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

Azriel said quietly, “We are weakened—all seven courts. Even more at odds with each other and with the rest of the world since the war. If Montesere and Vallahan march on us, if Rask joins with them, we will not withstand it. Not with Beron already turned against us and allied with Briallyn. Not if Tamlin cannot master his guilt and grief and become what he once was.”

Cassian picked up the thread, tucking in his wings. “But a land united under one king and queen, armed with such power and objects … Our enemies would hesitate.”

Rhys snarled, “If you think for one moment that Feyre would be remotely interested in being High Queen, you’re delusional.”

Amren said, “Feyre would see it as a necessary evil. To protect your child from being born into war, she would do what is necessary.”

“And I won’t?” Rhys demanded, standing. “I will not be High King. I will not consider it, not today and not in a century.”

Amren looked to the great sword, still slowly rotating above them. “Then explain to me why, after thousands of years, objects that once crowned and aided the old Fae have returned. The last time a High King ruled Prythian, it was with a magic sword in his hand. Look at that great sword before you, Rhysand, and tell me that it is not a sign from the Cauldron itself.”

Cassian’s breath caught in his throat. “It was a fluke, Amren. Nesta didn’t make it on purpose.”

Amren shook her head, hair swaying. “Nothing is a fluke. The Cauldron’s power flows through Nesta, and could use her as a puppet without her knowledge. It wanted those weapons Made, and thus they were Made. It wanted Rhysand to have them and thus the blacksmith brought them to you. To you, Rhysand, not to Nesta. And do not forget that Nesta herself—and Elain, with whatever powers she has—is here. Feyre is here. All three sisters blessed by fate and gifted with powers to match your own. Feyre alone doubles your strength. Nesta makes you unstoppable. Especially if she were to march into battle wearing the Mask. No enemy could stand against her. She’d slay Beron’s soldiers, then raise them from the dead and turn them on him.”

Cassian’s blood chilled. Yes, Nesta would be unstoppable. But at what cost to her soul?

Rhys leveled a cool stare at Amren. “I will not entertain this ridiculous notion for another moment.”

Cassian knew they’d been dismissed. He nodded to Az, who followed him toward the doors. They paused, however, right before the threshold. Looked back at their brother, their High Lord, now seated alone at his desk. The weight of so many choices pressing heavy on his broad shoulders, drooping his wings.

“Very well then, Rhysand.” Amren also turned from the desk and the blades Rhys’s magic now sheathed and set upon the surface. “But know that the Cauldron’s benevolence will be extended to you only for so long before it is offered to another.”





CHAPTER

43

Breathing in the heady, sweet scent of the purple lilac bush blooming behind them, Nesta glanced sidelong at Cassian. She could have sworn he was subtly scratching himself whenever she turned away to admire the sheer beauty and peace of the Spring Court forest.

Rhys had winnowed them here, silent and stone-faced, then vanished. Cassian hadn’t seemed disturbed by it, though, so Nesta hadn’t asked. Especially not as they waited for Eris to appear at any moment.

Nesta feigned gazing toward a bramble of roses, then whipped her head back to Cassian to find him indeed scratching at his arms. “What is wrong with you?”

“I hate this place,” he muttered, flushing. “Allergies.”

Nesta swallowed a laugh. “You don’t need to hide it from me. In the human realm, I used to get so itchy I had to take two baths a day to get rid of all the pollen.” Well, before they’d gone to the cottage. After that, Nesta had been lucky to bathe once a week, thanks to the hassle of heating and hauling so much water to the lone tub in a corner of their bedroom. Sometimes, she and Elain had even shared the same bathwater, drawing straws for who went in second.

Nesta’s throat constricted, and she surveyed the swaying cherry blossoms overhead. Elain would love this place. So many flowers, all in bloom, so much green—the light, vibrant green of new grass—so many birds singing and such warm, buttery sunshine. Nesta felt like a storm cloud standing amid it all. But Elain … The Spring Court had been made for someone like her.

Too bad her sister refused to see her. Nesta would have told Elain to visit this place.

And too bad the lord who ruled these lands was a piece of shit.

“Eris is late,” Nesta said to Cassian. They’d been waiting ten minutes. “Do you think he’s coming?”

“He’s likely sipping some tea, enjoying the fact that we’re here, waiting for him.” Cassian considered. “Well, he only knows I’m coming. But he’ll enjoy the thought of making me wait.”

“He’s a bastard.” The few times she’d met the High Lord of Autumn’s son, Nesta had detested the preening, cold-faced male. Exactly the sort of person who would abandon an injured Morrigan in the woods.

“Are you talking about me, or the brute beside you?” a deep, smooth voice said from the shadows of a budding dogwood.

And there he was, as if her thoughts had conjured him. Eris dressed as immaculately as Rhysand, not a strand of his long red hair out of place. But though Eris’s angular features were handsome, no light shone in his eyes. No joy.