A Court of Silver Flames

by Sarah J. Maas

  Rhys said in that voice that was like hell embodied, “Nesta saw fit to inform Feyre of the risk to her and the babe.”

  Cassian’s heart began thundering, even as it splintered.

  Rhys held his stare, and it was all Cassian could do to weather it as his brother, his High Lord said, “Get Nesta out of this city. Right now.” Rhys’s power rumbled in the room like a rising storm. “Before I fucking kill her.”

  CHAPTER

  47

  Cassian found Nesta sprinting down a side street, as if she suspected that Rhysand was about to set out on a hunt that only her spilled blood could halt. But he knew she only ran from what she had done, ran from herself. Ran toward one of the taverns she favored so much.

  Cassian didn’t give Nesta the chance to see him as he soared down the alley, snatched her around the waist and beneath the knees, and swept them into the sky.

  She didn’t fight him, didn’t say a word. Just lay in his arms, her face cold against his chest.

  Cassian soared over the House of Wind to find Azriel there, hovering in place, a heavy pack in his hand. Whether that had been from a separate warning from Rhys, or Az’s own shadows whispering, he didn’t know.

  Cassian grabbed the pack, looping it around a wrist and grunting against its weight as he kept hold of Nesta. Az didn’t say anything as Cassian careened past, into the autumn skies.

  And did not dare look back at the city behind him.

  There were no sounds in her head, her body. She knew Cassian held her, knew they flew for hours and hours, and she didn’t care.

  She had done an unforgivable thing.

  She deserved to be turned into bloody mist by Rhysand. Wished Cassian had not come to save her.

  They flew into the mountains until the sun sank behind them. By the time they landed, their surroundings were veiled in darkness. Cassian grimaced as he alit, as if every part of him hurt, and dumped the pack Azriel had given them at his feet.

  “We’ll camp here tonight,” he said quietly—coldly.

  She didn’t want to speak. Resolved not to say another word for the rest of her life.

  “I’ll make a fire,” he went on, and there was nothing kind in his face.

  She couldn’t stand it. So she turned away, surveying the small area where he’d landed—a flat bit of dry earth just under the overhang of a black boulder.

  In silence, she walked to the deepest part of the overhang. In silence, she lay down upon the hard, dusty earth, using her arm for a pillow, and curled herself toward the rock wall.

  She closed her eyes and willed herself to ignore the snapping and cracking of the wood as the fire consumed it, willed herself to melt into the earth, into the mountain, and disappear forever.

  Cassian.

  Feyre’s voice filled Cassian’s mind, pulling him from where he’d been watching the stars appear over the sprawling view. He’d flown Nesta to the Sleeping Mountains, the range that separated Illyria from Velaris. They were smaller peaks, not yet in winter’s grasp, with plenty of rivers and game to hunt.

  Cassian.

  I forgot you can mind-speak.

  Her laugh sounded. I can’t decide whether I should be insulted or not. Perhaps I should be using the daemati gifts more often. She paused before saying, Are you all right?

  I should be asking you that.

  Rhysand overreacted. He completely and utterly overreacted.

  Cassian shook his head, though Feyre couldn’t see it. I’m sorry you had to learn of it.

  I’m not. I’m furious with all of you. I understand why you didn’t tell me, but I’m furious.

  Well, we’re furious with Nesta.

  She had the courage to tell me the truth.

  She told you the truth to hurt you.

  Perhaps. But she was the only one who said anything.

  Cassian sighed through his nose. She … He thought it over. I think she saw the parallels between your situations and, in her own way, decided to avenge both of you.

  That’s my feeling, too. Rhys disagrees.

  I wish you’d found out a different way.

  Well, I didn’t. But we’ll face it together. All of us.

  How can you be so calm about this?

  The alternative is fear and panic. I will not let my son feel those things. I will fight for him, for us, until I no longer can.

  Cassian’s throat tightened. We’ll fight for you, too.

  I know. Feyre paused again. Rhys had no right to chase you from the city, or to threaten Nesta. He has realized that, and apologized. I want you to come back home. Both of you. Where did you even head off to?

  The wilderness. Cassian looked over a shoulder, to where Nesta had been asleep for the past few hours, curled into a tight ball against the wall of rock. I think we’ll stay out here for a few days. We’re going to hike.

  Nesta has never been on a hike in her life. I guarantee she will hate it.

  Then tell Rhys this is her punishment. Because Rhys, despite apologizing for his threats, would still be furious. Tell him that Nesta and I are going to hike, and she’s going to hate it, but she comes home when I decide she’s ready to come home.

  Feyre was quiet for a long minute. He says that he knows he’s supposed to say that’s unnecessary, but to tell you he’s secretly delighted.

  Good. I am secretly glad to hear that.

  Feyre laughed, and the sound was proof that she might have been hurt, startled by the news, but she was indeed adapting to it. Would not let it make her cower and cry. He didn’t know why he’d expected any less of her.

  Feyre said, Please take care of her, Cassian. And yourself.

  Cassian glanced to the sleeping female nearly hidden in the shadows of the rock.

  I will.

  CHAPTER

  48

  “Get up.”

  Nesta tensed, cracking open an eye against the blinding brightness of dawn. Cassian stood above her, a plate of what looked like mushrooms and toast in one hand. Her entire body ached from the hardness of the ground and the chill of the night. She’d barely slept, had mostly lain there, staring at the rock, willing herself to ignore the sounds of the fire, wishing to disappear into nothing.

  She eased into a sitting position, and he shoved the plate toward her. “Eat. We’ve got a long day ahead.”

  She lifted her eyes, heavy and aching, to his face.

  There was nothing warm in it. No challenge or light. Just solid, stone-cold warrior.

  Cassian said, “We’ll be hiking from dawn until dusk, only two stops throughout the day. So eat.”

  It didn’t matter. Whether she ate or slept or hiked. Any of it.

  But Nesta forced herself to eat the food he’d prepared, not speaking as he doused the fire he’d built, focusing on anything but the crack of the logs. Cassian swiftly packed the few cooking supplies, along with the rest of the food, into the canvas bag.

  He picked it up, muscles shifting in his forearm with the weight, and walked to her before dumping it between her feet. “I can’t fit a pack that big on my back with the wings. So you’ll be carrying it.”

  Had Azriel known that? From the icy, amused gleam in Cassian’s eye, she thought yes.

  Nesta finished her food and had nothing to wash her plate with, so she shoved it into the pack.

  He said, “You can wash the dishes when we get to the Gerthys River at lunch. It’s a six-hour trek from here.”

  She didn’t care. Let him drive her into the ground, let him make her walk and act the servant. It wouldn’t fix anything.

  Wouldn’t fix her.

  Nesta stood, joints popping and body stiff. She didn’t bother to reweave her braid.

  “You can see to your needs around the corner.” He nodded toward the slight curve in the cliff face. “No one is out here.”

  She did as he said. When she returned, he only nodded toward the pack. “Pick it up.”

  Nesta grunted as she did. It had to be at least a third of her weight. Her back nearly bowed a
s she hefted it onto her shoulders, but she got it on, wriggling to adjust it. She fiddled with the straps and buckles until it was snug to her spine, the weight balanced across her chest and hips.

  Cassian apparently decided that she’d done a decent job. “Let’s go.”

  Nesta let him lead the way, and within ten minutes, her breathing became labored, her legs burning as Cassian stalked up the hillside, cutting along the mountain’s face. He didn’t speak to her, and she didn’t speak to him.

  The day was as crisp as one could ever wish, the mountains around them vibrant green, the teal rivers so clear that even from high above, she could see the white stones lining their beds.

  Nesta gave herself over to it, the aching of her body, the panting of her breath—so sharp it was like glass—the roaring thoughts.

  The sun arced across the sky, wringing the sweat from her brow, her neck. Her hair became soaked with it. Still she walked, trailing Cassian farther up the peak. He reached a rocky outcropping, glanced over a shoulder once to make sure she was behind, then disappeared—presumably going downward.

  She reached the outcropping and beheld just how downward it was.

  He’d mentioned stopping at a river. Well, far below and ahead lay a broad band of a river, half-shrouded in trees. It didn’t look like it would take hours to reach, yet … Cassian was walking across the mountain, rather than going straight down. No one would be able to directly descend without tumbling to their death.

  An entirely different set of muscles soon began to protest at the descent. It was worse than going upward, she realized—now it felt as if the pack were determined to tip her forward and send her falling into the valley and river.

  Cassian didn’t bother to carefully pick his steps amongst the grasses and small stones like she did. He, at least, had the reassurance of wings. This high up, the clouds drifted past like idle watchers, none merciful enough to offer shade against the blazing sun.

  Nesta’s legs shook, but she kept moving. Gripped the straps of the pack where they rested against her chest, and used her arms to ballast its weight. She followed Cassian, down the mountain, step to step, hour by hour.

  She walked, one foot after another, and did not say anything at all.

  They halted for lunch at the river. If hard cheese and bread could be considered lunch.

  Nesta only cared that it filled her aching belly. Only cared that the river before them was clear and clean, and she was parched. She collapsed on its grassy bank, kneeling to bury her face in it. She gasped into the shock of cold, then rose, lifting water to her mouth with a cupped palm again and again, swallowing and swallowing.

  She pulled back from the river to lie on her side, her breathing still heavy.

  “You have thirty minutes,” Cassian said from where he sat in the tall, swaying grass, sipping from his canteen. “Use it however you wish.”

  She said nothing. Even nodding felt like too much.

  He opened the pack and chucked a canteen to her. “Fill this. If you faint, you might fall off the mountain and break every bone in your body.”

  She didn’t look at him. Didn’t let him see the word in her eyes. Good.

  He went still, though. His next words were gentler—and she resented them, too. “Rest up.”

  Cassian knew that Nesta often hated herself.

  But he’d never known she hated herself enough to want to … not exist anymore.

  He’d seen her expression when he mentioned the threat of falling. And he knew going back to Velaris wouldn’t save her from that look. He couldn’t save her from that look, either.

  Only Nesta could save herself from that feeling.

  He let her rest for the thirty minutes he’d promised, and perhaps he was a little pissed at her still, because he merely said, “Let’s go,” before starting off again.

  She followed in that heavy, brimming silence. As quiet as a trailing packhorse.

  He knew these mountains well enough from flying over them for centuries: shepherds lived here, usually ordinary faeries who preferred the solitude of the towering green and brownish-black stones to more populated areas.

  The peaks weren’t as brutal and sharp as those in Illyria, but there was a presence to them that he couldn’t quite explain. Mor had once told him that long ago, these lands had been used for healing. That people injured in body and spirit had ventured to these hills, the lake they were now two and a half days from reaching, to recover.

  Perhaps that was why he’d come. Some instinct had remembered the healing, felt this land’s slumbering heart, and decided to bring Nesta here.

  Mile after mile, her silence like a looming wraith behind him, Cassian wondered if it would be enough.

  CHAPTER

  49

  They were halfway up a mountain that had looked like a mere hill from a distance when Cassian said from ahead, “We camp here for the night.”

  He’d stopped at an outlook over the mountainside, the nearest peak so close she could have hit it with a stone, separated only by another river snaking far below. The ground was pale and dusty, and most of all, it was flat.

  Nesta said nothing as she staggered up to level ground, legs giving out at last, and sprawled onto the dirt.

  It bit into her cheek, but she didn’t care, not as she breathed and breathed, her body trembling. She wouldn’t move until dawn. Not even to use the bathroom. She’d rather wet herself than have to move another muscle.

  Cassian said from across the small site, “Take off the pack before you pass out so I can at least cook myself dinner.”

  His words were cold, distant. He’d barely spoken to her all day.

  She deserved it—deserved worse.

  The thought had her unclipping the straps from where they lay across her hips and chest. The pack thudded to the earth, and she twisted to nudge it toward him with a foot. Her leg trembled with the movement. But she made herself back up, until she was leaning against a small boulder.

  He grabbed the pack with only a grunt, as if she hadn’t been sweating and shaking under its weight all day. Then he strode off into the nearby brush, the knee-high grasses and bushes rustling.

  The wind murmured, wending between the peaks. Shadows slowly crept over the craggy sides of the mountains, the lingering sun casting their upper limits in gold, the chill deepening with each inch yielded to the rising dark.

  The river roared down the mountainside, a constant rushing that she’d heard throughout the day as they walked, its many rapids just barely visible from the outlook. Even here, with the light fading, the river’s colors shifted from slate to jade to pine as it wandered between the peaks along the valley floor.

  It was all so still, yet watchful, somehow. As if she were surrounded by something ancient and half-awake. As if each peak had its own moods and preferences, like whether the clouds clung to or avoided them, or trees lined their sides or left them bare. Their shapes were so odd and long that they looked as if behemoths had once lain down beside the rivers, pulled a rumpled blanket over themselves, and fallen asleep forever.

  The thought of sleep must have lured her into it, for the next thing she knew, the world was dark, save for the stars and the nearly full moon, so bright that a fire hadn’t been needed. Though she could have used its warmth. Cassian lay a few feet away, his back to her, the moonlight gilding his wings.

  He’d left her a plate of food—bread and hard cheese and some sort of dried meat. She didn’t touch it, though. Ignored the grumble in her stomach.

  She just cracked her stiff neck, wrapped a blanket around herself, and lay upon the ground. She slid her arm again beneath her head and closed her eyes against the cold.

  For the next two days, she stared at the back of Cassian’s head.

  For the next two days, she did not speak.

  Every pebble and stone seemed to be on a quest to trip her or twist her ankle or work its way inside her boots.

  Afternoon was approaching on the following day, clouds drifting just above
the peaks on a swift wind, when her head began pounding. The sunlight turned too bright; her sweat stung.

  Despite days of walking, they had only cleared a few of the peaks. Mountains that Cassian sailed over when flying were endless on foot. How he selected the right path, she didn’t ask. Where they were going, she didn’t ask, either. She just followed him, eyes fixed on his back.

  That sight blurred as her head, her whole body swayed a little.

  She tried to swallow and found her throat so dry her tongue had stuck to the roof of her mouth. She peeled it free. Water—when had she last had a sip of water? Her canteen was at the top of her pack, but to halt, to pull it out … She didn’t feel like unbuckling her straps to drop the bag. Like signaling to him that she needed to pause.

  Last night had been the same as the previous one: she had reached their camp, collapsed, and barely been able to remove the pack before falling asleep. She woke later to find a plate of cold food beside her, covered with a thin cloth against the elements. She ate while he slept, then closed her eyes again.

  Only sheer exhaustion could summon the oblivion she craved. Every time they stopped throughout the day, she was so tired she fell to her knees and dumped the pack. And during the pause in motion, she was so weary she couldn’t think about the ruin she’d made of herself, the ruin she’d always been, deep down. No training, no learning about the Valkyries and their Mind-Stilling would help. Nothing would help.

  So she could wait for the water. Because to stop was to allow those thoughts in, even if they trailed behind her like leaden shadows, heavier than the pack.

  Her ankle twisted on a loose stone, and she gritted her teeth against the lash of pain, but continued. Cassian hadn’t so much as stumbled once. She would know: she watched him all day long. But he stumbled now. Nesta lurched forward, but—

  No. That was her. She was the one falling.

  Cassian was halfway up the dried riverbed when stones crunched and clacked behind him.