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

A scan of the sky revealed nothing regarding how far off dawn might be, and a long moment of listening suggested the household remained asleep. All three of them who occupied it.

How long had she slept? They’d arrived by eleven in the morning, and she’d fallen asleep soon after that. She’d consumed absolutely nothing all day. Her stomach grumbled.

But she ignored it, leaning her brow against the cool glass of the window. She let the starlight gently brush her head, her face, her neck. Imagined it running its shimmering fingers down her cheek, as her mother had done for her and her alone.

My Nesta. Elain shall wed for love and beauty, but you, my cunning little queen … You shall wed for conquest.

Her mother would thrash in her grave to know that, years later, her Nesta had come dangerously close to marrying a weak-willed woodcutter’s son who had sat idly by while his father beat his mother. Who had put his hands on her when she called things off between them. Who had then attempted to take what she hadn’t offered.

Nesta had tried to forget Tomas. She often found herself wishing the Cauldron had ripped those memories away just as it had her humanity, but his face sometimes sullied her dreams. Her waking thoughts. Sometimes, she could still feel his rough hands pawing at her, bruising her. Sometimes, the coppery tang of his blood still coated her tongue.

Pulling back from the window, Nesta studied those distant stars again. Half-wondered if they might speak.

My Nesta, her mother had always called her, even on her deathbed, so wasted and pale from typhus. My little queen.

Nesta had once delighted in the title. Had done her best to fulfill its promise, indulging in a dazzling life that had melted away as soon as the debtors swept in and all her so-called friends had revealed themselves to be nothing more than envious cowards wearing smiling masks. Not one of them had offered to help save the Archeron family from poverty.

They had thrown them all, mere children and a crumbling man, to the wolves.

So Nesta had become a wolf. Armed herself with invisible teeth and claws, and learned to strike faster, deeper, more lethally. Had relished it. But when the time came to put away the wolf, she’d found it had devoured her, too.

The stars flickered above the city, as if blinking their agreement.

Nesta curled her hands into fists and climbed back into bed.



Cauldron damn him, maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to bring her here.

Cassian lay awake in his behemoth of a bed—large enough for three Illyrian warriors to sleep side by side, wings and all. Little in the room itself had changed in the past five hundred years. Mor occasionally groused about wanting to redecorate the House of Wind, but he liked this room how it was.

He’d awoken at the sound of a door shutting and been instantly alert, heart hammering as he pulled free the knife he kept on the nightstand. Two more were hidden under his mattress, another set above the doorway, and two swords lay beneath the bed and in a dresser drawer, respectively. That was just his collection. The Mother knew what Az had stored in his own room.

He supposed that between him, Az, Mor, and Rhys, in the five centuries they’d used the House of Wind, they had filled it with enough weapons to arm a small legion. They’d hidden and stashed and forgotten about so many of them that there was always a good chance of sitting on a couch and being poked in the ass by something. And a good chance that most of the weapons were now little more than rust in their sheaths.

But the ones in this bedroom, those he kept oiled and clean. Ready.

The knife gleamed in the starlight, his Siphons fluttering with red light as his power scanned the hall beyond the door.

But no threat emerged, no enemy breaching the new wards. Hybern’s soldiers had broken through more than a year ago, nearly getting their hands on Feyre and Nesta in the library. He hadn’t forgotten it—that terror on Nesta’s face as she’d raced for him, arms outstretched.

But the sound in the hall … Azriel, he’d realized a heartbeat later.

That he’d heard the door at all told him Az wanted him aware of his return. Hadn’t wanted to talk, but had wanted Cassian to know that he was around.

Which had left Cassian here, staring at the ceiling, his Siphons slumbering once more and knife again sheathed and set on the nightstand. From the stars’ position, he knew it was past three—dawn was still far off. He should get some sleep. Tomorrow would be hard enough.

As if his silent plea had gone out into the world, a smooth male voice purred into his mind. Why are you up so late?

Cassian scanned the sky beyond the wall of windows, as if he’d see Rhys flying there. I have the same question for you.

Rhys chuckled. I told you: I had some apologizing to do with my mate. A long, wicked pause. We’re taking a break.

Cassian laughed. Let the poor female sleep.

She was the one who initiated this round. Pure male satisfaction edged every word. You still didn’t answer my question.

Why are you snooping on me at this hour?

I wanted to make sure all was well. It’s not my fault you were already up.

Cassian let out a soft groan. It’s fine. Nesta went to sleep right after we got here and stayed in bed. I’m assuming she’s still asleep.

You got there before eleven.

I know.

It’s three fifteen in the morning.

I know.

The silence was pointed enough that Cassian added, Don’t butt in.