Chapter 12 — Nesta - A Court of Splintered Harmony

The sunset stained the sea to Nesta’s left into blood-splattered gold. Panting, nose already bleeding, she knelt on the edge of the cliff, the northern horizon an impossibly distant line. Beyond it lay the Prison.

Between the Prison and here lay death.

She sucked in a breath, trying to rise, winded and sore from the winnowing that had taken her north from Velaris. Her knees, her thighs, did not cooperate.

Go, her blood whispered. Make the jump.

Why? she whispered back. Why?

But there was no reply. Even her blood seemed to go silent, leaving her shivering in a cold sweat on that cliff edge.

Alone.

She looked to her right, to the purpling eastern sky. To the first star of evening. To the darkness, the night growing beyond it.

Wedged between night to one side and the remnants of day to the other, Nesta found herself unable to move in any direction at all.

It was fitting, Nesta thought bitterly. She’d been stuck for weeks now, trying to figure out how to reach that place she’d been before, where she’d felt like she had a home and a mate and a family that she loved. loved. It was all she wanted—those things, those people. To love them, to be loved by them, to keep them safe and happy.

That golden horizon to her left shimmered with the last rays of the sun.

It was the only thing she was certain about, that love. She knew it, because these weeks without Cassian, with him treating her as little more than a stranger, had been the hardest of her life. This time without Gwyn and Emerie and training with the Valkyries had eaten away at her, until she was nothing but weary, aching bones.

The old Nesta might have balked at such feelings, might have sneered and said she was weak, pathetic, needy. But those bonds had helped her survive Ramiel. Helped her survive Briallyn and the Crown. Those bonds had saved Feyre and Nyx. She would never not be proud of that. And she was grateful, so grateful, to have people who loved her. People worth protecting, worth dying for.

On trembling legs, head spinning, Nesta managed to get to her feet. Maybe whatever called for her over the northern horizon was a siren song, luring her away from what mattered, who mattered. Come, it beckoned, but to where? To what end? More shadows and loneliness and secrets?

It would consume her, if she let it.

So Nesta ignored that northern horizon, stained with a dazzling blend of encroaching night and lingering day. She turned from that horizon line, back toward the people she loved.

The green, shimmering hills of the Night Court lowlands spread ahead to the south. And beyond that . . . Velaris. Home.

She glanced over a shoulder, just once, right as the final rays of the sun slipped under the sea. Could have sworn a shimmer of green flashed as they did so, like some sort of final farewell.

Then she let herself look eastward one last time—to that evening star now emerging. Glinting, as if in welcome or goodbye. She was almost tempted to lift a hand in greeting or parting in response.

But she resisted, and with blood in her nose, its tang in her mouth, Nesta winnowed home. Gwyn might not be ready to speak to her, but Cassian . . . Cassian was her mate. He had to be coming back tonight, if Nyx’s celebration was tomorrow. And since they were all due to go to the temple together in the morning, it was likely he’d at least have to stop by the House of Wind to pick up his clothes.

She couldn’t stand it another moment, being separated from him, their anger keeping them apart.

The House of Wind was quiet; their bedroom even quieter as she donned her nightclothes. She slipped between the sheets, keenly aware of the crisp comforter and fluffed pillow on the other side of the bed. For long moments, she lay there, the silence pressing on her skin, hollowing out her head.

At last she said into the stillness, “Everything is a mess.”

She didn’t know why she was talking to the House about her personal problems, but she whispered, “I can’t figure out a way to fix it.”

In answer, a pile of splinters landed in her lap, littering the white duvet in wood and cinders.

Nesta sighed deeply. “Is this your opinion on the current state of my relationship with my mate?” The House, of course, didn’t answer. Nesta peered down at the pile. “What is this, exactly? Or was this?”

The splinters stirred on a phantom wind and rose off the blankets, forming a shape in the air beyond the bed. “If you show me Cassian’s stupid face—” she started, but halted as she beheld what the House had crafted. A wooden pillar—a hewn tree trunk. One that looked very familiar, especially as it began to buckle and indent at one particular spot halfway up its length.

“Is that . . . the punching block we used for training last year?” Nesta asked. She’d attacked it until the entire thing collapsed into splinters—and embers steaming with silver flames. The House must have squirreled away the shards when cleaning up after her.

The House repeated itself, building the punching block, then showing it shattering under invisible blows, then disintegrating into the pile again.

Nesta closed her eyes after the second viewing. “Take it away. I get it.” But when she opened her eyes again, the House hadn’t removed the splinters. It had instead placed the massive pile back in her lap.

“Take it away,” she hissed. “I don’t want to see it.” The House obeyed this time.

It was perfect, really. The House couldn’t have chosen a better symbol of where she and Cassian stood. The training, the determination, the love that had grown between them—all shattering not due to some outside force, but because of her. Her choices. Her powers. Her stubbornness.

So yes, it was upon her to rebuild a seemingly impossible whole out of so many shards. But that would require her mate to show up.

Long into the night, she waited for Cassian, curled up in their bed with a Sellyn Drake novel and a cup of warm chocolate. The House got that request correct, at least. But her mate didn’t come. She stayed up as long as she could, eyes burning with fatigue. Yet in the end Nesta fell asleep alone, her hand on Cassian’s pillow, reaching for the empty side of the bed.

I walked alone down the untamed stretch of beach to the north of Adriata. I’d winnowed here half an hour ago, needing space and air and tranquility.

I waded shin-deep in the surf, the light skirts of my green dress bunched in one hand, the sun beating on my left side as it began to make its downward turn. There was nothing but the sigh of the surf, the soft, damp sea breeze playing in my hair.

There was no path forward. We had talked and eaten and talked some more, all to no avail. I even got Tarquin alone for a good half hour when Rhys asked Cresseida to show him one of those self-sailing ships, but the conversation with Tarquin went nowhere. And when Rhys returned, face carefully neutral, I shook my head. Nothing had changed.

I didn’t even have it in me to be angry. Their reasons for avoiding the conflict were sound. Tarquin’s people had suffered enough losses. Not just against Hybern, but during the fifty years under Amarantha before that.

Worse was what Tarquin had revealed during our private conversation: Kallias, High Lord of the Winter Court, was in agreement with him. And from what Princess Cresseida had implied upon her return with Rhys, Thesan of the Dawn Court felt the same.

If Tarquin would not formally ally with us in this conflict, then there was no chance Winter or Dawn would, either.

A wave slammed into my legs and I paused, steadying myself as it pulled back, ripping away the sand from beneath my feet. The water was so clear here—so warm. Silvery fish darted in the shallows, long fins trailing like ribbons. I could see them as clearly as if I were gazing through a window.

“If you’re thinking of taking off that dress and swimming naked,” Rhys drawled from behind me, “the answer is yes. Please do.”

I snorted, glancing over a shoulder. My mate was barefoot, black trousers rolled to his knees and matching shirt rolled to his elbows, unbuttoned enough at the top to reveal the beginnings of his Illyrian tattoos.

Another wave crashed around me, spraying my dress.

Rhys offered me a half smile. “That’s an awfully sad expression for someone so beautiful.”

I turned back to the beach, and silently began walking once more. My mate fell into step beside me, and for a while we said nothing.

“I don’t know what to do,” I said hoarsely at last. “Three courts, four if you add the Autumn Court, which is likely—five if you include the Spring Court—that won’t help us. For all we know, Helion won’t agree, either. We’ll never get anywhere if we can’t show strength in Prythian, can’t present a unified front to the world. Even Miryam and Drakon wouldn’t join us.”

“The numbers aren’t on our side,” Rhys agreed.

I kicked at the surf as I looked over at him, hoping to find that familiar smirk, that grin that told me he had a plan and it would all be fine in the end. But Rhys’s face was grave—sad. I swallowed the building lump in my throat. “Are we being fools? I don’t mean about not listening to Amren’s advice to go to Fomoria first. Are we fools for involving ourselves in this conflict at all?”

“There is one solution,” Rhys said very, very quietly. Too quietly. His violet-blue eyes were so bright, so pained. “We rebuild the wall.”

I whirled on him. “What?”

He couldn’t be serious. But that sadness remained etched on his beautiful face. “It was the only thing stopping them before. We rebuild the wall, even stronger this time, and then no one crosses one way or the other.”

Despite the sun, the warm breeze, the gentle water, my very blood chilled.

“How?” I breathed. But I already knew. “With the Trove. And the Cauldron. With me—and Nesta.”

“It took the power of nearly every Fae leader in the Treaty to build that initial wall five centuries ago. We would need much more power behind it than yours and Nesta’s, but yes . . . that’s essentially how we’d do it.”

I had to sit down. Had to walk over to the high-tide line and sink into the sand, forcing myself to loose a too-tight breath. The sun singed my cheeks, my temples. Burned along my hair, the scalp beneath.

I said bleakly, “I thought we agreed that a world divided wasn’t one that could thrive.”

Rhys sat beside me, forearms braced on his knees, tattoos stark in the evening light. The muscles along his forearms shifted as he opened and closed his hands, as if grabbing for some answer he couldn’t reach.

“It’s possible, Feyre darling, that a world with no wall is too dangerous to exist. We Fae are too long-lived, too bored in our immortality. We make rules, then bend them, then break them. What is honor when one lives for a thousand years, longer? Time eats all that away. It eats away at the value of honor and kindness and life. Even if you and I got every territory on the continent to sign the treaty, in ten years they might renege on it anyway.”

“So that’s the answer? Decide that humans and Fae can never coexist, and keep our two worlds forever separated?” My voice broke, eyes stinging. “What of Miryam and Drakon’s people? Fae and humans living together, thriving together for five hundred years.”

“Cretea is a small island,” Rhys said, “with only one ruler. The continent has many kingdoms, Fae and human, all with their own views and agendas. Peace rarely lasts.

I blinked away the burning in my eyes—made myself consider.

Rhys stroked a knuckle down my too-warm cheek. Soothing coolness trailed in the wake of his touch. Like the first night-fresh breeze after a scorching day. I leaned into him, even as I gazed out at the water.

“If we build a wall,” I mused, “if we cut their armies off before they can reach the human lands, then they might very well be so furious that they direct those armies right to us.” I turned to my mate, brows high in question—and worry.

“I know.” And there it was: the cost.

I pressed my lips together as they trembled. “So either we fight and die for a lost cause, letting the humans become enslaved again in the process, or rebuild the wall, stop the invasion before it can happen . . . and wait for our enemies to come wreak vengeance upon the Night Court.” I couldn’t bear to do either.

“Or we do nothing,” Rhys suggested. “We step back. Look the other way.”

I knew he hated that option as much as I did. My words shook as I asked plainly, “How can I tell our son to grow into someone who defends those who need it most when I won’t do the same? How can I ever look him in the eye knowing that I doomed thousands—millions—of human children, babies, to such a fate?” I wiped away the tear that had slipped down my face. “I can’t, Rhys. I can’t.”

He reached forward, catching the next tear that fell. “I know.” He kissed me softly on the mouth.

I slid my arms around him, needing his closeness, his warmth, his strength. And when he held me to him, I didn’t stop the tears from falling.

I was a fool for thinking a few alliances might solve this. But alone on this beach, at the edge of Prythian . . . here, I could fall apart. With my mate, I could fall apart and know I was still loved, still supported.

When the tears had stopped, when my breathing had evened out, I pulled back. Rhys’s eyes were shining with unshed tears.

“We need to have our contingency plan in place,” I said, words shaking slightly, but steadier than they’d been minutes ago. I swallowed hard, taking his hand in mine. “The moment the wall goes up, we must have our defenses ready. We’ll use the Trove again to put an impenetrable wall of our own up around us.” But I paused before continuing as another thought hit me, horrible and unavoidable.

Rhys nodded, sensing the direction of my thoughts. “That’s the question, isn’t it? Does that second wall include just the Night Court? Or all of Prythian?”

“Can we survive cut off from other courts?”

“We can and we have. Culturally and spiritually, though? I don’t know.”

“But our enemies might march on Prythian anyway. Sack the other courts as retribution. Try to draw us out by butchering everyone else.”

Another nod. He knew all of this.

“But if we block off Prythian from the world . . . will the other courts deem us their enemies? March on us?” I let go of his hand to rub my face. “How do we ever get them to understand why we did it? To accept it?”

Rhys shook his head, raven-black hair gleaming with reds and golds in the setting sun. “That’s a debate for another day. We’d need to think of a way to extract the Cauldron from Miryam and Drakon, in any case.”

“You think they won’t give it to us? It’s not technically theirs.” And if they tried to keep it as their own possession—

“It’s not ours, either,” Rhys reminded me. “I think they likely will yield it to us, but achieving that peacefully and with minimal questions will be difficult.” After how today had gone with Tarquin, I couldn’t assume anything would be easy. Even with friends.

My stomach twisted. And I dared say, finally, after all these months, “So many of these problems would disappear if you were High King, Rhys—”

He whipped his head to me, outright fury on his face, along with pure terror. Not one star shone in his eyes. “That is out of the question.”

“Why?” I demanded, matching his fury with my own. “Amren says time is short and to make the most of it. Well, then we’ll spend these next months figuring out a way to bring back the throne, to put you on it, and make them all feel good about it. We don’t bother with alliances—here or in Fomoria. We manipulate the hell out of the Prythian courts until they are gladly handing over that crown, making one for you, and we are a united force that other territories seek out for our alliance—”

“It will ruin our lives,” he snarled.

I stilled.

He bared his teeth, chest heaving, even as his words were lethally soft. “You think it’s bad having to run the Night Court, to deal with everything we have on our plates? To barely have time for each other, for Nyx? To bear the burden of so many lives depending on us? Imagine that plus six more courts. We wouldn’t be able to stay ensconced in the Night Court—we’d need to be out in front of the entire territory. And if you think we have plenty of enemies now, imagine when we’re ruling. They won’t come running for our alliance.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Look at any of those kingdoms across the ocean and you’ll see that only a few rulers manage to hold their thrones into old age.” He slowly shook his head, disgust crinkling his perfect features. “I won’t do it. Not even for this.”

“But if we had everyone supporting you, if it somehow felt fated—”

His power thundered like a night storm, setting the sand on the dunes behind us shuddering and slithering downward. “I. Am. Not Doing. It.”

I reeled back. Rarely had we spoken to each other like this. We fought, but not like this. Not with this viciousness.

It made me all the madder, somehow. Made me hate this impossible conflict even more.

I shoved to my feet, sand spraying off my gown. “Fine.” I stared down at him without an ounce of kindness. “If you’re refusing to do that, fine.” He glowered up at me. I glowered right back as I declared, “I still want to try to find a way, one last way, to get the continent to back down. Ideally, it’s through a united Prythian, and whatever allies that might bring about. We—I—need to at least exhaust that route before I’ll consider any other option, wall or no. We failed here, but perhaps there’s still hope yet at Winter or Dawn.”

“Fine,” he echoed. “I’m not holding my breath.” I hated it, that bitter hopelessness in his tone, the fact that deep down, I, too, knew my hopes were futile. “And when everyone proves what cowardly pieces of shit they are and refuses to ally with us, when we’ve run out of options and time, then we’ll rebuild the wall for the human lands. Then a wall around Prythian. And if the other courts march on us, we’ll also build a wall around the Night Court.”

The sun alit upon the horizon line, then began to sink beneath it.

Rhys made no move to stand.

No stars shone in his power. None of the vibrant array of night-kissed hues. Just black, as dark as the bottom of a depthless pit.

“Walls within walls,” I said, backing toward the surf. A wave crashed around my feet, colder than it had felt minutes ago. Rhys cast his stare toward the horizon—unwilling or unable to look at me. “I’m not sure I want our son to grow up in such a small, sad world.”

His eyes shifted to mine. Dark as pitch. “At least in that small, sad world, our son will have the chance to grow up.”

There was nothing more to say. I didn’t bother so much as nodding farewell before I winnowed to Tarquin’s palace to bid him goodbye.

Seated on the roof of the town house, Az watched the first stars of night blink awake. A crisp autumn breeze ruffled his hair, scented with crackling fires and an array of spices—nutmeg, cinnamon, cardamom—from the many homes still busy baking for tomorrow’s festivities.

He didn’t dare return to the river house until tomorrow morning, and not just because of Elain. It had been hard enough to see Cassian this afternoon at Windhaven and not tell him about Hybern’s messenger. He didn’t know how he’d be able to look at the others without revealing it, either.

An alliance with their most hated enemy. He’d have to tell them—and soon. But not tonight. Not tomorrow.

They could wait. Hybern could wait.

His family deserved a celebration full of joy. A lifetime of it. Even if he didn’t.