Feyre had loved to hang about their father’s office, more fascinated in the trade than what Nesta had been taught was acceptable for a wealthy girl. Feyre had always been that way: completely uninterested in the rules that governed their lives, uninterested in becoming a true lady who would help advance their family’s fortunes through an advantageous marriage.
They had rarely agreed on anything. And those visits to their father’s offices had resulted in a simmering resentment between them. Feyre had tried to get her interested, had shown her so many rarities to tempt her. But Nesta had barely listened to her sister’s explanations, mostly eyeing up their father’s business partners for whether their sons might be a good match. Feyre had been disgusted. It had made Nesta even more determined.
“Did you travel with him?”
“No, my two sisters and I remained home. It wasn’t appropriate for us to travel the world.”
“I always forget how similar human ideas of propriety are to the Illyrians’。” Emerie took another bite. “Would you have wanted to see the world, if you could?”
“It was half a world, wasn’t it? With the wall in place.”
“Still better than nothing.”
Nesta chuckled. “You’re right.” She considered Emerie’s question. If her father had offered to bring them on one of his ships, to let them see strange and distant shores, would they have gone? Elain had always wanted to visit the continent to study the tulips and other famed flowers, but her imagination had stretched no further. Feyre had talked once about the glorious art in the continent’s museums and private estates. But that was all the western edge of it. Beyond that, the continent was vast. And to the south, another continent sprawled. Would she have gone?
“I would have put up a fight,” Nesta said at last, “but in the end, I’d have yielded to curiosity.”
“Do you still have any family in the human lands?”
“My mother died when I was twelve, and my father … He did not survive the most recent war. Their parents died during my childhood. I have no kin on my father’s side, and my mother had one cousin, who lives on the continent and conveniently forgot about us when we fell on hard times.”
Nesta had written letter after letter when they’d fallen into poverty, begging her cousin Urstin to take them in. They’d gone unanswered, and then the money for postage had run out. Nesta still wondered if their cousin had ever learned what had become of the relatives she’d ignored and left to die.
Nesta asked carefully, “What about your family?” She’d seen and heard enough from Bellius to have a general idea, but she couldn’t help asking.
“Mother died giving birth to me, and my elder brother died in a skirmish between war-bands ten years before I was born. My father died during the war with Hybern.” The words were stiff, cold. “I do not bother with the rest of my kin, though my father’s family makes it a point to try to claim this store and his wealth as their own.”
“They’re not entitled to it, are they?”
“No. Rhysand changed the inheritance laws centuries ago to include females, but my uncles don’t seem to care. They still show up every now and then to bother me like Bellius did. They believe a woman should not run her own business, that I should wed a male in this village and leave the store to them.” She grimaced. “They’re vultures.”
Emerie had finished her lunch and poured some tea for each of them. “It’s a shame that you won’t be coming up here very often. I could use another sensible person to talk to.”
Nesta blinked at the compliment, the bit of truth it revealed about Emerie: she was unhappy in this place. All those questions about traveling … “Would you ever move away?”
Emerie choked on a laugh. “And go where? At least here I know people. I’ve never left this village. Never even been up to that mountaintop over there.” She gestured to the window, and Nesta made it a point not to look at her wings.
Nesta sipped from her tea. It was a strong brew, with a bit of a bite. She must have made a face because Emerie explained quietly, “Tea is in short supply here—a luxury that I indulge. But to spread it out, I add a little willow bark to it. It also helps with some of my … pains.”
“What pains?”
“My wings sometimes hurt. The scars, I mean. Like an old wound.”
Nesta kept her pity tamped down. She finished her tea right as Emerie did, and said, “Thank you for the food.” Rising, she picked up her plate.