#ember quinlan

“You may not consider yourself a part of this court, but the lives of its people are still tied to your reckless choices,” Rhys snarled, his voice resonant with that High Lord power. 

Nesta was tired. They just did this dance with Feyre. So, she stayed quiet and braced herself for another verbal onslaught when the glass doors behind them flew open.  

Ember Quinlan, despite being only human, was a force just like her daughter. Her freckled face, barely touched by the aging of a mortal lifespan, was set in a fiery rage. She crossed the veranda, her chin raised in defiance, and voice sharper than a blade, “Isn’t it a little early to be biting people’s heads off?”  

Nesta raised her head slightly to take in this human, staring down Rhys, the High Lord of the Night Court, Night Triumphant, as though he was little more than a pest. Rhys turned frigid, his usually violet eyes dark with his rage, as he turned his attention to Ember. “I don’t recall asking you to join our conversation.”  

It was the cool, practiced tone that usually made people back down, but Ember didn’t flinch. She held her ground, her tone steady and unyielding, as though this was a dance she’d done before and won. “You interrupted my breakfast. If you wanted privacy, you should have gone somewhere else.”  

Nesta’s lips parted slightly, surprise flickering through her. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised, considering the time she’d spent with Bryce, but Ember wasn’t powerful like Bryce was. She was just…human, in a foreign Fae land, facing one of the most powerful people in it without batting an eye. 

Randall appeared behind Ember, a hand resting lightly on her back. He murmured something low and cautionary, but Ember didn’t move.  

Nesta didn’t know whether to feel stunned or amused as Ember jabbed a finger in Rhysand’s direction and said, “Nesta made a choice to harbour us—she made a choice to give Midgard a shot at freedom. To give my world hope. What kind of person are you to rip her to shreds for it?”  

Nesta stopped breathing at the conviction in her words. No one had spoken like that in the meeting at River House. It had mostly been a berating of Nesta and her choices.

“Are you calling me a monster, Ember Quinlan?” Rhysand’s voice was soft, dangerous.  

“I’m saying give it a fucking rest,” Ember shot back.  

Nesta’s mouth nearly dropped open. Beside her, Azriel made a sound suspiciously like a choke, and Cassian’s shoulders shook once, the silent laughter clear.  

But Ember wasn’t finished. She jerked her chin toward Nesta, her voice unwavering. “Lay off her.”  

Rhysand stared her down, the weight of his power crackling in the air. Stars flickered in his eyes—ancient and vast, like the night itself. It was a sight Nesta had grown used to, but seeing Ember withstand it…that was something else.  

The tension broke as Rhysand’s gaze softened slightly. He looked to Randall, his expression unreadable as he said, “With a wife and daughter like yours, I don’t know how you’re still standing.”  

Randall grinned, easy and unaffected. “Most days, I don’t know either.”  

Rhysand blinked, then laughed, the sound low and rich. Cassian and Azriel joined him, their humor rolling through the cool morning air.  

But Nesta couldn’t bring herself to smile. She watched Ember instead, the human female who had just faced down one of the most powerful Fae in existence. Ember’s gaze slid to her, and for a moment, Nesta felt a flurry of emotions. 

Surprise. Gratitude. Longing.

Ember extended a hand, her voice softening. “Come. Eat breakfast with me.”  

Nesta hesitated, then slid her cold fingers into Ember’s warm grasp. The contact was grounding. Comforting.  

“Don’t let him push you around,” Ember advised.  

A weak, wry smile touched Nesta’s lips. “Don’t worry. My sister—Rhys’s mate—already gave him that exact same lecture twenty minutes ago.”  

Ember hissed, “So he brought you back up here to lecture you away from her?”  

The woman looked like she had half a mind to go back out there and lecture Rhys some more. 

Nesta snorted softly. “No. Feyre ended the argument. I’m not going to be executed. Not today, at least.”  

Ember’s expression twisted in horror, and Nesta quickly amended, “They wouldn’t kill me. I don’t think. But…it’s complicated. I doubt anyone will be forgiving me anytime soon.”  

The uncertainty in her own voice rattled her. If she wasn’t Cassian’s mate, Nesta wasn’t sure that was true. 

Ember tilted her head toward Cassian. “What about your mate?”  

Mate. Pain flared in Nesta’s chest, guilt twisting her insides as she thought about what would come inevitably with him. Nesta clenched her jaw, fighting to keep that swell of emotion in check. “Cassian’s the most furious with me of anyone.” 

Ember squeezed her hand. “If there’s anything I can do to help, anything you need me to say to take some of the blame away from you…”  

Nesta’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile. “Handing Rhys his ass just now was good enough for me.”  

Ember guided her toward the dining room, the promise of warmth and food awaiting them. For the first time that morning, Nesta allowed herself to breathe.

✵

Nesta closed the door to their bedroom softly, though her limbs felt like lead. The exhaustion of the day settled in her bones, but the tension coiling in her chest was sharper than ever. She could feel Cassian’s presence like a storm on the horizon, his power simmering in the air as he stood near the window, back turned to her.

The silence was suffocating.

“You want to explain to me what the hell you were thinking?” His voice was low, tight with barely restrained anger, and it cut through the quiet like a blade.

Nesta hesitated, her fingers brushing the back of a chair as she steadied herself. “It was worth the risk.”

Cassian spun around, his hazel eyes blazing with anger. “Worth the risk? Do you even hear yourself, Nesta? You put yourself—and all of us—in danger because you thought it was worth it?”

She crossed her arms, summoning a defiance she didn’t entirely feel. “I made a choice, Cassian. Either Bryce deals with the Asteri or we brace ourselves for their return here.”

Cassian stared at her, his wings flaring slightly, a sure sign of his barely restrained frustration. “Who are you to make that decision, Nes?! Without consulting anyone?!”

“I’m the one the Mask answers to, Cassian, and Bryce didn’t have the time in order for me to host a debate of the advantages and disadvantages.”

Cassian’s jaw tightened, his wings snapping shut behind him as he took a step closer, his hazel eyes burning with barely restrained fury. “You think that’s an excuse? That your power gives you the right to gamble with your life—and everyone else’s—like it’s some gods-damned game?”

Nesta refused to back down, even as the tension in the room seemed to thrum with his anger. “It’s not a game, Cassian. It’s survival. Bryce needed help, and I had the means to give it to her. If the Asteri come back here, it won’t just be me in danger—it’ll be all of us.”

“You’re right,” he snapped, his voice sharp as a blade. “It won’t just be you in danger. It’ll be everyone we’ve fought to protect. The city, the court, this family—all of it. And you didn’t think for one damn second that maybe, just maybe, your decision wasn’t yours alone to make?”

Nesta bristled, her nails digging into her palms as she held his gaze. “There is no point to having power if you withhold it from the people who need it. I’m not begging Rhys for permission to use the Trove that answers to me, and I won’t apologize for fighting for innocent people.”

“Is this really about saving people?” Cassian asked, his voice low and dangerous. “Or is this about proving something? To Rhys? To me? To yourself?”

“I didn’t give a shit about proving anything when I argued with the mortal queens for the lives of innocents. When I wore my trauma before the High Lords in hopes they would do what’s right for Prythian. If I wanted to prove something, I’d get on my knees for Rhys and suck his dick the way you do!”

Cassian froze, the venom in her words hitting him like a physical blow. His wings twitched, and for a moment, it seemed like he couldn’t decide whether to shout or turn and walk away. His jaw tightened as he stared at her, his hazel eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and hurt.

“That’s what you think of me?” His voice was quiet, deadly calm—the kind of calm that preceded a storm. “You think I’m some mindless soldier, following orders because I don’t have the backbone to do anything else?”

Nesta’s throat tightened, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. “I think you’ve spent so long trying to prove yourself to Rhys, to this court, that you’ve forgotten you’re allowed to make your own choices.”

He let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and humorless. “And you’ve spent so long fighting everyone that you can’t see the difference between someone standing by you and someone standing in your way.”

“I don’t need anyone standing by me,” she snapped, her voice rising. “I don’t need anyone holding my hand, or telling me what I can and can’t do.”

“No,” he said, his tone cutting. “You don’t need anyone, do you? You’ve made that perfectly clear. But gods forbid anyone need you, Nesta. Gods forbid anyone care about you enough to want you to stay alive.”

Her chest ached, but she refused to let the crack in her armor show. “You know, I made a joke to Ember earlier that I wasn’t getting executed this time, and…fuck, Cassian, I’m not sure how much of a joke that was. The only reason Rhys didn’t threaten my life this time is because Feyre was standing right fucking there.”

Cassian’s jaw tightened, his wings snapping open slightly before he forced them to fold back. “Rhys didn’t threaten your life, Nesta,” he said, his voice low but firm. “He’s angry—furious, even—but he would never go that far. You know that.”

“Do I?” Nesta shot back, her eyes blazing. “Because I remember when he told you to get me out of Velaris before he fucking killed me for telling Feyre that her pregnancy would kill her.”

Cassian’s hands flexed at his sides, the cords of muscle in his neck tightening as he stared at her, his wings snapping open and then curling in sharply. “That wasn’t about killing you, Nesta. That was about protecting Feyre. About protecting his mate and their child. You know damn well how far someone will go to protect the person they love.”  

Nesta’s laugh was sharp, biting. “What about protecting your mate, Cassian?! Shouldn’t Rhys threatening me and berating me trigger your so-called mate instincts? Why is Ember Quinlan the first time I’ve felt like someone has stood up for me in this court?”

Cassian’s hazel eyes darkened, his wings flaring wide again as her words slammed into him. His voice was sharp, clipped, but there was an undercurrent of something raw beneath it. “Don’t you dare, Nesta. Don’t you dare stand there and compare me to Ember—or anyone else in this court—and act like I haven’t stood by you through everything.”

Her hands trembled at her sides, but she kept her voice steady, venomous. “Standing by me and standing up for me aren’t the same thing, Cassian. You don’t get to claim you’ve fought for me when you’re too busy defending everyone else’s actions—especially his.”

“I have stood up for you,” Cassian growled, his tone low and dangerous. “Do you know how many times I’ve gone toe-to-toe with Rhys, with Feyre, even with Amren, because I believed in you? Because I knew you deserved better? But standing up for you doesn’t mean blindly excusing your choices, Nesta. It doesn’t mean ignoring the damage you can cause.”

“Damage?” Nesta snapped, her voice rising. “I put my life on the line to help Bryce, to help keep this court and everyone in it safe. And you call that damage? Meanwhile, Rhys can tear me apart verbally in front of everyone, and you still find a way to justify it.”

Cassian took a step closer, his wings towering behind him, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “I’m not justifying anything. But you don’t see what I see. You don’t see how much Rhys is carrying, how much weight he’s holding on his shoulders every single day to keep this court intact. He’s not perfect, Nesta, but he’s doing his damned best. Just like you are.”

She laughed bitterly, her nails biting into her palms. “I’m so tired of hearing about how much Rhys is carrying. What about what I’m carrying? What about the fact that every time I step into a room, I’m reminded that I don’t belong here? That I can’t fucking breathe without being reminded of all the ways I’ve failed? The ways I keep failing?”

Cassian froze, his hazel eyes softening as he took in the raw anguish in her voice. His wings, still half-flared in frustration, slowly folded back as he exhaled a shaky breath. “Because you’re still punishing yourself, and you won’t let people help you.”

“No,” Nesta shot back, her voice trembling with barely contained fury and heartbreak. “Because with Gwyn and Emerie and the Valkyries, it’s not like that. They have never held my pain or my mistakes against me! They saw me at my worst and loved me anyway!”

Cassian’s expression faltered, the fire in his eyes dimming as her words struck him with the force of a physical blow. He took a step back, as if the distance would help him make sense of what she had just said. “And you think I don’t love you like that?” His voice was quiet, almost broken. “You think I look at you and see your mistakes? That I hold them against you?”

Hot tears welled in Nesta’s eyes, of a truth never spoken but formed in the dark recesses of her mind. “You have. More than once.”

Cassian inhaled sharply, the admission hitting him like a punch to the gut. He stepped back, his wings rustling as if they were as unsettled as he was. For a moment, the room was silent save for Nesta’s shaky breaths. 

He ran a hand through his hair, his voice unsteady when he finally spoke. “Nesta, if I’ve ever made you feel like that—“

“Don’t say if! Don’t pretend this is all in my head, Cassian!” Nesta snarled fiercely. “I am standing in front of you, the female you claim to love and I am telling you that you’ve said shit that’s devastated me!”

Nesta’s voice cracked, hot tears welling up in her eyes but she didn’t stop or falter. “And every time I’ve tried to tell you, you’ve dismissed it. Or excused it. Or defended it. You’ve made me feel like I was overreacting, like my feelings didn’t matter. And then you turn around and say you love me? That you stand by me? How, Cassian? How is that love?”

Cassian’s chest heaved, his fists clenching at his sides as he absorbed the weight of her words. He looked like she had taken a blade and plunged it into his heart, twisting it with every syllable. “Nesta,” he started, his voice breaking, “I never meant—”

“I don’t care what you meant!” she interrupted, her voice hoarse. “Intentions don’t erase the damage, Cassian. They don’t erase the nights I stayed awake, wondering if I’d ever be good enough for you, for this court, for anyone.”

“You are good enough,” Cassian said desperately, stepping toward her. “Gods, Nesta, you’re more than enough. You’ve always been more than enough.”

Nesta took a deliberate step back while crossing her arms over her chest, causing Cassian to suck in a breath. “I’d like to be alone tonight.”

“Nes–”

“Please, Cassian.”

✵

Nesta had never been so relieved in her life as a portal opened in the House’s private library, and Bryce stepped in. But the warrior instincts that had been trained into her had her expecting the worst, and Nesta’s hand closed around the hilt of a dagger. Cassian’s movements mirrored hers, reaching for his own concealed blade. 

At Bryce’s back stood her mate, the tanned, muscular male with grey-feathered wings that reminded Nesta vaguely of Peregryns. A soldier from how he stood, but his dark eyes mirrored Bryce’s soft affection as he looked at Ember and Randall. Hunt, Nesta recalled his name, said something to Ember and Randall in the Old Fae language. 

Then Bryce stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Ember and Nesta’s throat tightened at the display. At the way Ember held Bryce like she was something delicate, and how Randall leaned forward to press a kiss to Bryce’s head.

Nesta didn’t need to know Old Fae to know what had transpired. Bryce had won. The Asteri were gone. 

Cassian was close behind Nesta, tense, watching Bryce’s mate with narrowed eyes. “You have one minute before Rhys gets here and explodes.”

Nesta could hear the amusement in Ember’s voice as she responded in the common tongue, “Oh, Rhys will be fine.”  

Nesta’s head snapped toward her in shock, and well…maybe there was a little bit of envy snaked in as well. Once, Nesta had been able to hold her own against Rhys. What happened to that female? 

Randall added, “It got too hard to mime everything. They gave us that bean-thing they offered you.”  

Bryce’s brow furrowed, clearly surprised. “Rhysand will be fine? The guy who brings darkness incarnate—”  

Ember cut her off. “He and Randall bonded over being overprotective dads. So now Rhys knows exactly the sort of shit you like to pull.”  

Even when Ember was criticizing or voicing disapproval, there was undeniable affection in her words. A sense of pride for the female that Bryce was (even if she seemed to cause trouble). It felt unbelievably strange to witness such an interaction. 

Bryce turned to Nesta, and pulled out the Mask from underneath her jacket. Nesta’s heart lurched watching the golden mask laid onto the table, followed by Truth-Teller. Cassian shifted like he was prepared to jump between Nesta and Bryce. 

“You brought them back.” Nesta’s voice was quiet, her words thick.  

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” Bryce asked.  

Nesta shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I don’t know what I thought.”  

Ember broke the tension with a wry, “Poor Nesta’s been in the doghouse since you took their weapons and dumped us here. I apologize again for my daughter’s behavior.”  

“I made the choice to give her the Mask,” Nesta reminded Ember, before turning back to Bryce. “Your mother somehow doesn’t believe that I did so willingly.”  

The banter continued, but Nesta’s focus wavered as Ember turned to her, taking her hands in her own. “This time with you was a gift, Nesta. It truly was.”  

The sincerity in Ember’s voice sliced through the walls Nesta had so carefully built. She couldn’t find words, couldn’t articulate the complicated swirl of emotions Ember’s embrace brought out of her.  

As Ember pulled her into a hug, Nesta stiffened, then relaxed. The warmth, the care—it was foreign and overwhelming, and she felt an ache in her chest that she hadn’t realized was there.  

When Ember finally pulled away, she whispered, “You’ll find your way.”  

So, that’s what a mother is supposed to be. Nesta thought wryly, as tears threatened to rise in her eyes. Ember and Randall passed Hunt to go through the portal and Nesta found herself staring at Bryce. 

Cassian, sensing her need for space, moved away, though his eyes remained locked on Bryce, his body still coiled to strike if necessary.  

Nesta’s lips quirked upward at Bryce’s muttered, “Alphaholes.”  

Bryce drew the ancient sword, Gwydion, and offered the blade to Nesta whose throat caught.

“You said you had an eight-pointed star tattooed on you,” Bryce said, her voice soft. “And you found the chamber with the eight-pointed star in the Prison, too.”  

Nesta lifted her chin. “So?”  

“So I want you to take the Starsword,” Bryce held out the blade. “Gwydion—whatever you call it here. The age of the Starborn is over on Midgard. It ends with me.”  

“I don’t understand.”

Once Nesta took the sword, Bryce took Hunt’s hand, the pair of them stepping backwards into the portal. Nesta’s heart lurched, panic rumbling through her veins, but at the same time, the ancient magic of Gwydion seemed to sing to her. A soothing hymn that felt so very right.

Bryce smiled at her, her voice soft and sure. “I think that eight-pointed star was tattooed on you for a reason. Take that sword and go figure out why.”