I'm just gonna leave this right here...
"Cassian was sizing up Nesta, a gleam in his eyes that I could only interpret as a warrior finding himself faced with a new, interesting opponent."
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“It’s been a few centuries since someone got under Cassian’s skin that easily. Too bad they’re both inclined to kill the other.”
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"....He studied Nesta for a long moment. She was still glaring at the queens, her eyes lined with tears—tears of rage and despair, from that fire that burned her so violently from within. When she finally noticed Cassian, she looked up at him.
His voice was rough as he said, “Five hundred years ago, I fought on battlefields not far from this house. I fought beside human and faerie alike, bled beside them. I will stand on that battlefield again, Nesta Archeron, to protect this house—your people. I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it most.”
I watched a tear slide down Nesta’s cheek. And I watched as Cassian reached up a hand to wipe it away.
She did not flinch from his touch...."
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"...She didn't know what to do with it,that rage.It still burned and hunted her, still made her want to ride and roar and red the world in to pieces. She felt it all — too keenly, too sharply. Hated and cared and loved dread, more than other people, she sometimes thought. Could sift between them all in a matter of moments, like she was trying a different set of clothes, and no one could tell or care.
Except him. He could see it, feel it.
That first afternoon, he'd looked at her— not at the face and the body that human men marked, but her— and he had seen at all. She'd wanted to hurt him for it before he could reveal those things to everyone else...."
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"...The guards shoved my sister into the Cauldron in a single movement.
My cry hadn’t finished sounding before Elain’s head went under.
Nesta’s screaming was the only sound. Cassian blindly lurched toward it—toward her, moaning in pain."
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“Why do you bother, Cassian?”
... “Because I can’t stay away.”
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Nesta’s eyes shot right to his face. She spoke quietly to me, to all of us, even as she held Cassian’s gaze as if he were the only one in the room. “By the end of this war, I want them dead. The king, the queens—all of them. Promise me you’ll kill them all, and I’ll help you patch up the wall. I’ll train with her”—a jerk of her chin to Amren—“I’ll go to the Hewn City or whatever it is … I’ll do it. But only if you promise me that.”
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...And then Nesta began screaming. Not in pain. But a name. Over and over.
Amren reached for her, but Nesta roared, “CASSIAN!”
She scrambled to her feet, as if she’d leap into the skies.
Her body lurched, and she went down, heaving again.
A figure shot from the Illyrian ranks, spearing for us, flapping hard, red Siphons blazing—
...The earth seemed to shudder in response.
No—not in response to her. In terror of the thing that erupted from Hybern’s army.
...Cassian was halfway to us when the Cauldron’s blast hit the Illyrian forces.
...Ashes rained down upon our foot soldiers.
Nesta had known. She gaped up at me, terror and agony on her face, then scanned the sky for Cassian, who flapped in place, as if torn between coming for us and charging back to the scattering Illyrian and Peregryn ranks. She’d known where that blast was about to hit.
Cassian had been right in the center of it.
Or would have been, if she hadn’t called him away.
(I'm convinced that the caudron only tried to attack him in this scene because of her, I don't know why)
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“Something is wrong,” Nesta insisted.
“I’m not doubting you feel that way but … If none of the others are picking it up—”
“I am not like the others.” Her throat bobbed. “We need to leave.”
“I can send you back to Velaris, but we have things to discuss here—”
“I don’t care about me, I—”
The door opened, and Cassian stalked in, face grave. The sight of the wings, the Illyrian armor in this opulent, pink-filled room planted itself in my mind, the painting already taking form, as he said, “What’s wrong.”
He studied every inch of her. As if there were nothing and no one else here, anywhere.
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Cassian stepped in Nesta’s path when she tried to walk past him. Put a tan, callused hand on her forehead. She shook off the touch, but he gripped her wrist, forcing her to meet his stare. “Any one of those human pricks makes a move to hurt you,” he breathed, “and you kill them.”
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Nesta stood by the nearest tent, an empty water bucket between her feet. Her hair a damp mess atop her mud-flecked head. Watching us emerge, grim-faced—
“He’s fine. Healed and awake,” I said quickly.
Nesta’s shoulders sagged a bit.
Your sister came immediately when I explained what we needed, Rhys said. I think seeing Cassian hurt convinced her not to pick a fight today.
Or convinced my sister to pick a fight with someone else entirely.
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This are nessian's scenes that I don't see a lot of people talking about and... they're beautiful.
I love and miss my babies very much.
