Chapter Text
The color of death is not in fact white, but gold and the House plants these glowing flowers in all of the flower boxes. Bright marigolds are what the city will see if they look up to the looming mountain, and what Nesta can touch if she looks at all below. There is life found somewhere in between.
It seems even the House has gotten into the autumnal spirit.
But even without its seasonal adornments, the House already looks different. The only red walls left from its original design are the ones on the floors that Nesta barely inhabits. Where it’s once a haunted castle, the windows open to let in the sun and the shadows stumble to dark corners. The House prefers elegant whites, creams, warm browns. Touches of color here and there. Like paint blotted fingertips, the House’s touch is everywhere.
Nesta is everywhere.
The House seems to know what she likes, or perhaps they have the same taste in decor as they do in books. Either way, Nesta finds no complaints.
There’s a living room now. A table for casual dining. Bookshelves, and closets. There’s a couch large enough for a full family or just three Valkyries who lounge lazily after training... or two mates who sit by the fireplace when it rains, the crackling covered up by the music of a symphonia.
There’s a patio. It juts out of two wide double doors and there’s enough space for the hanging chair that sways slightly in the breeze. It will be the perfect place to set the pumpkins. She leaves the doors open as she goes over everything once more. Let’s that breeze cool the warm home, the curtains dancing in its wind.
There’s apple cider already poured with an apple slices stuck to each glass. There are paring knives and spoons and bowls for the guts that spill. She thinks she’ll roast the seeds... or try at least. Nesta remembers the taste. The salt. There is food, of course. All sorts of nuts and sweets. She gets some this morning with Cassian, before he heads off to Illyria. He leaves with a kiss to her lips, and a note to save two pumpkins for them to carve later, however strange to him it may be.
Now, Nesta waits, and when she hears a knock on her suite's door, she tries not to run so fast she trips.
Emerie holds up a bag, “I brought the candles.”
Gwyn follows quickly behind. “And Merrill is off at a meeting, thank the Mother, so I’m completely free for the afternoon. Now will you tell me what we’re doing?”
Nesta smiles at her friends, gesturing towards the table brimming with goods. Three large pumpkins sit and stare. They have no faces yet, but Nesta can already see their grins.
“We’re carving pumpkins.”
Her words are met with silence as Gwyn purses her lips. The idea sounds strange she knows, but how strange? A House’s heart lives on the seventh floor and before that there was a nightmarish beast. Gwyn only hums.
“It’s a human thing,” Emerie explains with a wave of her hand. “We carve a scary face, light a candle, and the pumpkin will... deter the fae?”
The ridges between Gwyn’s brows grow deeper.
“But we’re just carving them because I thought it might be fun,” Nesta adds.
She can hear the loud ticking of the clock as Gwyn stares. Nesta thinks it might have been a bad idea... After all, her traditions are rooted in fear. Everything about a human is fearful. From the pretty dresses tied so tight they choke, to their ash-made houses and doors. There is nothing about Nesta that didn’t fear they wouldn’t come and rip them to shreds as a human.
Why now does she want to celebrate this?
But Gwyn goes to the bucket of spiced walnuts and reaches for a hand. She begins to nod slowly, looking to the gourds. Plump and bright orange. She knocks a walnut back, before slapping at the largest, “I call this pumpkin.”
Emerie holds on to the stem of the one she chooses, turning it around to examine each side. Nesta can already tell both are going to take this activity way too seriously.
“We just make a face?”
“Make a face,” she confirms, nodding slowly. “Some people make smiling faces because they think if they welcome the fae, the fae will be less likely to rip out their heart.” Nesta laughs awkwardly and Gwyn and Emerie smirk at each other. “Some people make faces that are meant to invoke fear, thinking they might possibly scare them off… I just wanted to simply carve pumpkins.”
“Will it deter the pompous war lords who keep asking for cheap leathers?” Emerie asks.
Nesta’s lips turn up lightly. “They just might.”
“I’m in,” Gwyn says excitedly.
“So am I.” Emerie grins.
~
To the surprise of no one, Gwyn ends up being the best at carving. By the time they are through, Gwyn has made a carving of a forest—trees with leaves that branch out at the top with smaller pumpkins at the bottom. It’s a scene straight out of the Autumn court.
“How in the world do you end up good at this?” Nesta remarks, though no ill feelings coat her words. If anything, Nesta is proud that Gwyn is so good at everything and doesn’t care that Nesta boasts about her friend’s skills.
“I read a book about carving once.”
“I’m going to need to borrow that book,” Emerie laughs, turning her pumpkin over to show her two friends. A big mouth with pointy teeth covers most of the front of the pumpkin, with two tiny holes for eyes. A monstrous beast, Nesta thinks.
“Perfectly fearful,” Nesta says proudly.
Nesta still hasn’t finished hers but she is unashamed of her creation even if she accidentally hacks off a part of the pumpkin’s mouth.
“Did you do this with your sisters growing up?” Gwyn asks curiously.
Nesta pauses at that, holding the knife up in the air.
“No? I’m not sure. They might have…with each other, but we didn’t do it together.”
Nesta would have been ashamed to reveal that if they were anyone else, but she merely shrugs lightly. The feelings sit on her lap like a black little cat and she lets it softly stay there. She notices it and let’s it rest. Thankfully, Nesta finds that the memories don’t hurt as much as they once did.
Still, she doesn’t want to explain to them that her mother abhorred having children, and that she’d been raised to… well.. not be one. Other children will teach you bad habits, her mother had said. She was rarely ever allowed to play with Feyre and Elain.
Gwyn nods and so does Emerie, and she’s glad that they don’t look at her as if something’s wrong—that she’s wrong and pitiful and pathetic. In fact, she can only see understanding in their gazes, and it’s Emerie who changes the subject when Nesta says no more.
“No one should ever trust you with a knife again.”
Emerie turns Nesta’s pumpkin to Gwyn.
“I think you should call this one, Cassian.”
~
Nesta stares at the ceiling, thinking of tradition as she counts Cassian’s snores. His arm lies heavy across her stomach and he nuzzles her neck as he shifts. Always closer—that’s what Cassian wants even in slumber. Nesta can barely sleep, the thoughts run rampant in her brain, and she might have slipped out of his arms, if she knew without a doubt that she wouldn’t wake him.
She learns soon after mating that Cassian is a light sleeper. She can barely muster a tip-toe before he scatters awake, ready for some battle in the middle of the dark. Nesta doesn’t find it in herself to wake him so early… or late. She’s not so sure what time it is, but she won’t move. She rubs at his arm softly and makes up stories from shadows.
After some reflection, Nesta wonders if her sisters were ever that close. Suffering together doesn’t make one a best friend and Nesta’s not sure she can call them that either. She is now certain that they love each other even in their anger… but do they actually like each other?
Nesta’s not so sure and she keeps pushing that big boulder of a thought up a hill to no avail.
In the morning, Nesta thinks of traditions. Cassian will be at Windhaven today, training soldiers or whatever he does when he’s away. He kisses her cheek and tells her he’ll be back late in the evening.
Nesta takes the stairs down into the city.
~
“Nesta?” Rhys gives her a look that can only mean confusion.
Nesta merely takes account of his wardrobe. A button up, pressed pants, and no wings. This early, and he’s wearing half a suit. She can tell the fabric is expensive because her grandmother made her memorize swatches when she was 8. An itch in her fingers tell her that she already knows how that fabric feels—cool and butter soft.
Nesta resists wrinkling her nose.
Pretentious asshole, she wants to sing. But Nesta shoves that thought away, for what is autumn, but turning a new leaf?
“Can you help me carry something?”
Nesta doesn’t beat around the bush and she doesn’t give him much more detail then that. If she didn’t want it to be a surprise, she wouldn’t have asked for help anyway, but pumpkins are heavy and she’s not wearing her leathers.
Rhys looks at her strangely. “You want me to help you carry something? How did you even get down here?”
Nesta stares at him as if it’s obvious. “The stairs and the market is only open for a couple more hours, so we don’t have much time.”
“The market?”
Do you always ask so many questions?
”Yes, the market. Stands in middle of streets… people buying…”
“Let me just get my coat.”
It only takes him a moment to dress for cooler weather and once he’s done wrapping a scarf around his neck, Rhys reaches out his hand.
Nesta can already feel the space folding in like a piece of blank paper.
Winnowing doesn’t sit well with her. It feels dark somehow, tar in a bubbling cauldron. That sticky substance her nursemaid would feed her every time she was sick—her secret recipe for naughty children who wouldn't keep their coats on when it rained.
“Can we walk?” Nesta asks, stepping back abruptly.
Rhys frowns and for a moment he doesn’t look like any high lord. Nesta wishes on my many occasions that he isn’t--that he’s merely a man who loves her sister, who throws parties for his son’s first day, first week, first month. Not someone who holds his chin as high as her.
“Winnowing makes me nauseous,” she explains, looking to the house instead of at her... brother-in-law who sees too much for his own good and asks to many questions.
Rhys only nods, gesturing to the path leading towards the city.
~
She doesn’t know what to talk about and her chest thrums with a nervous vibration. Vaguely, she thinks of drums. Hard, consistent beats with a bonfire at the end. People waiting for the sacrifice. Nesta’s sure she’ll be one by the end, spit roasted like a hog.
“Cassian’s gone by the way,” she says after a moment. It comes out more haughty than she intends. “Or he would have helped.”
Rhys shrugs, smiling lightly. It’s friendly and she doesn’t know what that look means when she’s only seen it when he gazes at other people. Vaguely, it reminds her of that expression he makes when he’s trying to put someone at ease.
Is she so nervous looking that he wishes to appease her?
The thought makes her want to scoff.
“I’m always here if you need me, Nesta.”
She wonders if that’s true, and Rhys must see enough apprehension in her eyes, because his brows furrow deeply. Nesta looks away—to the city. She used to hate the city and now she yearns for the distraction.
At least Velaris is a sight. The path across the Sidra is lined with lanterns that are not yet lit. Leaves are woven in between string lights. Gold, gold, and more gold. Velaris is rich with the scent of autumn.
Once they get to the stands, the market is brimmed with people. She sees Tom as he waves a hand.
“More pumpkins Miss Nesta?” the male asks.
Nesta nods, smiling politely at the fae who sets out a few that are perfectly round without any scratches.
He cups a hand beside his mouth, whispering loudly, “The best for my best customer.”
Nesta’s grin widens at that.
There’s a certain warmth to the male that has her smiling without a care. Many of Velaris citizens are like that, she finds. At first, she abhors the fact that everyone knows her name, knows who she is and what she’s done, but now when people wave at her or tell her high, Nesta only sees friendliness as opposed to... whatever it was before.
Nesta doesn’t really know. She never truly looks, so she can’t say if they’ve always been like this. But now, like the trees are whispering advice to her, Nesta looks and listens.
Nesta speaks.
So, she asks the male in his overall jeans, with his rough tumbling beard about his wife and kids. She’s seen them before—at the pumpkin patch a few days prior and Tom lights up at the question.
“Little Cherry’s doing all right and so is Peach. Though, they’re still not happy being back in school,” he says jovial.
Cherry and Peach. Nesta jots them down in her mind. She’ll bring them up the next time like some sort of game. How many names can she rake up like leaves?
“Now Mary... She’s the one who’s exuberant at the change of season. She’s like you, running around this place, visiting every booth.”
“Well,” Nesta shrugs, remembering Rhys is there—probably watching the entire interaction as if he’s never known her capable of being friendly. “There’s just something about the air in the fall.”
“You’re right about that,” Tom agrees cheekily.
Nesta watches as the male points to the two pumpkins, he thinks she’ll like the best and they’re gloriously orange. Bright and perfectly plump.
“If you don’t mind me asking... how many pies are you baking?”
Nesta laughs outright, the question comical. She laughs a bright, loud sound. She’ll tell Cassian that when he gets home. Someone thinks she bakes.
“I do not bake anything... I eat baked goods,” she shrugs, the musical lark still in her lungs.
Tom frowns, “You’re not baking pies for the Harvest? Then... what have you been doing with all these pumpkins?”
“I carve them,” she replies contentedly.
The male gives her the same look Cassian, Emerie, and Gwyn also give her at the idea. A furrow of the brows, the pause in the step.
How strange can it be? She wants to ask. She’s seen flying horses and they’ve never gotten that look.
“Why—why would you carve them? You don’t eat them?”
“To...” Nesta pauses as she contemplates her words. She can’t very well say it’s to deter fae now, can she? “Stave off ghosts.”
A female behind her gasps so loudly that Nesta jumps at the sound. The fae’s skin is made of tree bark and Nesta tries to flatten her expression as the female tramples up to Tom’s booth. She didn’t know skin could be made of tree bark.
“Have there been siting of spirits?”
She looks to Rhys, but he’s looking past her, pinching his nose.
Someone else yells, “Should we be worried about a demonic presence in the city?”
“No, no” Rhys quickly dismisses, putting on that innerving, practiced smile, “There’s nothing demonic or ghostly. Nothing malicious is going on here.”
A voice from the back of the gathering crowd, scoffs. “Would you tell us if there was?”
Nesta decides she likes that person, whoever they are.
“Of course!” Rhys says, ever the pleasant leader, “Lady Nesta is just...”
Nesta raises a brow. Just what?
Her brother-in-law looks quickly away. “Being prepared.”
That doesn’t seem to appease the bark-skinned female though. She raises a fan of crisp silver bills, “I’ll take four pumpkins.”
“Would other squash work?” Nesta hears.
“Will there be a pumpkin shortage?”
But Nesta doesn’t bother with them as she looks beyond Tom to the pumpkins in the back. Pumpkins with blue ribbons tacked to their stem.
If her pumpkins are big, these pumpkins are huge. Fae sized and glorious.
She wants them.
Nesta gestures to Tom to look. “That one,” she says.
“I can load one up for you, Miss Nesta.”
“That’s alright, my… brother-in-law can get it.”
Rhys’ voice lowers. “You want me to carry pumpkins?”
Nesta nods.
“To the House?”
“To your house. I was hoping you could winnow them over. Unless of course you want to carry them, yourself.”
“I get it… that why you’re Cassian’s mate. You both cost me an arm and a leg.”
“Not like you don’t have two of each,” she grumbles.
~
Feyre comes out with Nyx, and the baby reaches toward them. Of course, Rhys ever the father he is, holds his arms out for his son, but Nyx’s little body pits past him. To Nesta.
His favorite.
Nyx babbles loudly as she grasps his small frame and Nesta tries to hide her satisfied smile in her kiss. She doesn’t hide it well. She holds out the tiny pumpkin for him and he grabs it from her hand.
“I thought we could carve pumpkins,” Nesta says, bouncing the growing boy on her hip.
Feyre tilts her head, “Like when we were little?”
Yes, Nesta wants to say, exactly like when we were little.
Nesta only nods casually, “I got a baby pumpkin for Nyx and one for us.”
“Is that why there’s a giant pumpkin on the porch?” Feyre gestures to the orange thing. It’s gloriously huge and Nesta feels giddy just staring at it. She’ll be covered in pumpkin guts for the rest of the day. She’ll probably have to pick it out of her hair, but by the end there will be a gargantuan face lit with the biggest candle she can find.
Her sister pauses, looking at her curiously, noticing her excitement. “Are you... feeling, okay? No sickness? Any fever? You look a little flushed.”
“I’m not sick,” Nesta answers, confused. “Why would I be?”
“I don’t know,” Her little sister shrugs, “you just show up out of the blue, wanting to do something together, and you’ve never done that before. You want to do an activity that’s going to be messy. You know that’s going to be messy right?”
Nesta frowns as Feyre lists off all the way that pumpkin carving can go awry. She can feel herself sinking where she stands.
Maybe it isn’t a good idea, after all. Maybe pumpkins are only fascinating to her... Maybe it has less to do with pumpkins and more to do with the fact that she’s not her sister’s friend. Nyx babbles with that pumpkin shoved in his mouth, drooling all over.
It’s fine, Nesta thinks. She can’t be mad at that. Autumn can’t fix all things. Besides, she’s more embarrassed than anything. She even involved Rhys. She’s sure he’ll never forget. Maybe they’ll do her a favor and pretend the whole thing was just a crazy dream.
Nesta exhales a laugh, and the sound is strange and muffled as her sister pauses, abruptly. “Sorry, I just... I can leave.” She shakes her head, looking toward that pumpkin. Even without a menacing face, it makes her stomach twist in knots. “Cassian can pick up the pumpkin later. Azriel too probably. It’s heavy. It must be, right? It’s huge... I don’t know why I bought the largest.”
Her rambling is enough to make her want to run out of the room, and her cheeks feel warm to the touch. Maybe she is sick.
But Feyre raises her hands as if to stop her. She looks at her as if her sister’s grown two heads. Oh, nice, Nesta thinks, another person who thinks I’ve gone crazy.
“No. No! I don’t mean you should leave. I just... I meant... I don’t know what I meant. It’s just not like you...” Feyre sighs, “is what I mean. But... I’m glad you’re here.”
“You are?”
Feyre laughs, smiling sheepishly. Her cheeks are also painted a pretty shade of red and for that Nesta doesn’t feel so bad. “I am. I want to carve pumpkins and make pumpkin seeds. And—oh!”
Feyre snaps her fingers, going towards the kitchen. “I made cake. I tried... anyway. I was going to go give it you.”
“To me?”
“Yeah... I wanted to come over, but I didn’t know if it would be okay. So, I just thought I’d make a cake and see. But now that I think of it, you already have the House which probably makes you much better cake than I can.”
Her little sister pulls out lump of a cake. Still in the tin of the baking sheet. It’s chocolate she can tell by the coating on the edge, with chocolate frosting swirled haphazardly. Nesta smiles to see it.
“You can visit me anytime,” she says softly. “Cake or no cake.”
But Feyre hesitates and for a moment, Nesta wonders what else is the problem. “Do you want me to get Elain?”
Nesta shrugs simply, not sure what to say about her other sister. She’d been strangely aloof these days—gardening. “I want to carve pumpkins, so it’s up to you who’s included.”
Feyre looks at her and looks outside to the big pumpkin, and then looks to Nyx who holds up the baby pumpkin in his chubby hands.
“Maybe it can just be me and you today... and Nyx.”
Nesta smiles shyly. “I think that would be okay.”
~
It’s Feyre who inevitably drops her off at the House with a promise to return sometime soon. Nesta can’t wait to change into her nightgown and finish reading her book, and as she walks into the living room, she sees Cassian holding up the pumpkin she’s made.
“Gwyn said this was me.”
“Well, what can I say? You didn’t train me how to carve.”