyes was the last thing she saw before her world dissolved into shadow.
Several Months Earlier
Her stupid boots clanged as she walked towards him. Her horse chuffed, pawing the dirt. He was a beautiful stallion, Bron admitted to himself. Perfectly proportioned. Bred for war and hunting, surely. He wondered how much those horses went for in the human lands. He wondered if he could kill her now and take her horse. The horse nickered, as if sensing his train of thought. No. Such a beast would never be loyal to him. The spurs clinked, closer and closer, until he was staring down at brown eyes and an aquiline nose, paired with a mouth that was downturned. “Can you keep your fucking people in line?”
Bron huffed. He didn’t understand what the other humans saw in her, but they respected her enough to afford her significant influence. “Don’t you think I’m trying? I’m only the High Lord’s sentry . I don’t have that kind of power.”
“Then create it.” Her voice was unforgiving. “If they come after humans, I’ll kill them. That’s my job.”
“And if humans come after any Spring Court fae, I’ll kill them . That’s my job.” He jutted his chin out. The female was tall for a human, which was bad enough. But worse, she dressed like a male, spoke like one, carried herself like one. It wasn’t natural. Males and females had their roles to play. She should be safe in her home, the mysterious seaside manor he had heard about in whispers.
“Water wraiths drowned and ate an eight year old boy last week.” Bron’s heart twisted, but her tone was flat. A female should be emotional at the loss of a child. He exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry.”
She ground her teeth. “Sorry doesn’t bring him back, does it?”
“You have a week to get them out of the pond before I start using them for target practice," she said with perfect confidence, "Halverstead. About twenty or so miles from here. You'll know the pond when you see it." Could she really shoot at water wraiths like fish in a barrel? He glanced at the crossbow strapped to her saddle bag. He heard stories about her aim, too. “Well, you can’t keep killing the pixies.” He retorted. She rolled her eyes. “They’re pests. They eat people’s crops. We do away with rats, birds, and bugs that try it too. Nothing personal.”
“No, no.” He tried to reason with her. “Those are only the ones in Autumn. Spring Court ones are good pollinators. They might eat a little to sustain themselves, but their magic will help the crops flourish. It will more than make up for whatever they eat. I promise.”
She sighed again. “And how can I tell the difference?”
“The coloring. Spring Court will be blue, Autumn Court red.”
“Wow. Convenient.” The wind gently blew through her hair. “I’ll spread the word, but I can’t guarantee people will listen.”
“That’s all you can do.” He said amiably. He thought her odd, but didn’t want her to dislike him.
“And the High Lord?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Which one?” Bron scoffed. She didn’t ask for clarification, just stared at him expectantly. It irked him, made him think of his childhood tutor, waiting for an answer he couldn’t give. “The High Lord of Night. Rhysand. He was here. We scented him, and now Tamlin’s in an even worse spiral. I don’t know what was said, but it was bad.”
She ran a hand over her face. “What the fuck is his problem? Tamlin’s tied to the land’s magic, and he’s got no relatives or children as far as we know. I know he’s incompetent, but we can’t get rid of him when we’re not even sure who, if anyone , can succeed him.” Bron bristled at how casually she mentioned killing Tamlin, offended not only that a mere human thought she could take out the High Lord, but the casualty she suggested dispatching his old friend. Tamlin wasn’t well, had been terrible the last few years but…but there was still loyalty. Hundreds of years of him being a just and kind Lord, a loyal friend, and honorable male. She couldn’t dismiss him so quickly. It wasn’t fair. She either didn’t notice or ignored his change in demeanor as she continued, “I don’t understand why he keeps provoking him. Doesn’t he know that the whole court will follow Tamlin into disarray?”
“Maybe that’s his plan. Maybe he wants to take over.” Bron had never been a schemer, more accustomed to taking orders than giving them. He couldn’t see the long game that Rhysand had, or if there even was one at all. “But he’s sending Summer soldiers to protect the border, since we can’t muster our own forces anymore.” He suddenly wanted to impress her, wanted her to stop speaking to him like she knew better. “Maybe he’s allied with Summer, and they’re both going to take over, and split our territory between them.”
“Maybe.” He listened to her flat tone, peered at the dark circles under her eyes.
“Or maybe they’re all working together with Autumn.” He tried again.
“If they were working with Autumn, why would they send soldiers to stop them crossing into our territory?”
Bron felt like a stupid child all over again, stumbling over his letters as he tried to read. “To…to trick us. Maybe they have a deal, and Summer will let Autumn through, and only pretend to be guarding our border.”
“That’s a possibility.” She allowed, in a tone that made it clear she was indulging him. He stuttered out, “Well, have you seen any Autumn soldiers in the human territories? Scouts and the like?” She raised her eyebrows, as though she was about to let him in on a funny secret. “Yes, a couple. But they don’t always see me.”
“Does Beron know you’re dispatching them?”
“If he did, you think I’d be standing here?”
“So you can really cover your tracks.” He said, impressed despite himself.
She hummed. “I’m not that good. But I have my own suspicions about that matter that I’ll leave to myself.” The horse chuffed again, hoofing the ground impatiently. The woman went back to him, her spurs clinking. She swung herself up into the saddle effortlessly, and began to trot away. She called over her shoulder, “The water wraiths, Bron. One week. Don’t forget.” Bron watched her go, the stallion beginning to trot, and then canter. It really was a beautiful horse.