A Court of Silver Flames (A Court of Thorns and Roses)

by Sarah J. Maas

  Az nodded toward the doorway. “Save something for later.”

  “Busybody.”

  Az took a bite. “You let her suck your cock in the middle of the dining room. At a table I’m currently using to eat my dinner. I’d say that entitles me to an opinion.”

  Cassian laughed, his earlier gloom chased away. By her. All by her. “Fair enough.”

  CHAPTER

  27

  Nesta hadn’t the faintest idea how she’d look Cassian in the face the next morning, but Gwyn provided a buffer she was all too eager to use. She met the priestess on the steps up to the training pit, and Gwyn offered her a bright smile. “Morning.”

  “Morning,” Nesta said, falling into step with her. “Anything on the Trove?”

  Gwyn shook her head. She still wore her robes, though she’d taken to tying back her hair in a tight braid. “I even asked Merrill last night. She broke through that glamour, but beyond a few mentions in old texts, she couldn’t find anything more than what you already know. Not a hint about when or where they were lost, or who lost them. We can’t even uncover who last possessed them, since it’s information that goes back at least ten thousand years.”

  It was always a shock to remember just how old the Fae were. How old Amren must be, to have remembered the Dread Trove objects when they were still free in the world. But apparently even Amren had no memory of who’d last used them.

  Nesta shoved away the thought of the female, and the accompanying cold slice of pain.

  “It might prove an impossible task,” Gwyn said, mouth twisting to one side. “Is there no other way of finding it?”

  There was. It involved bones and stones. Nesta’s body locked up. “No,” she lied. “There’s no other way.”

  “You’re going up to Windhaven?” Nesta found herself asking Cassian as Gwyn bade them farewell at the end of their lesson. Gwyn had started on fighting stances that morning, and it had taken enough focus from all of them that Nesta hadn’t had a moment to really speak to him alone. There had been one slightly overlong glance when she’d appeared, and that had been it.

  She had no regrets about what she’d done in the dining room. Even if it had been glaringly obvious that Azriel had known what he was interrupting.

  But standing here alone with Cassian … The taste of him lingered in her mouth, as if he’d branded himself onto her tongue.

  She’d lain awake in bed last night thinking of every stroke, every sound he’d made, still feeling the press of his fingers into her head as he’d thrust into her mouth. The memory alone had made her slide a hand between her legs, and she’d needed to find release twice before her body calmed enough to sleep.

  Cassian plucked his jacket from where he’d left it, shrugging into the black leather and scales. “I need to inspect the legions again. Make sure they’re preparing for possible conflict and that the recruits are in good shape.”

  “Ah.” Their eyes met, and she could have sworn his darkened, as if remembering every delicious moment from the night before. But she shook her head, clearing away the cobwebs.

  “Gwyn’s doing well,” Cassian said, nodding to the archway where the priestess had disappeared. “She’s a nice girl.”

  Nesta had learned that Gwyn was twenty-eight—indeed, just a girl to him.

  “I like her,” Nesta admitted.

  Cassian blinked. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that about anyone.” She rolled her eyes, but he added, “It’s too bad the other priestesses won’t come.”

  Nesta checked the sign-up sheet every day, but no one else had added their name. Gwyn told Nesta that she’d personally invited a few of the priestesses, but they were too scared, too unsure.

  “I don’t know what I can do to encourage them,” Nesta said.

  “Keep doing what you’re doing.” He finished fastening his jacket.

  A brisk autumn breeze flowed past, bringing with it scents from the city below: bread and cinnamon and oranges; roast meats and salt. Nesta inhaled, identifying each one, wondering how they could all somehow combine to create a singular sense of autumn.

  Nesta angled her head as an idea struck her. “If you’re stopping by Windhaven, can you do me a favor?”

  Cassian stood in Emerie’s shop and made his best attempt at a nonthreatening smile as he laid out the contents of the sack he’d carried.

  Emerie peered at what he placed onto her pristine counter. “Nesta gave you this?”

  Technically, Nesta had informed him, the House had given it to her. But she’d asked the House for these items, intending them to be brought here. “She said it’s a gift.”

  Emerie picked up a brass tin, pried open the top, and inhaled. The smoky, velvety scent of tea leaves floated out. “Oh, this is good stuff.” She lifted a glass vial of finely ground powder. When she twisted the lid off, a nutty, spicy scent filled the shop. “Cumin.” Her sigh was like a lover’s. She moved to another and another, six glass containers in total. “Turmeric, cinnamon, allspice, cloves, and …” She peered at the label. “Black pepper.”

  Cassian laid the last container on the table, a large marble box that weighed at least two pounds. Emerie yanked off the lid and let out a laugh. “Salt.” She pinched the flaky crystals between her fingers. “A lot of salt.”

  Her eyes shone as a rare smile flitted across her face. It made her look younger, wiped away the weight and scars of all those years with her father. “Please tell her I say thank you.”

  He cleared his throat, remembering the speech Nesta had drilled into him. “Nesta says you can thank her by showing up to training tomorrow morning.”

  Emerie’s smile wavered. “I told her the other day: I have no means to attend.”

  “She thought you’d say that. If you want to come, send word, and one of us will bring you.” It’d have to be Rhys, but he doubted his brother would object. “If you can’t stay the full time, that’s fine. Come for an hour, before your shop opens.”

  Emerie’s fingers fell away from the spices and tea. “It’s not the right time.”

  Cassian knew better than to push. “If you ever change your mind, let us know.” He turned from the counter, aiming for the door.

  He knew Nesta had given the gift in part to tempt Emerie to join, but also from the kindness of her heart. He’d asked why she was sending these items, and she’d said, “Emerie needs spices and good tea.” It had stunned him, just as it had stunned him earlier to hear her admit that she liked Gwyn.

  Nesta around Gwyn was a wholly different creature than who she was with the court. They didn’t tease or laugh with each other, but an easiness lay between them that he’d never witnessed, even when Nesta was with Elain. She’d always been Elain’s guardian, or Feyre’s sister, or Cauldron-Made.

  With Gwyn … he wondered whether Nesta liked the girl because with her, she was simply Nesta. Perhaps she felt that way around Emerie, too.

  Had she gone into Velaris, night after night, not only to distract and numb herself, but to be around people who didn’t know the weight of all she carried?

  Cassian reached the door, blowing out a soft breath. He’d refused to think of what she’d done to him in the dining room while they’d been training, especially with Gwyn there, but seeing Nesta’s tentative smile as she’d shoved the tea and spices into a bag had him suppressing the urge to push her against the wall and kiss her.

  He had no idea where things stood with them. If they were back to a favor for a favor. She’d given him no inkling about whether she’d let him into her bed, or if she’d gotten on her knees to knock him out of the brooding he’d fallen into.

  If she had, it implied some level of caring about his well-being, didn’t it? And pity. Fuck, if she’d sucked him because she pitied him—

  No. It hadn’t been that. He’d seen the desire in her eyes, felt the softness of her mouth on his neck in those initial touches. It had been comfort, given in the only way she knew how.

  Cassian opened the door and looked back, fi
nding Emerie still at the counter, her hand resting on the array of spices and tea. Her eyes were solemn, her lips a tight line. She didn’t seem aware of his presence, so he took that as his cue to leave and leaped into the skies.

  Nesta climbed the steps to the training ring, pondering the Dread Trove. She assumed the others had met with no better luck than she had, and if things were indeed as urgent as Azriel had claimed, then perhaps library research wasn’t the best route.

  But her stomach clenched to weigh the other option, to recall what had occurred the first and only time she’d scried. Her hands shook as she climbed the last of the steps. She squeezed her fingers into fists, blowing out a steady breath through her nose.

  Cassian already stood in the center of the ring. He grinned as she emerged.

  It was a wider grin than his usual ones, excited and—pleased.

  Nesta’s eyes narrowed as she stepped into the brightness of the ring. Gwyn was already waiting a few feet from Cassian, a smile lighting her own face.

  And before them, drinking a glass at the water station, stood Emerie.

  CHAPTER

  28

  As graceful as Gwyn had been, Emerie proved to be equally awkward and unbalanced.

  “It has to do with your wings,” Cassian said with such gentleness that Nesta, balancing on one leg and sweeping the other up behind her, nearly fell into the dirt next to Emerie. “Without full use of your wings, your body compensates for its off-kilter balance in ways like that.” He nodded toward the ground-eating spill she’d taken.

  Gwyn halted her own balancing. “Why?”

  “The wings usually act as a counterweight.” He offered a hand to help Emerie rise. “They’re full of delicate muscles that constantly adjust and steady without us so much as thinking about it.” Emerie ignored his hand and stood herself. Cassian explained carefully, “Many of the key muscles can be impacted when someone’s wings are clipped.”

  Gwyn glanced to Nesta, who tensed, frowning. Gwyn and Emerie had fallen into an easy camaraderie within minutes. That could have been due to Gwyn peppering Emerie with questions about her shop as they’d gone through the opening exercises.

  Emerie dusted the dirt off the legs of her leathers, looser than the ones Nesta wore, as if she were uncomfortable with the skintight norm.

  Cassian’s eyes softened. “Which of the healers clipped you?”

  Emerie’s chin lifted, color stealing across her face. She met his eyes, though—with a level of directness that Nesta could only admire. “My father did it himself.”

  Cassian swore, low and nasty.

  Emerie said, voice cold, “I fought him, so his work became even sloppier.”

  Gwyn and Nesta kept quiet as Emerie stretched out her right wing nearly all the way before it bunched and shuddered. So did Emerie’s face. “I can’t extend this one past here.” She stretched out the left wing—to barely half its length. “This is all I can get on this side.”

  Cassian looked like he’d be sick. “He deserved to die in that battle. Deserved to die a long time before that, Emerie.” His Siphons glared in answer, and something wild and wicked heated in Nesta’s blood at the pure rage in his face, his growling words.

  Emerie folded back her wings. “He deserved to die for far more than what he did to my wings.”

  “If you’re going to come to Velaris every day, I can get Madja up here. She’s the court’s private healer.” Rhys had brought Emerie, Nesta had learned. And would return her in an hour.

  Emerie only went stiffer. “I appreciate the offer, but it’s unnecessary.”

  Cassian opened his mouth, but Nesta interrupted, “Enough chitchat. If we only get Emerie for an hour today, then walk us through the punching, Cassian. Let her see what she’ll need to catch up to.”

  Emerie threw her a grateful look, and Nesta offered her a slight smile in return.

  Cassian nodded, and from the gleam in his eye, she knew he was well aware of why she’d interrupted.

  Gwyn asked Emerie, “Do you have libraries in Illyria?” Another lifeline thrown.

  “No. I’ve never been in one.” The stiffness faded from Emerie’s posture, word by word.

  Gwyn retied her shining hair at the nape of her neck. “Do you like to read?”

  Emerie’s mouth curled upward. “I live alone, up in the mountains. I have nothing to do with my spare time except work in my garden and read whatever books I order through the mail service. And in the winter, I don’t even have the distraction of my gardening. So, yes. I like to read. I cannot survive without reading.”

  Nesta grunted her agreement.

  “What manner of books?” Gwyn asked.

  “Romances,” Emerie said, adjusting her own hair, the thick black braid full of reds and browns in the sunlight. Nesta started. Emerie’s eyes lit. “You too? Which ones?”

  Nesta rattled off her top five, and Emerie grinned, so broadly it was like seeing another person. “Have you read Sellyn Drake’s novels?”

  Nesta shook her head. Emerie gasped, so dramatically that Cassian muttered something about sparing him from smut-obsessed females before heading farther into the ring. “You must read her books. You must. I’ll bring the first one tomorrow. You’ll stay up all night reading it, I swear.”

  “Smut?” Gwyn asked, catching Cassian’s muttered words. There was enough hesitation in her voice to make Nesta draw up straight.

  Nesta glanced at Emerie, realizing the female didn’t know about Gwyn—her history, or why the priestesses lived in the library. But Emerie asked, “What do you read?”

  “Adventure, sometimes mysteries. But mostly I have to read whatever Merrill, the priestess I work with, has written that day. Not as exciting as romance, not by a long shot.”

  Emerie said casually, “I can bring one of Drake’s books for you, too—one of her milder ones. An introduction to the wonders of romance.” Emerie winked at Nesta.

  Nesta waited for Gwyn to refuse, but the priestess smiled. “I’d like that.”

  Rhys appeared in the ring precisely when he said he would. One hour—no more, no less.

  Red dirt and sweat covered Emerie, but her gaze shone bright as she bowed to the High Lord.

  Gwyn, however, stilled, those large teal eyes looking even more unearthly as they widened. No fear tinged her scent, but rather something like surprise—awe.

  Rhys threw her an easy smile, one Nesta would have bet was crafted to put people at ease in his oh-so-magnificent presence. The casual smile of a male used to people either fleeing in terror or falling to their knees in worship. “Hello, Gwyn,” he said warmly. “Good to see you again.”

  Gwyn blushed, shaking herself out of her stupor, and bowed low. “My lord.”

  Nesta rolled her eyes, and found Rhys watching her. That casual smile sharpened as he met her stare. “Nesta.”

  “Rhysand.”

  The other two women were glancing between them, the bouncing of their stares almost comical. Cassian just strode to Nesta’s side and slung an arm around her shoulders before drawling to Rhys, “These ladies are going to hand your ass to you in combat soon enough.”

  Nesta made to step out from under the heavy, sweaty weight of his arm, but Cassian clamped a too-friendly hand on her shoulder, his grin unfaltering. Rhys’s gaze slid between them, little warmth to be found in his eyes. But plenty of wariness.

  Little princeling didn’t like her with his friend.

  Nesta leaned into Cassian. Not much, but enough for a trained warrior like Rhysand to note.

  A dark, silken hand brushed inside her mind. A request.

  She debated ignoring it, but found herself opening a small door through the steel, spiked barrier she kept around herself day and night. The door was essentially a peephole, and she allowed what she supposed was the equivalent of her mental face to peer through it to the dark, sparkling plane beyond. What?

  You are to treat Gwyn with kindness and respect.

  The thing that stood beyond the fortress of her mind
was a creature of claws, scales, and teeth. It was veiled from sight beneath writhing shadows and the occasional passing star glinting in the darkness, but every now and then, a glimpse of a wing or a talon shone.

  Mind your own business. Nesta slammed that small viewing hole shut.

  She blinked, slowly registering Emerie asking Cassian about tomorrow morning’s lesson, and what she’d miss today by leaving an hour early.

  Rhysand’s eyes glittered.

  Cassian’s arm remained around Nesta, and his thumb moved over her shoulder in an idle, reassuring caress. Whether he knew of or sensed her silent conversation with his High Lord, he didn’t let on.

  “Ready?” Rhys asked Emerie, that kind, lovely smile appearing again. Emerie might have blushed. Rhysand had that effect on people.

  Nesta often wondered how Feyre could stand it—all the people lusting after her mate. Nesta pushed out of Cassian’s arm again, and this time he let her. She followed Emerie to where she was gathering her heavy cloak. “So you’ll come back tomorrow?” Nesta asked. A glance over her shoulder revealed Gwyn walking to the water station, either to give the two males privacy or from discomfort at being left with them.

  Guilt pricked at Nesta for that abandonment, and she made a mental note not to allow it to happen again. Gwyn had been fine with Cassian these past days: she did not touch him, and he did not touch her, but she hadn’t shied from him as she did now. Nesta didn’t want to think about why that was, what scars had been etched so deeply in Gwyn that two of the most trustworthy males in this entire land couldn’t put her at ease.

  Rhysand might be an arrogant, vain bastard, but he was honorable. He fought like hell to protect innocents. Her dislike of him had nothing to do with what he’d proved so many times: he was a fair, just ruler, who put his people before himself. No, she just found his personality—that slick smugness—grating.

  Emerie answered, “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

  Nesta angled her head. “I had no idea tea and spices were that convincing.”

  Emerie smiled slightly. “It wasn’t only the gift, but the reminder of what they mean.”