Chapter Text
How far could Nesta push them until they snapped? Cassian had the shortest temper, of which Nesta had already felt. Her day had been spent upon a rock in Illyria refusing every desperate plea to train. It was less spite, more pride. They couldn’t control her, couldn’t force her to be what they wanted no matter how much they tried. They had taken her home, but it wasn't the first one to be taken from her. Nesta had learnt to live minimally. She needed nothing except herself.
During the bitterly cold day in Illyria, Cassian undulated between begging with earnest warmth to join in with his stretching to downright vicious fury as she continued to deny him. Maybe she was beastly for enjoying the spike of his anger. It revealed his true colours. He would not have her - not as a warrior nor as a lover. The more he lashed out, the less likely she was to come to heel. He had had over five hundred years to manage his temper. If he could not then he was unlikely to change. Mother always told her that men could not be changed - and Nesta was not inclined to try to do it, least of all to a faerie who had lived a hundred lives before she had even been born.
She did not care. She did not care when Morrigan arrived to berate her out of earshot of Cassian. Did not care when his name was used to try and invoke guilt. Did not care when they called her wicked or used her nightly activities with the males of Velaris to try and shame her. Nesta Archeron did not care what the Night Court had to say about her life.
Nesta was called into an urgent meeting in Velaris to discuss her lack of training - her lack of anything at all - where they descended upon her like vultures upon a carcass. They picked and they prodded, tearing away at what little flesh was left. She folded in on herself to stop their words from cutting.
A waste of life.
Pathetic excuse of a sister.
A liability.
A danger.
Their words smashed into her as waves upon a rock. They would erode her piece by piece over time until she had lost most of herself. Hadn’t her humanity been enough to take from her? Still, they wanted more. They wanted a perfectly trained hound who’d bend the knee to the court’s ways. She was not Elain. Not one to try and keep the peace no matter how much it cost her.
Their argument roared in her ears as they spoke as if she wasn’t present.
Unwanted.
Lost potential.
A father’s wasted sacrifice.
Then, a thought bloomed in her mind. They wanted her to train, not for her well-being but so they had her under control.
‘I will train.’
Although her words had been quiet, they had been heard. Silence rippled through the room.
Cassian’s expression softened with his relief, but before he could speak Nesta pointed a finger in his direction. ‘Not with you.’
‘Azriel is too busy,’ said Rhysand with a dismissive wave of the hand in the Shadowsinger's direction.
Although it would not be the worst situation, Azriel was already spread thin. He stood in the corner, dead on his feet, likely wishing for a rest rather than this meeting. Nesta knew he could not be trusted either. As welcoming and polite as he was, Azriel was Rhysand's hound to his core. Her every move would be reported back to him.
Nesta folded her arms. ‘None of you have the ability to train me. I will train with Eris Vanserra.’
Cassian’s fury was palpable. His shoulders squared and he worked his jaw.
‘You are a real piece of work,’ spat Mor.
Nesta had had enough. Enough of their viciousness. Enough of their constant nagging at her. If they thought her wicked, they had seen nothing yet. She quirked a brow. ‘Last I checked you have the power of truth. I have the power of death. We can train together, Morrigan, but I hardly think it an even match.’
Rhysand cleared his throat. ‘You will not be training with Eris.’
‘Then I will not be training.’
For the first time in a long time, the urge to smile tugged at Nesta. She could play them at their own games - and she could win. They wanted her to train? Fine, she’d do it with the snake of a male that they couldn’t stand. Mother forbid their greatest weapon be in his hands.
There was a clatter of a chair as Cassian stormed from the room. Her sister gave Nesta a look like a mother would to suggest this was all her fault. How dare she disrupt precious Cassian's delicate disposition. Morrigan followed after him as a loyal lapdog should.
Rhysand stood, braced his hands on the table, and announced, ‘You train with Cassian or you don’t train at all.’
This time, Nesta did truly smile. ‘Then I don’t train.’
Realising his threat was useless, Rhysand departed too with Amren following close behind, not hiding their muttering about her.
Feyre in that self-sanctimonious way of hers sighed. ‘You are a guest here, Nesta. It might be worth remembering that fact.’
If Nesta could grow claws she would.
‘A guest thanks to your manipulations in my life, Feyre. A guest whose home was destroyed by your war. A guest whose humanity was ripped away thanks to your faerie family's failure.’ Nesta stared down her sister. ‘I am here because it’s your fault.’
Her jagged words had their intended effect. Feyre struggled to mask her hurts and hurried from the room too.
She turned her attention to Azriel, daring him to pass a comment. Instead, the Shadowsinger stood and extended an arm to her. ‘I can take you back to the House of Wind.’
‘My prison. How generous of you.’
***
Nesta stood on the edge daring them to push her off – to save her the unpleasant duty of jumping. What did she truly want? A return to the mortal lands so that her people could kill the creature she had become? Cassian to wash his hands of her now that he remembered her existence? She didn't know. Didn't care. Didn't want a future.
What Nesta wanted most of all was for it all to stop, no matter how enduring that was.
The doors opened then Rhysand was leading Eris Vanserra into the empty chamber of the Hewn City that had been designated as a training room. His finely-tailored suit was an earthy brown with bronze patterns embroidered around the wrists; a far cry from her unpleasant leathers. Of all the fae that she’d met, Eris was truly faerie. There was something predatory to his mien; sharp angles and keen eyes. To look at him too long unsettled Nesta because he had a way of looking through her. There was always an air of humour on his expression as though he knew a joke that nobody else did; a trick up his sleeve that would bamboozle the opposition.
He extended a hand in greeting which was ignored by Nesta then he asked, ‘How much control do you have?’
Nesta folded her arms tightly over her body and continued to be ignorant. She turned her face away towards the darkened window. Perhaps they'd lock her up here next to deprive her of the light. Or there was always the dungeons.
Eris gave her a few minutes grace before turning his gaze on the others who were lined up, stony-faced, along one wall.
Feyre pushed off from the stone, electing herself as Nesta’s keeper. ‘You are the one who requested that Eris teach you. He has graciously agreed.' Feyre cleared her throat. 'Nesta, Rhys has organised this for you.’
‘Where did I request an audience?’
Her magic slithered beneath her skin in a demand to be released. Not here. Not in front of their raw scrutiny.
‘We are not prepared to leave you two alone.’
Eris stepped closer, brows furrowing. ‘We are allies, High Lady. Your darling sister will be as safe in my hands as Morrigan would have been.’
It was the spark on dry tinder that caused the inferno. She delighted in the chaos that Eris’ comment had caused. He remained steadfast in the face of the shouts and anger and threats. When Rhysand was calming the others down, she could have sworn that Eris smirked in her direction.
They could not force Nesta to train. Her refusals switched to silence and after an hour or so, Eris bent low in a bow. ‘Thank you, Rhysand, for thoroughly wasting my time.’
Twice more across the week, Nesta was hauled into the Hewn City to await Eris Vanserra. Each time, she would sit obstinately in the chair, refusing to engage. Cassian would snatch the book she was reading from her hands and slam it or throw it down on the table to make as much noise as possible. They’d bark at her like dogs for wasting their precious time, as if Nesta had begged them all to accompany her to this humiliation. They had even thrown Elain in her face. Elain is terribly upset, Nesta. Elain doesn't like to come here, Nesta, but she will have to if you keep refusing. It didn't work anymore. Their manipulations with Elain as leverage no longer affected her. Nothing affected her. She was an empty shell with nothing left to give.
Eris grew frustrated too, but not at her; he questioned why they simply could not be left alone in the room if that was the only obstacle to her refusals.
‘Do you understand that I risk myself each time I come here?’
‘Tell her to train then,’ Cassian shot back.
Eris raised a palm to silence him which was as effective as waving a red flag in front of a bull. ‘Nesta has made it abundantly clear that she does not need an observation. Perhaps there are moments of your miserable upbringing in Illyria that you’re glad weren’t observed?’
Cassian snarled at him in warning.
‘There is a reason that you need Nesta to be trained, Rhysand,’ said Eris, ignoring Cassian’s temper entirely. ‘I cannot continue wasting my time here for nothing. Let her train without the audience or you will find my generosity has reached its limits.’
With a silent conversation occurring in the heads of the others, a decision was seemingly made. They filed out, one behind the other, with the door closing softly behind them. She had no doubt that they would be waiting outside, waiting to strike the moment that Nesta still refused to train.
The chamber was too large – too silent – without the others. It came with no relief either. How could it with Eris Vanserra stalking towards her?
‘I will not be training.’
Eris reached out a hand to her. ‘I don’t care.’
He gripped her wrist then a hook latched through Nesta’s stomach, tugging her away.
A harsh wind blasted through densely-packed ancient trees. The layer of mulch beneath her boots was dry and crunchy.
The Autumn Court.
‘Take me back right now.’
Eris’s head tipped back with a rich rumble of laughter. ‘Are you so desperate to return to the delights of the Hewn City?’
No, Nesta wasn’t. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she tried to find words, but her mind moved as if she was in mud.
‘You will lose the Night Court as an ally,’ she warned.
‘You’re a clever girl, Nesta. If they run to my father, do you think he would give you up to them? No, no, no. If they move against me, they put you in danger. If Beron got his hands on you, he would never let you go. We all saw your little display during the war.’
Her stomach tensed. Not the king, but the hundreds of soldiers that were turned to ash by her power.
‘You need the Night Court to stand against your father.’
Eris stepped closer and dipped his head. His lips almost brushed her ear. ‘Now, why would I need them when I have the most powerful being in Prythian here with me?’