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

by Sarah J. Maas

  He silently handed Nyx to Azriel, who winced at the transfer of this most delicate little creature to his scarred hands, and followed Nesta out the door, into the hall, and down the stairs. They didn’t speak until they stood on the back lawn of the house, overlooking the river once again awakening in the spring sunshine.

  What she’d done, both during the Rite and after it … She’d filled them all in briefly. He knew there was more. But perhaps some things would always remain a secret between her and her friends. Her sisters-in-arms.

  So Cassian asked, “Is your magic … The power’s really gone?”

  The brisk spring wind whipped her golden-brown hair across her face. “I gave it back to the Cauldron in exchange for the knowledge of how to save them.” She swallowed. “But a little remains. I think something else—someone else—stopped the Cauldron from taking all of it. And I made some changes of my own.”

  The Mother. The only being who would see the sacrifice Nesta had made and give a little back. Perhaps it was she who had peered out at them through the Mask. “What did you change?”

  Nesta rested a hand on her abdomen. “I changed myself a little, too. So none of us will have to go through this again.”

  For a heartbeat, Cassian had no words. “You … You’re ready for a baby?”

  Nesta barked a laugh. “No. Gods no. I’ll be drinking my contraceptive tea for a while yet.” She laughed again. “But I adjusted myself to match what the Cauldron did for Feyre. For when the time is right.”

  He couldn’t tear himself from the quiet joy lighting her face. So he offered her a soft smile. Yes—when the time was right, they would start that journey together.

  But what Nesta had done today, what she’d given …

  “You could have ruled the world with your power,” he said carefully.

  “I don’t want to rule the world.” Her eyes were unguarded in a way he had never seen. Mate, she had called him.

  “What do you want?” Cassian managed to ask, voice rasping.

  She smiled, and damn if it wasn’t the loveliest thing he’d ever seen. “You.”

  “You’ve had me from the moment you met me.”

  She tucked a strand of hair behind an arched ear. “I know.”

  He brushed a kiss over her mouth. But Nesta said, “I want a disgustingly ornate mating ceremony.”

  He laughed, pulling away. “Really?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ll never hear the end of it from Azriel and Mor.” Or the Illyrians.

  Nesta considered. Then pulled something out of her pocket. A small biscuit, swiped from a tray in the birthing room. “Then here. Food. From me to you, my mate. That’s the official ritual, isn’t it? The sharing of food from one mate to the other?”

  He choked. “These are my two options? A frilly mating ceremony or a stale biscuit?”

  Her face filled with such true light, it nearly stole the breath from him. “Yes.”

  So Cassian laughed again, and folded her fingers around the pathetic biscuit, leaning to whisper in her ear, “We’ll make a coronation of it, Nes.”

  “I already have a crown,” she said. “I just want you.”

  His jaw tightened. Yes, they’d have to figure out what to do with the entire Dread Trove now that they possessed all three objects. How Nesta had summoned it despite the spells Helion had placed on the other two … He’d think of that another day. Along with the fact that she’d stopped Time with the Harp. And that she seemed to have some sort of connection—or understanding—with the Mother. The Mother.

  But Nesta smoothed his bunched brow, as if she could see those worries there. “Later,” she promised. “We’ll deal with all that later.” Including the remaining queens, Koschei, and a still-looming war.

  “Later,” he agreed, and she slid her arms around his neck.

  There were no more words after that. Only the two of them, standing on the riverbank under the sun, letting its warmth seep through their bones.

  Nesta pulled away, whispering, “I love you,” and it was all Cassian needed before kissing her again, the force of it more powerful and enduring than the Cauldron itself.

  CHAPTER

  79

  Meeting Eris was the last thing Cassian wanted to do, but someone had to check in with the male. Two days after Nyx’s birth, Cassian set off to do just that. Eris had been seen to a suite in the Hewn City, and from Keir’s stormy expression upon Cassian’s arrival, he had a feeling that Eris had told the steward very little.

  Eris was reading a book by the roaring fire, an ankle crossed over a knee, as if his presence here were nothing unusual. As if he hadn’t been kidnapped, enchanted, and manipulated by a vengeful queen and a death-lord.

  Eris lifted his amber eyes as Cassian shut the door. “I can’t stay long.”

  “Good.”

  Eris closed the book, watching Cassian drop into the seat opposite him. “I suppose you want to know what I told Briallyn.”

  “Rhys already looked into your mind. Turns out, you didn’t know much.” He gave the male a slashing grin.

  Eris rolled his eyes. “So why am I here?”

  Cassian surveyed the male. Eris’s clothes remained immaculate, but a muscle ticked on his jaw. “We wanted to know what you told Beron. Since you’re sitting here, in one piece, I’m assuming he doesn’t know about our involvement in your rescue.”

  “Oh, he knows that you … assisted me.”

  Cassian straightened, wings shifting.

  Eris went on, “Always mix truth and lies, General. Didn’t those warrior-brutes teach you about how to withstand an enemy’s torture?”

  Cassian knew. He’d been tortured and interrogated and never once broken. “Beron tortured you?”

  Eris rose, tucking his book under an arm. “Who cares what my father does to me? He believed my story about the shadowsinger’s spies informing him that a valuable asset had been kidnapped by Briallyn, and that you lot were disgusted to arrive and find it was me, rather than someone from the Summer or Winter Courts or whoever stoops to associate with you.”

  Cassian unpacked each word. Beron had tortured his own son for information, rather than thanking the Mother for returning him. But Eris had held out. Fed Beron another lie.

  And then there was the way Eris had spoken about the other courts. Something had been off in his words, his tight expression. Was the male jealous?

  Cassian opened his mouth, more than ready to launch that question at him and bestow a stinging blow.

  Yet he hesitated. Looked into Eris’s eyes.

  The male had been raised with every luxury and privilege—on paper. But who knew what terrors Beron had inflicted upon him? Cassian knew Beron had murdered Lucien’s lover. If the High Lord of Autumn had been willing to do that, what wouldn’t he do?

  “Get that pitying look off your face,” Eris snarled softly. “I know what sort of creature my father is. I don’t need your sympathy.”

  Cassian again studied him. “Why did you leave Mor in the woods that day?” It was the question that would always remain. “Was it just to impress your father?”

  Eris barked a laugh, harsh and empty. “Why does it still matter to all of you so much?”

  “Because she’s my sister, and I love her.”

  “I didn’t realize Illyrians were in the habit of fucking their sisters.”

  Cassian growled. “It still matters,” he ground out, “because it doesn’t add up. You know what a monster your father is and want to usurp him; you act against him in the best interests of not only the Autumn Court but also of all of the faerie lands; you risk your life to ally with us … and yet you left her in the woods. Is it guilt that motivates all of this? Because you left her to suffer and die?”

  Golden flame simmered in Eris’s gaze. “I didn’t realize I’d be facing another interrogation so soon.”

  “Give me a damn answer.”

  Eris crossed his arms, then winced. As if whatever injuries lay beneath his immacul
ate clothes ached. “You’re not the person I want to explain myself to.”

  “I doubt Mor will want to listen.”

  “Maybe not.” Eris shifted on his feet, and grimaced again. “But you and yours have more important things to think about than ancient history. My father is furious that his ally is dead, but he’s not deterred. Koschei remains in play, and Beron might very well be stupid enough to establish an alliance with him, too. I hope that whatever Morrigan is doing in Vallahan will counteract the damage my father will unleash.”

  Cassian had heard enough. He wanted to return home—to the House, to Nesta. His fierce, beautiful mate, who had saved his High Lord and Lady and their son. He’d never stop being in awe of her, and all she had done. How far she’d come.

  And one day, when the time was right … They’d take the next steps. They’d walk down whatever road lay ahead of them together.

  So Cassian stalked for the door, for the life awaiting him in Velaris.

  Eris was still their ally. Was willing to be tortured to keep their secrets. And Cassian didn’t need to be a courtier to know his next words would slice deep, but it would be a necessary wound. Perhaps it would be enough to push things in the right direction.

  “You know, Eris,” he said, a hand wrapping around the doorknob. “I think you might be a decent male, deep down, trapped in a terrible situation.” He looked over his shoulder and found Eris’s gaze blazing again. But only pity stirred in his chest, pity for a male who had been born into riches, but had been destitute in every way that truly mattered. In every way that Cassian had been blessed—blessings that were now overflowing.

  So Cassian said, “I grew up surrounded by monsters. I’ve spent my existence fighting them. And I see you, Eris. You’re not one of them. Not even close. I think you might even be a good male.” Cassian opened the door, turning from Eris’s curled lip. “You’re just too much of a coward to act like one.”

  CHAPTER

  80

  Spring bloomed fully around Velaris, and Feyre and Nyx were finally well enough to leave the house each day, going on walks that often lasted hours thanks to the well-wishers who longed to see the child. Someone always accompanied them, usually Rhys or Mor, who was just as protective as the parents of the babe. Cassian and Azriel were hardly better.

  But none of the others were present on a warm day a few weeks later, when Nesta joined Feyre and Elain for a walk outside the city. Even a glance at the sky revealed no sign of Cassian, who had been keeping Nesta up until dawn with his lovemaking and had become utterly obnoxious about calling her mate any chance he got, except at their continuing morning training with the priestesses.

  Succeeding in the Blood Rite didn’t mean the training stopped. No, after she and her friends told Cassian and Azriel most of the details of their ordeal, the two commanders had compiled a long list of mistakes that the three of them had made that needed to be corrected, and the others wanted to learn from them, too. So they would keep training, until they were all well and truly Valkyries. Gwyn, despite the Rite, had returned to living in the library.

  Gwyn had said she might leave for Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony in three days, which would take place in the small temple on the river house’s grounds. Despite Nesta’s wishes for an ornate ceremony, she hadn’t wanted a giant crowd. The temple was already being bedecked with flowers of every variety, enchanted against wilting, as well as silks and lace and candles and garlands—all of it paid for by Rhys, who could not stop buying her presents. Dresses and jewels and throw pillows and all manner of nonsense had rained down on her until Nesta had to order him to stop, saying that an extravagant mating ceremony would make them even.

  So Rhys had ensured that the ceremony would be as outrageous as possible. Nesta had no doubt the temple would be covered in such riches it’d be laughable.

  But all that mattered, she realized, was the male who would be standing with her, first as they swore their vows, then as they offered each other food, and then as their friends and family bound their hands together with a length of black ribbon, to remain until the mating was consummated.

  Even though the consummating had been going on two or three times a day for weeks now.

  But it didn’t matter. Nesta could hardly wait for it—the ceremony, the … whatever awaited her beyond it. None of it frightened her. None of it left her with that pit of despair. Not with Cassian at her side, her friends at her back, the House of Wind …

  That had been Rhys’s last present before the ceremony: It was theirs. Hers.

  Since the House had decided it liked Nesta more than anyone else, Rhys had given it to her and Cassian, with the caveat that the library belonged to the priestesses and that the court still had use of the House for formal occasions. It was good enough for Nesta—better than good.

  She’d joined them at the river house one night to find a mating present from Feyre waiting for her. Hanging on the wall in the grand entry.

  A portrait of Nesta, holding the line at the Pass of Enalius. She’d let Rhys see some parts of the Rite—but had no idea he’d asked not out of curiosity, but to give his mate ideas for this.

  Nesta had stared and stared at her portrait, hung between one of Feyre and one of Elain, and hadn’t realized she was crying until Feyre had held her tightly.

  A home. The House of Wind, Velaris, this court … they were her home. The thought kindled a kernel of light in her chest that had not extinguished, even in the days after the Rite.

  That kernel was still flickering as Nesta faced that day’s task. The task that was so long overdue.

  Feyre left the ornate black carriage at the base of the grassy hill, carrying Nyx as the three of them scaled its soft slope. The city spread before them, glowing in the spring sunshine, but Nesta’s eyes remained on the lone stone atop the hill.

  Her heart thundered, and she kept a step back as Feyre knelt before the grave marker, showing Nyx to the stone. “Your grandson, Father,” she whispered, voice thick. And then Feyre bowed her head, speaking too low for Nesta or Elain, standing at Nesta’s side, to hear.

  After a few minutes, Feyre rose, letting her tears run, as holding the babe kept her hands occupied. Elain went forward, whispered a few things to their father’s grave, and then both sisters looked to Nesta, smiling tentatively.

  Feyre had asked this morning if Nesta wanted to come. To show their father the baby.

  And there had been no answer in Nesta’s heart except one.

  So she nodded to her sisters to go on ahead, and they obeyed, easing back down the grassy hill as Nesta lingered by the gravestone.

  She searched for the words, for any explanation or apology, but none came.

  The sun was a warm hand on her shoulder, like the one that had prevented the last of her power from vanishing, as if telling her that the apology, the begging for forgiveness … it was no longer needed.

  Her father had died for her, with love in his heart, and though she might not have deserved it then … She would do all she could now to earn it. To deserve not just his love, but that of those around her. Of Cassian.

  Some days might indeed be difficult, but she’d do it. Fight for it.

  Her father had died for her, with love in his heart, and Nesta held love in her own heart as she pulled the small, carved rose from her pocket and set it upon the gravestone. A permanent marker of the beauty and good he’d tried to bring into the world.

  Nesta brought her fingers to her lips, pressed a kiss to them, then laid her hand upon the gravestone.

  “Thank you,” she said, blinking back the stinging in her eyes. “Thank you.”

  A swift shadow passed overhead, followed by a whisper of wings, and Nesta didn’t need to look to know who sailed high above, making sure all was safe. That she was safe.

  Busybody. But she blew Cassian a soft kiss, too.

  Her mate. Her love. Her friend. The light within her chest brightened to a radiant sun.

  She found Feyre and Elain waiting halfway
down the hill, Nyx now dozing peacefully in Elain’s arms. Her sisters beamed, beckoning her to join.

  And Nesta smiled back, her steps light as she hurried down the hill to meet them.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Coming to the end of this book was a journey years in the making in so many ways, from the initial pages that I jotted down while working on A Court of Wings and Ruin to the years since then spent drafting, revising, refining. But perhaps most important, this book was a companion during my own journey through the valleys and mountains of mental health, traveling alongside me as I faced all the jagged bits inside myself. While Nesta’s story is in no way a direct reflection of my own experiences, there were moments in this book that I very much needed to write—not just for the sake of these characters, but for myself. I hope some of those moments resonate, and will remind you, dear reader, that you are loved, and that you are worthy of love, no matter what.

  I’m tremendously grateful to be surrounded by people in my professional and personal life who have unflinchingly walked along those hills and valleys with me, especially during such a tumultuous time for our entire world.

  To my son, Taran: you bring me joy, and strength, and such love that my heart is overflowing with it every single day. Your laugh is the most beautiful music in the world. (I’m writing that even though you just tried to eat packing peanuts while I wasn’t looking.) I’m so honored to be your mom, and I’m so proud of you. I love you, baby bunny.

  To my husband, Josh: there are so many pieces of our story scattered throughout all my books, but this one seems to have gotten the lion’s share. From the moment I laid eyes on you in our dorm common room sixteen years ago, I knew you’d be The One. Don’t ask me how, but you walked in, and I just knew. But I still had no idea what a remarkable, wonderful path we’d walk together—the places we’d see, the life we’d build, and the family we’d create. Thank you for loving me through all of it.

  To Annie, my fur-baby and most loyal companion: you are the best sister imaginable to Taran, the best copilot while writing these books, and the best cuddler after a long day of work. I adore your curly tail, your bat ears, your unfailing sass—and your sweet, loving soul.