Chapter Text
Cassian lands on the patio with a force that shakes the vases on the mantlepiece. His only remotely gentle movement is sliding the glass door shut behind him; Rhys yelled at him once, decades ago, when his tantrum shattered both doors and the window directly above it all at once. An incident they all remember, clearly.
He stalks over to the armchair opposite Amren’s and drops himself into it. In her peripheral, she sees him run a hand over his face. He sighs loudly. He wants acknowledgement. She says, “You landed so roughly I felt the vibrations in my chair.”
“I’m not apologizing.”
Amren doesn’t look up from her book. “No luck, then?”
“No luck?” Cassian snorts. “She turned me away before I even opened my mouth. It’s a new record.”
“What did you do this time?”
“Why do you always assume I ‘did something this time’?” Cassian’s voice slides into a vocal fry at the end, his air quotes overexaggerated.
“No, really.” Amren flips the page. He sounded nothing like her. “What did you do?”
“I knocked ,” he deadpans. “I knocked, and this time I waited for her to open it, which she did, and when I opened my mouth, she shut the door in my face.”
“That sounds like she’s using her sense, if anything.”
Cassian makes a disgruntled noise.
Amren skips ahead in her book. Maybe one of the later would have the answer she was looking for, or something to lead her in the right direction, at the very least.
She’s not distracted, but she catches the footsteps padding down the stairs, into the hallway, the kitchen, silent. Cassian perks up. “Hey. Rhys.” No response. “Rhys!”
“ What. ”
Amren shuts the book; there’s nothing left for her to check, and now she’ll need someone to fly her to the House of Wind so she can scour the underground library for others. One of the books should have something, anything—
“I know the love of your life is in the hands of her ex-lover, doing her newfound duty as High Lady to spy for us and all, but did she mention anything about how to get through to her sisters?”
Rhys pops his head out of the kitchen, empty mug visible in his hand. The pot of water behind him has yet to boil. “Excuse me?”
“Nesta’s downright insufferable, Rhys.” Cassian stands up and walks over to him. His gestures cover a wide space in an attempt to get his point across, whatever that may be. “The House should be open to all of us, right? She didn’t let me in. She didn’t even let me speak . It’s our place, too. I haven’t even seen the other one since we brought them to Velaris.” He runs a hand through his hair. “How are we supposed to take care of them when Nesta’s shutting me out—literally—and one of them is near nonexistent?”
“Elain,” Rhys says. “The other one has a name. That aside, you already know they went through a tough time in Hybern.”
“I do already know. I was there. My wings were shredded to strips, remember?” Cassian crosses his arms. “I just want to make sure they have everything they need: food, water, comfort, entertainment—”
“We have two libraries in the House of Wind alone.”
“I also believe,” Amren finally adds, “that the last thing the Archeron sisters need is you trying to get them into bed.”
Cassian whips around to look at Amren, eyes wide. Shades of pink climb up his neck. “Mother Above, I did not mean that type of entertainment. Just—other things. Anything. They can’t live off of just books, could they?”
Amren shrugs. She opens her book again, looking over information she’s already read in order to look preoccupied again, but her attention is still fully on Cassian and Rhysand.
“If I’m being honest,” Cassian says, probably to Rhysand but also Amren, “Nesta doesn’t look well. She’s much thinner than when we brought her here. It’s been three weeks. I’d imagine Elain looks similar, and it’s not healthy.”
“I’m not going to tell you they’re fine because they aren’t,” Rhys says, stepping back into the kitchen. The hiss from the boiling water subsides. “But if they needed us for anything, they know how to call for us. Nesta gave me her word that she would ask for help. I’m sure all they want is time alone to help them recover—no disturbances.”
“So I’m a disturbance now.”
“You’ve visited the house, what, six times already?”
“Four and a half. I wouldn’t count today as a proper check-in.” Cassian doesn’t argue—just corrects him—but he’s met with silence. Rhysand is probably giving him a look, because then he says, “Okay, okay. Fine. I’ll leave them for now, but I’m going to check on them again next week. Seven whole days uninterrupted.”
“I should try and stop you, but I’m not going to bother.” Rhys heads for the stairs again. “I’m sure Nesta could throw you into the Sidra herself if it came down to it. Now—I have a meeting I need to attend to. I’ll be back later tonight.”
Footsteps fade into the background. Cassian sinks back into the same chair, the worn leather creaking gently under his weight. A tense silence fills the room, and Amren only hopes that what’s coming isn’t actually coming.
“Say, Amren—”
“No.”
“What, you’re not going to let me get a word out, either?”
“You’re going to ask me something about the Archeron sisters.”
“I—” Cassian clears his throat. “It’s not a request that needs to be done right this instant. Or any time today.” He pauses. “It could wait a day or two.”
Amren tosses her book onto the carpet and looks at the Illyrian warrior with her signature unwavering gaze. “So then what, exactly, are you about to ask me, still regarding the Archeron sisters, to be done on a different today?”
Cassian grimaces. “Check on them and see if they need anything?”
“You already said you wouldn’t disturb them for seven days.”
“Yes, but that’s why I wouldn’t be going. And I don’t expect you to go more than this one time.”
“Cassian—”
“Anyways, I’ve thought of two options. You can either wait until the week is up and I’ll fly you over to the House of Wind, and mull over this request for the whole seven days, or you can get it over with by asking Azriel to take you. It could just be that Nesta doesn’t enjoy my presence.”
Amren raises an eyebrow. “And you think she’ll enjoy mine?”
Cassian shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe. You won’t know until you try, right?” Amren stares at him just long enough to get him to raise his hands in the air, innocent. “I’m just asking you to do it once, Amren. Even if it goes well, you never have to do it again.”
She pretends to think about it. She’s already willing to check on them—she has her own reason to visit the House of Wind—but he doesn’t know that. “Maybe if you can convince me on why I should help you, I’ll consider it.”
“They were Made,” he says, sitting forward in his chair. Amren had expected a lighthearted proposition, but the look on his face tells her that he’s serious. “They’re Made, just like Feyre was, just like you were. We know nothing about Elain other than she’s an Archeron sister, but there’s something about Nesta that—that thrums with power. We all know it just from watching her transformation even though we don’t know anything about it. Especially if this involves some sort of useful skill, cooperation would be helpful for the oncoming war, whether any of us enjoy it or not.”
Amren shuts her eyes and lets out a fumbled curse in her mother tongue. He’s right. “Fine. I’ll get Azriel.”
“Thank you, truly.” Cassian’s shoulders deflate, relieved, but then his face twitches. “And, uh, one more thing? Don’t tell Azriel that I asked you to do this.”
The next day, Azriel flies Amren to the House of Wind. She told him she needed more books to read—which is true—and he didn’t ask any questions. They opt for landing on the balcony instead of by the front door.
“Should I come back to get you?” Azriel asks, curiously eyeing the inside. No one had stepped foot in the House of Wind since the Archeron sisters arrived except for Cassian, and even his stays were limited. Amren would be lying if she said she didn’t feel a little strange about this.
“I think I’ll need about thirty minutes, so it’s up to you.”
“I’ll patrol for a bit, then.”
“Okay.” The glass doors open with ease. Azriel leaves her once she’s inside.
There’s nowhere else to eat in the House of Wind other than this room, bu Amren doesn’t have to inspect the table to see the even layer of dust coating it. There are no signs that anyone has eaten food here. The only other place they would be able to eat something comfortably is in their given quarters, which is fine, but a mild worry settles into Amren about whether they’re eating the food that’s delivered to them.
The House is silent as she walks through the halls, carefully listening into every room to see where the Archeron sisters are. She hears some shuffling behind one of the doors farther down the hall, but she’ll only open it if she can’t find them anywhere else.
According to Cassian’s suggestions, the aboveground library should have been the first place she checked; every time he made it inside during a visit, Nesta would have a new book in hand with her finger holding her place. Amren isn’t in the mood to talk to someone as hot-tempered as Nesta, and she considers giving up and telling Azriel let’s not and say we did , but as she approaches the library, she sees the door is wide open.
Nesta Archeron is exactly where Cassian had predicted: in one of the armchairs by the largest window, sitting ramrod straight, legs cast out in front of her, her nose buried in the current book. It’s a side view, and her golden brown hair falls around her shoulder in a braid. Even from where Amren stands, she can tell Nesta’s dress falls and bunches where it’s supposed to be more formfitting.
Her worry sinks further, but she pushes back her doubts and raps her knuckles on the open door.
Nesta doesn’t react to the sound—her eyes don’t even lift from her book. Her pretty features harden into something razor-sharp. “I was really hoping you wold leave without trying to get my attention,” she says into the pages. “I don’t know why Cassian or his little friends insist on checking up on us so often, but you should all stop acting as if you care about us. We are simply stuck here, no thanks to Feyre.”
Amren blinks. No matter the temperament, she didn’t expect to be reprimanded .
“All I want,” Nesta continues, “is access to the underground library, but I don’t have to look at you to know you can’t grant me that. So before you ask, we just want to be left alone. I don’t need anything, Elain doesn’t need anything, and especially nothing from you or your kind.
The venom in her final words hangs in the air between them. Amren wants to take a book of the shelf and throw it so that it grazes Nesta’s nose. Something to grab her attention and get her off her high horse. But—they don’t know each other. She’s prickly, she doesn’t know Amren’s situation, and she probably doesn’t understand that other High Fae—Made, not born—exist outside of the Archerons.
Even still, Amren wants to laugh. Either Rhysand blocked her from the underground library or the House of Wind doesn’t like this setup any more than the rest of them. She wasn’t about to bring Nesta down there with her, and Nesta can’t open the doors on her own. Oh well.
She spends the rest of her time collecting the necessary research books, tucking as many as can fit into a leather messenger bag wider than her torso.
At the end of the half hour, she’s back in the dining room, watching as Azriel lands on the balcony, eyebrows raised.
Amren opens the balcony door. “I tried to check on them.”
“And?”
“Spent four minutes and seven seconds on that. Must be a new record.” She jostles her bag. “I was underground for the rest of it.”
“I guess it was worth a shot.” Azriel slides one hand behind her knees and another around her waist, preparing to take off. “Where should I drop you off?”
“My place. Cassian can wait until tomorrow to hear about how it went.”
“He told you to check up on them, didn’t he?”
“I will neither confirm nor deny.”
“I can also tell him how it went so you don’t have to.”
Amren laughs. “You’re an angel, you know that?”
“I think you’ve told me once or twice.” She hears his smile, watching the city below as they land on the roof of her building.
“Just tell him it went poorly, as we expected,” she says once she’s out of Azriel’s arms. “And make sure he knows I’m not doing him any personal favours for a long, long time.”