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

“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.