Chapter Text
Six months. She had six months of understanding. Of support. Of kindness. Before it all dissolved in front of her.
Sacrificing her magic for her sister and nephew had been second nature, and she had done it without a second of hesitation or fear. But when that instinct to help had prompted her to give Bryce the mask it had unleashed a new level of scorn, unmatched by anything the Night Court had thrown at her. Rhysand wanted to kill her. Armen had suggested a public execution. Mor had scoffed and suggested throwing her into a warded cell where she couldn’t spread harm any further. Azriel had been vibrating with anger. And Cassian? Cassian had been enraged that she had put another world above the security of their own.
Her only saving grace had been that Feyre understood what it was to bet everything on a risky maneuver. And young enough to hold onto the idealism that drove her to extend the hand of assistance to another human civilization being lorded over by immortal beings. So, she lived. Restricted once more to the House of Wind, not that she could easily leave it on her own anyways. Even after the mask had been returned without the Daglan following Bryce back into their world, she was followed by scorn.
Always the little comments that dug into her skin.
“Pass the butter Nesta, surely you can handle that since you are so good at sharing resources.”
“Perhaps we can just ask Nes, our little messenger can manage any handoff, can’t she?”
“Oh, you’re asking? Wow, what a novel concept.”
Punishment for wielding powers that answered to her. The trove was hers to wield. It answered to her and her alone. After her “stunt” Armen had pushed for Elain to try and wield the harp and the crown, to call them to her like Nesta could. But Elain couldn’t pull them from across the room within the wards. Let alone across the entirety of the Night Court. So, she remained irreplaceable but untrustworthy.
Cassian had begun spending more time in Illyria, and Azriel was gone with his duties as spymaster. So, more often than not, she was stuck in the House of Wind. Trapped. For punishment. For the betterment of the court. Since she was so volatile.
But she wasn’t. Little by little they were chipping her away. Even as the rock that the surf crashed upon, the force wore her down, bit by bit. It wasn’t even the anger, she understood that. She had taken a risk, one that could have absolutely blown back into their faces. It could have spelled the end of their world. But every time she replayed the scenarios in her head, she still made the same choice. Afterall, she had been on that side of the war before. Recently.
She had calculated the number of ships needed to perform a full evacuation of the area they lived in below the wall. She had begged and cursed the queens who were all too willing to let her people die. After the cauldron, she had stood before a council of powerful males who sneered at her and pleaded for their assistance. Wearing her trauma, unacknowledged even to her innermost self, on her sleeve to try and make them understand.
She had screamed as the blast of power streaked through the sky towards Cassian. Even as she hated herself, felt like a stranger in the body that still ached with each beat of her too powerful heart, she strove to reduce the harm to those who couldn’t protect themselves.
Any illusion of choice being ripped from her. First confronted with the inevitable end due to the approaching army and then being shoved into that gods-damned cauldron. When her body had been reforged, blood replaced with molten steel in her veins, making everything hurt. So, when Bryce stood before her asking for one thing that she could give, she made a choice.
Nesta had been prepared for their anger. For their scorn. What she had not been prepared for was the full repeal of any and all trust she had earned in the court. The court she had saved. That she had sacrificed for. That she had bled for. That she had been remade for. And while they ground her down and threatened to kill her, Cassian stood by. Tense, and ready to step in front of her to prevent physical harm but not trusting her to weigh the pros and cons of the situation. To make an informed decision. That lack of faith and trust cut more deeply than anything else.
But maybe, just maybe, this new opportunity was a chance to gain some more goodwill within the court. The High Lord of Day had reached out and requested a chance to meet the Valkyries reborn. How he had learned of the group of females no one was sure, but Helion had asked for emissaries to join him at the Libraries of Day to discuss a legend they had uncovered and Nesta had been instructed to go. She was relishing this chance to explore a new court, especially since Cassian had joined her for the first week.
Time away from the Inner Circle had allowed gentleness to re-enter their relationship. Soft care for one’s mate, even if they hadn’t officially sealed the bond, it was hard to balance when your family was constantly snipping at them. So, this time in the sunshine had given them breathing room, and a lightness that Nesta hadn’t quite realized that she needed from him. He had left early in the morning, flying back to Illyria as she, Gwen, and Emerie were preparing to explore a ruin with Valkyrie iconography in the Dawn Court.
Walking through the ancient site she was momentarily lost in imagining what it may have been like before the fall of the Valkyries in the previous war. How they may have trained, the levels of internal organization, techniques lost to time. Nesta was so engaged in picturing the past that she didn’t see the crevasse. She didn’t hear the warning from any of her companions, as both High Lords called out in horror. One moment she was spinning in slow circles, admiring the architecture. The next she was falling endlessly through space and time, until she hit the ground and felt no more.