A Court of Silver Flames (A Court of Thorns and Roses #4) by Sarah J. Maas

“If you see the Mask, girl, then now would be the time to let go,” Amren ordered, her voice wary.

Nesta’s hand remained shut. But her eyes still moved rapidly behind their lids, searching, seeking.

“Nesta,” Feyre commanded. “Open your hand.” Feyre had gone into Nesta’s mind the last time—had pulled her out, thanks to the daemati power she’d inherited from Rhys. Feyre swore softly. “She never lowered her shields. Her shields are …”

“A fortress of solid iron,” Rhys murmured, eyes on Nesta.

“I can’t get in,” Feyre breathed. “Can you?”

“Her mind is guarded with something that no faerie magic can break,” Amren said. The essence of the Cauldron itself.

But Nesta showed no sign of fear, no scent of it.

“Give her time,” Cassian murmured. Gods, it was cold. Nesta’s eyelids fluttered again.

“I don’t like this,” Feyre said. “Wherever she is, it feels deadly.”

The cold kept dropping. Nesta’s hand tightened in his—a hard squeeze.

A warning.

“Get her out, Rhys,” Cassian demanded. “Get her out now.”

“I can’t,” he said softly, his power a cloak of stars and night around him. “I— The doors to her mind were open the other night. They’re shut now.”

“She doesn’t want it seeing her. Or us,” Feyre said, her face tight. “She’s locked it out, but also locked herself in.”

Cassian’s stomach twisted. “Nesta,” he said into her ear. “Nesta, open your hand and come back.”

Her breathing sharpened. The cold deepened.

“Nesta,” he snarled—

And the cold halted. It didn’t vanish, but rather … stopped. Nesta’s eyes flicked open.

Silver fire burned within. Nothing Fae looked out through them.

Rhys shoved Feyre behind him. She shoved her way back to his side. But Nesta’s hand continued to squeeze Cassian’s. He squeezed back, let his Siphons send a bite of power into her skin.

She turned her head so slowly it was like watching a puppet move. Her eyes met his.

Death watched him.

But Death had walked beside him every day of his life. So Cassian stroked his thumb along her palm and said, “Hello, Nes.”

Nesta blinked, and he let his Siphons bite her with his power again. The fire flickered.

He nodded to the map. “Let go of the stones and bones.” He didn’t let her scent his fear. Here was the being the Bone Carver had whispered about, exalted and feared.

Her eyes flamed. No one dared breathe.

“Let go of the stones and bones, and then you and I can play,” Cassian said, letting her sense his heat and need, forcing himself to remember that taunting kiss at dinner and her promise to let him fuck her wherever he wished in the House; what it had done to him, how much he’d ached. He let it all blaze in his eyes, let the scent of his arousal wrap around her.

Everyone tensed as he leaned in, head dipping, and kissed her.

Nesta’s lips were chips of ice.

But he let their coldness sting his own, and brushed his mouth against hers. Nipped at her bottom lip until he felt it drop a fraction. He slid his tongue into that opening, and found the inside of her mouth, usually so soft and warm, crusted with hoarfrost.

Nesta didn’t kiss him back, but didn’t shove him away. So Cassian sent his heat into it, fusing their mouths together, his free hand bracing her hip as his Siphons nipped at her hand once more.

Her mouth opened wider, and he slid his tongue over every inch—over her frozen teeth, over the roof of her mouth. Warming, softening, freeing.

Her tongue lifted to meet his in a single stroke that cracked the ice in her mouth.

He slanted his mouth over hers, tugging her against his chest, and tasted her as he’d wanted to taste her the other night, deep and thorough and claiming. Her tongue again brushed against his, and then her body was warming, and Cassian pulled back enough to say against her lips, “Let go, Nesta.”

He drove his mouth into hers again, daring her to unleash that cold fire upon him.

Something thunked and clinked beside them.

And when Nesta’s other hand gripped his shoulder, fingers now free of stones and bones, when she arched her neck, granting him better, deeper access, he nearly shuddered with relief.

She broke the kiss first, as if sliding into her body and remembering who kissed her, where they were, who watched.

Cassian opened his eyes to find her so close that they shared breath. Normal, unclouded breath. Her eyes had returned to the blue-gray he knew so well. Stunned surprise and a little fear lit her face. As if she’d never seen him before.

“Interesting,” Amren observed, and he found the female studying the map.

Feyre gaped, though, Rhys’s hand gripped tight in her own. Caution blazed on Rhys’s face. On Azriel’s, too.

What the hell did you do to pull her out of that? Rhys asked.

Cassian didn’t really know. The only thing I could think of.

You warmed the entire room.

I didn’t mean to.

Nesta pulled away—not harshly, but with enough intent that Cassian peered at where she and Amren focused on the map.

“The Bog of Oorid?” Feyre frowned at the spot in the Middle. “The Mask is in a bog?”