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theladyofbloodshed · 2 years

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Au Acosf - Epilogue

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I would like to say a huge thank you to anybody who has interacted with this fic. It has all meant so much to me. I’m so grateful to you for following this story and I hope that I’ve given Nesta and Cassian the story they deserved. More than that, thank you for trusting in my writing. It has given me so much confidence and courage to pursue my dream of being a writer.

Never did I think when I started this fic out of spite would it get to an enormous 360k words, yet it did. I had no plans for Eris, and certainly none for Tamlin, but I’m happy with the story and hope you are too. Thank you for believing in me.

‘You don’t seem nervous.’

‘Should I be?’

Eris leant against the wall, catching Nesta’s eyes through her reflection in the mirror. The very notion of Eris Vanserra being in her bedroom in Illyria should have had Cassian barrelling through the wall like a juggernaut, but since Koschei and Briallyn’s demises, life had been smoother. Nesta no longer felt like she was holding her breath, waiting for her inevitable demise. Cassian was calmer too, no longer paranoid with fear that something would happen to her or they’d be parted.

‘Females generally are on the day of their wedding.’

Nesta inspected her face in the mirror. She’d slept well curled up with Emerie and Zasha. There hadn’t been any panicked dreams or last-minute nerves. The knock on the door from her sisters had woken them. ‘I’ve never been more certain about anything.’

After almost three weeks locked in the cabin together during the mating frenzy, Nesta and Cassian had finally surfaced for air. Their family had dropped food to their door throughout. Feyre and Elain always left a note attached, Azriel knocked and departed without waiting, and Balthazar would hammer on the door and holler through the wood until Emerie dragged him away.

Then they hadn’t had a moment alone. Nearly everybody wanted to be part of their planning or quizzed them relentlessly on the most menial topics. Cassian had nearly wept when Mor asked him to choose between two shades of lavender that were almost identical for the napkins. They had contemplated just running off together and having a private ceremony, but it would break all of the hearts of their family. They had a reason to come together and plan for something that wasn’t a battle which all of them seemed to enjoy thoroughly. Nesta suspected they enjoyed irritating her and Cassian most of all with their exhaustive plans.

The worst had been Rhysand. As often as they could, Nesta and Cassian avoided him. He insisted he was paying for all of it which Nesta would have been glad for, but he gave them a choice on absolutely everything from the colour of the ink on the invitations right down to the style of chair the guests would be sat on. He had complicated ranking systems for everything and wanted detailed opinions on it all – all of which he insisted on recording in a ledger too. Rhys fretted about minute details that Nesta had not even considered to be of importance prior. She had nearly snapped at him once, asking if he was the one marrying Cassian when the high lord had pulled a face at her choice of cutlery. When he had made both of them try every single caterer in Velaris, and their stomachs were uncomfortably full for days, Feyre finally managed to reign him in. He blamed his exuberance on their lack of mating ceremony.

Sanctuary could only be found with Azriel. The male, though still slightly withdrawn and carrying guilt, at least saw Nesta and Cassian as more than two dolls to play marriage with. Talk of a mating ceremony never came, and instead they lapsed into a steady routine of playing board games or visiting Rovena again. Sometimes the two males would spar together while Nesta watched from the kitchen window in breathless awe.

Since Nesta could now cook for her mate, she also happily took on those duties too. Cassian taught her how to cook many more Illyrian dishes, ones that recipes failed to master. When it came to spices, he had replied mysteriously that one simply knew how much to add. For Nesta, she was finding that the spicier the food the better. The unexpected domestic bliss blossoming between them ought to have been dull, but they were a team. He would chop vegetables efficiently and she’d stir the pan, deciding what herbs to throw in or would knead bread on the side beside him whilst Zasha waited for anything to drop. Sometimes they’d even ignore the door when Rhys knocked, knowing he’d be there with more elaborate plans for ribbons and banners.

It was nice really, Nesta supposed. Everybody was happy for them. She understood now the significance of mating bonds in Prythian; many females would stop her in Windhaven to congratulate her with big, beaming smiles then offer her food too. She stopped wanting to take walks with Zasha through the busiest parts of Windhaven from fear of not fitting in the dress that Rovena had diligently sewn for her. They barely had to cook because people kept bringing them food and offering prayers and blessings.

Cassian and Nesta had pooled together fae traditions and mortal ones, trying to weave in as many as they could. The night before their dual ceremony, he had spent at the House of Wind whilst she had remained at their home in Illyria with Emerie. It had been similar to their first day together, both hooting with laughter at filthy sections of their books. Balthazar had made an appearance with food but they’d shooed him out at nightfall. The meshing together of traditions was also the reason why Eris was stood in her bedroom.

She had debated having anybody walk her down the aisle then the thought of walking it alone terrified Nesta enough that she accepted Eris’ offer. The male wore black to fit with the Night Court and kept making comments that it was burning his skin as he tugged at the collar.

At the light knock on the door, both turned then Feyre popped her head round. ‘Time to go.’

The five females had spent the morning feasting on pastries and fruit in between getting ready before Eris’ arrival. The rift with her sisters was healing. Nesta and Feyre were learning how to actually be sisters, trying to find some common ground. Sometimes Feyre would come to Illyria where they’d walk Zasha together, the dog providing light relief and a topic of conversation when it ran dry. A couple of times, Nesta had forced herself to take a painting class to spend time with her sister. She was utterly dreadful at it – and the one painting she did bring home had made Cassian stoop over with full-bellied laughter. Nesta had wanted to burn it, but it was now up on their wall in the kitchen and he snorted still every time he looked upon it.

It was easier to mend the relationship with Elain. They had known each other best, known each other’s secrets. They had made their apologies and smoothed the valley growing between them. Elain had been nearly as bad as Rhys when it came to the wedding though, gazing with moon-wide eyes or sighing with dreaminess when she made Nesta recount her proposal or mating acceptance. When Nesta had suggested she plan her own mating ceremony to Lucien, her sister had turned scarlet and changed the topic, thank the Mother.

Helion had allowed the use of his pegasi pair for the wedding though they didn’t fly today. Gwyn, Emerie and Elain were already seated in the white carriage in gorgeous lilac gowns that Mor had helped to design. The carriage itself was adorned with an excess of ribbons and flowers that made Nesta roll her eyes, but it was better than walking all the way from Windhaven.

‘You look so calm,’ Emerie remarked.

Nesta took the hand extended by Eris and stepped into the carriage with Feyre following behind, politely brushing past Eris rather than accepting help.

‘Am I supposed to be dishevelled?’

‘Perhaps a little anxious before a wedding,’ Elain clarified. ‘I would be with so many watching.’

The pegasi began their gentle trot at the driver’s command so the wheels rattled over the uneven path running from the cabin.

‘The guest list is so large because somebody’s mate could not stop themselves from inviting half of Prythian.’

‘He’s excited for his freedom. Cassian is officially your problem from now on.’

Nesta risked a glance to Eris in case a callous retort bubbled on his lips, but the male kept silent, smirking slightly as he gazed at the rough Illyrian scenery.

Pinpointing a location had been a logistical nightmare. Nesta had been unwilling to negotiate on a number of factors: one of those had been a wedding in Illyria and the other had been the attendance of Eris. Wisely, Cassian kept quiet, but Rhys had made his displeasure known especially when it came to Eris riding in a carriage with Feyre. Somebody had convinced him though – Feyre, Cassian, Lucien or all three, Nesta wasn’t sure.

She had also begged and begged Rovena to attend so the wedding was being held near the lake only a few minutes walk from her home. Azriel could then accompany her there and back whenever she wanted to leave.

Persuading Gwyn to go had been another mammoth task, but Emerie and her had pleaded with the priestess until she reluctantly agreed. So far, Gwyn had been passed from Lucien to Eris to Emerie who was fiercely protective of her. Remarkably, Gwyn was comfortable around both the Vanserra brothers, perhaps because they had only spoken to her with the same sort of gentleness as they spoke with their mother. Or perhaps it was their magnificent orange hair tying the three together.

When Windhaven became an obscure mound in the distance behind them, Nesta’s heart did begin to beat a little quicker. She wouldn’t give the others that knowledge though. She had nothing to worry about; she was marrying Cassian and that was what she wanted. Her mate, however, was worried about unwanted guests in Illyria. Nesta had seen the frown bracketing his mouth when he dipped his head close to Rhys and Azriel discussing security. At dinner, Lucien had quipped that they were worried that if anybody turned up unannounced that Nesta might summon the Mask again to deal with it and smite any in her path. The table went silent in horror. Cassian’s wings had snapped together, body rigid. But Nesta had laughed and laughed, glad that the male could joke about such a thing and not be afraid of her. The Vanserras might have had reputations as being crafty snakes and foxes, but Lucien and Eris had proved that their spines were made of steel and their hearts of fire.

‘How many high lords are at this thing?’ Emerie craned her neck as if that might bring the gathered crowd into focus.

‘This thing,’ Nesta snorted. ‘Pardon me for interrupting your busy schedule. Only three.’

‘Only three,’ Emerie mocked. ‘Were you aiming for the set?’

The teasing was welcomed; it ate away at the unexpected beginnings of nerves. Emerie gave a pointed glance to the bouquet of flowers in Nesta’s hand that she was gripping with white knuckles. It was a sign that Emerie knew she was growing nervous and was trying to calm her.

‘Three? Is Tamlin not coming?’

Feyre stiffened at Eris’ words. She kept her pale eyes on the landscape rolling by, but Nesta could tell her sister was listening in.

‘He’s unable to attend. Fionn and his family are coming though.’ Nesta had sent the invitation with a letter that explained that if he was uncomfortable in attending, she would hold no ill will towards him. Coming to her aid had been enough – allowing her to live in his home and echoing her lie to Beron had been enough even then. Forcing the male to sit in the court Feyre and Rhys ruled while she married a male who had once been his enemy was too much of a stretch with the amount of history between them all. A brief but polite response had arrived swiftly declining but thanking her.

A light Autumn wind grazed across their skin as Feyre and Elain exited the carriage first followed by Gwyn and Emerie.

‘Ready?’

Nesta breathed out through pursed lips. ‘Yes.’

***

Cassian had thought he’d loved Nesta before their bond had been accepted. Hell, he’d loved her before he’d even felt it snap into place. But after she had presented him with food, love had swelled inside of him. Nesta became the centre of his universe. There was no other for him ever. Cassian had one purpose in life and it was ensuring her happiness. If she was cold, he’d find extra blankets, weaving them by hand if it had to. If she said she wanted fruit only found in the Day Court, he’d fly all the way there to pick her a piece. The thought that, one day, Nesta would carry his child, made him almost start tearing up. Cauldron help him if that day ever came. The thought of a smaller, winged version of Nesta one day made his heart burst.

The night before their mating ceremony had been spent in Velaris with his brothers along with Mor and Amren sharing memories of life before the Archerons had cast spells on them. The three males had finished the night in Illyria, in Rhys’ own cabin, drinking and trading stories until the dawn had begun breaking into the sky. Mor joined them in the morning to ensure they didn’t look too rough, she said, whilst Amren remained in Velaris to keep a watch over the city.

Like a mother hen, Rhys had swept around ensuring the flowers were arranged to perfection and that all the chairs had identical spacing between them. If he could instruct the sky how to appear, Cassian had little doubt that Rhys would have done that too. He and Azriel just watched, mystified by the nit-picking, swooning, romance-adoring high lord inspecting the pebbles by the lake as if they would be of any importance.

‘You get once chance at a mating ceremony and Feyre denied him,’ Azriel tutted.

‘And I’m the one paying as consequence.’ At Azriel’s chuckle, he shot, ‘I’ll make sure he’s worse for yours.’

Once guests began to arrive, Cassian’s nerves started. He was plagued by the terror of Nesta not arriving, or a note being sent ahead to say she had changed her mind or there were too many people in attendance and she didn’t want that many there. Worse still were thoughts of trouble that could come from other Illyrians. None had moved against her since she wore the Mask – neither Illyrians or mortal queens – but Cassian would always fear for his mate’s safety. She was the most powerful female in Prythian, maybe even the world. There would always be a target on her back, to hurt her, to use her, to covet her. Even if Nesta didn't have a drop of power, it wouldn’t change a thing for Cassian though. He loved her quick mind and clever wit, her golden-heart and sense of morality. At the core of her, Nesta was good.

‘Carriage is coming,’ Azriel murmured.

Rhys’ face softened as he caught sight of his mate stepping from it, her golden-brown hair half-up and woven with white flowers, the other half tumbled down her back. Elain was dressed to match in a sweeping, lilac gown, with only her slightly darker hair marking a difference between them.

For many hours, Nesta had worked with Rovena discussing dresses. He knew that Mor had helped too when Nesta had torn up her sketches that resembled blobs with limbs. Azriel’s mother had made every gown and suit with some assistance from Marsela. None of the males had been allowed to see them or even know what colour they were until they day. They were utterly beautiful.

Gwyn and Emerie followed the youngest Archerons down the aisle, sticking close to each others’ sides with bouquets of white flowers in their hands. A shadow whooshed past Cassian to sweep around Gwyn before returning to its master. Her mouth quirked into a smile from the greeting.

Cassian brushed his clammy hands down his trousers legs, his pulse echoing in his ears, as he waited for the final two to leave the carriage.

Nesta was obscured by a veil, but even that took Cassian’s breath away. Delicate stars were stitched to the gossamer fibres as well as mother of pearl and diamond. It was pure Night Court and his heart soared at the sight of it. She slipped her arm through the one Eris extended for her to take. The male had begrudgingly worn the same style the three of them wore at the top end of the aisle; charcoal coloured and tailored to their bodies. Cassian was itching to be out of it; it didn’t suit him like leathers did but Nesta might have murdered him if he turned up to their wedding as if he was attending a battle.

The time it took them to reach the altar felt like nothing and everything. The train of her dress wasn’t too long, but it draped behind her, the veil was also long enough to blend with it. It was a simple dress where the bodice clung to her frame and tiny flowers had been stitched by hand to the lace by Rovena. The straps dripped off her shoulders to her upper arms, exposing the pale skin of her chest. The flowing skirt swirled about her legs as Nesta walked with Eris towards them. The dress was Nesta. Simple, elegant, beautiful.

He caught the slight quake in her delicate fingers as Eris presented her to him, placing her hand into Cassian’s. He was slightly glad to feel that her hand was as damp with sweat as his own.

Cassian raised the veil from her face as if uncovering a precious treasure. Her cheeks had taken on a rosy hue from the attention and she appeared all the more bewitching for it. Nesta’s hair was unbound for all the world to see; a wave of gold cascading down her back.

‘Beautiful. So beautiful.’

Nesta smiled, silver already rimming her eyes. ‘I missed you last night.’

‘Me too.’ He kissed her forehead.

They had woven together their own vows, taking ones from Prythian and Illyria then casting them with mortal ones to create something unique. Something that was theirs. They both spoke in unison while the priestess wound the length of ruby ribbon around their joined hands. The tradition was black, but they had bucked tradition as often as they could. Nesta had wanted red for his siphons – and Cassian did whatever she asked. They had already formally accepted the mating bond so the ribbon was more for decoration.

‘I have fled the bad, I have found the better. There shall be one love for us both; one bond after our vows. We proclaim ourselves one in flesh and in spirit. I give you that which is mine to give – my heart, my soul, my forever. We pledge with sincerity to be each other’s in sickness and in health, in this world or the immortal land of milk and honey. I am yours.’

I am yours. The words echoed around them, filling Cassian with pure euphoria. Nesta was his. He was hers. He placed a golden band on her finger and she did the same to him.

‘May the Mother bless you, guide you, and carry you together,’ the priestess said, sealing their vows to each other.

He leaned down to press a chaste kiss to Nesta’s lips. Through the rapturous applause, Nesta murmured, ‘Is that all I get?’

She tilted her head upwards for more, a proud albeit mischievous smile flickering to her pouting lips. Cassian swept her up to his chest with one arm, pinning her to his broad body, as their lips met again with more fervour. Somebody in the crowd whistled, maybe Helion, but Cassian didn’t care. He was married and mated to Nesta Archeron. No male could want more.

***

The ribbon binding Nesta and Cassian’s hand provided one benefit: he had to greet their guests alongside her. Many of them were his own acquaintances; camp lords who would find great offence if they were not invited even if the event was mind-numbingly boring for them. None dared to call her a witch that day, not after news of her being possessed by the Mother had swept across Illyria and much of Prythian. Nesta had achieved legendary-like status where she was viewed with both awe and fear. It kept the camp lords quiet at least, one even trembled at the sight of her.

Once everybody had a glass of something in their hands, Rhys had insisted upon speeches. His was the longest, only coming to an end when Feyre’s eyes had glazed and likely told him to end it. Feyre had spoken next then finally Azriel, who gave the shortest and most amusing one.

‘To my brother, I wish you every happiness. And to Nesta,’ he gave a pointed look to Cassian and gulped, ‘good luck.’

He’s sank into shadow at the attention, but Cassian still stuck his middle finger up towards his direction.

A spread of food covered long tables near the water’s edge. They had rejected a sit-down meal for something more casual where people could mingle and talk while an Illyrian band played. The same band from Spring, who had played at her leaving party, would come at nightfall to play more ballads which Nesta was looking forward to immensely. Another table was piled with presents. A young male from Iron Crest was keeping a watch on them. Cassian informed her that he was the one who had fought alongside him during Briallyn’s coup of the camp.

‘Congratulations emissary,’ said a friendly male voice. ‘General.’

‘I’ve retired,’ Nesta said, holding up her hands.

Fionn kissed her hand then shook Cassian’s own, before calling over his wife and children. The initial shyness presented by Nuala faded when Nesta exclaimed how quietly the little girl had sat through the ceremony. Baby Eimear had grown a thick crop of curly blonde hair and one lone tooth at the bottom of her gum.

‘This is from the Spring Court,’ said Aoife handing Nesta a gift.

‘From all of you?’ Cassian teased.

‘Well, Tamlin. But it’s taken us a while to track it down. Open it. You’ll see.’

She and Cassian exchanged a curious look. The rectangular gift was wrapped in brown paper. Definitely a book.

At the sight of the cover, her heart dropped into her stomach. It was a good drop, she decided. A good, overwhelming lurch. She touched a shaking finger to the cover.

‘It is the right one, isn’t it?’

The general of the Spring Court searched Nesta’s face then his eldest daughter’s. It was a book of children’s stories – ones likely influenced by fae history due to the magic within. Nesta had told Nuala the same stories on nights that she’d put her to bed, trying to recall them from her own memories. The little girl had never heard such stories, so Nesta had explained that she once had a kindly nursemaid who used to read her bedtime tales when she was a mortal. Never her mother or father. Nesta couldn’t recall a time when either parent had ever put her to bed. It was always the servants who tucked them in or stayed at their beds if they were sick. It was the exact copy of the book that used to be read to her – perhaps not the one she had owned, but one a mortal had once had. The pages were worn in places, nibbled yellow at the edges.

‘The interrogation tactics we had to employ on this one to get every last detail about the book,’ he grinned, squeezing Nuala’s shoulders.

‘They’re mortal stories for children,’ Nesta explained to Cassian, throat thick with emotion.

He gripped her hand, squeezing it gently to keep her from unravelling at the thoughtful nature of the gift. ‘It’s a wonderful gift. Thank you all.’

Aoife smiled. ‘There wasn’t a book in the manor that you hadn’t read and when Nuala talked about the stories you told her, we knew they had to be mortal ones. We thought – one day when you have children – you could read them to your own.’

Nesta had managed to hold back her tears during the ceremony, had managed during the speeches, but this was the pebble that caused the avalanche. She didn’t know what made her so emotional. Perhaps because the gift was incredibly thoughtful and special. Perhaps because it was a link to her past when she had nothing left from her life below the wall. Perhaps it was the thought of becoming a mother and raising a child alongside Cassian and giving them all of the love that they had both been denied.

As tears streamed down her cheeks, Nesta embraced Aoife then Fionn. Cassian unravelled the ribbon from their hands so he could place a gentle one on the small of her back, holding her steady.

It was the only gift Cassian let her open at the ceremony as he was worried that she might blub her way through the rest of the night if they were all so considerate. They took a moment to themselves whilst Nesta composed herself near the edge of the lake. He kept his arms around her so she breathed in his scent of cedar and the wind.

‘Would you like to be a mother?’

‘Not yet. But yes. I want that more than anything.’

‘You will be brilliant.’

Nesta looked into his hazel eyes. There were still hurdles ahead concerning raising a child in Illyria, still battles to be fought. Their plans for an orphanage were developing nicely with a plot of land bought on the outskirts of Windhaven beside a meadow of wildflowers. It wasn’t the time to create life yet, but they both had so much love to give to ones who had no parents. Emerie was excited at the prospect of being part of it too and she had begun to speak to Nesta in simple Illyrian sentences to help her learn the language better. It filled Nesta with hope.

‘I cannot wait for this future with you,’ she said, reaching up to stroke a hand across his face.

‘Whatever comes our way, it’s you and I through everything.’

The Lady of the Autumn Court had been under heavy guard during the celebrations. Whilst Eris had been occupied, Baran had kept a watch on Adeline along with Lucien, and the moment Eris was relieved of duties, he was back at his mother’s side. Nesta had a feeling it was to keep a certain handsome high lord away from her. In the past, Nesta would have expected Helion to jump at the chance of spilling his charm on the guests, but his eyes had never strayed for long from Adeline during the celebrations. The longing on his expression was painful, though Adeline tried not to look at him. She would change directions or turn her face away as though she could feel the weight of his gaze.

Nesta dragged Cassian towards Eris and Adeline.

‘Hello Adeline, this is my husband, Cassian. I wanted to thank you for raising a son kind enough to walk me down the aisle.’

‘Thank you so much for letting me be a part of your happiness.’

Lucien wasn’t solely Helion’s. Those kind eyes were hers. Even traits of Eris could be found in his mother’s face. Rather than the Autumn hues of red and amber, she’d opted for a forest green gown with golden stitching. She was still too thin, her russet eyes still heavy with sadness, but she had left the Forest House and that was a victory to be celebrated.

‘We are honoured to have you here,’ Cassian replied smoothly, playing courtier.

Eris searched over his shoulder to place Helion’s location, ready to spirit his mother away if he encroached on them. Helion remained chatting with Rhysand and Cresseida though his eyes frequently flitted to them.

A small hand tugged at Nesta’s dress then Lorin extended his arms upwards to be lifted up to her hip. Adeline smiled fondly to the boy as Nesta swept his black hair from his eyes.

‘He is a darling.’

‘And he’s put a sticky hand on your dress,’ Eris remarked.

Sure enough, there was a small mark on her gown, but it did not bother Nesta. The dress, though lovingly made, was only a dress. Having the people who mattered to her around was the greater gift.

‘I remember when you were that small,’ said Adeline to her eldest. ‘I was so young and so nervous, but the Mother blessed me with the easiest baby imaginable. All Eris did was sleep. Never gave me any cause for concern. He went to anybody, never fussed, never sick. A very good baby. Not like my youngest.’

‘Was Lucien a difficult child?’ Cassian asked, trying hard to bridge a conversation.

Before Adeline could speak, Eris explained, ‘a spoilt baby. One who would not settle unless he was in somebody’s arms.’

She touched her son’s cheek lovingly. ‘And I remember my eldest being sat beside his youngest brother’s cot in the mornings where he’d gone into his room at night because he didn’t like to be apart from him.’

Colour bloomed high on Eris’ cheekbones. He might have been a high lord, but his mother still could successfully embarrass him. Cassian’s brows had gone high in disbelief.

‘I never said I didn’t spoil him. It was a collective effort.’ He squeezed his mother’s shoulder.

It was strange to imagine a life if Beron had not been so cruel. Whether Lucien might have stayed at the Autumn Court – whether Elain would still be his mate. The two females had met. Nesta had craned her neck over Emerie’s shoulder when she had seen Lucien taking Elain towards his mother to introduce them. She’d wished she had Azriel’s shadows to eavesdrop. That pair had been making steps towards friendship. While Lucien’s leg had been healing, he would take a short walk around Velaris with Elain. A couple of times, they had taken tea at Elain’s invitation. Slowly, but surely, something was blooming between them.

Lorin tipped forwards on Nesta’s hips, stretching out his hands towards Adeline. He babbled in Illyrian and Cassian squinted, trying to translate for them. ‘I think he wants your necklace.’

‘May I?’

Lorin went to Adeline happily, more comfortable with females than males. Sure enough, his hand clasped around the thin, silver chain around her neck that she had raised for him to take. Nesta prayed that he’d not give it a sharp tug and snap it – though Adeline did not appear like she would mind. Her face had gone all soft and wistful.

Marsela had attended the ceremony, but had tired quickly. Balthazar had escorted her home, with Rovena offering to keep the children with her when Lule began to cry that she didn’t want to go home. Nesta had a feeling that the children were a distraction for Rovena, soothing her nerves.

On cue, Lule appeared, flapping around all of their heads. Her hair had been tamed into a long fishtail braid, but strands of it had been pulled loose.

‘That’s my brother,’ she explained, surging past Eris’ ear. ‘He doesn’t talk yet.’

‘You make up for it,’ chided Cassian, trying to catch her from the air, but the girl was too fast. She darted downwards, wings snapping together like a fin. It was a trick Balthazar had taught her.

Rovena stood to the side, trying hopelessly to draw Lule back to her. A shadow trailed her, likely on his son’s order, but he was busy dancing with Gwyn near the band. Her teal eyes had lit up at the sight of the musicians gathered and Azriel had been besotted enough to ask her to dance.

Nesta gestured for the female to join them, desperate to seize the opportunity presented, but Rovena remained rooted to the spot, holding out a hand for Lule. The girl sighed her name, drawing out each vowel with dramatic exaggeration.

If Rovena wouldn’t move to them, they would go to her. Nesta took a step closer and introduced her. ‘This is Rovena, Azriel’s mother. She is the delightful female responsible for creating this incredible dress – all of the dresses actually.’

Lule swooped into Rovena’s arms, the elder of the pair clinging tightly to the younger. ‘And she made mine!’

‘You have a wonderful talent,’ Adeline said, following suit and taking a graceful step closer, still balancing Lorin against her hip.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured, dipping her head slightly.

Nesta wove an arm around Rovena’s back, beneath the lower curve of her wings, to ease her discomfort.

‘Do you only have one child?’

Rovena gave a terse nod while Lule squirmed to escape her grip and flutter around them again.

‘I had seven. All boys.’

‘You say it as if it’s a bad thing, mother,’ Eris said, eyes cataloguing the way Rovena shielded herself with Lule, the way she defaulted to pointing her face to the ground. Eris was clever. He was likely taking this piece of Azriel’s history and comparing it to the burns on his hands. Nesta did not believe he would use it as leverage against the male however, not with how protective he was of his own mother. There were some lines that were not meant to be crossed.

‘A daughter would have been nice,’ she replied.

‘Girls are better than boys,’ Lule declared.

‘We won’t keep you any longer,’ Nesta said, winding her arm through Cassian’s again. She gave a pointed look to Eris, to ease up on his protection and let his mother have freedom. There was a sense that the females might be able to talk more without everybody watching, to use the children as a common ground. Nesta wondered if Adeline had ever been able to have friends – just as Rovena had been lonely through self-isolation.

Sure enough, once they had given them space, Adeline started a conversation again – likely about Lorin by the way she lifted him higher and the way Rovena reached forwards to smooth his hair down. Eris fought against his instinct to rush back to his mother’s side and be her shield, but some behaviours, no matter how good they were, could stifle.

‘When are you letting Helion close to her?’ Cassian asked, unable to stop himself from striking the tinder.

Eris rolled his eyes. ‘It is on her orders I keep them apart.’

‘A dutiful son.’

‘Now, now boys. Play nice,’ Nesta warned.

She took Cassian for another walk around, ensuring they had spoken at least once to every guest present as was expected. Her feet were beginning to throb, and she’d not been able to eat a bite because every forkful had been interrupted, but her mate promised her a warm bath and whatever she wanted to eat when they returned to their home that night.

Nuala had led Aoife by the hand towards Lule. The two small girls had been tearing around the party for most of the evening, hand in hand. At the sight of baby Eimear, Rovena and Adeline had turned into sap. Both females cooed at the small, golden-haired babe. Nerves faded between them and Nesta gave a contented sigh, watching from the opposite end of the celebration. She slipped her hand into Cassian’s, squeezing once then nodding towards the females.

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, drawing her in close for a kiss. ‘That’s a good thing.’

She agreed. It was unlikely their paths would cross again, but the seeds had been sewn. The two females who had suffered irreparably at the hands of males had met and seen themselves in each other. All Nesta had wanted was to show them that they were not alone.

‘Why doesn’t he say anything?’

Nesta searched for Helion, but he was stood with an arm slung around Lucien, likely embarrassing him from the blush on his cheeks. Cassian’s warm hand gripped her chin and turned it so she looked upon Eris.

The male stood stiffly with a drink in his hand, one eye on his mother, the other sparing a glance to Mor occasionally. She was dancing with Feyre, blonde hair bouncing as she twirled. Mor had kept up her act of outright ignoring the male and he had not tried to speak to her at all.

It had been an awkward conversation when Nesta had explained that Eris would be accompanying her down the aisle so Mor spending time with the other females in Illyria would mean also spending time with Eris. Thankfully, Cassian had been the one to broach the topic, compromising that she was welcome with him and his brothers. It made sense that way, the two females were not still not particularly friendly with each other.

‘Eris wants her to tell the truth, I think. Ironic considering her power.’

Cassian thought on it for a moment. ‘Maybe its his instincts too. If he exposes what they are, it would hurt her.’

‘The pull is getting stronger for both of them since he’s become high lord. A conversation will need to happen soon. I think he’s waiting for her to sever it.’

‘You think he’ll let her?’

‘Let her?’ Nesta snorted softly, weaving her fingers through Cassian’s. ‘He’s not exposed their bond in half a millennium. He’s far better than you give him credit for.’

It was a night spent dancing under the magnificent Illyrian stars. Nesta had kicked off her shoes once they had made her feet bleed but continued dancing with her friends. Her mate had managed one dance, where they’d crashed knees and thrown their heads back with joyous laughter, but she hadn’t forced him into any more.

Guests said their goodbyes once the night began to wane though some were still full of vigour. Gwyn was one of the first to leave with Azriel winnowing her back to the library, but she promised to see Nesta again soon. Rovena went soon after, insisting that Balthazar was capable of walking her home. That was a big step – Azriel seemed to realise it too. The young male had Lule cradled to his chest, finally slumbering, but Lorin, in Rovena’s arms, was fighting sleep. Nesta knew that Azriel was scared to leave his mother with Balthazar even if it was mere minutes to her warded home, but he had to resist smothering her when she was trying to be brave. When Balthazar had returned, Azriel had thanked him privately, but the tension still lined his face.

It was a perfect day. A perfect night. Nesta could not recall a time where she had been so gloriously happy or hopeful of what was to come in her life. With Cassian at her side, she felt brave enough to do anything, to try anything.

‘What do you say we go home,’ Cassian said before kissing her, ‘I run you a bubble bath,’ another kiss, ‘give you a massage,’ another kiss, ‘then we don’t leave the bedroom until tomorrow night?’

‘And all of these guests?’

‘Rhys invited them. He can play hostess.’

‘Let’s go home and see Zasha.’

Cassian lifted Nesta by the waist until her legs wrapped around his hips. Her arms came around his neck so she could tuck her face into it. It wasn’t their usual way to fly, but there was an intimacy in it that only lovers could have. Lovers, mates, spouses. Friends. It had been a long journey for them. They had needed to become friends long before they had been anything else to each other. They had needed time to grow with each other, to learn from each other. A mating bond was not love. Love was what had developed over months of laughter and teasing, of teaching and learning together.

The light within her chest brightened to a radiant sun as his wings lifted them into the air. There was no other for Nesta. Cassian was her forever. The future was welcomed now, a bright warmth that she was happy to walk towards with him at her side.

#au acosf #the final final bit

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