TIMELESS - An ACOTAR Fanfiction

CHAPTER 4

The air has turned balmy as both Zivia and Feyre ambled along the streets of Velaris. After that epic sparring session with the Illyrian general, the emissary has taken some time to refresh herself before the High Lady invited her to a tour around the city which she gladly accepted. After a quick stop at the river-estate, the two females went on their way with Rhysand and Azriel staying behind to discuss whatever new information the spymaster have gathered and Cassian off to his usual duties at the Illyrian mountains.

"I can't believe you actually held your own against Cassian." Feyre mused as they passed along the part of the Sidra where rebuilding was still ongoing.

"My father decided to introduce to me the art of sword fight and battle when I reached adolescence, much to my mother's chagrin." Zivia replied with a soft snort. "I've been wielding a weapon ever since then and I may not look like it but I've already clashed blades with soldiers countless of times, faced opponents much stronger than I am. He's just another battle – another one of my sparring partners in that regard."

"I'm sorry." blurted Feyre, putting a hand on her chest in apology. "I didn't mean to underestimate you."

The Seraphim turned her head away from the people who paused their repairs to look at them. "No need to apologize, my lady. Besides, he wasn't even fighting with his full strength. He seemed to be bothered by something which inadvertently caused him to hold back."

Feyre hadn't noticed that but figured as much. He and Nesta must have been at it again.

They quietly meandered through various shops, taking a look at some of their goods before going back to the street and moving on. A handful of people would turn their heads as they walked by, stopping whatever they're doing to stare, not at their High Lady but at her companion, whose wings were definitely not the same black membranous one they're used to seeing.

"You don't have to address me like that. You can just call me Feyre." Feyre said, "Makes it a little less . . . formal."

They owe her parents after all. She wasn't about to make her feel like it's the other way around.

"Don't fancy being called aunt?" Zivia threw a side glance at her.

"Oh. I – no. I mean that's okay, too. If . . .if that's what you prefer." Feyre stumbled a step and coughed to cover her blunder and surprise.

"Don't look so awkward now, I was just kidding. I won't address you that, especially when I consider your husband an older brother of mine."

"What?"

"You see, as a small part of me is mortal, I grew quicker than most High Fae reaching full maturity when I turned eighteen – compared to the usual seventy – so technically, I am the same age as them. Well, not that we have that much of an age gap to start with." She turned her face toward Feyre, wiggling her brows. "But don't tell him that. I find it really amusing to see him irritated whenever I call him 'uncle'."

A wicked grin appeared on her lips. Feyre was about to say that that would make two of them but she asked instead, "Part mortal?"

"I was conceived during the war, before my mother was skewered by the Queen of the Black Lands and Made into an immortal." Zivia shrugged as she strode towards a sweet shop vendor.

Feyre did remember Miryam being born of a human mother and a Fae father. That mortal blood surely passed on to her daughter. She looked at Zivia, who now busied herself with something from the shop, and remembered how her mother exuded a more human feel despite being a Half Fae. The Seraphim walked back to her with a candy on her mouth and bars of chocolate on either hand.

"This place is magnificent," she drawled pocketing the goods she bought, "but as much as I'd like to keep on exploring, I think we should head back before these people gobble me up with their gawking."

She took Feyre's hand before whispering, "I'm not particularly fond of having this much attention to myself."

Feyre just chuckled and winked at her. "I know someone who would share the same sentiment."

And with that, they walked hand in hand back to the estate.

**********

Dinner had been quick. Mor nowhere to be found, not having returned from wherever she's gone to since afternoon. Feyre urged Zivia to stay at the estate after dinner saying she was more than just their guest and that it would feel improper to leave her alone at the House of Wind.

"It's fine." She reasoned, politely declining the offer. "I love the view up here. It makes me feel closer to the sky."

Feyre didn't argue but insisted on sending servants to accompany and assist her should she need anything, before flying out with her mate, the others retiring to their own places for the night.