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moon--mama · 1 year

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So I’ve been obsessing over ACOTAR ever since I finished the series last week, and this is my meager contribution to the fandom.

New fic: Sword and Starlight

Pairings: Nesta/Cassian, Feyre/Rhysand, Elain/?, Azriel/?, Gwyneth/? (Hang in there)

Summary: When Emerie brings Nesta a young Illyrian girl for training, the Inner Circle sees an opportunity to finally turn things around for the women living in the war camps of the Steppes. But with war looming on the horizon, the Circle is distracted by the pressure of protecting the newest addition to their family.

Warning: spice level 🌶️🌶️🌶️

Read it at AO3 here:

Chapter 1: Valkyries

The first arrived shortly after midsummer. No one was sure what to make of her, the young Illyrian female that Emerie pushed over the threshold of the training grounds at the House or Wind.

“Her name is Helia,” the Valkyrie said briefly.

Nesta’s eyes were wide as she looked from the girl to her friend. “Why did you bring her here?” She asked. But Emerie’s expression told Nesta the answer before the question was even voiced.

It was Cassian’s voice over her shoulder who answered. “Her father and brothers were killed in the war against Hybern,” he guessed.

Emerie nodded once to confirm.

Nesta’s eyes flashed with understanding as her mate sauntered close enough that she could feel his head next to her. This child—nothing more than a girl—had been living in Windhaven with her mother since the war concluded. Now that she’d come of age, relatives were pressuring her mother to clip her wings and match her with an eligible male.

The girl was trembling, her eyes cast to the ground. Her thin frame told the story of hungry winters and summers full of muscle-rending work. The brown hair tumbling over her wiry shoulders was dull and tangled.

Emerie didn’t have to say anything else to Nesta. She didn’t have to ask.

“She’s safe here,” Nesta said firmly. At that, the child’s eyes flew to her face. Shockingly clear blue stared up at her, questioning.

She felt her mate shift on his feet, a deep sigh drawing up from his core. Before he could say a word of dissent, Nesta turned sharply to face him.

Their eyes met.

After several tense minutes of a silent battle in which neither was willing to relent, Nesta cocked one eyebrow. Cassian huffed once and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Mother save us,” he muttered. Glancing down at their new ward, he said more clearly, “She can stay in the lower level guest rooms for now. I’ll have to talk this over with Devlon and Rhys, of course.”

Nesta’s hackles rose at that. “Of course, nothing!” She snapped. “Why do they need to know? This is my House.”

Cassian looked ready to say something—probably something very unwise—when Emerie suddenly laughed. She clapped Nesta on the shoulder, grinning broadly. “I missed you two,” she said fondly. “I’ll take the girl to her room so that you can sort this out, like adults.”

Emerie winked at them with her final parting shot. As her friend grabbed Helia by the hand and drifted toward the stairs, Nesta was overcome with a similar wave of fondness for the Illyrian shopkeeper. Ideas about the future were sparking in Nesta’s mind. Nothing short of reinstating the Valkyries had inspired her this much. Oh, she would certainly handle this…situation. And it would definitely be like an adult.

Their room was dark save for some hints of the midday sun peeking around the heavy drapes. The moment that Nesta got her mate behind the doors, she pushed him onto their bed. Cassian couldn’t help a brief smirk from playing across his face as he let himself fall. So it would be this sort of discussion, then.

He pulled her down next to him, slipping his hands beneath her sweater and making short work of throwing it into some forgotten corner of the room. Nesta let him do it, even helping to slip out of her leggings, before allowing him to draw her up against his chest. Everywhere their skin touched, she felt the promise of what was to come, heat twisting deep within her abdomen.

“We can’t take in every preadolescent Illyrian female in the Steppes,” Cassian mumbled against her neck, breathing in her scent.

Nesta replied by dragging her fingernails absently along the sensitive stretch of flesh where his right wing folded out from his shoulder, eliciting a shudder from her mate. Her eyes flashed briefly with a silver light that hinted at wells of power deeper than any mortal being had the right to possess. “And why not?” She drawled, her mind already working.

Cassian reached toward her to return her caresses, but she slid her knee over him before his fingers could so much as brush her skin. She knew that he hated to pin his wings at his back—yet as she mulled over the fate of the Illyrian women, the fate he himself had been fighting to change for more than a hundred years, she thought wryly that he could stand some discomfort. He sucked in a breath and let her gain the higher ground, his wrists falling back beside his head. Only with her, would he let his guard down so completely.

“The war lords, for one, won’t appreciate—“

Nesta’s hand dipped swiftly to his cock, her fingers curling around his balls. She’d kneed them once, when they first met. As she gave them a gentle squeeze now, Cassian’s words died in his throat, becoming a deep rumble of desire as he groaned.

“I’m sure the war lords have been enjoying their chokehold over the girls for centuries,” she purred dangerously. “It’s time to give those girls an alternative. And you know perfectly well that it won’t come from within the camps.”

No, not with Devlon the most progressive of the war lords, and with even his lip curling whenever the Valkyries were sighted in his camp. Nevermind that one of them lived there. Cassian, Rhysand, and Azriel had been souring the mountains for weeks to seek out the war lords who had supported Brillyan’s interference in the Blood Rite. But short of killing all of them, there was little to be done about the Illyrian commanders and their feelings toward the women who had won the highest honor Ramiel could offer.

Nesta’s hand slipped higher, curling around Cassian’s shaft. He couldn’t resist pushing his hips up toward her hand. A wicked smirk flitted over her lips as she loosened her grip, drawing a frustrated moan out of her mate as she intentionally deprived him of the friction that could bring him to completion.

“Okay—you win,” he conceded. “Ten, thirty, a hundred, just—“ her smirk broadened into a victorious grin as his fingers dug into her thighs. “Fuck, Nes—“

Nesta lifted herself onto her knees, hands guiding her mate exactly where she wanted him. She took a moment to appreciate the feeling of him sliding into place within her. It was a feeling that only Cassian had ever provided for her, only her mate…a feeling that she was finally complete. Cassian may have lost their argument, but she could feel his thrill through their bond as he shoved himself away from their bed, his hands sliding into a familiar lock around her thighs. As his wings stretched behind him, shaking off their earlier imprisonment, Nesta raked her nails over the sensitive membranes.

His answering thrust to the pain-tinged pleasure of those feline scratches on his most sensitive anatomy forced a yelp from her lips. Cassian shifted them to the edge of the bed and leveraged his feet against the floor to drive himself deep into the place that soon had her coming undone. Nesta tipped back her head, exposing her throat as she came. She could feel their bond, golden and taut as it had been the first night they’d dared to admit their feelings for one another. It sent another shudder through her as Cassian’s warmth filled her and she felt the pleasure of his release though that peculiar fae magic that bound them as one.

Completely satisfied, she tipped her head forward until her forehead was pressed against his.

“Thank you,” she said, in the tender tone that she reserved for him alone.

Cassian’s laugh shook her. “I mean, I know I’m good Nes, but I’ve never expected you to thank me—“

“Not for that, you animal,” she snarled, hitting his chest lightly.

He snaked his arms around her and she could still hear his fading smirk as he said, “No need to thank me for that either. Devlon isn’t going to let you do this, Nes. We’ve tried, for so many years.”

She slid off his lap and stretched out on the bed beside him, her toes barely touching the tip of his right wing. “You think I’ll fail,” she observed calmly, as Cassian ran one hand through his hair.

“No, I—“

“You think that since you have tried everything, there’s nothing I can do.”

He must have realized his mistake. Challenging his mate like this would only convince her to try harder. A hundred Illyrian girls, indeed. By the end of the season, Nesta planned to have at least one hundred and ten training like Valkyries at the House. More, if she could find them.

Cassian’s expression told her that he saw her determination, and it was their bond that helped her feel his mingled resignation and admiration for her goal. He didn’t have to say he’d help her, fly her to every camp, champion her cause…Nesta already knew she could count on his help. He pulled her to him again, until her breasts were pressed against his chest. With his left arm, he stroked her hair away from her cheek.

“I think that you can do anything, Nesta Archeron,” he said simply. “Just leave a few of the war lords alive for me, please.”

As Nesta stepped into the training ring the next morning, the sun beat down from the corner of a cloudless blue sky.

Azriel was already there, as was the girl: Helia. She was standing near a rack of swords, shifting her weight from foot to foot, still staring pointedly at the ground. At least she’d brushed her hair. Az, for his part, said nothing as Nesta approached them. The quirk of one brow was question enough.

“Azriel, meet Helia,” she said shortly. “She’s come to train with us.”

He nodded quietly, turning back to the girl with an assessing eye. “Is she—alone?”

Helia looked up at that, but quickly ducked her head down again as the sun hit her face. She knew what Azriel was truly asking—whether or not the girl was orphaned. Nesta shook her head.

“No, but her mother requested that she spend some time with us here and learn to defend herself. Before anything permanent were to happen to her.”

He nodded once with complete understanding. Of all the Illyrians Nesta knew, Azriel was by far the least sympathetic to what they referred to as traditions. Helia still did not raise her head. Gently, Azriel said to Nesta, “We’ll begin with hand to hand combat, then.”

She thought back to her earliest days in this ring and frowned. “Why not balance?” She asked.

Azriel let out a huff that could only have been a laugh. He gestured to a beam at the side of the ring. “Run her through a balance set and see for yourself.”

Helia looked up then, glancing from Nesta to the beam with a question in her eyes. Nesta nodded once, curious to see what Azriel thought he knew about the girl.

She walked calmly to the beam, her wings tucked firmly against her back. With one last glance back at them, she hopped up with one of the most graceful movements Nesta had ever seen from a child. It had taken her months with her dancing tutor to even come close to such command of her center.

Helia walked the beam once before turning and carrying out a perfect cartwheel. She held herself in a handstand and curved her feet back, over her pinned wings, until she formed a perfect bridge. Springing upright, she dipped her feet to the side of the beam with each step as she crossed it once more. All the while, she made eye contact with no one.

Watching the balance dance, Nesta drew in a breath. “Let me guess,” she muttered. “Illyrian children are taught to balance from birth.”

Azriel was nodding, smiling faintly but his eyes were tinged with that particular sadness he carried sometimes. “It’s the—“

Cassian’s voice cut across the ring. “It’s so that we can skip right into beating each other senseless when we finally begin our formal training.”

Azriel’s smile grew more distinct as Cassian neared them. A shadow curled around his arm, winding its way up to his ear. Nesta wondered what secrets that shadow was whispering. But she would easily admit that of all their family, her mate included, Nesta had always found Azriel the least annoying.

Helia’s first skill proven, there remained the question of her other fighting skills. She was still dressed in the near-rags she’d arrived in yesterday, however. It would be a disadvantage in a practice fight, as they’d have a difficult time seeing the way she carried herself. Nesta wished that the House had more facilities for changing, but since the priestesses lived in the library they often changed and washed themselves there.

If they were going to do this thing, they’d need facilities. Showers. Places to change. Places to sleep, and eat (other than the formal dining room above that Rhys reserved for the court). Maybe even more places to practice. She stared at the place where Helia had just proven her skill, lost in thought.

Azriel’s brief noise of surprise made Nesta glance away from the balance beam. A gasp of surprised died in her throat as well.

Next to the door they’d always used, the door leading back into the House, a new door had just appeared. At its base, a cat made of shadows sat idly licking its paw.

Nesta’s eyes lit with excitement. “Thank you,” she breathed to her friend, who meowed once in response before darting over and vanishing into a dark corner.

She was willing to bet that behind that door they’d find everything she had been thinking about only moments before. The House was the one thing in her life that had reliably provided what she needed, whenever she needed it. She’d been given access to the most powerful magic in the universe, and Nesta had Made herself a parent at last.

“Find someone Helia’s size to challenge her,” she said to Cassian, starting to cross toward the new door.

He looked around. “Nesta, there are only adults here.”

“Then call Mor or Rhys and go get one of the boys from Windhaven,” she snapped impatiently, turning toward her mate before she’d touched the new door.

Cassian and Azriel exchanged glances. “I already called Rhys,” her mate admitted. “He’s coming as—“

And in that instant, her brother-in-law stood before them. Power and night rolled off him unchecked, his violet eyes scanning the ring and missing nothing. The priestesses who were training at the other end stopped to gawk momentarily, though they’d each have met him before. Rhys made it a personal point to offer each one sanctuary in the library. Though his power and benevolence used to irritate Nesta, she’d developed a begrudging respect for her brother-in-law over the past couple of weeks. It was a tentative mutual regard, forged by her sacrifice in saving the lives of her sister, Rhysand, and Nyx. The ridiculously lavish mating ceremony he’d bankrolled for Nesta and Cassian had certainly helped repair the animosity between them. His eyes met hers briefly and Nesta was surprised to see the corner of his mouth quirk sideways into a small smile. Little steps, indeed.

Mere heartbeats after his arrival, Nesta’s sister Feyre arrived with baby Nyx in her arms. Feyre’s face broke into an immediate smile, but Nesta surveyed the family with some apprehension, not returning Rhysand’s friendly expression. Cassian took a step toward her, reaching out one hand to her arm in a soothing gesture. But she was already irritated with her mate for calling in the family. It would take only a word from either the High Lord or Lady, and the plan she had been forming in her mind would be stifled forever. Nesta enjoyed her life, her second chance, living with her mate while she trained and worked with her friends, but Emerie’s unexpected delivery had given her a glimpse of something…more. Something impactful. Something that could not only soothe the broken women they sheltered, but save them before they needed saving.

Before anyone could speak, Nyx shifted and let out an enormous belch. Feyre and Rhysand’s attention snapped to the babe, everyone else momentarily forgotten. It took Nesta by such surprise that she let out a small laugh before she could help herself.

Feyre shifted Nyx so that he was upright, glancing over at Rhys with an expression of wary alarm. “Maybe you could take him for a moment,” she purred, pressing their baby into his arms.

Rhys’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You didn’t feed him before you winnowed, did—“

But the next belch from Nyx was accompanied by a stream of creamy vomit, dribbling down the black and silver-threaded shirt that Rhys seemed to favor above all other attire. Nesta couldn’t help but snickering again.

He heaved an aggrieved sigh and patted their son on the back, below his tiny wings. With a brief snap of his fingers, the vomit vanished to that pocket between realms that only High Fae seemed privy to using. Feyre tried to keep a straight face through it all, but as she turned back toward Nesta her eyes were full of triumph.

“He’s been sullying everything I own,” she whispered quickly. “You’d think for such a small creature he’d keep at least some of it down. But winnowing never agrees with him.” Her eyes briefly took on that faraway look that told Nesta her brother was communicating exactly how he felt being used as a burp towel, but then they cleared with a tiny shake of her head.

“I’m sure he will someday soon. I remember you being a very unreliable child yourself,” she muttered, mind drifting back to days when her mother had pushed Feyre into the arms of a nursemaid at every opportunity. She’d never been puked on like that, because she’d never held Feyre long enough to risk it. As a child, Nesta had wondered if the new baby’s vomiting had been a call for their mother’s attention and immediately resented the problematic bundle of noise and filth. With a brief shake of her own head to clear the memories, Nesta drew in a breath and prepared to argue her case.

Feyre beat her to it. “I think this is a wonderful idea,” she breathed. “Where is she? The first one? Is she—is she unharmed?” Her eyes drifted over the priestesses, looking for Helia and not finding her.

Azriel cleared his throat. He shifted one of his great wings and the girl stepped out of his shadows. Her eyes were still downcast, and Nesta’s heart fell as she saw that once again the girl was trembling.

Feyre saw her fear, as well. Her eyes grew distant for a moment, and Nesta saw the girl’s figure still. She sucked in a breath and looked at Feyre, assessing just how much meddling she might be doing in the defenseless child’s mind—

Then, unaccountably, Helia lifted her chin and looked at them. Those clear blue eyes moved from Nesta’s face to Freyre’s, and then to Rhysand. As her eyes settled on baby Nyx, she…smiled.

Nesta looked over at Cassian in surprise. Was Helia opposed to or frightened of them?

The child dropped to her knee, dipping her head once more. “My Lord,” she said, her voice husky from disuse. “My Lady.”

Feyre smiled at Nesta before stepping forward and saying easily, “Rise, Helia. There’s no need for that sort of formality here. We simply wished to ask you a few questions, with your permission.”

Here it was, then. The fate of Nesta’s plans, the fate of the Valkyries, would rest on the words of a sullen child who seemed half terrified and half resentful of her hosts. It was just like Feyre to disregard her—

Nesta felt it then. Feyre’s approach to her mental shields, her gentle rapping at the iron gates surrounding Nesta’s mind. Dampening down her negative thoughts, she begrudgingly met Feyre at a crack, wondering why her sister acted in secret.

I could feel your tension from the River House, Feyre whispered across Nesta’s mind. We want to know how many children will train, if we need to build dormitories, if she might have friends to bring along. We support you, Nesta. And the Valkyries. Rhys thinks it’s a fabulous idea.

Like unclenching a fist, the tension immediately leaked away from Nesta’s mind and body. She looked over at her brother, whose violet eyes twinkled knowingly.

They supported her. They supported the Valkyries.

No need to build anything. I took care of it already, Nesta thought, knowing her sister would hear her. Feyre smiled again and turned back toward the girl. They walked together across the ring, talking softly.

Suddenly, Nesta felt her eyes wetting. Some deep part of her worried that she still didn’t deserve this, the trust and support her family gave her after the many ways she’d failed them all for so long. She swiped her hand across her brow, pretending to tuck her hair behind her ear as she dashed the tears before they could gather any more. In three quick steps, she closed the distance between herself and her brother in law, her arms outstretched.

“Give me that beautiful Illyrian baby,” she demanded. “Let’s see if he’ll keep his breakfast down for his aunt.”

The second door burst open at that moment, spilling a somewhat disheveled Gwyneth into the sunlight. She caught sight of the family and her face broke into a joyful smile. Hooking a thumb over her shoulder, she said, “Did you know that there’s a whole new House over there? I counted forty rooms on my way up from a door I’d never seen before in the Library. What, are we hosting an army and nobody told me?”

Nesta held up a finger for Nyx to grab before he could latch onto her hair. She regarded her friend, one of the most powerful women in the Night lands, and returned her bright smile. “To sum up a long story—yes.”

#nesta and cassian #nessian #feyre x rhysand #feysand #baby nyx #acotar fanfiction #acotar moodboard

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