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

Another snarled thread that led outward. Past the illusion.

Her body was not his to touch, to fill with life. And she had known pleasure richer than what he’d shown her.

Nesta blinked, and it was gone.

Lanthys growled. He now stood only as far away as her reach. Ataraxia’s reach. “I can take care of that problem,” he snarled toward Cassian. “And you will forget those ties soon enough.”

She hefted Ataraxia higher. “Go back into your cell and shut the door.”

“I shall just escape again.” Lanthys chuckled. “And when I do, I will find you, Nesta Archeron, and you shall be my queen.”

“No. I don’t think I will.” Nesta let her power ripple down the blade. Ataraxia sang, blazing like the moon.

Lanthys paled. “What are you doing?”

“Finishing the job.”

And his eyes were so fixed upon the glowing blade that he didn’t spare a sideways glance to Cassian. Did not see the dagger drawn. The one Cassian threw with impeccable aim.

It embedded to the hilt in Lanthys’s chest.

Lanthys screamed, arching, and Nesta leaped. She sliced a two-three combination, slashing straight across, letting the power of her breath, her legs, and her core carry the blade through.

Ataraxia sang the heartsong of the wind as it whipped through the air.

Lanthys’s head and corpse fell in different directions, thumping upon the stones.

Strange black blood spurted from his form, and then Cassian was there, groaning as he wrapped a hand around hers again. “The Harp,” he panted, his face the portrait of pain. Blood leaked down his temple. “Pick it up and let’s go. We have to get out of here.”

“Can you even stand?”

He swayed on his feet. He wouldn’t make it three steps.

“Yes,” he grunted. To get her out of here, she knew he’d try. Just as she knew that Lanthys was dead. Had it been the sword, or her power? Since she’d Made the sword, she supposed it technically counted as her power, but … What could not be killed had been slain. Somehow. A small part of her delighted in it, even as the rest of her trembled.

Now the scrape and thud of footsteps rushed toward them. “Autumn Court soldiers,” she breathed, pointing to the dark path upward. “More of them. Briallyn sent them to get the Harp.”

“More—”

Screaming began throughout the mountain. Petrified, pleading screaming, fists pounding. Not on the rock or the doors that held them, but on the opposite walls of their cells. As if they were begging the Prison to spare them from her and that sword.

Lanthys had fallen. And the occupants of the Prison had felt it.

Even the footsteps of the Autumn Court soldiers seemed to slow at the sound.

Nesta smiled darkly, and picked up the Harp. “We’re not running out of here. And we leave the Autumn Court soldiers untouched.” If only to prove Eris wrong. But Cassian’s wounds … Yes, they needed to leave. Quickly. “Hold on to me,” she commanded, and whispered, “The front lawn of Feyre’s house along the Sidra River in Velaris.”

Cassian barked a warning, but she plucked three strings this time. Only pulling one had carried her down here, so she supposed that two would take them perhaps a bit farther than that, and Velaris … Well, it seemed like it’d take three strings. She didn’t want to know where all twenty-six strings might take her if strummed. Or if someone made a melody.

The world vanished; again she had the sensation of falling while standing still, and then—

Sun and grass and a crisp autumn breeze. A massive, lovely estate behind them, the river before them, and not a trace of the Prison or Lanthys. Nesta let go of Cassian as Rhysand burst out of the house’s glass doors. He gaped at his friend, and when Nesta beheld Cassian in the daylight … Blood trickled from his hair down his cheek. His lip was split; his arm hung at an odd angle—

That was all Nesta saw before Cassian collapsed to the grass.





CHAPTER

55

“It’s a small cut. Stop fussing.”

“Your skull was cracked, and your arm was broken. You’re grounded for a few days.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I most certainly am.”

Nesta might have smiled at Cassian and Rhysand’s standoff had she not agreed with the High Lord. Feyre stood beside her mate, concern tightening her features.

Ataraxia still weighed heavy in Nesta’s hand. The Harp in the other.

Her sister’s eyes slid to her. Nesta swallowed, holding Feyre’s gaze. She prayed that her sister could read the silent words on her face. I am sorry for what I said to you in Amren’s apartment. I am truly sorry.

Feyre’s eyes softened. And then, to Nesta’s shock, Feyre answered into her mind, Don’t worry about it.

Nesta steeled herself, shaking off her surprise. She’d forgotten that her sister was … What was the word? Daemati. Able to mind-speak, as Rhys could. Nesta said, heart thundering, I spoke in anger, and I’m sorry.

Feyre’s pause was considerable. Then she said, the words like the first rays of dawn, I forgive you.

Nesta tried not to sag. She intended to ask about the baby, but Rhys turned to her and said, “Put the Harp on the desk, Nesta.”

Nesta did, careful not to touch any of the twenty-six silver strings.