Chapter Text
The journey into Velaris was accompanied by a fluttering of nerves. Cassian’s own and Nesta’s. They’d chosen to go shortly after Oliver fell asleep with a belly full of milk – and whilst the others remained abed to avoid their nosy questioning. They’d read into it when there was nothing to find there. Cassian simply wanted Feyre’s sister to feel at home in Velaris. He would do this for anybody. Truly.
They had made a sling using a blanket that Cassian had from Illyria. He’d seen many females carry their babies that way but ensuring that Oliver was secured and nestled against Nesta correctly took many attempts where he almost woke up. And many more moments where his hand would brush against the soft skin of Nesta’s neck as he adjusted the knot of the sling or where his fingers would trail down her back to tug it into place. Each time felt like he was pushing against a boundary, searching for weak spots.
Her grey eyes were wary as she took in the sprawling city which was gilded by the early sun. He was biased, but Velaris was a jewel. It was far better than any other fae city, and superior to any mortal dwelling. They crossed the Sidra, pausing to admire the rush of water beneath the bridge, then passed the markets which were assembling for the day.
‘Nothing seems to be open yet,’ Nesta said, brows scrunching together.
‘We’re a tad early. There’s a tea house on the corner which is open for the early riser – and the cake is delicious.’
It was empty inside although the friendly waitress – a lesser fae with pale blue skin and opalescent scales upon her neck – was happy to see them. They were led to a table with a chair to accommodate his wings. She cooed over Oliver as he slept then reeled off a list of teas. Nesta was pale and silent, the words not registering so Cassian ordered for her.
‘Those first few months are all about survival,’ the waitress said, reading Nesta’s silence as exhaustion rather than discomfort.
‘A strong tea will do the job,’ joked Cassian.
They nursed their teas in silence. Steam spiralled into the air as they watched the residents of Velaris move past the glass window as the morning unfurled.
‘She is blue,’ Nesta said at last.
He hadn’t quite anticipated the culture shock. Mortals weren’t blue. She had probably never seen anybody who didn’t look like her. His own brown skin was already different, add in the wings and tattoos, it was no wonder Nesta hadn’t opened her arms to them. The introduction of lesser fae was pushing her far beyond what was comfortable.
‘Yes. And I have wings.’ Cassian pointed to the elderly male hobbling past the window. ‘He has horns. And Azriel has shadows who talk to him.’
Cassian wasn’t good with words. He had never been. He wasn’t like Rhys who could wield them as effectively as weapons. Sometimes he wished he was like Azriel who rarely spoke at all rather than putting his foot in it constantly.
‘Nesta, you can’t make a puzzle with the same pieces. Our differences make us stronger. Now, we have a mortal in Velaris – two actually, one big and one little.’
‘What other colours am I to expect?’
Cassian thought on it for a moment then replied, ‘I’ve never seen a fae who was green.’
That was a lie. Nesta’s face was turning slightly green as she took in his words. It wasn’t meant to be like this. She was meant to feel at home in his city, just as Feyre did, not be driven away.
He cleared his throat. ‘Everything is safe here, Nesta. This city is veiled and warded and guarded. Its citizens are good.’
Nesta’s hands cradled Oliver over the sling. She released one to sip at her tea. He wished he could read her expression, but where Feyre was an open book, her elder sister was too guarded for such a thing. Her brows were drawn downwards, lips pursed. She sat very still, a stillness that was eerily fae-like.
‘May I ask you a question, Cassian?’
He bit down on the urge to celebrate that she wanted to talk more with him. With a cool, almost indifferent expression he motioned for her to go ahead.
‘You and Azriel are Illyrian. Why are you two the only ones in this city if the Night Court is such a good place?’ Nesta’s eyes saw too much. Their colour reminded him of a blade. Her words would cut him as such. ‘You spoke of an army – two armies; one with wings, one with darkness – that would protect us all and yet none are here in this city. Are Illyrians good people? It feels to me that this city is a cage to protect itself from what exists beyond its own borders.’
The need to settle her nerves battled against the desire for honesty. Nesta never would step foot in Illyria and be exposed to its barbaric ways – but he was built by them. Illyria wasn’t a good place. Its people weren’t good.
‘They took you from your mother and forced you to fight as a child. I do not believe a nation born of blood and pain can be good,’ she continued. Instead of anger, compassion blazed in her eyes and suddenly Cassian was a little boy all alone in the world again. Gently, she asked, ‘Did I make the right decision to bring my son here?’
The alternative was remaining in the mortal lands with a war threatening their existence. Here, they would have a chance. Nesta and her son would be safe. More than that, they would find their happiness too.
‘Yes,’ he vowed. Cassian would ensure that they had their happiness.
‘I think of Oliver being taken from me because of the manner of his birth. How he would carry a sin upon his back through no fault of his own and I cannot bear it, Cassian. I look at you and wonder how you survived it at all.’
He dared to reach across the table to squeeze her fingers. ‘I am like a rash that you can’t get rid of.’
Finally, laughter made her face light up. Cassian could hardly breathe when faced with Nesta’s beauty. She was a dream brought to life. Nesta did not speak again, but she began eating the slice of cake on the table and he caught her fighting off a smile again and again.
***
Despite her initial trepidation, Velaris had more to offer her son than their sleepy, little village. Cassian had insisted upon holding a fidgety Oliver who had woken as they browsed the market, but she continued to keep an eye on them in case he darted into the sky. Oliver seemed to fit into one of his hands, they were so enormous. And whatever item that her eyes lingered on, Cassian insisted they buy. When the subject of payment came up, Cassian also insisted that Feyre had given him money from Rhys’ bottomless account. When he spoke, his cheeks had been dusted with pink and he had scratched at the back of his neck. Had he stolen the money?
Shop assistants were sent ahead to the home with their purchases to leave their arms free. Oliver would not want for anything. There would be no way to repay Feyre for the generosity but Nesta would try, even if it meant cleaning their mansions from top to bottom for the rest of her life.
Cassian led them to dressmakers and seamstresses despite Nesta’s protests that she did not want anything for herself. The guilt for how much had already been purchased was a heavy weight to carry. He refused to listen to her pleas whilst also refusing to return Oliver until she had at least browsed the swathes of materials. It was tempting – but this wasn’t her money to waste. As long as her son was fed and loved and taken care of, Nesta did not care if she wore rags or starved. When Nesta remained silent at Cassian’s questioning of which gowns she preferred, he took the lead and asked for dresses that were similar to the one she already wore. He asked for square necklines and long sleeves in various shades of pale blue to grey.
‘No pinks or yellows,’ he said to the elderly seamstress who was nodding and noting down his words. ‘But she will need clothes for the Velaris’ summer.’
‘Leathers too? Fighting and training?’
‘No,’ Cassian refuted quickly. ‘Nesta is a new mother. Maybe dresses that are easier for her to feed her son in though.’
The female finished writing then said they could expect the clothes in a handful of days. Before Nesta could protest and declare they were unwanted, Cassian ushered her from the store with a firm around her shoulders and Oliver nestled in his other arm.
When Oliver grew grizzly for another feed, panic began settling in. She had only ever fed him in the comfort of her home. It was too far to the house and flying was out of the question entirely. Cassian took her by the hand and cut a path through the busy market whilst her son thrashed and cried. Eventually, they stopped at a bench nestled between two cherry trees which were soaked in pink blossoms near the edge of the river. Piles of blossom were scattered across the floor too.
The breath whooshed out of Nesta as Cassian stepped in to aid her; her hand which had been scrabbling at the back of her gown for the buttons was firmly moved to the side for him to loosen them quicker. Then, he was stepping in front of her, wings spread out to preserve her modesty, keeping guard.
They spoke a little while Oliver fed. Cassian pointed out places where he liked to frequent or memories associated with them which was likely an attempt to make Nesta feel more at home. It was appreciated. Not just since Oliver’s birth, but for many years before that, Nesta had been so isolated. She couldn’t imagine how it was to love a place this way – to set down roots and want to stay.
‘Do you see that red mountain? The House of Wind is built into it.’
Nesta could not make out the windows that Cassian spoke of far in the distance and he seemed perplexed that she couldn’t until he remembered that she was mortal and her sight was far inferior to his.
Cassian joined her on the bench when Oliver had fed. He was fighting off the haze of sleep, smiles fighting against his heavy eyelids.
‘Do you think he will go blond like you?’
‘I quite like him this way. Sometimes when he smiles, it reminds me of Elain. I think he will be darker like her,’ she said, voice trailing off. It was difficult to think of Elain. In another life, Nesta would have been her most fervent protector. Oliver should have brought them closer, but instead it had cleaved their relationship in two. Elain was no longer her priority. Her sister had remained in their manor, trusting in Graysen’s family.
Cassian’s knuckles brushed down her arm. ‘She made her decision. It’s not yours to bear.’
Although she nodded in agreement, tears burnt in Nesta’s eyes. They were sisters. Sisters who should love each other and not be torn apart this way.
‘Want me to fly there and bring her back over my shoulder?’
‘It may come to that.’
The day was growing warmer but they remained on the bench together to enjoy the peace. Due to Cassian’s sheer size, they had little room though it hardly mattered. It was tempting to lean her head against his arm, but if she did then Nesta’s eyes would close and sleep would take her too, so she remained rigidly upright.
‘We still need to buy that pram,’ he reminded her.
The sunlight caught upon his dark hair, turning a few strands coppery. Men that she knew did not look like him. Nobody looked like him. Beyond the imposing size which commanded the attention of any room that he was in, his features were hewn from stone as if the wind itself had carved them. He was a masterpiece of rough, unforgiving angles. When a few strands of hair blew across his face, Nesta had to fight the urge to sweep them away.
‘Why are you being so kind to me?’
He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, gaging the temperature, then frowned. A scoffing noise came from the back of his throat. ‘You’re Feyre’s sister. Why else?’
The comment was a stone plunging through Nesta’s stomach. He only wanted to help because Feyre was his high lady. Feyre was mated to his brother. It would gain him favour with them. The care was not because of who Nesta was. Of course not. Nobody would want Nesta’s company.
***
On the approach to the house, Nesta became guarded once more. Only when she realised that the house was empty save for Feyre did she relax slightly. It was a nice enough day to spend it beneath the shade of the trees in the garden with a blanket spread upon the grass where Oliver rolled and tried to crawl.
‘You’re hogging my nephew,’ complained Feyre as Cassian blew raspberries on Oliver’s bare legs. The little rolls on them had his heart clenching in desperation to have a son to call his own too. When Oliver flexed his toes, Cassian wondered how anything so perfect could exist.
‘He likes me more than you, Feyre,’ Cassian countered.
Nesta remained quiet in a chair at the edge of the blanket. Every now and then, Cassian noticed that her eyes would close before she shook herself awake. Now that she was in Velaris, Nesta was not alone. This would be her family and they’d all help.
‘I think you should take a long, uninterrupted nap,’ suggested Cassian.
Feyre lifted Oliver into her lap then leaned down to kiss his head. ‘Your room is ten seconds away, Nesta. He will be absolutely fine. Get some rest.’
‘He’s just fed,’ added Cassian. ‘Soon, he’ll fall asleep too. If anything, we will wake you straight away.’
Suspicion narrowed her eyes. ‘Why do you want to be rid of me?’
Could Nesta look upon anything without paranoia and doubt festering within.
‘We want to help you,’ said Cassian.
With a little more cajoling, Nesta returned to her bedroom. It was the first time that she had ever been without her son, so when she appeared at the glass double-doors a couple of times, it came as no surprise. Eventually, Feyre went to check on her and returned with a satisfied smile and confirmed that Nesta was so deeply asleep that she was snoring.
Oliver lay on his back gnawing on his toes and gurgling.
‘How can Elain not want to know him?’
Feyre gave a pitying smile. ‘I wish I knew.’
The others returned once they had retreated to the house and were warned to keep quiet to not wake Nesta or Oliver who was slumbering against Cassian’s chest. The boy fit so naturally against him. Cassian had thought about being a father many times in his life, but nothing particularly deep – not in the baby stage at least. A son to play with. To wrestle with. To fly with. Not these quiet, soft moments.
Eventually, the Inner Circle dispersed with Amren returning to her apartment and Mor meeting friends for dinner then going to Rita’s. A giggling Feyre was whisked away to the House of Wind by Rhys which meant they’d have to air the place out for a week to get rid of the smell of the pair of them. Azriel, his quiet, stoic brother remained with Cassian in the living room. Shadows peered over his shoulder in curiosity at the human baby who slept with his lips parted and fingers splayed upon Cassian’s siphon.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘Watching him for a while so Nesta can rest.’
His brother motioned to the piles of items that had been delivered from the various market traders and shops around the room.
Cassian tutted. ‘She’s a young mother with nothing. Rhys pays us too much anyway and when do I spend any of it?’
Brows high, Azriel made a harrumphing noise.
‘What?’
‘Nothing,’ he said, voice dulled like a blunt blade. A few of the shadows scattered as if running away.
‘Spit it out.’
Azriel’s hazel eyes skimmed over Oliver then back to Cassian. ‘She is mortal, Cass. Whatever life you’re imagining, it can’t happen. In forty, fifty years from now, she won’t be here. And you will be the same.’
He bit down on his tongue before answering. ‘I can’t be a friend to Feyre’s sister now?’
‘Is that all that she is to you?’ Azriel stood and swept his hands against his legs. ‘I know you see your mother when you look at her too, but she isn’t her. And that little boy isn’t you. If you think he needs a father, it isn’t meant to be you, Cass.’
His siphons pulsed from the horrible truths that Azriel was pelting him with.
‘If you must, help her and spend time with her son because she is somebody you want to spend time with, not because she is someone who needs to be saved.’