Chapter Text
"You have no right to close up my apartment, to take my things-"
"What things? A few clothes and some rotten food. I'm having that entire building condemned."
"You wouldn't dare."
"It's done. Rhys already visited the landlord. It will be torn down and rebuilt as a shelter for families displaced by the war."
Nesta's breath hitched as the full weight of the words crashed down on her. They were ripping it all away from her, her home, her life, her freedom. It didn't matter how pathetic it all was; she was perfectly aware of what she had become, what they would never let her forget. Her existence had dwindled into a miserable, burdensome waste, but it was hers.
Her sister’s eyes softened as she spoke.
“Nesta, I understand how you feel, and I know that this will be hard, but you’re not alone, and we will get through this. Together.”
Together, it would not be together, it hadn’t been since the gods damned cottage, perhaps not even before then. It was Feyre, her insipid High Lord, and their so-called “court of dreams”.
Her family, and Nesta. It always would be.
“We will not.” Nesta stood still, voice glacial. Feyre’s eyes widened, and Nesta could feel her power surging, begging to be let out and have done with it all.
Why should I have to try to do anything. I was dragged into this world of yours, this court.
Then go somewhere else.
“You do not want me in this city then fine, I will leave. But I will be deciding where I go, not your inner circle, not your High Lord and certainly not you, High Lady.”
It was a conversation that played out often in her mind, and never by choice. Sometimes it would hit her at her happiest, putting a damper on anything from a lively night of drinking or a quiet evening spent reading inside. It would come to her midmorning while she was stuck in bed, her body like lead and stolen power frenzied as her thoughts taunted her endlessly. The situation mattered little; it would always end with her agonizing over it again, and again until the bitter shame, anger and regret made her feel sick.
It was hard to not reminisce on it all, her sister's mouth agape as if Nesta had just slaughtered a man right in front of her eyes, staggered by the idea that she might do anything but mindlessly follow her demands, and be eager to dance and sing to atone for her perceived slights. The commotion that followed was a sight to be seen, yelling, and crying as if she had committed treason and not simply decided she would rather leave their precious Velaris than willingly march herself into the poorly concealed prison sentence they were offering. But she had held firm, and they relented, some even glad for it, no doubt. She hadn't missed Rhys's sly smirk to his cousin or Morrigan's muttered "Good riddance".
She had ignored Cassian's silent plea and Elain's tear-stricken face, simply leaving their palace on the river to return to her sad little apartment to pack whatever meagre belongings she could muster. Nesta had gathered what little money she had hidden in the various cracks and crevices in the apartment, the dirty clothes and worn books had been shoved into a single suitcase, and that with the lump sum the High Lord had so generously given her, she was set to leave by boat the very next morning.
She had stood on Velaris's docks as Cassian begged desperately for them, for the time he had promised her but never given. She listened stone-faced until she was finally called to board and had left him there, not even sparing a sparce glance back.
It had not been a thought-out decision to where she would go, only that it would be far from Prythian and the Night Court. Nesta had not let herself think of where she might find herself while on that boat lest she get caught up in childhood dreams of faraway cities, of foreign art and of music or of what life she could live. She did not want to hope.
The boat had gone south, further down than Vallahan or Montesere, the only faerie countries she had known of, and she had ended up in a coastal city of Iverra, named Athemont.
It was on the beaches of that city where Nesta now sat, 4 years later, taking swigs of a fine wine under a moonless night.
4 years to the day when she had first stepped foot onto its docks and into her new life.
It had been hell at first, for a whole year she had floundered alone in a new city with little money to her name. She'd managed to secure lodging in a rundown, crowded bedsit early on, paying more for the luxury to sleep alone on an uncomfortable mat in what must have once been a closet lest she want to share air and a room with 4 strangers. She worked odd jobs, most were better, sewing, washing clothes, cleaning. All something she had become accustomed to, she even helped teach younglings to write once. But it could be hard to get work when you stink of stale wine and sweat and look as if you could keel over at any point. She did what she had to do at those times, anything to keep money in her pockets.
It was truly hell.
She spent many nights drunk out of her mind, doing whatever she could to dull out the incessant screams of her mind, drowning out the curse that lived beneath her skin. Money was tight however, keeping a roof over her head and food in her mouth had to come first, no matter how much she wished to do otherwise. Many more nights were spent wide awake, cold, and numb, thinking how easy it would all be to just stop; she had even come close a few times. A familiar vice would grip around her though, an icy, stinging rage reminding her why she was here, and she would always return to the itchy mat on the floor. Resolute. She would not give them the satisfaction of failure, neither alive nor dead.
It was not all bad, however.
The forced proximity to people meant forced niceties, which had soon turned into pleasant conversations spent commiserating about their situations and what had led them there. There was always someone there to badger her into eating something after days of refusing herself food or to comfort her when she awoke shaking from the nightmares, even if it was begrudgingly. Damn the Fae and their senses.
It was not exactly friendship that had formed between, but a sort of comradery of shared understanding. Her neighbours beyond the paper-thin walls had become people she could share to without judgement, exist freely, miserable life and all, and she’d do the same for them. One older, one-legged male, a soldier forgotten by his lieges, had even helped her with the “sadness in her blood” as he so poetically called it, but she had understood. The shaking of her hands when she heard a fire crack, her resistance to open water, the far off look she’d get when she found herself in those waking nightmares; he’d understood it all and in return, he regaled her with his own stories of horror and the way he’d find himself again when he drifted back into them.
It was not all bad by the end of that first year; she’d even managed to pull herself together a bit. She’d regained some of her former looks, her clothes were always at least somewhat clean, and her hair not so grimy. She had even managed to maintain some weight, though not much, when she received a surprise visit from Lucien.
The fox had visited sporadically since the beginning, dropping off the occasional letter from her sisters checking she was indeed still alive. At some point, they had shifted to chatting over drinks; they would talk about his work, how she was getting on, places he thought she might like to visit one day, but never about her family. She had never wanted to know how they were doing, what might have changed, if they missed her. She still didn’t, and he knew that.
At some point, against his better judgement she thought, Lucien had decided to set up a meeting with an associate for her. Lady Orlagh Areisen, the widow of the King of Iverra’s youngest grandson and lord of the region, ruling in his stead until their young son came of age. It all happened quickly after that and before Nesta knew it, she had a good job as an aide to the Lady. And she relished it.
Nesta had climbed her way up, making good use of the skills her mother had beaten into her since birth to prove herself capable. She had known next to nothing of the Fae world as a whole, never mind the small-scale politics, ways, and issues of the little region she now lived in. She had remedied that, spending months learning and reading until her role felt like second nature. Much of it already was familiar; court life seemed to differ little between humans and Fae.
She had even made a friend in Orlagh, a strange and eccentric Fae compared to those she had met before. Lucien had remarked she was like the High Lord of the Summer Court in a way, both sharing a desire to even the gap between the High Fae and the “lesser” counterparts. It was something both were often ridiculed for. It was a goal Nesta could get behind, however.
Orlagh had headed many policies in aid of this dream, much the resistance of the regions upper classes. It was a slow effort, levying to change laws took years, and the plans she had succeeded in beginning were still getting off the ground. But it was a start, and Nesta was happy to help where she could.
Before she knew, 3 years had passed by and here Nesta was, sitting on damp sand drinking from a wine bottle after a long day of paperwork, so much paperwork.
Nesta watched the waves ebb back and forth on the sand, trying to spot where the black water ended, and the night sky began. Her power crackled beneath her skin, happy almost.
She had come to an understanding with the power she had stolen, an acceptance that she and it were one, and she needn’t fear it. She had even trained with it, learning how to do simple Fae things like making faelight, summoning objects and sending things away. She could even winnow and conjure small flames at will, but it was as far as she was willing to go.
Another thing she came to understand was a part truth of her magic, death, she could now freely accept that. She had ripped something eldritch out from the innards of the cauldron. It had made her herself something ancient and other, not human but not wholly Fae either, and the depths of the world called to her.
The sea is a deep and endless thing; it connects all life and has provided boundless gifts to us since time began. Civilisations throughout history have relied on it as part of what made them great, but it has destroyed just as many, if not more. As great, beautiful, and mighty as it might be, it is still a ruthless force of nature, and our lives matter not in its eyes. The words had been said to her by a drunk fisherman in a bar as she entertained his ceaseless monologuing. But it was true, the sea was indeed a deep and endless thing and just as all things like it did, it cried out to her power, and it couldn’t help but sing back.
Nesta had been stuck between those calls, mind entranced by the back-and-forth flow of the waves and light breeze on her skin when she heard a cry, an actual cry. It snapped her out of the trance, and her eyes scanned wildly for where it came from.
It rang out again, the keening wail of an infant she realised, and Nesta darted towards it, leaving the bottle forgotten in the sand. As she edged to where the swash of the waves hit the sand, she could make out a small bundle. A dark blanket with a tiny, pale arm pawing out at the air.
Nesta rushed towards and swooped up the bundle into her arms, water lapping at her feet. She looked to see a little, tear-streaked face, and eyes like the deep sea beside gazing up at her. The babe was so small, practically a newborn.
Who would abandon a newborn like this.
The babe continued to cry, and Nesta pulled them to her chest; they were so cold. She placed a hand on their back, and a hit of confusion rocked into her as she felt two masses. Nesta pulled the sopping blanket back to reveal two little wings, soft and feathered.
A girl she realised. Light, wispy hair framed her rounded ears as Nesta looked down at her. She pulled the blanket off her and replaced it with the shawl she wore, before marching back up the beach.