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

Rhys turned a few pages in the book, to an illustration of a host of riders on horses and all manner of beasts. “The Daglan delighted in terrorizing the Fae and humans under their control. The Wild Hunt was a way to keep all of us in line. They’d gather a host of their fiercest, most merciless warriors and grant them free rein to kill as they pleased. The Daglan possessed mighty, monstrous beasts—hounds, they called them, though they didn’t look like the hounds we know—that they used to run prey to ground before they tortured and killed them. It’s a terrible history, and much of it might be elaborated myths.”

“The hounds looked like the beasts in the Hewn City,” Nesta said quietly.

They all looked at her.

She admitted, “Lanthys showed me a vision. Of … what he and I might be. Together. We ruled in a palace, king and queen with the Trove, and at our feet sat those hounds. They looked like the scaled beasts carved into the Hewn City’s pillars.”

Even Rhys had no answer to that.

Cassian’s jaw tightened. “So even while he tried to kill you, he was trying to seduce you?”

Nesta’s stomach churned, but she refrained from mentioning how graphic that vision had been. “There was a fourth object in the vision, but it was in shadow—was there ever a fourth part of the Trove? All I could make out was a bit of ancient bone.”

Rhys ran a hand through his dark hair. “As far as history has confirmed, there are only three objects in the Trove.”

Feyre asked, “What if it’s protected by a spell, like the one to shield all thought of the Trove, to keep people from ever knowing about the fourth object?”

Rhys’s eyes shadowed. “Then the Mother spare us, because even Amren only vaguely remembers a rumor of it.”

The words hung there. Nesta asked, “So. Now I go after the Crown.”

“No,” Cassian said, his pain-hazed eyes sharpening.

Feyre nodded in agreement. “Briallyn knows we have the other two items. She sent those soldiers to get the Harp.”

Cassian growled. “I thought Eris was being an asshole, but when I told him about the two dozen soldiers in Oorid, he said there had been more in the unit that disappeared.” He rubbed his jaw. “I should have listened. Should have looked into it. Briallyn had another dozen waiting to attack.” Self-loathing filled his face, and Nesta suppressed the urge to reach for his hand.

Feyre countered, “Eris spews enough bullshit on a good day that anyone might miss an offhanded comment like that, Cass. At least we can now tell Eris where the rest of his soldiers are.” Nesta could have hugged her sister for the relief that bowed Cassian’s shoulders upon hearing her words. For all his arrogance, the opinions of his friends, his family, mattered deeply. None of them would ever chide him for failure, but he’d punish himself for it.

Nesta brushed her fingers against Cassian’s in silent understanding. His own curled against hers, meeting her stare as if to say, See? We’re the same after all.

Feyre went on, “If Briallyn wants the Mask and the Harp badly enough that she acted so swiftly today, she’ll keep coming to us. And we’ll be waiting for her.” A fierce light entered her eyes.

Rhys frowned. “Even with just the Crown, though, Briallyn can do a great deal of damage. For all we know, Beron is under her control, as in thrall to her as Eris’s soldiers are. We need to put an end to her and retrieve the Crown. Before war truly erupts.”

“It’s too risky,” Feyre countered. “We pursued the Cauldron in Hybern and it went badly.”

“Then we learn from our mistakes,” Rhys challenged.

“She’ll have set a trap,” Feyre said. “We don’t go after it.”

Silence fell before Rhysand said, “Then we need to secure wartime alliances again—and fast. And do some damage control on the ones we already have that might be strained.”

Cassian arched a brow, worry shining in his eyes. “You sound as if you have an idea.”

“Eris is coming to the Winter Solstice celebration at the Hewn City,” Rhys said. It was fast approaching, Nesta realized. “He’s shaken by Tamlin catching you two meeting with him, and wondering if we’ll balk from the alliance now that there’s the slim chance Tamlin might reveal it. Or decide to sell him out first. We need to remind Eris of our continued commitment, and that he is … important to us. That we have his back.”

Cassian snarled with disgust; Feyre echoed the expression.

“So buy him a present,” Feyre said, waving a hand, “and tell him we all send our love.”

“He’ll want more than that,” Rhys said, mouth twitching, and his eyes fell upon Nesta.

Cassian straightened before Rhys could even speak. “You’re not going to use her.”

Feyre glanced between them, and after a second, as if her mate had spoken into her mind, she demanded, “Really, Rhys?”

Rhys leaned back, and Nesta frowned, the only one of them apparently not aware of what this meant. Rhys said to her, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t wish to. But Elain mentioned that you have particular skill on the dance floor. Skill that once won you the hand of a duke in a single waltz.”

She’d forgotten that night, the blur of jewels and silks and that duke’s handsome face. All she’d felt then was wild, savage triumph.