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

Rage rippling like a storm around her, Nesta stepped back into Velaris at last.





CHAPTER

46

She didn’t note the city around her, the people who either beheld her face and kept well away or simply went about their business. Didn’t note the vibrant oranges and reds and yellows of the autumn trees or the sparkling blue of the Sidra as she crossed one of the countless bridges spanning its winding body, aiming for its western bank.

Nesta yielded to her fury. Later, she would have no memory of racing up the steps to the loft. No memory of the walk over before she slammed a hand into the wooden door. It shattered beneath her palm, wards fracturing like glass.

Amren and Varian were in bed, the petite female naked as she rode the Prince of Adriata. Both of them halted, Amren twisting toward the door, Varian bolting upright, a shield of water coming around them as Nesta stepped into the room and growled, “You. You thought I shouldn’t even be told what my power can do.”

Amren moved with the swiftness of the High Fae, leaping off Varian, who grabbed a sheet to cover himself as she slung a silk robe around her body. That shimmering wall of water made it seem as if they were beneath the ocean’s surface. Amren shot Varian a look. “Drop it.”

He obeyed, sliding from the bed and shoving his long, muscled legs into his pants.

Nesta snarled at him, “Get out.”

But the Summer Court prince watched Amren, his face tight with concern. He’d stay, go down defending her. Nesta snorted, bitterness coating her tongue. Once, Amren had been that person for her—the person she knew would defend her in a fight, would speak for her. Amren nodded to him, and Varian threw Nesta a warning glare before hurrying from the room.

Presumably to tell the others, but Nesta didn’t care.

Not as Amren said, “I suppose that loudmouthed bastard told you more than was necessary.”

“You voted against me,” she said, her cold voice belying the crack in her chest.

“You have done nothing to prove you are able to handle such a terrible power,” Amren said with equal iciness. “On that barge, you told me as much when you walked away from any attempt at mastering it. I offered to teach you more, and you walked away.”

“I walked away because you chose my sister.” Just as Elain had done. Amren had been her friend, her ally, and yet in the end, it hadn’t mattered one bit. She’d picked Feyre.

“I didn’t choose anyone, you spoiled girl,” Amren snapped. “I told you that Feyre had requested you and I work together again, and you somehow twist that into me siding with her?” Nesta said nothing. “I told them to leave you alone for months. I refused to speak about you with them. And then the moment I realized my behavior was not helping you, that maybe your sister was right, I somehow betrayed you?”

Nesta shook. “You know how I feel about Feyre.”

“Yes, poor Nesta, with a younger sister who loves her so dearly she’s willing to do anything to get her help.”

Nesta blocked out the memory of Tamlin in his beast form, how she had wanted to rip him limb from limb. She was no better than him, in the end. “Feyre doesn’t love me.” She didn’t deserve Feyre’s love. Just as Tamlin hadn’t.

Amren barked out a laugh. “That you believe Feyre doesn’t only proves you’re unworthy of your power. Anyone that willfully blind cannot be trusted. You would be a walking nightmare with those weapons.”

“It’s different now.” The words rang hollow. Was it any different? Was she any different than she’d been this summer, when she and Amren had fought on the barge, and Amren’s utter disappointment in her failure to be anything had surfaced at last?

Amren smiled, as if she knew that, too. “You can train as hard as you want, fuck Cassian as often as you want, but it isn’t going to fix what’s broken if you don’t start reflecting.”

“Don’t preach at me. You—” She pointed at Amren, and could have sworn the female stepped out of the line of fire. Just as Tamlin had done. As if Amren also remembered that the last time Nesta had pointed at an enemy, it had ended with his severed head in her hands. A joyless laugh broke from her. “You think I’d mark you with a death-promise?”

“You nearly did with Tamlin the other day.” So Cassian had told them all about that, too. “But I’ll say to you again what I said on that barge: I think you have powers that you still do not understand, respect, or control.”

“How dare you assume you know what is best for me?”

When Amren didn’t answer, Nesta hissed, “You were my friend.”

Amren’s teeth flashed. “Was I? I don’t think you know what that word means.”

Her chest ached, as if that invisible fist had punched her once again. Steps thudded beyond the shattered door, and she braced for Cassian to come roaring in—

But it was Feyre.

Paint splattered her casual clothes; a smear of white graced her freckled cheekbone. Varian must have run half-naked through the streets to reach her studio. Feyre panted, “Stop this.”

Whether Feyre noted or cared about the splinters and debris on the floor, she didn’t let on as she moved closer. Feyre pleaded, “Nesta, it should not have come out as it did.”

“Did Cassian tell you that?” He’d gone to Feyre, rather than here?