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“Nes, wait,” Cassian pleaded.
She did not. He watched her storm down the hall, watched her until she turned a corner and left his sight. He even watched a bit longer, as if she might turn around and come back to him.
He shook his head, feeling the cold drip of rainwater down his neck, under his shirt. The stupid shirt, much too fancy and much too stiff for a bastard-born General to wear, seemed to restrict his breathing, though Cassian knew he should blame his breathlessness on the last two hours.
“I take it the meeting didn’t go well?” The words were not preceded by footsteps or any other noise.
Cassian turned to face Azriel. Fine, Cassian was more than fine with skipping introductions and pleasantries. “Did you know? About the new human representative?”
“Tomas Mandray.” The spymaster recited information as it was, with no inflection or emotion. “An elderly rich man, just as we expected.”
It was too soon to hear his name again. “And did you know anything fucking else about him?”
Azriel waited a moment, then two, then blinked. If those two moments had belonged to any other situation, Cassian might have revelled in finally winning a staring contest. “No. I found nothing noteworthy.”
Cassian stepped backwards, resting his head against the wall. He didn’t want to fight with his friend, or any person except for the one he’d flown away from an hour ago. The one he had only left alive because of Nesta’s fingernails in his arms and her anxiety pulsing through his chest.
“Nes-” her name hurt, physically ached as it left his lips, “she was engaged to him, briefly. I think he hurt her afterwards.”
Azriel sucked in a breath. Cassian knew he broke silences to comfort those around him, to make sure his family knew he stood with them during difficult times. He closed his eyes and focused on how the cold stone kissed his cheeks. “She didn’t even say anything, she just…if not for the bond, I don’t think I would have known. I don’t think she’ll tell me, even now. I only put it together because of some off-hand comment Feyre made decades ago."
“She might tell you,” Azriel replied. “And if she doesn’t, Nesta has other people to speak with.”
“Has she spoken to Gwyn about it?” Cassian asked, equally hopeful and nervous. He loved her friendships more than he could describe, often speechless that Nesta had other people who loved her as fiercely as he did. If she had talked to them about it--
“That’s not my business. You know I don’t spy on them.” Azriel straightened, and all traces of emotion left his face, his tone, his posture. The spymaster was back, and so was Cassian’s anger.
“Don’t lecture me about your stupid rules,” Cassian snapped. “I’m not asking for myself.”
Azriel shook his head. “You are. Talk to your mate if this is really about her.”
Cassian stepped away from the wall, crossing his arms. Cauldron, what he wouldn’t do to get out of this godsdamn shirt and into some armor. “You got to kill him. You haven’t lived the past three decades without closure.” Cassian no longer referred to Tomas, but someone different and yet the same, another male who dared to hurt someone vulnerable.
“Don’t act like that’s some sort of privilege,” Azriel snarled. “As if hearing her scream and knowing I was seconds too late brings me any sort of relief.” Anger, rage, crackling tension before a storm filled the hall.
Good. Cassian wanted to tear off his shirt and charge the male in front of him. Aggression, that was what he knew, sparring was what he could handle.
“If you could do your fucking job correctly, she wouldn’t have had to see him in the first place.” His fingers curled, his magic dancing down his nerves with no Siphons to direct it. “Do you even monitor the human lands?”
“Back. Off.”
Cassian didn’t. “Has finding the one female who reciprocates your love distracted you so completely? I thought better of you.”
Cassian should’ve. He felt the impact of his words as soon as they left his mouth. “Az-”
“I’m walking away.” Azriel cut him off. “This conversation didn’t happen. Go to your mate.”
Cassian watched him disappear into the shadows, watched the empty hallway as he was left alone once more. Shit. He was utter shit, and Azriel was right. His wife had just suffered through the pain of her brutal past and he had screamed at his best friend.
He took in a deep inhale, shoving his anger and his urge to drink down on the exhale. Neither mechanism helped him, something he could finally admit after centuries of careless coping. Nesta, Nesta spoke with regret about her anger and her drinking, with a maturity that the rest of the Inner Circle lacked.
And so for Nesta, his Nesta, Cassian pushed himself down the hallway and turned the corner. He hated himself a bit less which each step, loosened his guilt with each stride.