Chapter Text
Rhys and Amren . Cassian’s words from earlier echoed in her mind as she walked down the spiral staircase. Her insufferable brother in law and her former friend had both wanted to keep the truth from her. Rhys she could handle; she despised him as much as he did her, but Amren .
Amren had been her friend once, if the ancient being even knew what a friend was. Once upon a time, Amren hadn’t judged how she chose to cope, as unhealthy as it was. Now, her former friend had deemed her untrustworthy enough that she didn’t deserve to know the truth about her own body.
She reached the two thousandth step. Everybody fucking hates you .
She didn’t expect those words from all those months ago to come back, crashing through her until she could scarcely breathe, but they did. She stumbled on a step, catching herself on the railing before falling further down into the unforgiving stairwell, and paused to wipe the sweat from her brow. Despite the sharp, cold wind cutting into her mercilessly, Nesta was warm in her leathers. For now. She had a feeling that once she stopped moving, that warmth would go away.
Cassian had told her the next day that his words weren’t true. But apparently he had lied, because what other reason could they have for almost keeping this from her? So setting her shoulders down in a display of mock confidence, she made step after step after step. Then she was at five thousand.
We took a vote and it went in your favor .
Would they have voted for Feyre, or Elain? They wouldn’t. They wouldn’t, because her sisters were good and kind, and she was…well, she was Nesta. Everybody hated Nesta, except maybe her sisters.
Your sisters love you. I can’t for the life of me understand why, but they do.
At least they had voted for her. Or, at least Feyre did. She wasn’t certain if Elain had been given a vote or not. Elain had purposefully kept out of anything having to do with Nesta ever since their fight at the end of the summer, after she had poked and prodded until Nesta snapped right in her face. Her sister had never looked back.
So that left Azriel, Cassian, and Mor. She had no doubt what Mor’s choice would be, given that the female had despised her ever since Nesta snubbed her at their first dinner in the House of Wind.
Before she knew it she had reached the bottom of those dreadful stairs. Above her, she could feel the steps vibrating, as if someone else was making the trip down. Cassian, most likely. The door loomed in front of her, taunting her into making that last final step. She gave into it and stepped onto the streets. No one gave her a second glance.
She was originally going to go confront Amren. Her first friend; once she had been the only one she could stomach to speak to after the horrors of the war. She was going to yell, and scream, and demand to know why Amren wanted to hide this.
You have become a pathetic waste of life.
Nesta couldn’t move another step towards that apartment, nor could she turn back towards the stairs to where Cassian was steadily making his way down. And as she stood in the bustling streets of Velaris, that rage turned into something bitter. It numbed her until she felt as she did only a few months ago, the thoughts racing and racing until all she could hear was them overwhelming her. She needed something to silence them.
She needed a drink. Gods, did she need a drink.
So, in turn, Nesta did the only thing she knew how to do. She scanned the streets as she decided which building she wanted to go to. The Wolf’s Den was out, because that would be the first tavern Cassian would look for her in. She aimlessly wandered the streets until she found the one she was looking for.
She opened a large, creaky wooden door with music playing on the inside, and took a seat at the bar. It was one of her less frequent haunts, in the days before the House and all the training. She had only come here once every month or so, so her family likely hadn’t remembered the name of it. Angus, the bartender that she had gone home with a few times, approached her with a raised eyebrow. The male had seen her at her worst–always making sure that on the nights she was an absolute drunken mess that she did not, in fact, go home with anyone. Even him. He recognized her immediately, his gaze traveling over the muscle and healthy fat she had gained over the past few months.
“I didn't think I’d ever see you again, Archeron,” he said. Her own eyes looked over him as well, at the lightly tanned, tattooed arms that were now flexed as he dried a glass.
“I’ve been... away,” she settled on. It wasn’t technically a lie, and she didn't want him to know the full truth about the situation. Especially if he was the one who ultimately decided if she had a drink or not. No bartender in their right mind would give alcohol to a recovering addict.
He seemed to buy it, though, only offering a nod of his head in acknowledgement. “You’re looking better. I was worried about you for a while, you know, when you didn’t come back.”
Well, looks could be deceiving, she supposed. While her body was definitely stronger–she had made it down those stairs, after all–her mind was still a castle without any walls, capable of crumbling with just a few well placed insults. Weak. She was weak, and pathetic, and…
And she needed a drink. “Thank you,” she said. And then, taking a chance because she didn't know if Rhys’ threats were idle or not about cutting her off, asked, “I assume my tab is still connected to the high lord's account?”
A nod. “It is. What can I get you? The usual?”
Her heart thundered in her chest. It was all too easy. He actually didn’t cut her off. Either it was in an uncharacteristic display of generosity, or... she swallowed. Or he thought she would never truly make it down those stairs. After all that talk about how she wasn’t confined to the House. Rhys had underestimated her determination. In her stunned state, she just nodded.
Wine, like the kind her mother would serve at her parties, only much, much cheaper, was placed in front of her. She took a sip, the taste filling her with a sourness to match her own. The wine was truly terrible, though she supposed that was one of the reasons why she liked it. The wine hated her body, too, as she had woken up many times in the middle of the night just to expel it from her stomach.
Still, though, she drained the glass. “I know the answer is probably no, but do you want any food to go with that?” Angus asked.
She considered, eventually deciding on fuck it . After training for two hours every day, she had a semi-healthy appetite now. “Do you have any cake?”
***
Angus did, in fact, have cake. Just two hours later she hummed as the final bite of her third slice entered her mouth, which was washed down with another swig of that atrocious wine.
She had purposefully declined all the males that tried to speak with her, mostly because she didn’t want Cassian's look of disappointment to sink even deeper when he eventually found her. That didn’t, however, keep her from accepting games of cards, in which she intentionally lost every single hand. She was practically giving away money at this point, and it was all on Rhys’ dime.
A few times–she couldn't remember exactly how many–she had called that the next round was on her (Rhys), and each time she could see Angus’ eyebrows lifting in visible concern. The last time she had spent this much, it had been a week before the intervention and she had spent two hundred gold marks. Then she disappeared for four months.
It had only been another hour when Nesta decided to leave. She stumbled up to Angus at the bar, who was still watching her carefully.
“How much?” She could hear the words slurring as they left her lips. It wasn’t until that moment that she realized just how much she had drunk; once she started she simply hadn’t been able to stop. And now she knew she would barely make it back to those steps.
“Six hundred gold marks, Archeron.”
She let out a humorless chuckle. Five hundred was enough to start her punishment. Six hundred was certainly enough to bring on something much, much worse.
Six hundred might be enough to have Cassian turn away from her for good.
She spoke one last time to Angus. “The general will come looking for me, I imagine. Let him know I went for a walk.” She turned away. “Feel free to send my bill to our beloved high lord.” She left before he could say another word.
One thing Nesta knew for certain was that she was way too drunk to know how much time had passed since she had left the tavern. It had to have been a while, she figured, given the way her nerves tingled whenever she moved her fingers. The temperature had dropped steadily since when she first left that stairwell, but her mind in her broken, drunken state barely even noticed it.
She had taken to walking along the Sidra, her shoes leaving footprints in the half-frozen mud. Every once in a while, the water lapped at her ankles.
In only a few minutes her legs had turned to lead, not from physical exhaustion but the one caused by the war in her soul. She turned to face the river.
How easy would it be to walk into this river and never come back out? It would be fitting that the black, inky Cauldron would be the first thing to kill her, and this river, which was somehow warmer than she remembered the Cauldron ever being, even in the dead of winter, would be the second.
Surprisingly, the thing that prevented her from doing so was the thought of Feyre having to cover up a scandal like that. The High Lady’s Sister Drowns in Tragic Incident . The thought of it all drew an empty laugh from her. Typical, how her mind was still in the mindset of being in high society despite how low she had gone.
When she tried to pull her boot up from the ground, she realized it was stuck in the mud. Perfect , she thought to herself. She proceeded to do the only logical thing: she untied the laces of her boots and forced her ankles out, stepping back onto the ground with nearly bare feet. Her brain barely registered it.
She absentmindedly staggered towards the base of a nearby tree and finally collapsed once she reached the base. Her head leaned back against the trunk, but her eyes remained open, and she stared blankly at the rushing water. She could stay here forever, she supposed. It was as good a place as any to fade into nothing.
***
Cassian. His high lord’s voice was commanding. Get to the river house. Now. He took a shuddering breath as his wings flapped in the air from where he was doing an aerial scan of the streets. It had been over four hours and there was still no sign of her; he had followed Nesta down the steps, but once she had walked into the streets he had lost track of her scent.
Amren’s place and the river house had been the first places he looked, but not a single whiff of Nesta’s scent lingered at either. Two hours ago he had begun to panic. None of the taverns that he could remember had seen her at all, and even Azriel’s shadows would need a few more hours before they combed through every part of the city. Cassian was just hoping, praying that she was alright.
You have an update? He dared to ask.
Rhys merely growled on the other side of that mental bond. House. Now .
His brother rarely spoke to him like that, so whatever it was had to be bad. Cassian turned in the sky and made a dive towards the house, which thankfully was almost right underneath him, not bothering to try to brace himself for his abrupt landing. He felt the impact in his knees, the knees Madja had been begging him over the last century to take better care of. He hated to admit that five centuries had been rough on his joints. Today, he didn’t care. Nesta was more important.
Rhys’ face was grim as he entered the study, Amren sitting cross-legged in the chair beside him. Feyre winnowed in a moment later, followed by Azriel. Cassian still didn’t know exactly how his brother’s shadow winnowing worked. Every time he asked, Azriel had merely shrugged off the question.
“Any sign of her?” Cassian asked. Feyre slowly shook her head, obviously in distress. She had said that she would try to cast out her mind towards Nesta, but unless Nesta opened her mind in turn, there wasn’t much more Feyre could do.
But Rhys picked up a piece of folded parchment from the desk. Slowly he unfolded it in front of all of them. A bill. It was a bill.
Somehow Cassian knew what Rhys was going to say before he even opened his mouth. His stomach sunk as Rhys read the first item from the list aloud. Then the second. Then the third.
Cassian knew that Rhys had never truly cut Nesta off. He had explained in the first week of the arrangement that he and Feyre wanted Nesta to have access to funds in case she ever found herself stranded without any of them nearby. It had made sense at the time, but now…Gods. Oh, gods.
Feyre listened, unblinking, to her mate’s words. Once again, he made a show of drawing out every single thing that Nesta had ordered. Only this time, Feyre did not cry.
“Stop,” she commanded, a hunter watching its prey. Rhys, to his credit, did.
“Darling, I’m not even halfway through the list.”
“I’ve heard enough,” she said shortly, and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “You do not get to stand there and berate my sister for a problem you have caused.”
No one dared to utter a word except Rhys, whose brow furrowed. “What? Feyre, she spent six hundred gold marks .”
“And you wanted to keep a life-altering secret from her, when she already had issues trusting us,” Feyre said back. Cassian couldn’t help but agree. The whole voting thing didn’t sit right with him. If he hadn’t received a direct order from Rhys, he likely would have told her anyway.
The two of them were facing each other fully, seemingly forgetting the rest of them were there. Cassian could tell Azriel was listening from where he looked out the window, though he didn’t say anything. And Amren seemed to purposefully be keeping quiet.
Even though, like he and Nesta, fighting seemed to be a form of foreplay for the two of them, Feyre for once looked undeniably angry. Rhys very well might be sleeping on the couch tonight.
“When you kept secrets from me, I left you half dead and freezing in the mud, then proceeded to destroy your house,” Feyre said, continuing on. Rhys stilled and Cassian averted his eyes from his high lady, suddenly afraid of her reaction once she learned of the truth fully. It certainly wasn’t going to be pretty when she realized he was lying to her yet again. “I’d say it’s a family trait.”
Sometimes he forgot just how strong Feyre was. This was the female who had slain the Middengard beast as a mere human woman, the woman who had dared to pummel a high lord into snow and ice for using her as a pawn to catch the Attor, and somehow, for a few months, he had reimagined her as this fragile, delicate thing that Rhys kept under wraps. A high lord’s pet. What Tamlin had wanted her to be.
Feyre was nothing of the sort.
“Regardless, we need to reevaluate the situation,” Rhys said, trying to move on. “Once we find her, we need to come up with a new plan.
Cassian nearly growled. “Oh, I’d say it was working fine,” he said. “And I draw the line right here about Nesta. No more voting. No more secrets. In fact, no more interference from the two of you at all,” he said, gesturing to Amren now as well. The female in question perked up, seemingly surprised he had talked to her like that. Never before in his five hundred years had he dared to.
The look he gave Rhys promised death. As pissed as he was at Nesta, never again would he allow his brother to treat her this way.
His high lady set her eyes on him, and her eyes softened. “Please find my sister, Cassian, and make sure she is safe.” Feyre swallowed. “Please.”
Cassian nodded, and left Rhys to face the wrath of his high lady.
***
Empty. It was empty and cold here, underneath this tree with the damp ground seeping up through her pants. Cold, like that Cauldron had been–unmerciful and like pure, rotten death. Like her.
At the first sound of his wings in the air, she knew he had found her. Knew Rhys had probably already been sent the bill, seen the six hundred gold marks she had spent, and condemned her to at least another decade in that house.
Training. Shelving. Fucking.
She didn’t know if she could do it. She didn’t know if she could stand looking into his eyes as he took her to bed again, leaving her immediately with nothing afterwards. Or the merciless taunting when she was learning a new exercise. Or him calling her sweetheart in that snide tone of his, even after she had begged him to stop.
Cassian landed beside her with a thud, his broad arms crossed in front of his chest. He was waiting for her to say something, she realized, when he didn’t speak. Slowly, with more bravery than she thought she had, she lifted her eyes to his face. He was watching her with a range of emotions–concern, disappointment, and... anger, Yeah, there was definitely some anger mixed in there.
He took a deep breath, realizing she wasn't going to start. “Well?” he asked.
Her hands folded in her lap. “I'm sorry I worried you.”
“You’re sorry you worried me,” he repeated. “Nothing else?”
She curled into herself a little bit more, the shame already starting to spread through her veins. She didn’t regret spending the money, but she regretted doing something that made him look at her like that. Like she was lucky he even gave her the time of day.
As his eyes tracked the motion something very, very small softened, though he still remained visibly pissed. “Six hundred gold marks,” he said quietly. “Six hundred, Nesta. That's even more than last time!”
She let out a breath. “A new record.”
He scoffed. “Do you even realize how much money that is, sweetheart? ” he asked in that mocking tone of his.
“I would say enough to buy three magical, Made weapons,” she said. He raised his eyebrows, unimpressed. Nesta continued, “What? Did you think I would just give them away for free?”
“Is that how it’s going to be?” he asked, taking a step closer. “You want to make a tally of everything this court owes you? Here’s a hint: you’re in the red.”
She didn’t have anything to say to that; Nesta merely huffed a breath and looked away.
“Damn it, Nes!” he said, his voice rising. “Can you please just take this seriously?”
It was then that the silver fire burned in her eyes, though it burned like ice. “Take this seriously?” she said, slowly at first. With a start, she realized he had always been this dismissive. When she had been drowning nearly a year ago, he certainly had no trouble shoving all her issues to the side. Perhaps you can find it in yourself to try a little harder this year . That was what he had said. As if every day wasn’t a struggle just to get out of bed.
How was it that his words affected her this deeply? Why was it always his harsh words that she heard inside her head? “ Take this seriously? ” she screamed.
His eyes widened. She didn’t stop. “I have been taking this seriously for months. I have been trying.” Against her will, silver tears began to line her eyes. “I've been trying so, so hard. I–” her voice cut off before she could keep going. “I thought I was getting better.”
Cassian was simply frozen still. Maybe it was the way he could see her body involuntarily shaking, or maybe he simply took pity on her. Because then he was reaching his hand down to her, his glowing red siphon on top of it. “I know you have been,” he said. “You've been trying so much.”
She sniffed, trying to keep the tears at bay, as she eyed his hand warily. “Come on, sweetheart. Let me take you home. We’ll sort it all out when we get there, alright?”
To the house that had become a prison. A prison Cassian could leave, as could Azriel, because of their wings. But not her, unless she wanted to brave the ten thousand steps just for a few hours down below.
Rhys was going to kill her, that was for certain. She didn't regret spending the money, not by a long shot. But the last time she spent this much the high lord had locked her in a house with his general. Cassian kept saying it wasn’t a punishment, but how could it not be? Her stomach sank when she thought of what the consequences might be for this.
So it was really out of her control, then, when she flinched away from his outstretched hand, bringing her knees to her chest underneath that tree. She saw something break in his eyes when she did, and he took a hesitant step backward, pulling his hand back.
His voice cracked as he spoke. “I'm not going to hurt you, Nesta.”
She gasped in air then, which fed a sob that she couldn’t for the life of her control. Not wanting him to see, she buried her face behind her hands and focused on the feeling of fresh tears running down her palms until they felt cold.
There was a thud on the ground before he spoke again. “I won’t let anyone else hurt you, either.”
She dared a look over her hands to find Cassian on his knees before her. Those wings–his beautiful, glorious wings–were spread out so wide behind him that it likely blocked her from view of anyone walking by. It was almost as if he was protecting her. She watched them flutter as a strong breeze hit them, but he didn't say a word.
“Can I touch you?” he asked, although he didn't make a move to do so. “I want to get you out of the cold, but I won’t do anything until you tell me I can.”
She looked blankly at his wings. “To fly?” He nodded. “I don’t know if I can keep the wine down.” It was already threatening to come back up at the thought of the flight. Her aversion to it was no secret; ever since that first time Rhys flew her she had hated it.
“I’ve dealt with worse, Nes.” He moved a little bit closer, and this time, Nesta did not move away. “Can I?” he asked again.
His hand was extended again. “We’ll figure it out, Nes. I promise. I promise you’ll be alright.” He inched forward. “Just please take my hand.”
She let out a shaky breath and shut her eyes. Opened them. His hand was still there.
“You promise?” she asked. She couldn’t remember her voice ever sounding this weak. It was embarrassing.
He nodded. “I promise.”
She glanced down to his hand again. She considered. Then slowly, tentatively, she placed her ice-cold hand in his own. Cassian sighed with relief and pulled her into his chest, nearly crushing her with his broad arms, before tensing around her. “Fuck, you’re freezing.” He looked down. “And where are your shoes?”
She didn’t have the energy to answer. He peeled the sweater from his back, leaving him bare with a white short sleeved shirt, and in turn pulled the sweater over her own head. “I might get sick on it,” she said.
“I don’t care,” he said, firmly. “All that matters is you.”
Nesta didn’t truly realize how much she was shaking until Cassian slid his other arm under her knees and drew her into the heat of his body. That heat, combined with his steady scent, began to slow said shaking down.
Nesta tried to believe him. She really truly did. “I want…I want to go home.”
He held her tighter against him and tucked her head against his chest and underneath his chin. “Okay. I’ll take you home, Nes.”
It was only when his feet touched the veranda that she realized he had misunderstood her when she said home . To him, this was a home; he had quite literally grown up here when he wasn’t in Illyria. But for her, it was different.
Her father had lost her first home. Tamlin destroyed her second; Hybern her third. Her family had taken away her fourth. She had been reaching, longing for a home that didn’t exist. Perhaps it never would.
She hadn’t gotten sick. Somehow. Cassian set her down gently on the ground and gave her space to move away if she wished.
“There. We're home now, see?” he said, gesturing to the silent, empty hall of the House. She could feel it monitoring her closely, trying to get a read on how she was doing, and by the gentle caress on her shoulders she figured the conclusion was not well .
She brushed off the embrace and crept down the hallway, not acknowledging Cassian’s words. Her steps echoed hauntingly as she walked towards the dining room. She and Cassian had fucked at that table once. She couldn't stomach the thought of doing it again.
Nesta nearly missed the chair when she tried to sit down; that was how drunk she still was. Across the table Azriel sat in his typical aloofness, Cassian at his side.
“How are you feeling, Nesta?” the shadowsinger asked.
She tensed, and Cassian shot him an indecipherable look. “Fine.”
Nesta made no move to fill her plate, even though the House had gone out with all her favorites: soup, ham, a fresh salad–none of it mattered. Because of course he did, Cassian noticed and began to do it for her.
“You really should try to eat something, Nes,” Cassian said. His concern was admirable. She was surprised he hadn't dumped her on the human border right when he found her. Or fucked her against a wall and left her there gasping for breath.
“I already have,” she said absentmindedly. “Three slices of cake.”
His eyebrows rose in shock and he said, “Cake doesn’t count as a meal. Come on, eat something with some substance. You’re going to need it tomorrow.”
Right. She still had training in the morning. The thought of it formed a pit in her stomach, of Cassian pushing her even harder out of punishment for her being hungover. Punishment was coming, she was sure of it.
Her fork slid involuntarily from her hand. It clanged noisily against her plate, the small piece of ham she had carefully placed upon it falling off upon impact. Cassian looked up from his own plate at that, though she kept her eyes lowered to the table.
“I'm going to bed.” It was all she could manage to say. She couldn’t handle Cassian’s looks of obvious disapproval, and couldn’t meet Azriel’s of unsettling understanding. A part of her wondered what Azriel had seen in his long life to make him look at her like that. Somehow, he had always been able to see right through her.
“You need to eat,” Cassian said. She could tell he was trying to reign in his temper. Maybe, she hoped, for her sake. But she wasn’t counting on it.
Nesta didn’t dare to raise her eyes while Cassian shared a look with Azriel. The latter said, slowly, “Go get some rest, Nesta. If you’re hungry, the house will bring you something.”
She looked at the shadowsinger in surprise, and he gave her a small nod. “We’ll see you in the morning, alright?”
So Nesta stood and left, walking the distance to her room alone.
Her bedroom was silent when she shut the door just a few minutes later. Somehow she could feel the anxiety of the house; maybe it could detect her sliding back into the state she had been in when she arrived, and was trying to stop the decline. In any case, her plate from dinner appeared on her desk with a thud.
“I don’t want it,” she said. The plate remained. Her face tightened into an expression of raw anger. “I don’t want it,” she said, more forceful this time. “Gods, take a fucking hint. Leave me alone, you stupid house.”
The magic of the house stilled as it was struck by her words. Then she felt it retreat, taking the plate of food with it as it obeyed her, leaving her alone in that fireless, silent room. Nesta wished that she could feel guilt, or remorse, or even a twinge of regret. But there was none to be found.
It was quiet. It was loud. It was too much.
Nesta curled on her bed and tried to sleep.
***
Azriel remained uncharacteristically quiet in his seat while watching his fork. Cassian wondered if he was mad for Rhys’ sake, or if something else had upset him. In the meeting earlier when Rhys once again made a show of Nesta's bill, like always, his brother hadn’t let a single emotion slip. He had left before offering any input.
Cassian was pissed, obviously, but he had been trying his best to tone it down as much as he could. It hadn’t worked; he and Nesta had still fought. They would probably fight even more. In the end, though, he tried to give her as much grace as he could.
The anger had mostly thawed when he saw her sitting under that tree. The way she watched that river…Cassian couldn’t help but wonder if she had contemplated jumping into it before he found her. Was he mad that she relapsed? Yes. Yes, he was. This was around the time where he and his family said they would reevaluate the plan. It had been working . She had been getting better–
I thought I was getting better.
The way she said those words nearly ripped his heart right out of his chest. It was that moment that he realized she didn’t need that anger from him tonight, when she already could barely stand his touch. Besides, it would surely be better in the morning, once they slept it off and got through training. They would talk then. They would figure everything out. They would go back to training, and everything would be fine. Hopefully.
His brother spoke. “Truthfully, I’m surprised it wasn’t worse.”
Cassian let out an exasperated sigh. “But it was a little excessive, don’t you think?”
Azriel blinked. “Are you fucking serious?” he asked. “Think about what drove her down those stairs. Before tonight, she hadn’t craved a drink in over a month.”
Shadows swarmed around his brother. Cassian found himself wondering what, exactly, those shadows whispered in his ear. Did he have that conversation with Nesta himself, about the urges going away? Or was that merely an observation by his power? It was hard to imagine Nesta and Azriel talking extensively over anything; both of them were too damn stubborn to ever open up to anyone.
But his brother was right. Nesta had been doing so damn well before he opened his mouth today. Maybe he had been naive to think that once they had gotten through the worst of it, that their work was done.
“What do I do, Az?” The question came out before he could stop it. He felt so out of his depth here. There was no doubt in his mind that he wanted to help her, but every time he opened his mouth, he feared he would say the wrong thing. And the situation they had found themselves in was, indeed, fragile.
Azriel studied him, then said, “You support her. You don’t get angry. You listen when she speaks. Truly listen.” Azriel took a bite and swallowed it. “Let her know you’re in her corner. That’s what she needs.”
He had failed at most of those tonight, he realized. He had snapped at her in the cold, made her shrink in upon herself in shame. Had gotten mad. Had yelled.
He would make it up to her. What other choice did he have?
“All that money–”
“The money doesn’t matter, and never has,” Azriel said. “We both know that. Rhys knows that. Instead, you should be happy that your mate isn’t dead .”
Azriel was the only person that Cassian had told about what he suspected. Not even Rhys knew, but he had a feeling the high lord was more observant than he let on. But that other comment…
He asked slowly, “What are you talking about?”
Azriel took a deep breath. “People don’t look like that when they want to live, believe me.”
Cassian tensed in his chair. He always knew Nesta thought badly of herself, but he never thought it was so bad that she didn’t want to live at all. Just this morning, she had been laughing with Gwyn and Emerie over the name of a sword. She couldn’t have possibly shifted that quickly. Right?
His brother seemed to notice his train of thought. “It will get worse. Trust me, it will get much, much worse,” Azriel said, giving his brother a warning look. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Cassian.”