A Court of Silver Flames

by Sarah J. Maas

  “I never wanted to win.” Bellius’s mouth twitched upward. “I just wanted this.”

  He launched at her.

  CHAPTER

  72

  Emerie and Gwyn had won. They’d made it through the Breaking. It was enough.

  Nesta only had to hold this asshole off for a few more minutes—until dawn. Then it’d be over. Her power would return, and she could … Nesta didn’t know what she’d do. But at least she’d have that weapon.

  Bellius lunged, swifter and surer than the others.

  Nesta barely had time to lift her shield. The impact shook her to her bones, but he was already pivoting, his own shield swinging for her face—

  She twirled out of range. Gods, she was tired. So, so tired, and—

  He didn’t stop. Didn’t give her a moment’s reprieve as he attacked, parrying and thrusting, driving her back toward the line, the archway. Hatred burning in his face.

  Such blind, driving hatred. Without reason. Without end.

  The snow thickened, the wind howling, and the sky rumbled. Bellius struck again, and Nesta lifted her shield, meeting the blow.

  Lightning flashed, thunder booming in its wake.

  A storm had swept around the mountain, veiling the moon, the stars. Only the lightning arcing across the sky provided illumination to Bellius’s onslaught.

  She was on the defensive, and if she wanted to survive this, she had to find some way to change that—

  But the snow slickened the stones, the dirt, and as lightning lashed across the sky again, blinding them both, he thought faster. Acted faster.

  Used her blink to slam his shield into her own, knocking it from her grip.

  It clattered onto a stone nearby. Her fool’s look toward it had him knocking the sword from her hand, too.

  Disarmed like a novice.

  Thunder cracked again, and Bellius laughed. “Disappointing.” He paused, surveying her. And smiled before he attacked once more.

  Nesta dodged assault after assault, but not fast enough to avoid the precise slices Bellius landed to her arms, her legs, her face. She slowed, her feet sliding on the slippery mountainside as the thunder-snow raged.

  Another blow and her feet left the ground. The breath slammed out of her as her spine hit something unyielding. A boulder.

  Nesta’s body refused to move as she panted. Warm blood trickled out of her nose.

  Bellius approached, tossing his weapons aside. “Doing this with my bare hands will be so much more satisfying.”

  Move.

  The word rang through Nesta. She had to keep moving.

  On shaking hands, as lightning cracked and the snow swirled, Nesta pushed up off the rock. Her legs trembled, begging her to sit, to stop, to just fucking die already.

  Bellius advanced, his powerful body sinking into a fighting position. The wild hatred in his gaze seared her.

  Her friends had made it … but she did not want to die.

  She wanted to live, and live well, and live happily.

  Wanted to do it with—

  Nesta braced her feet apart. Settled her aching, battered body.

  Bellius snorted. “You really think you can beat me in hand-to-hand combat?”

  Blood flowed from her mouth, her nose. But Nesta smiled anyway, its tang coating her tongue. “I do.”

  Bellius threw his first punch, putting the entire force of his powerful body into it. Nesta blocked it, driving her fist into his nose. Bone crunched. Bellius howled, falling back a step.

  And Nesta hissed, “Because my mate taught me well.”

  CHAPTER

  73

  Mate.

  The word was a shooting star through Nesta as she and Bellius launched at each other, punching, kicking, dodging. As if voicing the word had given her this final surge of strength—

  Bellius slammed his fist into Nesta’s jaw, so hard she rocked back a few steps.

  She ducked his next move, landing a blow on his ribs. But he kept herding her toward the archway, the line.

  Wearing her down. Outlasting her.

  She’d keep going. Until the end, she’d fight him.

  Bellius’s fist connected with her left cheek. Pain cracked through her. Nesta’s feet went out from under her. She flew backward, and time slowed.

  She landed on the other side of the line in the earth, and could have sworn the mountain shuddered.

  Nesta crawled. She didn’t care how pathetic it made her appear. She crawled away from Bellius, through the arch, destroying the line she’d drawn.

  He advanced, bloodied and sneering. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

  She’d claimed it would be fine to die for her friends, that it was fine because they had made it, they had won, but to be killed by this nobody—

  Nesta snarled. She had nothing left. Her body had given up on her. Like so many others had.

  Bellius drew a knife from his boot. “I think I’d rather slit your throat.”

  She was alone.

  She had been born alone, and would die alone, and this awful male would be the one to kill her—

  Thunder cracked, and the entire mountain shook with its impact. Bellius took one step toward her, knife lifting.

  Blood sprayed.

  At first, she thought it was lightning that flashed across his throat, opening it so wide that his blood showered the snowy air.

  But then she saw the wings. The other set of wings.

  And when Bellius slumped to the earth, choking on his lifeblood, revealing Cassian standing there, teeth bared, blade in hand, she wondered if the thunder rocking the mountain had been his rage.

  Cassian stepped over Bellius’s dying body and offered her a hand. Not to sweep her into his arms, but to help her rise. As he had always done.

  Nesta gripped his hand and stood, her body bleating in protest.

  But she forgot her pain, the death around them, as he folded her into his chest and held her tightly, whispering tenderly into her bloody hair, “And now I’m going to slit your pretty little throat.”

  Cassian’s words were not his own. His hands were not his own as Nesta—as his mate—tried to pull away and he clamped his arms around her. Hard enough that her bones shifted against his hands.

  He was screaming. Silently, endlessly. Screaming at her to fight him, to run. Screaming at himself to stop it.

  But he couldn’t. No matter what he did, he could not stop it.

  “Cassian,” Nesta said, struggling.

  Kill me, he silently begged her. Kill me before I have to do this.

  “Cassian.” Nesta shoved against his chest. But his arms held firm. Squeezed her tighter.

  “He can’t obey you, Nesta Archeron,” rasped an old, withered voice from behind Nesta. “He’s mine now.”

  Cassian could not even widen his eyes in warning. His arms loosened on the queen’s silent command, allowing Nesta to turn in his embrace.

  Presenting her to Briallyn, who wore the Crown atop her thin, white hair.

  CHAPTER

  74

  Satisfaction flashed in Briallyn’s dark eyes, and the three simple spikes of the golden Crown glowed as she lifted a hand.

  The storm halted. Cleared away to reveal the pale gray sky before dawn, the last of the stars winking out.

  Even nature could be influenced by the Crown.

  Horror coiled through Nesta as Cassian’s arms slackened. She launched herself a few steps away, whirling, but knew what she’d find. Cassian stood still as a statue. As if he’d been turned to stone. His eyes, normally so bright and alive, had become glassy. Empty.

  Briallyn had willed him that way. Had moved people around like chess pieces to ensure that Nesta arrived here. “Why?” Nesta said.

  Briallyn’s thick fur cloak ruffled in the mountain wind. “Your power is too strong—throwing you into this primitive spectacle wore you down.”

  “You had the Illyrians bring me here?”

  “My intent was to grab the maimed one.” Nesta’s bloo
d boiled at the mention of Emerie. “Bellius fed me the information about your friendship and I saw how much she meant to you when we were linked through the Harp and the Crown. I knew that if I captured her, brought her here, you’d follow, law or no law. You’re reckless and conceited enough to think you could save her. But you made it easy for me: you went right to her house in Windhaven. Spared me the trouble of luring you. I let those witless Illyrians take her and the half-breed as an amusing bonus.”

  Nesta didn’t dare look up at Cassian. “All to wear me down?”

  “Yes. And without your magic—”

  Nesta cut in, demanding, “I was worn down days ago. Why hold off until now?”

  Briallyn glowered at the interruption. “I was waiting for him.” She nodded toward Cassian, who was bristling with rage—something like loathing and fear now pushing through the cloudiness in his eyes. “Days and days, I waited for him to get close enough for me to use the Crown to ensnare him. I had to use that brash princeling Eris to draw him in.” A soft laugh. “Eris tried to help his soldiers when they surrounded him during his hunt. Help those wretches. He rode right up to them, rather than gallop away as any wise person would. They grabbed him with minimal fuss. Even those infernal hounds of his could do nothing as Koschei winnowed him away.”

  Was Eris dead? Or now her slave? Cassian’s face revealed nothing.

  But Briallyn smiled at him. “I was getting worried you’d never approach. Poor Eris would have met a very sorry end if that had been the case. His fire wouldn’t have withstood Koschei’s lake, I don’t think.”

  She glanced toward Bellius’s corpse. “He’s a hateful brute—just like you, Cassian. Arrogant and brash. He wandered off from his scouting unit to look for fun in my lands. So I showed him my idea of fun.” Her thin lips twisted in a mockery of a smile.

  Briallyn chuckled. “I told him to hunt you down, not kill you, but it seems I wasn’t precise enough in my wording. And it’s rather satisfying to watch someone kill, especially with tools you’ve provided for them. I knew the Rite would be so much more entertaining with weapons. I suppose I could have ordered Bellius to stand down, but I was rather enjoying the sight.”

  Nesta demanded, “Why are you doing this? Why don’t you want peace?”

  “Peace?” Briallyn laughed. “What peace can I have now?” She waved a hand down at herself. “What I want is retribution. What I want is power. What I want is the Trove. So I made sure you knew it, too. Made sure you became my unwitting partner in collecting the items of power from this godsforsaken territory. And I know there’s only one way you’ll yield them to me. One person for whom you’d do so.” A smile toward Cassian. “Your mate.”

  “I don’t have the Trove here.”

  “You can summon it. The objects will answer to you, no matter the wards on them. And you will hand them over to me.”

  “And then you’ll kill us both?”

  “And then I shall Make myself young again. I shall leave you both untouched.”

  Nesta scented the lie.

  Cassian grunted out, “Don’t.”

  Briallyn shot him a surprised look, and his mouth shut. He trembled, but remained standing still. Yet the glassiness in his gaze had cleared.

  “So,” Briallyn said, “you will trade me the Trove for your mate’s life. You are so thoroughly Fae now, Nesta Archeron. You would allow the world to turn to ash and ruin before you let your mate die.” She frowned with distaste at the bodies around them, the blood. “Summon the Trove, and let us be done with this messy business.”

  Nesta couldn’t stop her shaking. To give Briallyn the Trove, if she could even summon it … “No.”

  “Then I shall have to try to convince you.”

  Briallyn snapped her fingers at Cassian, and Nesta had half a second to turn before he was upon her.

  Panic and rage shone in his eyes, but Nesta could do nothing, absolutely nothing, as he barreled into her, knocking her to the ground. Pinning her there, an arm at her throat, the weight of him, once so intimate and loving, now the thing that would hold her here, hurt her—

  Pleading filled his face, utter anguish, as he fought the Crown. Fought it and lost.

  “It will destroy him, of course, to kill his own mate,” Briallyn said. “You will be dead, and you will die knowing you doom him to a life of misery.”

  Cassian’s free arm shook as he pulled the knife he’d killed Bellius with from his belt. Brought it toward her.

  “You kill me,” Nesta gasped, “and you don’t get the Trove. You’ll never find it.”

  “There are others in your court as delusional as you are. They’ll get it for me one way or another, with the right incentive. Granted, I’ll need your blood to unlock the wards on the Trove. I saw that, too, you know. When you so foolishly held the Harp in the Prison. But I suppose killing you will provide plenty of the blood required.” Briallyn nodded to Cassian. “Get her up.”

  Nesta didn’t fight as he hauled her to her feet. Held the knife against her throat. Pleading shone in his eyes. Pleading and fear and—and love.

  Love she did not deserve, had never once deserved, but there it was. Just as it had been there from the instant they’d met.

  What was the value of the world, compared to him? To this?

  “This is growing tiring,” Briallyn said.

  Nesta let her mate see the love shining in her face.

  The sky filled with soft, gentle light.

  “Kill,” Briallyn ordered Cassian.

  Nesta had loved Cassian since she’d first laid eyes on him. Had loved him even when she did not want to, even when she had been swallowed by despair and fear and hatred. Had loved him and destroyed herself because she didn’t believe she deserved him, because he was all that was good, and brave, and kind, and she loved him, she loved him, she loved him—

  Cassian’s arm shook, and Nesta braced herself for the blow, showing him her forgiveness, her unending, unbreakable love for him—

  But Cassian roared.

  And then the knife twisted in his hand, angling not toward her, but toward his own heart.

  Of his own free will.

  Against the Crown’s hold, against a gasping Briallyn, he chose to drive the knife into his own heart. Kill, she had said. But had not specified who.

  And as the sun broke over the horizon, as Cassian’s knife plunged for his chest, Nesta erupted with the force of the Cauldron.

  There was nothing in Nesta’s head but screaming. Nothing in her heart but love and hatred and fury as she let go of everything inside her and the entire world exploded.

  The baying of her magic was a beast with no name. Avalanches cascaded down the cliffs in seas of glittering white. Trees bent and ruptured in the wake of the power that shattered from her. Distant seas drew back from their shores, then raced in waves toward them again. Glasses shook and shattered in Velaris, books tumbled off the shelves in Helion’s thousand libraries, and the remnants of a run-down cottage in the human lands crumbled into a pile of rubble.

  But all Nesta saw was Briallyn. All she saw was the slack-jawed crone as Nesta leaped upon her, throwing her frail body to the rocky ground. All she knew was screaming as she clutched Briallyn’s face, the Crown glowing blindingly white, and roared her fury to the mountains, to the stars, to the dark places between them.

  Gnarled hands turned young. A lined face became beautiful and lovely. White hair darkened to raven black.

  But Nesta bellowed and bellowed, letting her magic rage, unleashing every ember. Erasing the queen beneath her from existence.

  The young hands turned to ash. The pretty face dissolved into nothing. The dark hair withered into dust.

  Until all that was left of the queen was the Crown on the ground.

  CHAPTER

  75

  Cassian lay facedown on the earth.

  Nesta rushed toward him, praying, sobbing, her magic still echoing through the world.

  She turned him over, searching for the knife, the wound,
but—

  The knife lay beneath him. Unbloodied.

  He groaned, cracking his eyes open. “I figured,” he rasped, “I should lie low while you did that.”

  Nesta gaped at him. Then burst into tears.

  Cassian sat up, soothing sounds on his tongue, and took her face in his hands. “You Unmade her.”

  Nesta glanced to the Crown on the earth—the black stain where Briallyn had been. “She had it coming.”

  He chuckled, leaning his brow against hers. Nesta closed her eyes, breathing in his scent. “You are my mate, Cassian,” she said against his lips, and kissed him softly.

  “And you’re mine,” he said, kissing her in turn.

  And then his hands slid into her hair. And the kiss …

  It did not matter, the world around them, or the Crown at her feet, as he kissed her. A mate’s kiss. One that set their souls twining, glowing.

  She pulled back, letting him see the joy in her eyes, her smile. His awe, his own joy, made her throat tighten.

  “Cassian, I—”

  But two figures landed beside them, making the mountain shudder, and they whirled to find Mor and Azriel there, faces grave.

  “Eris?” Cassian demanded.

  “Safe, and the Made dagger is in our possession again,” Azriel said, “though Eris is pissed and confused. He’s at the Hewn City. But—”

  “It’s Feyre,” Mor said.

  CHAPTER

  76

  The river house was so silent. Like a tomb.

  “She started bleeding a few hours ago,” Mor said as she led them through the house.

  “But she’s months away from giving birth,” Nesta protested, following close on her heels.

  The scent of blood filled the room they entered. So much blood, all over the bed, smeared over Feyre’s spread thighs. No babe—and Feyre’s face … It was white as death. Her eyes were closed, her breathing too shallow.

  Rhys crouched at her side, gripping her hand. Panic and terror and pain warred on his face.

  Madja, kneeling on the bed between Feyre’s legs, blood up to her elbows, said without looking at them, “I turned the babe, but he’s not descending. He’s wedged in the birth canal.”