Nesta was Made different. Nesta was Made Illyrian.
(More exactly, part high fae and part Illyrian or some kind of mix, since she didn’t have her wings)
Elain sucked in a breath, her fine-boned back rising, her wet nightgown nearly sheer. And as she rose from the ground onto her elbows, the gag in place, as she twisted to look at me—Nesta began roaring again.
Pale skin started to glow. Her face had somehow become more beautiful—infinitely beautiful, and her ears… Elain’s ears were now pointed beneath her sodden hair.
I didn’t care. Not as Nesta was sprawled upon the stones. I knew that she was different. From however Elain had been Made…
Nesta was different.
Even before she took her first breath, I felt it.
As if the Cauldron in making her… had been forced to give more than it wanted. As if Nesta had fought even after she went under, and had decided that if she was to be dragged into hell, she was taking that Cauldron with her. As if that finger she’d pointed was now a death-promise to the King of Hybern. Nesta took a breath. And when I beheld my sister, with her somehow magnified beauty, her ears…
When Nesta looked to me… Rage. Power. Cunning.
Then it was gone, horror and shock crumpling her face, but she didn’t pause, didn’t halt. She was free—she was loose.
She was on her feet, tripping over her slightly longer, leaner limbs, ripping the gag from her mouth—
Feyre specifically mentions Elain’s new body and her pointy ears. Feyre then mentions Nesta’s body and starts about Nesta’s ear’s the same way, mentioning them and trailing off as she did with Elain. But this time instead of actually telling us they are pointed she tells us of the power she senses in Nesta. That is not a coincidence. The same exact phrasing “her ears…” but wildly different continuation of that statement.
Her face had somehow become more beautiful—infinitely beautiful, and her ears… Elain’s ears were now pointed beneath her sodden hair.
And when I beheld my sister, with her somehow magnified beauty,
her ears… When Nesta looked to me… Rage. Power. Cunning.
So she does not have pointed ears. Who in Prythian does not have pointy ears, a trait both High Fae and Lesser Fairies share? Illyrians.
Cassian finished his laughing. “Illyrians are certainly not High Fae. And glad of it.” He hooked his black hair behind an ear—rounded; as mine had once been. “And we’re not lesser faeries, though some try to call us that. We’re just—Illyrians. Considered expendible aerial cavalry for the Night Court at the best of times, mindless soldier grunts at the worst.”
Nesta took more than the Cauldron intended. And she is filled with rage and cunning and a tangible power. Killing power? And the terrible irony of damaging Cassian’s wings and giving Nesta wings is too big not to notice.
Nesta is Illyrian.
She will command the armies next to and together with Cassian. She will not have seven siphons for her killing power, she will have nine. She will scare the living daylights out of the Illyrian males at those camps, making god damned sure her fellow Illyrian sisters get the training they have a right to. She will whip those camps into shape okay? She will inspire those females who have spent their entire lives being silently repressed, despite Cassian’s and Rhys’ efforts because sexism dies hard, inspire them to fly and train and fight and to never let a mere weak male make them feel like less. She will protect and care for them as she would not and could not protect and care for Feyre all those years in that forsaken cabin. And if Cassian loses his wings permanently she will take him flying whenever he needs to feel the wind whipping his face and soar high above the Illyrian mountains.
It will be Nesta coming full circle.
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