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

Nesta stayed silent.

“I’ll take first watch,” the warrior said. “Rest.”

“Fine.” But she did not dare close her eyes.



Nesta remained awake the entire night. If Balthazar knew she hadn’t been sleeping during his watch, he didn’t say. She’d used the time to do her Mind-Stilling exercises, which kept the edge off, but not entirely.

The crackle of brush under the paws and talons of stalking beasts and the screaming of the Illyrians continued for hours.

When Balthazar nudged her with a knee and she feigned waking, he only murmured that he was going to sleep and tucked himself against her. Nesta let herself soak up his warmth against the frigid cave air. Whether his deep breaths were true sleep or faked, as hers had been, she didn’t care.

Nesta kept her eyes open, even when they became unbearably sore and heavy. Even when the warmth from her two companions threatened to lull her to sleep.

She would not sleep. Wouldn’t lower her guard for one moment.

Dawn eventually leaked through the lattice of branches, and the screams and howling faded, then vanished. A quick inspection in the dim light revealed that though her friend remained unconscious, the wound on Emerie’s head had stopped bleeding. But—

“You’ll find plenty of clothes today,” Balthazar said, seeming to read her mind. He stepped into the daylight and peered around, then cursed under his breath. “Plenty of clothes.”

The words sent Nesta scrambling out of the cave.

Winged bodies lay everywhere, many half-eaten.

A brisk wind ruffled Balthazar’s dark hair as he walked away. “Good luck, Archeron.”



Eris was nowhere to be found in the lands surrounding the queens’ castle. But Azriel had encountered a passing human merchant on the road from the palace, who hadn’t hesitated when he’d been asked whether a Fae male had recently arrived. He readily supplied that a red-haired Fae male had been dragged into the castle the night before last. He’d heard in the tavern that the male was to be taken soon to another site.

“We’ll wait here until they leave the castle. Then trail them from the cloud cover,” Azriel said, face dark.

Cassian grunted his agreement and dragged a hand through his hair. He’d barely slept, thinking of Nesta, and of Feyre and Rhys.

Cassian and Azriel hadn’t discussed their brother’s bargain, which would doom Rhys should Feyre not survive the labor. To lose her would be unbearable, but to also lose Rhys … Cassian couldn’t think of it without feeling sick. Perhaps Amren was working on some way to undo the bargain—if anyone could think of a way, it would be her. Or Helion, he supposed.

Cassian and Azriel were beyond Rhys’s and Feyre’s daemati range, though. They’d have no news of anything.

But he’d know if Nesta were dead. In his heart, his soul, he’d sense it. Would feel it.

A mate always did.

Even if she’d rejected that bond.



Nesta had lived through the night, thanks to dumb luck and an Illyrian more interested in politics than killing.

Exhaustion slowed every movement as Nesta picked her way through the dismembered bodies, peeling off whatever clothes were intact and not stained by blood or bodily fluids. Many of the warriors had pissed or shit themselves when the beasts of the forest had found them. Finding a clean pair of pants was a tall order.

But Nesta gathered enough, including a smaller pair of boots for herself and one set for Emerie, and picked up another dagger, two canteens of water, and what seemed to be someone’s half-eaten rabbit dinner.

By the time she returned to the cave—dressed, watered, and with half a leg of rabbit in hand—Emerie was awake. Weak, but awake. She said nothing as Nesta handed her the meat and the water, then helped her dress.

Only when Nesta eased her out of the cave and Emerie surveyed the carnage did she rasp, “Gwyn?”

Nesta, her arm looped around Emerie’s middle, lifted her free hand—the one with the bracelet on her wrist. She slowly pointed her arm in each direction. “South,” she said when the charm gleamed. Gwyn’s general location hadn’t changed since yesterday.

Emerie sucked in a breath. Lifted her own bracelet to the south. The charm glittered almost frantically now, emitting an urgent sense of needing to move, to act, to be swift.

Wonder flashed in Emerie’s eyes before sharpening to grim focus. “Let’s hurry.”





CHAPTER

67

Emerie confirmed that she’d been attacked and chased by the males Nesta had spied at the river. She’d leaped in as a final shot at survival, hit her head on a rock, and remembered nothing until the cave.

Nesta gave her a swift, brutal rundown of her own encounters as they picked their way southward, mostly keeping silent to listen for any passing Illyrians. A few solo warriors ignored them as they trudged past, covered in blood, all heading east; a few packs battled each other; and many more bodies lay on the cold earth.

They scanned for any gleam of copper hair. But they saw and heard no sign of Gwyn. They did not speak of whether their charms might be leading them toward a body.

The day passed, and they found another cave as night fell, huddling together for warmth. Emerie insisted on taking the first watch, and Nesta slept at last. When her friend woke her, Nesta had the feeling that Emerie had let her doze for longer than she should have.