Queen of Monster: Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: Nesta and Cassian get into an argument and Nesta searches for a new job in Windhaven.

If it sucks, it sucks.

"We need to talk," Cassian started, stepping back from the doorway as Nesta trampled past. A flurry of golden-brown hair passing him as the sweet scent of lavender trailed behind.

Cassian followed. Of course, he did.

"Then talk," she said as she made her way to the closet door, yanking it open only to pull out a pelt of grey. Illyrian furs he had sized to fit her in those first few weeks of residing here.

Cassian wanted to remind her to grab her scarf, but under the circumstances, he thought better of it. As much as he often enjoyed their arguments, he was already late to a meeting with Devlon, and experience had taught him that Nesta would not take kindly to the suggestion.

He ran a hand through his hair as he clenched his teeth, trying not to make the next sentences out of his mouth sound like barely suppressed rage.

He wouldn't be late at all if Nesta was less infuriating.

Nesta only gave him a look as she pulled the furs around her, the coat swallowing her even now. Was it possible she had become thinner since her stay? Cassian's brows furrowed at the thought. She had not gained the weight as they hoped, her eyes still not bright even after all this time. He was not foolish. He knew it would take longer than six weeks, but Cassian wanted to chastise himself for thinking it would be that simple.

He could sense she was growing impatient, her stare poignant and pernicious. He watched as she shut the door silently, moving through the hallway, waiting for him to speak even as she held her hand to the doorknob and tapped her foot on the hardwood. As if she was being held up, whatever he had to say merely bothersome and easily dismissed.

"You've been throwing away the food I leave you?" He asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Nesta sang, giving him a look Cassian had termed bite me and not the fun, more enjoyable kind.

"Bullshit," he roared. His temper flaring as he remembered waking up this morning only to find yesterday's meal in the trash. The yellow yolk already cracked and dried, the bread sticking to the bottom as he fished it out.

Cassian had wanted to smash the plate right then, see all the pieces collect at the bottom like a smattering of stars. Rarely did Cassian pick a fight with Nesta anymore, but he wanted to then. Wanted her to feel just as he did, the anger simmering in his veins, collecting from all those months ago, trapped in these four walls with the both of them.

"If you know," Nesta antagonized, wrapping the scarf he didn't even see her grab, around her neck. "Why do you ask?"

Cassian crossed his arms, tried to swallow more words than the ones he wanted to speak.

"I made you that." He replied, as if it were obvious.

He watched as Nesta's brows raised audaciously, her shoulders pulling impossibly behind her, as if she would grow her own pair of wings and have them compare whose indeed were bigger.

"I'm only putting it where it belongs."

As if to make sure Cassian became angry, Nesta walked to the kitchen. Cassian following close behind. She knew what he had done, of course. The breakfast sitting still on the table, taunting him. Predictable Cassian, a loser who just didn't take a hint.

Nesta grabbed the plate, the steam rising into the air like a middle finger, looked him in the eyes, and dumped it.

Into. The. Trash.

Cassian looked at the bin incredulously, glared back at her, but said nothing. No words forming even in outrage. He didn't know whether to yell in anger or stand back admiring that she even had the guts.

Before he could decide, Nesta was storming past. The door slamming as the wind screamed beyond.

She was trying to run, Cassian thought, it was the only thing she was good it these days.

Too bad she could not get away.

"Have you been going the kitchens?" He called out from the porch.

Nesta's face was already flushed, her nose red and her eyes bright as the cold soaked into her skin.

"Of course, I have!" She yelled back, making wide strides in what he couldn't imagine to be easy in a dress and heavy furs. Cassian didn't dare ask if he could drop her off. Never mind that it'd be faster. Nesta would never allow his touch. "Haven't your spies told you."

"I don't have spies." He said, rolling his eyes.

It had not been Cassian's idea for Nesta to join the kitchen ranks. Everyday she was working there was a testament to how much he had failed her, and for that reason alone she could yell, kick and scream, or plain ignore him, and he'd still try the next day.

"Please," She drawled, whipping to face him. Cassian wanted to laugh as she put her hands on her hips, such a mighty picture of a warrior too far to be any real threat. Nesta, always more bark than she ever was bite. "You're telling me that you don't conveniently ask where I am? If I showed up, who I left with, who I talked to? My, my, I never knew by coming here I was consenting to being stalked."

Cassian held his tongue.

He couldn't deny that he had asked where she was on occasion and if they were treating her well. For safety measures, he always told himself.

He wouldn't have needed to ask if she talked to him regularly.

"I thought so." Nesta affirmed, turning back to trudge again through the snow. The path long and winding. The cabinfar from the camp. It's appeal to Cassian, until Nesta had been coerced to live here.

"I'm trying to help." He explained, walking towards her, trying to figure out how to convince her somehow to let him take her to the kitchens. His wings rising briskly as he felt them brush against the ice.

"Oh really? Where have I been the past weeks?" She threw her hands up, gesturing all around her, the mountains suddenly small. The snow all at once suffocating. "If you really wanted to help I wouldn't be here!"

"Then tell me now how to help!" He pleaded.

"Leave me alone!" She screamed.

Like hell he would.

Nesta had been nothing but a pain in his ass since she got here. If she wasn't ignoring him, she was getting into trouble in the camp. On more than one occasion did Cassian have to explain to Devlon that she wasn't here to torment the villagers or yell at them for staring at her too long. He was not her babysitter, but Cassian wasn't about to let her ruin what progress he had made in Windhaven by being in close proximity.

"I'm late now thanks to you."

"I can take you." He quickly asserted, ready to swoop her up, flying armor or no and get on with his day. This argument far behind him.

"I don't need your help!" She screeched, halting so fast that Cassian almost ran into her. Her pointed ears were blushing red, though not from the cold, he'd assumed. He could practically see the steam coming out of them.

"You know that temper of yours would work well in the ring." Not that she'd agree. Cassian said the words only because it aggravated her so and he enjoyed letting Nesta fume.

She merely scoffed.

"I'm still open in the mornings if you're interested," Cassian teased. He could see her fists clench, though she didn't turn around. Cassian wouldn't have been surprised if she tried to hit him, but it would've been a cheap shot. She could barely walk through the inches of snow, let alone move swiftly enough to get in a good punch. "Train with me and we'll see that temper put to good use."

"No." She pronounced, whipping towards him. Her nose scrunched and her eyes vicious. "Didn't you hear the first time? I'm busy!"

"Doing what? Chores?" He snorted, waving his hands in the air. "Look at Nesta, peeling potatoes and stirring soup, what mighty power she has!"

Her nostrils flared, but she turned back around and something about the action made his anger rise up. His wings soaring to impossible heights as she continued to walk away. As if he were being dismissed by her, anything he had to say trivial and meaningless.

"How useful you are sweeping dust off the ground and picking up other people's messes."

"Tell that to the females of this camp, I'm sure they'd appreciate it." Nesta called, walking away. Her hair forever bound in that braid of hers. Her spine rod straight, her steps elegant even as she moved through piles of snow and ice.

"You've been here for three weeks and you haven't done anything but work in the kitchens and shelter yourself in your room."

She waved her hand in salute, not glancing back at him.

In a split second, Cassian knew he should have swallowed his tongue, but he said it anyways. He couldn't stop talking.

"Where's that person on the battlefield? Huh? The one who stared down Hybern and cut off his head?

Nesta stopped in her tracks. Just her stance told him to shut his mouth or he was going to eat his words. But Cassian had had enough. She could ignore him all she wanted, but Nesta was going to listen first.

"Where's that girl who looked those queens in the eyes and fought like hell to be heard? Who couldn't stand even for a moment to leave any innocent behind."

Cassian watched as the snow seemed to come down harder, the wind picking up as if it could sense it too. The amount of trouble he was going to be in.

"What about that female who looked at me and decided she couldn't leave me behi—"

"Stop talking!"

"Bring back that girl." He continued, feeling awfully like a child lying on the ground, kicking and screaming to be heard. "I would much rather talk to her."

Nesta turned at that, the flurry kicking up behind her. She stomped towards him and instead of it reminding him of tantrums and small children who could do no real harm, Nesta reminded him of old gods. Giants and ginormous footprints. Maybe, she'd stomp on him too, make him look a lot like that flattened snow.

The mighty warrior in him squared. His back rigid and straight. His hands fumbling to grasp the weapon he didn't have. So unprepared for an attack from someone like her. Someone who looked at him like her, with bright, furious eyes.

He remained still as she approached, as she stood right in front of him, and jabbed her finger into his chest.

Cassian remembered that time all those months ago, when Nesta's eyes had turned a liquid grey, molten metal stirred slowly in a cauldron. How he distracted her then from rushing towards Rhys with that unknown power of hers. He had seen that look before, and he had not seen it since.

But it had not disappeared like they often thought it had. It was in the midst of them, in the grey of her irises. In the burning fury of that look.

"That girl is dead—" She spit, her finger prodding into his chest like a sword through his heart. "—and if you bother me one more time, Cassian, you will be too."

And then Nesta turned back around, the rushing wind following her as if she were some living, breathing entity. A queen without a throne. A queen who didn't need a throne, who didn't need armies or castles or money, not even a crown made of gold and jewels.

Because when Nesta looked at him like that, he knew exactly what she could do.

XXX

Nesta could never quite describe what war looked like, not when she tried to recall exactly how the knife plunged into Cassian's stomach or how loud the crack of her father's head had snapped. It was all a blur of fragments and feelings, and though she could sometimes remember the sobs and the moaning, she could never picture the beings they had come from. Could never trace the blood to see where it ended or began.

Piece by piece it had been and so piece by piece it had left her, but it had not left her spirit and it had not left these people before her now. The dust had settled, and it was on their hair and in their eyes, resting sweetly on their shoulders. The memories hugged them tightly and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed. Maybe they were all suffocating from them. Maybe Nesta was just one of the many, trying to attain enough air.

But Nesta was not like them, she tried to remind herself. She had not trained all her life for some half-hearted attempt at pursuing gilded glory.

She did not want to see how strong she was with that power of hers or count how many names called out to her in desperation. There were no amount of deaths she could endure. Nesta had barely breathed past the first one.

In that respect, she was more like the females left behind than the males chasing swords on the battle fields, that stared at her as she walked by, some monster in boots and fur.

Nesta would never admit that what Cassian said had bothered her.

All of it bothered her. From the camps, to Velaris, to her so called family, to his words. Especially his words. Like an arrow, nearly missing her head, hitting her shoulder, sitting in it and festering into a wound that wouldn't mend. Skin closing up. Healing, but wrong. All wrong.

Cassian's words shouldn't have surprised her, though, and for that she had wanted to hit him right then and there. Her soul demanding that he eat those sentences with the rest of the food she had thrown away.

How dare he say those things?

The fury had her marching through the camp, past the buildings, past the kitchens. Everything she'd known but never loved. Familiar but not satisfying. She sneered on her way to the training fields, practically vibrating with all thoughts she wanted to scream out loud.

Nesta pushed open the tent flaps, the white and red, a flurry of wings barely missing her on the way inside. She sidled up to the female with a clipboard in her hand. With her spine rigid and her head raised, the words came spilling out of her lips.

"I want to work." She declared.

The older female glanced up, probably took in Nesta's sloppy hair, her wet, soaking boots, her cheeks red from the cold, her chest heaving. Nesta wanted her to note the fire in her eyes, instead. The threatening glare she made as sidled up to the female and demanded a job.

The Illyrian merely looked back down again and Nesta felt her will crumble.

"We don't need any more workers. Try the kitchens."

"I already help in the kitchens." Nesta asserted, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear as it fell to her face. The Illyrian was immaculately tidy, and Nesta felt strangely unkempt. Disheveled. As if her argument with Cassian and her subsequent stomping through the snow, had made her less presentable.

Nesta had never been less than presentable.

"Then you'll be too busy for us."

"I can help." She insisted. The females sharp nose dipping in annoyance, her head tilting as if she wished for Nesta to leave.

She wouldn't. Not that Nesta ever could leave this place.

"And as I've said, we don't need help at this moment."

As the female tried to make her escape, Nesta was quick to follow, swerving around the desk and the table sat in the middle of the room.

"I may not be Illyrian, but I can do the work!"

The female turned at that, so fast that Nesta nearly startled, wondering how she didn't knock things over with those wings of hers.

Her face was pretty in the light, if not plain. With wrinkles around her amber eyes. Though, the age lines surprised her. Nesta had never seen a fae who did not look and act young and immortal. This female looked mature, with a gleam in her eyes that said she'd been alive longer than Nesta had even breathed and she would happily hold it against her.

"Really?" She patronized, walking closer as Nesta tried not to take steps back. "Do you know how to heal? Make potions? Fix broken bones?"

Nesta knew none of those.

The Illyrian shook her head in question, her voice sugary sweet as she continued. "How about mending torn wings? Performing surgery?

"Have you helped deliver a child?" She asked, the words getting louder as Nesta clenched her jaw and focused on the wall. Cabinets of towels and bandages tucked in shelves below bottles of medicine and herbs.

Nesta didn't want to tell the female that the closest she'd been to an infirmary was bandaging wounds and fetching buckets. That the last time she saw blood, a cut at the knee after a child had fallen, had nearly made her puke. She dreamt of bodies and snapped necks, but it didn't make her any less squeamish. Any less hopeful that she'd never see another wound again.

"Do you even know the parts of the body?"

Nesta gazed at the female, wondering if she should have asked for a name before demanding a job. She took in the hair, tied neatly in a bun. Her neck bare except for a tattoo that peeked into her dress. A white apron wrapped around her, intensely bright for a war camp. Sterile even.

"There are 206 bones in the typical body, 270 in a child." Nesta recited. "High fae or of human origin."

She swallowed as she continued, trying not to feel as if she were a child with a governess who stood over her, demanding all the correct answers and punishing incorrect ones by withholding meals.

"Illyrians have an extra 27 to account for their wings, which have similar terminology to hands. Only the bones of the thumb retain free movement, and it's the only place to exhibit a claw. The ulna is fused to the radius to provide strong support for flying and all of it is covered by a highly-flexible membrane."

The Illyrian sniffed at the information, clearly surprised that she knew that much and perhaps perturbed that she hadn't failed some test she'd administered.

Nesta didn't tell her that the only reason she knew so much about Illyrian wings was because the library in the House of Wind had been well-stocked and she'd been hungry for the information. She had scoured for hours, learning everything she could about them. Back when Cassian's had been torn so greatly they'd wondered if he'd ever be able fly at all.

Nesta never wanted to ask about him or if his wings were healing properly, but that hadn't stopped her from worrying.

"If you want me to tell you about muscles or organ systems, I can recite those as well."

The Illyrian didn't so much as look at her.

"Knowing about the body doesn't mean you know how to fix the body."

"Then teach me." She pleaded, the words tinged with impatience and that temper she tried to reign in by breathing deeply.

But the female clearly had had enough of Nesta wasting her time. She sighed silently, pursing her lips as if Nesta left a sour taste in her mouth.

"Like I said, we don't need any more workers."

Nesta watched as she jotted something and quickly turned away.

This time, Nesta didn't follow.

"If you'll excuse me, I have some patients to attend to. Greet the kitchen staff for me."

Nesta wanted to kick something as the Illyrian disappeared behind a tent flap. Would have, too, if she had not noticed the young Illyrian in the corner. Hidden behind the desk, she looked as if she were trying not to be seen, rolling the bandages and placing them in a basket. She couldn't have been more than seventeen but like all fae, Nesta surmised she was probably older than she was.

Nesta patted her skirt down, not wanting to feel any more embarrassed, and turned swiftly to leave. But not without one last glance at the young female.

Nesta swore the small smile painted on the girl's face was just the beginning of the laughs she'd hear all the way back to the kitchens.

XXX

It was getting colder.

Nesta could see her breath puff out before her. What she wouldn't give to tell her father that she was made of smoke when he always believed she was fire incarnate. Living flames. Always burning. Angry to the core.

She held her palm out, collecting the flakes that settled on her gloves. Each speck of snow completely unaware that it had landed on someone without a home, without a job, and without any meaningful life. How it remained on the leather without melting to get away, Nesta would never know.

Nesta tightened her coat around her, pulling up the hood as the flurry picked up. It smelled pungent from the heat of the kitchens. She almost wished to be there but refused the thought. The cold suited her better. Icy dreams for icy hearts.

Nesta would eventually have to go back—lie in the bed she made herself whether it was neat or half-askew. But as she stared at the path, the forest surrounding, she felt her heart sink into her chest.

She did not want to go back to the cabin, did not want to see Cassian or walk hurriedly away to only sit in a dark corner of her room and stare out the window… or at the door waiting for him to storm in demanding that she start to live beyond sleepless nights and days that rolled into tomorrows.

It was always like this. It would always be like this.

The thought made Nesta nauseous. Her hand moving to her stomach as if she could hold it all inside.

Eternity was a long time to hate oneself. She couldn't imagine being a hundred, or two, or three, and still be here. Not this place, but in this body. In this head of hers that couldn't move past yesterday. How she wished to take another one. Another face. Another name. Another being, entirely.

Nesta couldn't wait for the day it all changed, the world stopping its incessant spin. But today, Nesta was dizzy by it, so much so that she couldn't very well go forward.

Nesta turned back. The path getting smaller every time she looked. Even when she was far from the kitchen turned tavern, lit bright with even patrons, Nesta kept going. Farther than even the training fields that laughed her away.

She walked until she found a shop, the only shop still awake at this time. The lights still gleaming through the frosted windows as Nesta tried to peek inside.

Nesta was just about to open the door, when a female jumbled past, a trash bag carried in her lithe arms.

No greeting accompanied her, no apology at nearly running her over. The Illyrian merely made her way to the larger bins.

"Are you closing?" Nesta called out.

The Illyrian's wings raised abruptly, the metal tin banging as the female dropped the lid back onto the bin. She turned slowly, angling her neck to get a better view in the dim light of the evening.

Nesta took in the dark hair. The darker skin though she couldn't make out which shade. The female stood tall, taller than Nesta if she was correct. Strong in appearance, too. Nesta analyzed her and in turn, the female analyzed Nesta.

She often wondered what they thought of the human turned fae, what they saw encased in all of the furs.

"Did you want to buy something?" She asked, her voice cautious as she met Nesta at the door. The confused look remained as she made her way to the counter, her hands rubbing against her arms. Nesta shivered, herself, as she noticed the female wasn't wearing a coat

"What do you sell here?" Nesta questioned, instead, marking all the exits like Cassian had taught her to do too many moons ago. Her eyes glazed over the amount steel and leather kept on the walls. Weapons, if Nesta had gathered correctly.

The sound of metal on glass had her looking towards the counter as the Illyrian laid the items out to see. A sword, at first. Then a shield, then some leathers. "I sell weapons mostly, some clothes for flying, some shields, but mostly weapons."

She pointed to the wall.

"I have long bows, and short bows. And swords, of course. Steel, wood, you name the material, I have it." She announced proudly.

Nesta wondered how anyone could be proud to sell such monstrous things. She'd seen so many of them lodged into people's stomach, innards leaking out. How could this female find such things fascinating, when Nesta had seen arrows poking out of soldiers' eyes?

She wanted to grab each one of them, split the wood, melt the metal, let all of it burn. How she wished all the memories would fade as easily as a burning shop.

But then Nesta remembered the forest, the dreams that left her screaming, the noise following her as she walked alone, the evil she could never quite plan for.

Human, fae, or otherwise, the world was dangerous to those with nothing hidden beneath their skirts.

"I'd like to buy a knife." Nesta decided.

The female didn't look at all surprised, just nodded and went to the back to collect the items, setting them down before her. Each with a different shaped blade that Nesta couldn't name and a hilt that varied in thickness.

Nesta knew nothing about knives and tried not to squirm at the thought of yielding one. The image, almost laughable as she imagined herself fighting as a human, with corsets and dainty shoes.

But she was not human. Nesta could fight.

She picked up one of the knives, the point sharp as she pressed her finger against its tip.

Did she want to, was the question. Nesta certainly wasn't going to let Cassian teach her, so how would she learn to wield one? What would she use it for if she could not use it properly?

Nesta looked towards the patron, her eyes wide as the knife clanged against the glass counter.

"You're not going to ask why I want a knife?"

Nesta watched as the Illyrian shrugged, her long dark hair falling behind her.

"You're a female in the middle of a war camp—a fae in the middle of an Illyrian war camp—It's only smart that you have a knife."

Nesta swallowed her apprehension as she tried to hide the fact that she was brushing her sweaty palms on the skirt of her dress.

"It's not going to make a dent in armor or anything, but it'll help in an attack. Besides, it could certainly be used for other activities. Cutting rope, carving wood, cooking small prey…"

Nesta couldn't do any of that, and she wanted to yell it out loud. Felt her thoughts bursting forth, past her body, only to scream as Nesta remained still and complacent. Fraud, it said.

Liar, it howled.

She wondered if the Illyrian could smell it on her, wanted to know if that's why she stared like all of the others as Nesta waited behind the counter. Some animal with its foot in a trap.

Nesta felt her fingers drum on the glass, tapping her impatience away, waiting for the moment that the female would hide away from her gaze.

She did not.

"What?" Nesta asked, hostility clear in her words.

The female only tilted her head, her eyes squinting as if she was debating whether or not to answer.

"You're the fae who moved in with the general-commander."

It was not the comment Nesta was expecting and she paused, thinking on what to say. "How do you know I live with him?"

The female laughed outright, shaking her head. "Everyone knows."

"Yes, well, people need to mind their own business," Nesta grumbled.

"Doubtful when the only other thing to do is chores or spar."

Nesta's lips raised at that, but she quickly looked down, glazing over the knives before her. Wanting very much to change the subject back to something safer and more palatable.

"How much is it?" She asked.

"Thirty silver marks."

Nesta felt her stomach churn as she pulled out some coins from her coat pocket. She did not want to count how much she had left from money she had kept from Feyre, or from the few coins she managed to earn from working in the kitchen. But Nesta was running out she could tell, and every coin less was a chance diminished from ever leaving this place.

The female placed the knife, more of a dagger, thin and lightweight into a harness. Before Nesta could ask exactly how much that would cost, the Illyrian placed the weapon in her hands.

"Joint purchase," She said.

Nesta merely nodded, grasping the dagger closer to her chest. She expected the weapon to feel heavier in her hands, but it remained the same as it had when she was testing it.

Nesta could only hope that she would never have to use it.

She was on her way out when she thought back to the infirmary. Back to the female who looked at her with steel in her eyes. Nesta had not asked for her name, then, didn't know anyone in this camp past that one and the Illyrian.

She twisted to meet her, her hand holding the door open, letting the cool wind kiss across her face.

"What's your name?" Nesta asked, quietly.

The female stood taller at the question, her wings raising and ruffled like she'd been caught off guard. The expression reminded her of Cassian, though she pushed that thought away.

"Emerie."

Nesta mouthed the name to herself and drew a tally across her mind.

One. She knew one female in this camp by name.

"And yours?" Emerie asked.

Nesta thought she might have already known, but she blinked at the question, her eyes catching on the brown that held an emotion Nesta could not recognize, try as she might.

"Nesta." She replied, stepping into the frigid evening where stars were already peeking through.

Emerie, she heard herself whisper. Nice to meet you.

XXX

The plate was already set when she got back.

Chicken over rice. A side of seasoned squash. Nesta's mouth watered at the smell, but she refused to give in when she had held out for so long.

She picked up the note left beside, the paper crisp and the handwriting messy. Cassian's voice in letters and ink.

I'll be back late tonight. Please eat…

Nesta flicked the corner and set it down. She picked up the plate, the food a heavy weight in her hands, piled and steaming.

She should have gave in, should have let the food fill her too thin body, weak from the weeks she didn't let herself feel. Instead, the weight… and the smell… and the look of it all made Nesta want to vomit. The hunger a gnawing fiend. The food a complicit foe.

She carried the plate with her as she contemplated such things, walking past the window of snow laid secrets, past the living room no worse for wear. Nesta opened the door, the wind howling, her coat and gloves still lying on the closet floor.

The food was still steaming as Nesta held the plate flat in her palm.

As she let it drop to the concrete.

As it shattered into a splattering of stars.

I'm trying to write this thing less rhyme-y or lyrical, but that's a shot in the dark because I think that's just my writing style.

On another note, I love writing Nesta and Cassian arguing, it's just really entertaining to have two characters that are allowed to go all out with what they say, because they're both such hot heads. It's fascinating and I hope to write more of that lol, even though eventually I'll get to friendship and friendliness and more than that and beyond.

Anyways, reblog, comment, and like if you enjoyed! If you didn't well then… don't tell me lol But if you did, please tell me. I crave attention.