Chapter Text

Nesta Archeron was never a runner, but damn it, she had to be.

Velaris was packed despite the fact that the sun had barely started to rise. The homes she was weaving through were bustling with people dragging out crates or bringing out their washing. Children were clutching their mothers' skirts as they passed the university students, laughing as they basked in the purple and pink sky. Just a beautiful, lively city waking up long before Nesta had even thought to rise.

She was glad for fresh clothes, and was glad for the little bag that slapped her thighs with every single stride. She didn't think the people’s eyes would glaze over her if she looked like she usually did. Her tangled hair, bloodshot eyes, wine staining her clothes and sleeping out of her pores so much that someone would be able to tell her nightly order from merely standing beside her.

‘Damned fools, curse them all,’ was the mantra repeated in her head as she started rushing up Hill. For some odd reason, the closest route to the Harbour from the home she slept in was through the homes situated on a hill and the large market in the Palace of Thread and Jewels. But Nesta wasn't used to this type of activity, and with every single beat of her feet, her chest constricted, and with each passing second, the pressure worsened.

Though Nesta would take pain and the burning lungs over the hell that was awaiting her if she didn't get the fuck out of Velaris right this instant.

She faltered for a couple of seconds, right before the peak of the hill and fished out the little flask she had, seemingly grateful that it was filled with water, not brandy. The water burned a path down her throat, but she picked up her feet once more and continued to run.

Her perfectly done hair had started to unravel, the sage green dress she was wearing was fluttering around her ankles, and to anybody else, she would look like a female running to work, not like a female running to freedom.

The city centre was partially empty, and Nesta began to slow down. She convinced herself that people would look at her weirdly if she was running, but in reality, her calves were hurting so much she couldn't run any further.

She could see the bakery owner opening up his store, and she could remember a couple of months ago when she was out with Elain, buying stuff for her room in the new house Feyre had been renovating. She could remember that day: she was blackout drunk, spending the previous night alternating between drinking and playing cards, and her brain was absolutely fried. As the smell of the fresh croissants wafted into her nose, she could almost see Elain’s disappointed look, the way the light in her eyes dimmed.

She didn't want to think about Elain, right now, nor did she want to think about Feyre or her fucked up mate, or any of the. They’d were going to burn in hell, Nesta would make sure they would. She hadn't even known what was happening until the night before, when-

When Lucien Vanserra had thrust himself into her life.

۞

The walk back to her apartment was less pitiful with the man, the male hanging off her hand. He kept stumbling through alleys as his lips roamed over her neck and her face, and it was starting to get tiring.

“Maybe wait until we're inside, we're only a few minutes.” Nesta scowled, the liquor making her more vicious.

“Give me a few seconds, and I'll be inside.” The male whispered against her neck, but Nesta paid him no mind. She grabbed his wrist quite forcefully and started to drag him towards the rundown apartments. People who lived there were down on their luck. Soldiers who fled the Court of Nightmares and were trying to make themselves a better life, women widowed by wars, and a few lesser fae that had managed to make their way to Velaris, though their eyes were haunted, their posture tense.

She fumbled with the front door for a while and then started making her way up the flights of stairs, the boards creaking with every single step. The male was still behind him, still stopping periodically to shove his tongue down her throat, and Nesta was wondering if he was worth taking back home. The way he was acting made her wonder if she'd even get anything out of tonight.

They finally made it to the landing of the fourth floor, and her hand wrapped around the cold steel handle and pulled the door open. There were only six apartments on each floor, and at the end of the hallway, she could see a figure standing still.

It was probably for the woman across from her that she always had the most… diverse people coming through. She sold potions, and Nesta liked to think they worked. Why else would green light spill through the door?

But the closer she and the male got, the more her heart plummeted into her stomach as she took in the perfectly tailored green jacket with threads of gold, the black trousers that made his long legs even more defined, the perfectly crisp white shirt, the long red hair and the golden eye that haunted her dreams when she forgot to drink.

“Ah, there you are.” Lucien greeted her with a dip of his head, and when he lifted his gaze and set it on the male beside her, she could take a slight smirk. “And I see you brought a friend.”

“Is there something you need?” She moved to her door, but Lucien held up a single hand, and it gave her a tense smile.

“Yes, and I don't think it's for your company to hear.”

She didn't know why her sister's mates were meddlesome creatures who wouldn't leave her be. All she wanted to do was go inside, get fucked, and pass out soon after. And though the way Lucien was looking at her seemed important, was it important enough for her to forgo a night of semi-decent sex?

“You could come tomorrow when my company is gone.” She ignored the way his face fell and moved to push the door open, grabbing the male’s shirt and pulling him.

“Your sister plans to lock you up tomorrow morning by force.” The words were a whisper in the empty Hall, but Nesta froze. The last time she heard the Common tongue was when she was younger, when her mother had hopes of her marrying a prince. The words were rough on Lucien’s tongue. “So you can go inside, do whatever you plan on doing with that man and see yourself locked up before the sun sets tomorrow, or we can have a conversation and see what to do about it. It's your choice”

Choice. Oh, how Nesta hated the word choice. You have a choice to marry a man who's 50 years older than you or marry a man 10 years older than you. You have a choice to help us stop the Mortal Queens from siding with Hyburn, but they’ll kill everyone. You have a choice to sit back from the war, but people will die, and it’ll all be your fault. Nesta hated the word choice.

Her gaze flicked between Lucien and the male. She really wanted company tonight, to distract her from her head.

“I'm certain you can find another woman willing to fuck you tonight.”

“You can't be serious-”

“I assure you, she is.” A small pouch with coins was thrown the male’s way, and Lucien still kept that smug look on his face. “Treat it as an apology.”

The male looked like he wanted to say more, and Nesta didn't care enough to stay. She walked inside and plopped down on her pathetic excuse of a couch, ripping off her shoes, stretching her feet that were sticky with wine.

When the door finally closed, Lucien Vanserra walked into her living room, and even he couldn't master the horror of what she was living in. He took in the broken window, the oven that wouldn't turn on no matter what Nesta did, the dishes piled up and the dirty floors.

“How have-”

“You came in here to tell me I'm going to be locked up. I'm not here to talk about anything else, get it done with.”

“You seem cheerful.”

“Get it done with.”

She hated how he made the dingy armrest seem like a throne. His back was straight, and his gaze was hard. “I overheard a conversation the second was having with your sister’s mate yesterday. They’ve been growing dissatisfied with your life and how you continue to run up their bills. Like tonight.”

“I only closed that tab off a couple of minutes ago. How would they know?”

He raised a perfectly manicured brow, and she pondered if he ever spent time in front of the mirror perfecting that look. “He is the High Lord of the Night Court; he knows everything that goes on, which is why you need to leave.”

Nesta clicked her tongue. “Why would she lock me up when she left your High Lord for doing the same? I don't know what kind of game you're playing, I don't know, if this is the closer to Elain-”

“If I wanted to get closer to Elain, I would speak to the sister she actually communicates with, and that's surely not to you.” The blow stung. Sure, she wasn't speaking to Elain, but why should she? She looked disappointed every time, urging her to try, to do better.

Nesta wanted to say something, but he beat her to it. He leaned back, slender fingers roaming across the deep grey armrest. “They plan on taking you to the House of Wind. I don't know why, but what I do know is that you'd be 10,000 steps away from freedom. They don't know I'm here, and I managed to ascertain tomorrow would be the day they’d take you so-”

“Why do you care?” Nesta spat out. It was easier to direct her anger at him, especially as he sat there looking oh so smug. “This isn't going to make your mate look at you or make her love you, so why waste your time?”

The male tilted his head. “I’m not doing this so my mate will look at me, I’m doing this because I know what looking somebody up will do, I know what a bad choice would lead to.”

“They're not just going to throw me into that house. Feyre would never agree to it”

“No, she won’t, but I'm certain her mate will get her to.” His smile was bitter. “Rhysand has been in Feyre’s mind for some time; she’ll get on board soon. Right,” he stood up, dusting his pristine trousers and holding out his hand. “Let you stay here would be foolish-”

“You’d know about being foolish.”

Vanserra smiled. “They could come as early as Dawn to collect you, and if you plan to leave, we need to get you out of here as fast as possible.”

Nesta leaned back, trying to look unbothered. It sounded so absurd. “I haven't agreed to-”

“Do you wish to be locked up with the House of Wind? I doubt that house has many positive memories for you.”

Nesta stood over Elain, begging her to speak, to eat her, making sure all the windows were locked tightly before going to bed out of fear that Elain would jump down that mountain. The way she could feel every thread of her clothes, every footstep, every heartbeat. She could even hear her own blood rushing through her body. Tripping over her too-long legs, shattering one too many cups of tea.

“No.”

“Then grab my hand.”

۞

He had dragged her to his apartment, a pristine place that looked like he rarely visited. He had let her sleep in his bed, although she spent most of her remaining time scratching her head, trying to figure out why Feyre would do such a thing. While the moon was still up, she washed up, brushed out her hair and put on the clothes he had so carefully picked out, claiming that they would adapt to whatever climate she was in, and sent her on her way with a small pouch containing a few coins.

“If I help you any further, they'll know what's going on.”

She turned her nose up at him. “That seems like an excuse to get rid of me.”

Lucien only smiled, opening his door.

The boat he had told her about would leave in less than 10 minutes, and the fear was sinking in; she wouldn’t make it in time. She passed by the jewellery store that she had been eyeing for a couple of months, but could never find the will to get herself something when she slammed into someone.

“Watch where you're going! Nesta?” the female exclaimed, and Nesta tensed. She was petite, with beautiful blonde hair and sparkling green eyes. Her father was some important male on a council of some sort, and gave his daughter a very generous allowance. They had met in the Wolf’s Den a while ago, and they would usually traverse the bars of Velaris. She was good company and had no issue covering the tabs when Nesta was too drunk to do so.

“Lillian, I have to get going. I'll talk to you some other time-” Nesta tried to run again, but Lilian grabbed her hand, holding her in place.

“You look like you're running from death itself. Calm down, I don't think I've ever seen you up this early.”

She had less than 6 minutes for certain, “Lillian, I have a boat to catch, I need to go.”

“But why?” Damn this girl.

“Because my brother-in-law intends to lock me up forever. Now, for the last time, I need to get going. I will speak to you sometime.” The conversation had been five minutes or maybe less. Nesta wasn't good with time, or when she could feel her heartbeat in her throat.

The world tilted on its axis, and the smell of baked goods turned into salty air. The wind whipping her hair and the creaking of the wooden planks beneath her brought her out of her mind. They were standing at the entrance of the Harbour.

A bunch of high fae were standing around as the workers loaded up bikes and goods. Nesta had no idea what goods the Night Court supplied to the rest of the world, probably something of no use. She could see boxes marked with the Autumn Court emblem carrying spices, could see the ones marked with the Winter Court carrying jewels and perfumes that could almost cover up the smell of the fish being brought out a few places back.

“Great, now we're at the harbour. Do you mind telling me while you're running?” Lillan faced Nesta. She wouldn’t leave till she got a story, would she?

“As I said, my brother-in-law thinks it is his right to lock me up, and I'm trying to leave before that feat happens.”

“I don't understand why anyone would want to lock you up,” she tilted her head. “Surely he can't be upset about the tab a few nights back?”

“We bought shots for everybody five times, then decided to raid a pastry store, anyone would-” She faltered as she finally spotted a ship with a pure white flag waving at the mass. This ship he had guided her to. She started to walk faster, her calves screaming in pain. “It seems he has been disappointed in how much I've been using his credit for quite some time, Lillian. It was a pleasure to see you today, and thank you for the help, but I have to go.”

“Well, if you must go, take this with you.” She pulled a dagger of all things from her thigh. It was a short thing, made of pure silver; the hilt was wrapped in a comfortable grey leather. It felt comfortable, as if it were made specifically for Nesta. “Father always says to keep a weapon when you leave Velaris; those other cities are barbaric.” She shuddered, and Nesta wondered how they had even had more than one conversation without dying from irritation.

Bells began to ring, and the line was getting smaller. She glanced back and tried for a smile.

“Thank you.”

“No worries, and I will tell a single soul where you were,” she winked before vanishing into nothingness. Nesta allowed herself a couple of seconds to breathe before she pushed past people until she came to the bottom of the ship, staring up at the fae with green skin and yellow eyes.

“Is this the international ship towards the continent?”

“It is lass, ticket and where to?”

Nesta fished out the white paper, “Corinth.”

And if the day couldn't get any weirder, the male licked the paper. He even smacked his lips a couple of times and then smiled at her. “Make yourself a comfortable little lass. Corinth is a few hours out .” He held out a hand, and Nesta gripped it tight, feeling his calloused skin. “Not too comfortable, that is. This boat won't dock again for another 2 weeks.”

“Yes, yes,” now all Nesta was left with was a pounding head and an aching body. She moved down, past 2 packed waiting rooms, and entered one with one male resting in a small chair, reading a small book. The armchair she was in was so soft, the side curling in so it felt like someone was hugging her. The boat was slowly swaying, and she was so tired.

She didn’t remember closing her eyes.

۞

“Last call for Adriata, I repeat, last call for Adriata!” A voice boomed, and Nesta all but fell out of her chair. Her hair was sticking to her damp cheeks, and her head was ringing.

“Have we passed Corinth?” she croaked, looking at the man still sitting across from her.

He looked up, his spectacles dangling low on his nose, and laughed, the sound doing nothing for her head.

“Darling, we passed Corinth hours ago. Why don't you-”

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, that was all Nesta could think of as she grabbed her bag and ran out of the room. Only a handful of people were getting off, all of them dressed in light layers. How could she fall asleep and miss her one shot at freedom, and now she was stuck in a court-

She was stuck in the Summer Court.

She was greeted by warm air softly caressing her face and whipping her dress around. People were getting off onto the harbour carved from stone and making their way down to Cliffside City.

But through her groggy state, Nesta could see how beautiful Adriata was. The clear blue water looked inviting, and she could smell grilled food, stirring her stomach and making her mouth water.

Nesta took a few steps forward, looking around before finally making her way to a small restaurant. She got comfortable in a seat outside the restaurant, hiding under the shade and parasol and rubbed her face, grabbing her flask and draining the last bit of the water she had. The next boat wouldn't leave for a week, and she was stupid enough to fall asleep. She could make the trek to Dawn, she could ask somebody to winnow her there, but she didn't want to risk it.

But could she risk staying in the Summer Court? When the Night Court was closely tied to them? Rhysand’s second was fucking the prince of the court, and came to their aid.

She grabbed the bag and started to rummage through it slowly. Maybe she'd find something to eat; she'd rather save the coins for a drink. But she stumbled across a stack of pristine white paper, tied with a silver string. The first one was folded, however, and when she took hold of it, she scoffed.

“Send word when you make your way to Corinth. I don't want to be the reason why you're found dead somewhere.” Lucian Vanserra’s handwriting was awfully good, with perfect loops and fine strokes. She hated the sight of it.

Nesta glanced up at the face with beautiful iridescent wings heading towards her, notepad in hand.

“Hello, welcome to the Tortoise Shell. Is there something you like?”

Nesta's gaze was locked on the wings, the way they sparkled in the light, and she was envious. How come all she got from that damned cauldron was powers she didn't want? Wings would have been a better fit. “Do you have a quill by chance? and something to drink?”

The female’s laugh was like wind chimes swaying in the wind. “This one's already inked, take it, and yes, we have an assortment of drinks. If you'd want some freshly-”

“Maybe something alcoholic. And some of that fish, please.”

When the female finally left, she placed the quilt on paper.

“I’m in Adriata. Send”

No, she wasn't going to ask him to help her; she'd make her own way, however long that took. The sun was starting to set, and Nesta marvelled at how short the journey took. She thought she had time, thought that she’d reach Corinth in 2 days. She could remember her father going to the Continent, taking months to go and come back, and the fae could traverse almost all of Prythian in less than a day.

But she wasn't complaining too much. The way the sun set over the city, the way the mosaic tiles and the glass-stained windows glittered in the setting sun, was peaceful. It was like she was the only person in the world at that moment, just the smell of the sea and the setting sun.

A flash of light tore her gaze away from the view, and new words were written right underneath her.

“I do recall telling you to go to Corinth, correct?”

The quill was already on the paper, the quill poised to defend her mistake, to snap at him for failing to tell her how short the journey was, when more words came through. “It doesn't matter, you're safe enough in Summer. Make do with what you have. I'll see you in a week.”

“How can you say that? The Night Court and Summer seem to be on good terms. Are there any other boats going to Corinth?”

Her drink had already been delivered, and she had already drained half of it when he wrote.

“Trust me when I tell you that Tarquin doesn't forget grievances that easily, and the next boat going to Corinth will be the one carrying produce. Do you wish to spend half the day sitting alongside dead aquatic animals? It's only a week, I'm certain you can manage.”

He didn't get a response from Nesta, already shredded the paper and shoved it back into her bag. The sting of the whiskey grounded her for a few moments, and she stared at the food.

One week, one week in the Summer Court. She could handle that.