A Court of Dark and Decay

Chapter 40- Armistice

Feyre had not gotten out of bed for three days. She was still in pain, that much Rhys could tell, but what he couldn't tell was what was going on in her head. She had barely spoken. Barely eaten, aside from what Rhys had coaxed into her. When he tried to reach her through the bond, it was as if she turned him away gently, saving him from her own hellscape.
Rhys wanted nothing more then to walk through it with her, but he also understood and respected if there was a part of this journey she needed to walk by herself.
So he laid with her, helped her get up to eat and relieve herself, and then laid back down.
Tonight however, Rhys wanted to speak with his brothers. He left Az and Verra with Feyre, sound asleep clutching a pillow, and silently slipped out of their cabin.
Henery's cabin was so quaint, carved from memories and the old mans lunacy- he had expected Cassian to want to stay there. This was the kind of place Cassian would live in if he didn't stay in the house of wind or in the city. Rhys could imagine Cassian turning into an old withered Illyrian, thousands of years old, inhabiting a place exactly like the a small wooded cottage before him.
Rhys prayed to the Mother that Nesta was not home.
He knocked once.
No reply.
He knocked a second time, running a hand through his hair. He needed a shower. Both himself and Feyre. Perhaps when he returned he would run them both a hot bath. Rhys lived in that memory for a moment, his mate resting against his chest, his hands running the soap through her hair.
snap
From behind the house.
No, further. On the other side of the lake?
Rhys gingerly tried the door, only to find it unlocked. His senses heightened as he stepped into the house.
Through the arched window on the other side of the living room, Rhys could see a figure on the other side of the lake.
Heaving something, dragging something heavy.
No, not  something.
A body.
That was Nesta, dragging a body out of the forest.
Rhys crossed to the back door, feeling his stomach rise to his throat.
What had she done?
As he exited the cottage and crossed slowly to the dock, Nesta lifted her head and looked straight to Rhys.
He was expecting crazy, he was expected anger and evil.
What Rhys did not expect was Nesta to call out to him, signaling to him as she continued to drag the body.
It was the wings that gave it away.
Rhys's legs nearly gave out when he realized who Nesta was dragging.
Cassian was barely conscious, the wound to his abdomen wrapped but still bleeding as Rhys landed.
Nesta was crying, but Rhys had never seen her so determined. It was that determination, that desperation that only comes from the bond between the two that caused Rhys to not question what had happened.
Not yet.
The first priority was getting Cassian inside and stopping the bleeding.
Rhys said nothing as he grabbed the back of Cassian's shoulders, and Nesta said nothing as she moved to grab his feet. Together, they moved Cassian around the lake. He was cursing and groaning, but neither offered him words of comfort as they set him down on the couch in the cottage.
Rhys stood first, and without looking back he knew Nesta was already unwrapping the cloak to get a better look at the wound. Rhys was in the kitchen, pumping water into a bucket and grabbing as many dish rags as he could find. Bringing it all back to Nesta, she did not look up at him as she dunked her hands into the water with a rag and began to clean the area. She had cut open his shirt, exposing a bloody mess. Cassian was breathing shallowly, seemingly unconscious. Rhys left the living room, rubbing his sweaty palms on his trousers.
He went through the bathroom, gathering towels and any other first aid supplies. After dropping those off by the couch, Nesta said, "There is another bathroom upstairs, to the-"
"To the left, I know." Rhys finished her sentence, and though he could sense the air of annoyance off her, she continued her work on Cassian as he took the stairs two at a time.
It was a truce, a ceasefire on both sides. They were not enemies, not here with someone they both loved in danger. Here is the only time they would work together like this, the only time they could find common ground.
Rhys knew Nesta did not know about Feyre, then, because if she did, Nesta would refuse to leave her side.
Nesta was fiercely protective of those she loved, to a fault even, and as much as they both may try to hide it, Feyre was on that list.
Finding a few ointments and more towels, Rhys jumped back down the stairs.
Nesta was still at work, Cassian's torso now clean of blood other then what was still seeping out of the would.
"How long ago did this happen?" Rhys asked, already getting a cool cloth for Cassian's forehead.
Nesta grabbed a towel Rhys had just set down and pressed it to the wound. "Ten minutes."
Rhys nodded, pressing the rag to Cassian's forehead. "He should have healed by now."
Nesta's voice cracked as she replied. "I know."
Lifting the towel from Cassian, both of them got a good look.
It was a jagged gash as long as Rhys's hand. The corners of it were already sealed together, but the center was still bleeding. Rhys swore, sitting back on his heels.
"Nesta." She pressed the towel back onto the wound, not looking up at Rhys.
He repeated her name. "Nesta, what happened?"
She only shook her head. She was still crying, her nose scrunched up as if she were holding back a sob.
Rhys saw Feyre in that moment. Saw someone he should care for. Nesta needed someone. They needed each other, and Cassian needed both of them. So Rhys placed a ginger hand on Nesta's shoulder.
She swatted his hand off her shoulder. Nesta was shaking her head back and forth and she applied pressure onto Cassian. Rhys realized it was more to steady Nesta then it was for Cassian.
"It doesn't matter." She whispered.
Rhys tried to swallow the anger, the panic. "I beg to differ."
"I said, it doesn't matter. Not right now." Nesta's demeanor changed, now hissing at him through clenched teeth. "Where is Verra?"
Rhys took a deep breath. "They're with Feyre."
Nesta stiffened, her eyes searching Rhys for answers. "Is she alright?"
"It doesn't matter. Not right now." Rhys snapped.
"She is my sister-"
"And he is my brother."
They stared at each other.
And in that moment, they understood each other.
Terrible things. They had both said and done horrible things, sacrificed pieces of themselves, gave up and lost so much. All to protect those they loved.
They were not so different after all.
Nesta blinked. She spoke first. "There is a sewing kit in the upstairs bedroom in the chest in the corner."
Rhys stood. "You can work, I'll go fetch Verra." He turned, heading toward the stairs.
"No."
Rhys stopped, turning back to Nesta. "What?"
"Feyre needs Verra more then Cassian does right now." Nesta looked up at him. "If something wasn't seriously wrong with her she would have come with you. She knows better then anyone how well we get along." She nodded, urging him to go get the sewing kit, then turned back to Cassian.
Rhys paused for a moment, thinking. Common ground. A peace. Feyre would want Nesta to know.
"She was pregnant." He blurted.
Nesta stilled her hands.
"She was pregnant. The baby attached outside of her womb. Verra performed a surgery to remove it. Feyre's recovery has been..." Rhys looked to the floor. "It's been really hard. So Verra is making sure everything is okay."
Nesta still did not lift her eyes to meet Rhys's as she spoke. "How long?"
He shook his head. "We don't know for sure. Not more then three or four weeks along." Rhys cleared his throat, pushing away the closing of his throat.
"Three or four weeks." Nesta whispered to herself. "That was before we even got here, that was Velaris."
"Yes." Rhys responded, not knowing why. "It was."
Nesta looked up then, her eyes a kind of sad Rhys had not seen before.
"I am so sorry, Rhysand."
Nesta Archeron extended her hand to the High Lord of the Night Court. And he took it.
"Thank you, Nesta."
She nodded, squeezed his hand, and then went back to tending to Cassian. Rhys turned, bounding up the stairs and turning into the bedroom.
Right where she said it would be, the small sewing kit was light in his hands as he brought it back downstairs to Nesta.
She thanked him quietly as he handed it to her. "Cassian hid the liquor in the bathtub down the hall. Bring back whatever is the strongest."
"In the bathtub?"
She huffed, turning to him. "He was trying to hide it from me." Rhys slowly nodded, standing. Nesta muttered as he rounded the couch, "I haven't drank in 60 hours."
"Nesta." Rhys stopped in the doorway.
She looked up at him from under her eyebrows.
"I'm proud of you." He said, and he meant it.
But Nesta scoffed. "It's unimpressive at best, pathetic at worst. That's not the point, Rhysand, will you just go get it, please?"
He turned on a heel and was back with the liquor before Nesta could stew on her feelings for too long.
Nesta opened it, pausing for a moment. This liquor could put a full grown Illyrian on their ass in two shots. It was painful to smell, kicking the back of the nostrils and ticking the throat.
And as Nesta looked at the bottle, he had no doubt this was Nesta's drink of choice.
Rhys didn't know what to say or how to say it, so he simply took the bottle from her and asked, "What can I do?"
Nesta looked at him, gaze lingering for a moment on the bottle in his hands. She blinked, and it was gone. They were in this together. And that was okay.
"Get two washcloths damp." Rhys worked as she continued to talk. "I am going to use one to clean the would and the surrounding areas, and the other to disinfect the needle and thread and whatever else is going to be touching his skin." 
Rhys held out the first washcloth to Nesta, who did not grab it. "I need you to pour it into my hands."
"This?" Rhys held up the bottle. Nesta nodded, holding her hands out above a towel.
"They need to be disinfected, I'm getting them all over the area and I didn't even wash them when I got in."
He looked at her as he put a hand under hers. "Are you sure?"
She only nodded, and watched the liquid pour from the bottle to her hands. She rubbed them together, using the same cloth Rhys had wetted to get the access off.
"Okay."  Her voice was shaky as she cleaned the tools with the washcloth. Rhys prepared the second, holding it out to Nesta when she was done.
"You are going to want to hold his hand. You may have to hold him down, it depends on how much he wakes up."
Rhys nodded, his brothers hand warm in his as he sat next to Nesta on the floor. She looked to him, and he nodded.
As soon as Nesta started cleaning the area, Cassian groaned and writhed, squeezing Rhys's hand so hard it hurt. Nesta was speaking to him, apologizing profusely but continuing to work, no matter how Cassian's body distorted away from her.
As she continued, Cassian screamed out, his hips raising to try to escape the pain.
"Rhys."
"I got him."
Rhys rose from the floor, holding Cassian down the best he could. It didn't help that they had him on his back, putting pressure on his wings which were folded beneath him. His wings could take it, though. Cassian would have to bear this as he had bore many painful healings before.
"Alright, take a second." Nesta said, placing the bloody washcloth in the bucket of water, turning to the coffee table to the threaded disinfected needle. She reached for it, then hesitated. Rhys sat back on his knees, taking a breather himself. Cassian was strong, and the shrieks of pain made it hard to focus his strength in keeping him down.
Nesta sat up on her knees, leaning over Cassian.
"Hey, hey, hey, look at me." She slapped his cheek lightly as he moaned and rolled his head to face her.
"There he is." Nesta smiled gently. "I'm so sorry, Cas, but I have to keep working." He seemed to understand her enough to be afraid of the pain, because he moved his arm to push her away.
"No, no, no, no, Rhysand," She motioned for his help, which he gladly provided, holding Cassian's arm to his side.
"Your brother is here. I am here. And you are going to stay here, too, Cas, okay?" Nesta turned his face, his eyes closing and his head lulled to the side.
"Cas?"
Nothing.
Rhys shook his shoulder. "Cassian?"
Nothing.
Nesta shoved Rhys out of the way, taking Cassian's face in her hands.
"You do not get to do that, you bastard. You don't get to die on me, not you." Nesta slapped him across the face, speaking to him again. "I will cut your hair, I will cut off those big fucking wings, I will burn all of your favorite shirts, I will make your afterlife a living Hel."
Rhys sat back, not understand what was happening in front of him. His brother, his friend, his commander. Cassian. This was Cassian, dying in front of him.
No, not dying.
Dead.
Nesta was bargaining, threatening all kinds of things if he didn't wake up. The room was spinning, the focal point of Rhys's vision being Cassian's face.
Nesta was suddenly silent. Yelling only moments before, she was silent, leaning her head against Cassian's forehead.
Suddenly, in one movement, Nesta tore away from Cassian's body and took the bottle from the coffee table. Before Rhys could stop her, Nesta threw it to the ground, shattering it into a hundred tiny pieces.
Rhys watched as Nesta grabbed a peice of glass and sliced open her palm.
Then, she handed him a peice of glass, her bloody palm extended to him.
"Cut your palm open."