Chapter Text
The scent of October is the heady aroma of warm cinnamon buns, and the taste must be scalding apple cider. Nesta takes a sip and then a bite, scrunching her nose when she can’t stop the icing from getting all over her mouth.
Yes, autumn must be embodied in cinnamon.
Cassian raises a brow, “Take a bigger bite and you’re going to choke.”
Nesta grumbles a fuck off as she chews. Emerie, who blows on her steaming cup of tea, laughs a sweet, light sound. Nesta would laugh too, if she didn’t take Cassian’s warning about choking, seriously.
Her mate merely rolls his eyes and the color is another thing that reminds her of autumn. Burnished amber that makes her think of almonds. The ones that are candied. Sold at the second booth near the bridge. Nesta’s going to buy a bag before they leave. Not that they feel the need anytime soon.
The city has been overtaken by autumn, and not just because of the trees that are as vibrant as Feyre’s paints, but because a festival sprawls throughout Velaris. If there are not shops decked in orange chrysanthemums, red dahlias, some plant shaped like budding lanterns, there are wooden booths between. They pass a few that only begin to open. Food stalls, and jewelry, and spun thread. There are even ones to tell fortunes, Cassian says, luring them to one of his favorite cafés up the street.
They huddle at a table outside where Cassian introduces them to the sweet delicacies of fall. But the table is tiny so Nesta and Emerie take turns hiding their smirks as he shifts in his seat. His wings flare up to catch him and Nesta thinks about the inevitability of choking as she takes another bite. It’s hard not to laugh when he almost falls every few minutes.
Cassian gives her a glare, and her grin grows wider at the look. She half expects him to mock, tell her that she’s got icing all over her face, but he reaches forward with the care of a male who knows what’s good for him. He pulls her hair away from her mouth and the icing and tucks the strand behind her ear.
“I’m honestly surprised you’ve only eaten three,” Emerie admits, gesturing to the box of sweets. They’re still warm to the touch. Nesta counts six and that seems far too little. If Amren hoards jewels like an irritated dragon, Nesta hoards away sweets of all kinds.
“You know we can get more before we leave,” Cassian remarks, noting the possessive gleam. Emerie pushes the box towards her, raising her hands as if in surrender and Nesta rolls her eyes. Though that doesn’t stop her from tucking the box closer to her chest.
“What are we doing today?” She asks. A distraction from her hoarding habits. Nesta never does like to share, but Cassian and Emerie don’t seem to mind.
The fondness in their eyes reminds her that they’re missing Gwyn, and as Nesta sets the covered box of buns into a bag, she thinks she’s eaten more than enough. The cinnamon buns will be for Gwyn, and for Clotho, and for the priestesses and she’ll buy some more before they leave so that all of them may taste fall even if they won’t step outside.
“Well,” Cassian shrugs sheepishly. “I didn’t plan anything special… I thought we’d walk around and if we see anything we’d like to do then we can just…” Her mate trails off, looking towards the square as if he’s embarrassed. His cheeks flush a sweet red.
Nesta’s not surprised. Her mate is not one for planning, but she doesn’t have anywhere to be. Just being able to lounge in the city with them is a good way to spend her time. Besides, she gets to see Velaris as it changes its hues.
Two new booths are being set up. It’s only the first of October, but the fae work fast. The lamp posts are being swirled in orange ribbon by a group of young nymphs, and the lights reminds her of candy corn. Nesta watches one male sweep the square where leaves begin to pile and it ought to be a lost cause, she thinks. The trees are still full, and the wind is a gentle breeze that pulls only a few out at a time. There will be orange and reds and yellow scattered on the ground for days.
Nesta can’t wait.
“I never imagined autumn like this,” Emerie sings, a wistful air to her voice.
“We have autumn in the human lands, but it’s not nearly as colorful.” Nesta ignores the look Cassian shoots her way, the quizzical brow he raises because she never does talk about her other life, here. But Emerie won’t judge her for who she used to be and this she knows well. “It’s some sort of fae magic, I think.”
“Magic, yes, but I’m not sure if it’s the fae. I mean in Windhaven, there are just some things that are unexplainable… a flash of light in the woods, that eerie feeling crawling up your skin… A noise that you can’t trace back to anything.” Emerie shrugs simply. “I can’t say that’s because of any fae. Or any creature for that matter… It must be something about the forests that sing. The mountains that speak.”
Nesta contemplates the thought, looking to the city where the season blankets its color on this layer of the world. She wonders if autumn speaks, if the breeze is telling her to listen. She closes her eyes, breathing in the fresh air. The thrum of voices, birds singing, the sound of heartbeats if she listens…
Listen closely, autumn seems to say.
“I know where we’re going,” Cassian announces with a screech of his chair. Nesta jumps at the sound. His wings cast shadows on their table as he claps his hands, “Come on, get up! We have sites to see!”
“Where are we going?” Nesta asks.
Cassian smiles, a grin so wide it can only mean trouble. When Nesta furrows her brows, crossing her arms as if she’ll start to argue—no, they will not be going through with his idea—her mate merely kisses her cheek, pulling her up by the arms.
“My cinnamon buns!” She complains.
But Cassian grabs the bag, waving her off. “I have your cinnamon buns. What type of male do you take me for?”
“The one with no self-preservation skills,” Emerie answers.
“I have those,” Cassian scoffs, “most of my ideas aren’t dangerous.” He throws the bag over his shoulder and the mere act makes Nesta disagree. She wants to tell him to stop jostling the goods. “When have my ideas ever been bad?”
Emerie snorts, “How about that time you made us run through the forest, and we got lost for three days?”
“Or that time you made us train near the mountains and there was an avalanche?” Nesta adds.
“Flukes of nature.” Cassian waves a hand. He takes wide steps as he moves, and Nesta and Emerie run to catch up. “Well, come on! If this was training, I’d be having you run extra laps from how slow you both are. Remind me to work on agility next time.”
“You take your job way too seriously,” Emerie calls.
Nesta can’t help but agree as Cassian walks ahead, clapping as if to say move faster. For a moment she lets herself take him in. His hair is tied up and he’s wearing his leather jacket. She can see the red plaid peak out beneath. With his bat wings and the autumn leaves and the crisp scent of fall… he just fits somehow with this season. “You do realize we are supposed to be relaxing. This is our day off.”
“It’s your day off, not mine.”
“Gee, didn’t know spending time with us was considered work,” Emerie goads.
Cassian taps his foot, “any slower and I’ll be nine hundred by the time you get over here.”
At the words, Nesta tucks her arm around Emerie’s. She makes a great show of walking even slower, looking to the shops and the people who flitter through. “It’s such a good day to be walking, isn’t it Emerie?”
“Such a beautiful day for a wonderful, leisurely stroll.”
Cassian huffs and Nesta raises her chin. I’ll walk like this all day. Cassian merely points to a wooden arrow as if that solves all his problems. The board’s words are painted in a bright orange.
Pumpkin Patch This Way!
Nesta brightens as she reads the sign. She looks to Emerie but her friend is already grinning. “Are we going there?”
“I’ve never been to a pumpkin patch,” Nesta admits. “How far is it?”
Cassian sighs at their questions, but juts his arm out that way, towards a thin path leading out of the city square. Nesta and Emerie squeal. Cassian grumbles something about giggling females.
They pass several more arrows on their way. Follow me! Pumpkin’s plump and ready! Pumpkin for the picking! Follow me!
“The farm is pretty far from here,” Cassian explains, “but there are carriages a couple miles away. So we’ll walk. Preferably not at snail speed. Please.”
“Well since you said please!” Emerie laughs, racing ahead. She grabs Nesta as she goes. Every sign has her grinning.
The path weaves through the forest, just at the edge, and the breeze is heavier here. The multi-colored leaves rain down lightly, and the sun only slightly peaks through. As the chill wraps its arms around her, Nesta shivers, tucking her hands into her sleeves.
“Are you cold?” Cassian asks, his brows pinching.
Overbearing bat, she wants to say, though she’s sure it’ll sound too fond–less comical than she wants, and what Nesta wants is to roll her thumb along the lines, smoothing away any concern. Then she’ll pick out the red leaf sticking in his hair.
Besides, she’s already wearing his sweater underneath her coat. The wool peaks out from beneath it, fitting more like a dress, and Nesta won’t let him give her his jacket too.
But Cassian must see the thoughts running through her mind or perhaps can tell by her sniffles, for he raises a brow.
I know you are, the look says.
Nesta gives him a glare back. Then why do you ask?
The scarf along his neck is a checkered red, and he pulls it from his grasp. He wraps it around her, until the wool covers her mouth, her nose. Still, he tucks it snuggly, laughing as she pushes it down her neck.
The scarf smells like him. It’s warm like him.
Behind her, she can hear Emerie snort. “You two can really make a girl feel single, you know that.”
Cassian chuckles and he makes a great show of tucking her under his arm.
“No,” Emerie says, pulling her away from her mate and tucking Nesta’s arm in her own. “I’ll have none of that nonsense.”
Cassian gasps at her friend, and Emerie stands taller as if daring him to take her. “Are you going to let her get away with this, Nesta?”
She can’t help but smile softly, infinitely too fond. “As long as I’m warm, I’m good.”
“Besides,” Emerie sings, “you should be used to people wanting Nesta for themselves by now.”
Cassian raises an incredulous finger. “You know what–”
“I think we’re close,” Nesta interrupts, pointing to the carriages.
She can hear the stomping hooves between crunching leaves and Cassian flies ahead. He makes sure to whip his wings behind him as he does, sending a flurry of wind their way. He doesn’t even look back as they yell in outrage. Nesta chases his laugh through the trees.
Cassian’s already chosen a carriage when they make it over. The horses neigh as the owner feeds each a carrot. Cassian talks and the male leads him to the front where he pulls out a stack of blankets. Burgundy plaids and chestnut knits. Cream and candy wool.
Her mate looks to them smirking, jutting his chin to the back.
“Hop in!” He calls. Nesta and Emerie need no other suggestion. They race to it, the wind a sweet chill on their faces. She can hear Cassian laughing at their excited sprints.
The carriage, she finds, seems more suitable for carrying produce than people. The back of the ride is open and there are a few stalks of hay still tucked in the corners. Emerie settles in between, her wings shifting between straw and Nesta follows, embracing her friend. She doesn’t even think about it and when Emerie immediately tucks her close, Nesta looks to the leaves.
All the trees above her rain down their October hues and there is nothing more beautiful than the view she sees. Yet, there must be because her heart is a constant beat and her friend’s laugh is a song.
Cassian sits next to the driver and his voice reminds her of wind chimes. He makes idle, genial chit chat as if he and the driver are long friends. They might as well be… and perhaps that’s what autumn does—makes friends out of all of them.
Cassian looks the two of them cuddling, and he lips raise sweetly. The apples of his cheeks are bright red and Nesta yearns to set her hands there. Her mate must have the same idea for he reaches down, and Nesta feels the warmth of his palm on her cheek. Nesta can’t help how she leans into him. Her mate. Her love. Her friend. It’s a beautiful thing to know him—to know this.
Nesta doesn’t know exactly where the road leads or how far to reach their destination, but the clomp of the horses and the steady thump of the bumpy road tells her to enjoy it while it lasts. To savor every minute.
Emerie leans her head on her shoulder and Nesta can’t help her question. “What do you usually do in Illyria when the seasons change?”
“Well in Windhaven, there’s only two seasons. Winter… and not winter. So, there’s really no celebrations for this time of the year, but…” Emerie looks at her cautiously, seemingly weighing her words. “I read this book once, about holidays—”
“In Prythrian?”
“In the human lands,” she explains. Emerie pauses as if waiting for Nesta to shut down the conversation, to decide if she wants to have this conversation at all. Her friend’s silence is patient and enduring as she waits. Not at all uncomfortable and Nesta knows without a doubt that if she says nothing, Emerie will tuck this conversation away, never to be discussed again and they will sit and laugh and hold each other close like best friends do. She has nothing to lose by being silent.
Still… Nesta hasn’t thought about that world in a long time. It’s another lifetime away. Her old self must be dead and buried somewhere across that fallen wall. Perhaps, she’s mourned her long enough.
Nesta doesn’t know what to say, so she looks for her answer in the trees. The color of death, she finds, is a crisp orange… candy apple red… bright, burgeoning yellow. Why then does she feel so alive? All the leaves are falling and before she blinks, the trees will be bare. The world will be covered and sleepy and gone. She’d been like that once. Burnishing and brash and then subdued to cold silver. But time heals all wounds…
If the trees will again awaken in the spring, Nesta thinks, she can talk her old self back to life.
So Nesta takes a deep breath and counts to three, “the human lands… What do you want to know?”
Emerie grins and Nesta can practically feel her excitement in waves, “You know, I’ve always wanted to know what goes on in the other half of the world. Fae are fae. But humans? I read that there’s a holiday where you dress up in costumes, rites to celebrate the harvest, superstitions. I mean of course we have those, too. But… it’s different.”
Nesta tries to laugh, but it sounds odd. Half-choked. “Humans have strange ideas.”
“Did you celebrate?”
She can feel Cassian’s gaze whether it be from curiosity or concern, but Nesta doesn’t look to him as she answers. Already she can imagine the halls. The polished, freshly waxed floors that gleam like caramel. All that fabric and lace.
“My mother would host a ball at the end of the month—the day the… fae crossed over.” Even as she says it, the idea sounds strange. Leaves an odd taste in her mouth. How ridiculous it all seems.
Nesta can see it though, the large golden pillars of an expansive estate. All those riches for a twelve-year-old girl who had already been raised with a silver spoon. It had been glorious to see. To touch.
“I’m not exactly sure when the tradition started, just that the villagers had gone mad. I remember that there was always some… accident that happened during this time, and they’d blame the beings across the wall. A man was impolite when the fae came knocking on his door or a woman was so beautiful, the fae just had to steal her. A family was cursed by the fae and that’s why they were bludgeoned. All five of them. There was always some… death, and my mother would throw bigger balls.”
“But why dances?” Emerie asks. “I can understand the superstition. We’re like that here, but why balls?”
Nesta shrugs, “Safety in numbers, I suppose. I’m not sure. I just know that they got bigger every year and the whole city was said to be invited… I learned pretty quickly it was only the families with money.”
Money and sons.
Nesta tries not to let the rush of anger show. She can feel it stored in her fists as they clench. “They’d lock themselves away in a ballroom as if they were sure nothing would happen. They were safe in their little gilded cage, where they could drink and forget. Dance and never think about the fae at all. And my sisters would hide out of sight. Usually in a dark corner somewhere, where Feyre would fall asleep, and Elain would play with her dolls.”
Emerie’s gaze looks sympathetic, and Nesta turns away. But her friend still asks that question. “And you?”
Nesta remembers. How can she forget? Her mother would pin her hair up and dress her in jewels and Nesta would eat at it like a child starved. It was the only time she didn’t let one of the governesses do it.
It would feel like a holiday. For this day only, and all the other inevitable times in the future when guests would show with their pockets full, her mother would show her love. The diamonds she put around her neck, the perfume she let her wear, so she could be as beautiful as a sunrise and as elusive as the sea.
But Nesta doesn’t say this, even if it bubbles up her throat. Instead, she looks to the forest of yellow. Of oranges and reds. “When I was old enough, it just meant having to dance with people.”
Nesta blinks away the memories and she wonders how much of her life she spends making up stories. She’s not cattle, she’s wanted and loved. She doesn’t care about people, she’s spiteful and cruel. Nesta makes one up right now, makes her story sound greater than it is. “Any way, we—humans I mean—have odd superstitions. They’d dress in costumes at that ball. I saw swans, and wolves, and pointed ears. So well stitched and painted, that I thought they must have been the real thing. Real fae had walked among us.”
She smiles as if to sell the allure and Emerie’s brows crinkle with curiosity. “Why would they do this?”
Nesta huffs a laugh, “Because they believed that if we dressed up like… you—fae I mean, they wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. That’s what my father told me… I suppose humans didn’t know about the fae’s keen sense of smell.”
Emerie nods her head in understanding, but then purses her lips. Nesta can tell she wants to ask her something she’s unsure about. She almost wants to laugh at how cautious Emerie is. She’s never had a friend who cared so much about how she feels.
“So… What did you dress as?” She asks lightly.
Nesta laughs this time. A light-hearted sound that seems to wave away the heaviness of memories and the duty of story-telling. “I was a… fairy princess.”
Emerie smiles at that and Cassian looks back at her as if he can’t believe the words. He’s probably imagined something crueler, she thinks. An evil queen… A witch.
“I was obsessed with having a wand and a crown and dainty wings, sparkles in my hair. My first present from my father was a stuffed doll when I was six. He’d brought it back the Southern Isles, and it was exactly what I thought some fae would look like.” Nesta shrugs, “I know better now. But still… I was a fairy princess for a night.”
It’s a good memory, Nesta thinks, and she feels it flood her chest. It’s such an odd feeling to have both fight to make room in her. Gloom… or something soft.
Today, Nesta rather prefers the soft, so she looks at Emerie, her cherished friend. “What would you be if you could be someone else for a day?”
Emerie hums, resting a palm on her cheek and Nesta thinks it’s all very normal. The way the conversation changes, the serious tone to something light and whimsical. It’s not hard to speak. Nesta wants to speak. She wants to listen.
“I think… I would be a pirate.”
Nesta snorts a laugh, “because of that one book… what was it? The Gentle Rogue?”
Emerie nods very seriously. “You laugh but pirates are getting all the booty, these days.”
“Oh gods,” Nesta laughs. It’s a book she knows well. A book that ends up being talked about for days and days. The ruggedness of pirates and peg legs and parrots. Cassian groans from his seat, turning back to shake his head.
Emerie catches the look and scoffs, “Nesta, your mate is being judgmental.”
Cassian waves the claim away with a dismissive hand. Emerie catches the gesture, raising an accusing finger. “See. Judgmental!”
Nesta gives her mate a look, but… it’s soft she can tell. Still, she grabs his hand in her own, tracing the veins of his hand with her thumb.
“Fine, what would you be?” she sings.
“Not a pirate or fairy princess that’s for sure.”
Both Emerie and Nesta grumble their offense and Nesta yanks her hand away, before she says, “you don’t have what it takes to be either, anyway.”
Emerie nods, inspecting her nails. “He doesn’t have the calves for the tights.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Cassian dismisses, but when he turns back in his seat, it’s the male in the drivers side that calls back.
“I’m not surprised human have such ideas.”
Nesta almost forgets he’s there and for a moment she feels guilty, though she doesn’t know why. Perhaps it’s because the citizens of Velaris are strangers to her and yet she moves in and out of that city.
Nesta can’t help it. She lives in her own world sometimes, in a gated up house. Emerie and Cassian and Gwyn are invited guests and she leaves the door open a crack, a smidge, but there’s a world out there that speaks. All Nesta remembers are the looks, sneers and curious stares because she’s not exactly like those who live in the city.
No, she’s… something else.
“Why?” Nesta asks, though she can feel her body tighten, her nose raising like she’s used to.
The driver doesn’t turn back. He only looks ahead to that small path parting through the trees. He stares and stares and Nesta wonders if he can see fortunes in leaves. A future in the peaking light. “They say Autumn is the time ancient magic roams free. The last time before it slumbers. If humans thought the fae could cross the wall during the height of it, I have to believe they’re right… These forests get wild this time of year.”
The clomp of the horses sound louder then and Nesta swears she can hear music in each tap. The rushing wind ruffles her hair.
“Oh, here we are!” The male calls.
Emerie rushes to the edge, but Nesta hangs onto the words until Emerie gestures for her to look.
There’s miles of hay. A red barn in the distance. A large house and stables. But what Nesta notices the most are the pumpkins. Rows and rows of pumpkins. She can see great large baskets of them, already cut at the stem. She can see some still kept at the vine, laying on the ground in stark orange.
“You came at the right time,” the driver remarks, and Nesta whips towards him. He gestures to the farm. “By midday this place is packed, and none of the good pumpkins are left. Can’t be preparing for the harvest with those little pumpkins. Doesn’t make good pie.”
The horses stop to a trot, and the male hops out. “I’ll be making my rounds, but I might be seeing you when you’re ready to leave. If not, it’s been a pleasure learning about humans, Lady Archeron.”
Nesta’s not well versed in friendly conversations with maybe not strangers, so she nods her head politely. Something a lady would surely do. He tips his hat, and Cassian comes up from behind. He grabs her waist, lifting her from the carriage, and he looks to Emerie too, but she waves him off, hopping to her feet.
“So this is a pumpkin patch,” Emerie says, nodding as she takes the view in. “It’s not what I was expecting, but perplexing just the same.”
Cassian snorts, “Can you not talk like you’re reading a book?”
“At least I can read.”
“Oh, good one, Emerie,” Cassian mocks in a deeper voice.
“Would all the bat babies please behave?” Nesta calls, “We’re in a pumpkin patch for Mother’s sake.”
The phrase seems odd coming from her lips, but she takes a shine to calling for the Mother. She supposes since she has a personal connection it’s not wrong to do so. Still… it’s not exactly who she is and saying it feels like having chalk on her tongue.
“Look what you did now, Cassian? She’s using her motherly voice.”
“She said bat babies so that means both of us, Emerie.”
Emerie sidles up to Nesta, hugging her close. “It’s okay Nesta, I know you only mean Cassian and his inflated ego!”
Cassian tugs on her arm, “I know you only mean Emerie, because you love me the most.”
Emerie scoffs, “She loves me the most.”
“She loves me the most.”
“Actually, I love Gwyn the most,” Nesta rushes to add. Emerie is already in one arm, so she loops Cassian in with the other and leads them forward. She can’t help the grin at all those pumpkins. “Let’s go pick some pumpkins!”
They follow the signs. The same arrowed orange. She spots a few fae at a booth and Cassian points the way. There’s a puffed up male in overalls with a great long beard and two little girls that won’t stop tugging on each other’s pigtails.
Sisters, Nesta thinks with a shake of her head.
“Gals and Gent, step this way! What are you having?” The male holds up a large pair of scissors, such a comical size. It’s as tall as her and Emerie. Then he points to a tiny basket Nesta can only hold by a finger. “Pumpkin picking or pumpkin taking?”
“Pumpkin stealing,” Emerie admits.
“Ahh.” The male sounds and points to a large carriage stacked with hay. There’s a mule at the front rather than a horse and he’s chewing on a bushel. “Then you’ll need my trusty steed.”
Emerie and Nesta laugh as the male slaps the mule’s behind. The mule doesn’t even move an inch.
“We’re going to pick them from the vines,” Cassian explains with an amused look.
“Do you need some sheers, my friend? A pair of great scissors? Or a sword would you rather?”
Cassian smiles in that mischievous way of his where one of his lips raise. “That won’t be necessary. I have a knife.”
“He has a knife,” Emerie whispers loudly, mockingly frightened.
Nesta can’t help the giggle that escapes her mouth. Her cheeks are starting to hurt from all the grins. Cassian doesn’t roll his eyes this time, instead he looks to her with those hazel as bright as poured syrup.
“Then you better be on your way, good sir and ladies. Cauldron knows which ma’am is going to fight you for the best ones.”
Nesta’s eyes widen, imagining old females with greying hair fighting a mother with a cane. “Do people actually do that for pumpkins?”
But Cassian doesn’t let the male answer as he grabs her hand, gutting his chin out to the field. “If you want the biggest one, we better get their first.”
“How do you know she wants the biggest?” Emerie asks. Nesta can hear her boots as she walks. The heavy steps and the crunch.
Cassian gives her a bland look, and gestures to himself. At Emerie’s disgusted look, Nesta bursts out laughing.
They continue down the lines. Some vines are already picked clean and they swiftly move past them.
“It’s been busy this time of year,” Cassian explains, “but that’s to be expected with the harvest festival coming up. You won’t believe how many pies are baked. There’s a competition for the best one. Winner gets a blue ribbon and a trophy.”
“I want to make one,” Emerie frowns. “I have no idea what it is or what it tastes like, but I want a blue ribbon and a trophy!”
Nesta raises her hand, liking that suggestion. “I will happily eat all the pies you make as you get the recipe down.”
Cassian grumbles something about eating so much sugar. But he leads them to the part of the field where pumpkins appear, popping up brightly. The pumpkins are plump and Nesta runs to a big one. All perfect and round.
Emerie searches for one too, moving them around as if to see exactly how perfect it is. She goes to one and thinks the lines aren’t spaced evenly. She goes to another and there’s a lighter spot at the edge where it leans. She goes to another and she can barely twist it around for how heavy it is.
Nesta watches as she does this. One after another of imperfections. She looks to her own, deciding it’s perfect.
“That was quick,” Cassian says, taking out his knife from inside his coat pocket.
“I know what I like,” Nesta says, hugging the pumpkin to her chest once it’s freed. It’ll be heavy to carry all the way back to the house, but she doesn’t mind lugging it. “I want to carve it.”
Cassian raises a brow, a smirk playing on his lips. “You want to make a pie?”
Nesta wants to snort, the thought of her baking making her laugh. “No, I mean I want to carve faces into them.”
Emerie pauses in her pursuit of pumpkins and looks to Cassian. Cassian merely tilts his head. “Why…” He looks to Emerie as if she can offer an explanation, but her friend simply shrugs. “Why would you do that?”
“You don’t carve pumpkins?” Nesta asks, contemplating bright orange.
But then Nesta truly thinks about it. Oh right.
“It’s another human tradition,” Emerie gleans.
Nesta nods, but she doesn’t know how to explain this exactly. She supposes it can’t be more offensive then humans dressing up in what they think is the fae. “We carved faces into pumpkins to… scare away the fae.”
Emerie and Cassian look to each other as if she’d told them some ridiculous truth. Maybe she’s grown a third eye.
“The pumpkins would protect us,” she tries to explain. Nesta doesn’t think that makes sense as she says the words.
Cassian looks to the pumpkin in her arms as if it will start to speak and tell him to get lost. Emerie seems to be jotting down notes in her head.
“You carved faces into them…” she nods. “Any particular face?”
Nesta thinks it would be much easier just to show them. “I’ll explain later. Let’s just take some with us, and one for Gwyn, too.”
“You’re going to make me carry all of these up to the House aren’t you?” Cassian groans.
Nesta snaps her fingers, “I knew I was mated to someone so hulking for a reason.”
Emerie goes back to perusing for the perfect one, as if Nesta’s words make the task more serious. She looks at a large one, the flesh gleaming as she swipes her sleeve across. “Do you think this one is the size of Cassian’s head?”
Nesta laughs a sweet, bright sound.