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

Feyre looked toward Nesta, her voice soft as she asked, “What exactly happened in the Cauldron?”

Every image, thought, feeling pelted Nesta. Smothered her, exactly as she had to smother the rising power in her at her sister’s question. No one spoke. They all just stared.

Cassian cleared his throat. “Does it matter?” Everyone faced him, and Nesta nearly sagged with relief at the shift of their attention. Even as something kindled in her chest at his words. His defense of her.

“It’d help us gain insight,” Feyre said.

“We can discuss it later …,” Cassian began, but Nesta straightened.

“I …” They all halted. Twisted toward her. Her mouth went dry. Nesta swallowed against it, praying they didn’t see the shaking hands she tucked under her thighs. Her thoughts swarmed her, each memory screaming, and she didn’t know where to start, how to explain it—

Breathe. It calmed her mind whenever Cassian led her through their exercises. So she let herself inhale—then slowly exhale. Again. A third time.

And into the silence, Nesta said, “I wasn’t aware of what I took. Just that I was taking things the Cauldron did not want me to have. It seemed fitting, given what it was doing to me.”

There. That was all she could say, would say.

But Feyre nodded, eyes shining bright with something Nesta could not place. Feyre said to Amren, “So it’s highly possible that the Cauldron couldn’t imbue Briallyn with the ability to track it. All it could do was give Briallyn the ability to track anything it Made, a sorry shadow of the original gift.”

The others nodded, and Nesta dared a look at Cassian, who gave her a soft smile. Like in saying the few words she’d managed to get out, she’d somehow done something … worthy. Her chest tightened.

Had she done so many unworthy things that her scant contribution earned that much praise?

Nesta forced herself to ignore the nauseating thought as Amren continued, “If you were to gather all three objects, you could use the potency of their combined Made essence to track down the Cauldron, no matter where it is.”

“Not to mention gain three objects of terrible power,” Azriel added grimly. “Capable of granting even a human army an advantage against the Fae.”

“Raise the dead,” Cassian mused, his face tightening, any trace of that approving smile gone, “and you’d have an unstoppable force, able to march without rest or food. Open any door, and you could move that army of the dead wherever you wished. And with unrestrained influence, you could make any enemy territory and its people bow to you.”

Silence again filled the room. Nesta’s heart thundered.

“And all Koschei wants is to be free from his lake?” Rhys asked Azriel.

But Amren answered. “No one really knows the full scope of the Trove’s powers. Beyond freeing him from his lake, Koschei may very well know something about the Trove that we don’t—some greater power that manifests when all three are united.”

Rhys looked at Azriel, who nodded grimly.

“What is a death-lord?” Nesta asked into the silence.

Their stares struck her like stones. Cassian answered, tapping the scar on the side of his neck. “I told you of Lanthys—the wound he gave me. He is literally deathless. Nothing can kill him. Koschei, too, cannot be killed. He is the master of his own death.” He lowered his hand from the horrible scar. The gleam in his eye suggested that his thoughts had turned toward her own powers. She ignored the thing that writhed within her in answer and confirmation, cold fire licking up her spine. Mercifully, Cassian went on, “They are death-lords.”

The words hung in the air. Rhys cursed. “I’d forgotten about Lanthys.”

Cassian threw him a dry look, again tapping that scar. “I haven’t.”

To Nesta’s horror, Amren shuddered. Amren.

Feyre cleared her throat. “So they are trying to find this Dread Trove in order to track down the Cauldron for Briallyn, and likely free Koschei in the process. And launch a war, with Beron as her ally, that would grant them whatever territories they wish. Or give some to Koschei, depending on what bargain he strikes with Briallyn—probably one to his advantage.”

“Again, Briallyn is well aware of Koschei’s insidious influence,” Azriel said. “If her strings are being pulled, it is only because she’s allowing it to achieve her own ends.”

Cassian said, “So we’ve got them on one front, and Beron here, ready and eager to go into war with Briallyn so he might expand his own territory after the carnage halts.”

Nesta’s head spun. She’d had no idea any of this was occurring. She’d picked up hints, but nothing that had confronted her with the knowledge of the danger that faced them. To be on the brink of such disaster again … She shifted in her seat.

Feyre asked Azriel, “Briallyn has not found the Dread Trove yet?”

Azriel shook his head. “Not as far as I could tell. The Dread Trove was last rumored to be here in Prythian. That’s all Koschei knows, apparently. We have that on our side at least. Briallyn won’t risk coming over here—not yet. Even with Beron as an ally. And Koschei is bound to his lake. But they are readying Briallyn to come, gathering her realm’s greatest spies and warriors. There was already a host of them at the queens’ palace. Why Briallyn and Koschei took Eris’s soldiers is something I still haven’t figured out.” He gestured to Cassian. “You need to meet with Eris.”