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

Nesta shrugged. “Dealing with drunk fools is my specialty.”

Emerie kept fiddling with the imaginary spot on the counter. “Our fathers were two of a kind. They believed children should be harshly disciplined for any infraction. There was little room for mercy or understanding.”

Nesta pursed her lips. “I know the type.” Her mother’s mother had been the same way before she’d died of a deep-rooted cough that had turned into a deadly infection. Nesta had been seven when the stern-faced dame who had insisted on being called Grandmamma had beaten her palms raw with a ruler for missteps in her dancing lessons. Worthless, clumsy girl. You’re a waste of my time. Maybe this will help you remember to pay attention to my orders.

Nesta had only felt relief when the old beast had died. Elain, who’d been spared the cruelties of Grandmamma’s tutelage, had wept and dutifully laid flowers at her grave—one soon joined by their mother’s stone marker. Feyre had been too young to understand, but Nesta had never bothered to lay flowers for her grandmamma. Not when Nesta bore a scar near her left thumb from one of the woman’s nastier punishments. Nesta had only left flowers for her mother, whose grave she had visited more often than she cared to admit.

She hadn’t once visited her father’s grave outside Velaris.

“Are you all right?” Nesta asked Emerie at last. “Will Bellius return?”

“No,” Emerie said, shaking her head. “I mean, I’m fine. But no—he’s a member of the Ironcrest war-band. Their lands are a few hours’ flight from here. He won’t return anytime soon.” She shrugged. “I get these little visits from my uncle’s family every now and then. Nothing I can’t handle. Though Bellius was a new one. I guess they think he’s adult enough now to bully me.” Nesta opened her mouth, but Emerie offered her another half smile and changed the subject. “You look well. Far healthier than when I saw you … What was it now? Almost three weeks ago.” She gave Nesta an assessing glance. “You never came back.”

“We moved our training to Velaris,” Nesta explained.

“I was about to write to you before Bellius interrupted me. I asked about making leathers with fleece inside.” Emerie leaned her forearms on the immaculate counter. “It can be done, but it’s not cheap.”

“Then it’s beyond my means, but thank you for finding out anyway.”

“I could order it and let you pay it off as you’re able.”

It was a generous offer. Far beyond the kindness anyone had ever shown Nesta in the human realm, when her father had been trying to sell his wood carvings for a few pitiful coppers.

Only Feyre had kept them fed and clothed, earning scant amounts for the pelts and meat she hunted. She’d kept them alive. The last time she’d hunted for them, the food had run out the day before. If Feyre hadn’t returned home with meat that night, they either would have had to starve to death or beg in the village.

Nesta had told herself that day that Tomas would take her in, if necessary. Maybe even Elain, too. But his family had been hateful, with too many mouths to feed already. His father would have refused to feed her, without question. She’d been prepared to offer the only thing she had to barter to Tomas, if it would have kept Elain from starving. Would have sold her body on the street to anyone who’d pay her enough to feed her sister. Her body had meant nothing to her—nothing, she’d told herself as she’d felt her options closing in. Elain meant everything.

But Feyre had come back with that food. And then vanished over the wall.

Three days afterward, Nesta broke it off with Tomas. Enraged, he’d launched himself at her, pinning her against the enormous woodpile stacked along the barn wall. Spiteful whore, he’d growled. You think you’re better than me? Acting like a queen when you haven’t got shit. She’d never forget the sound of her dress tearing, the greed in his eyes as his hands pawed at her skirts, trying to raise them as he fumbled with the buckle on his belt.

Only pure, undiluted terror and survival instinct had saved her. She’d let him get close, let him think her strength had failed, and then clamped her teeth down on his ear. And ripped.

He’d screamed, but he’d loosened his grip on her—just enough that she’d broken free and scrambled through the snow, spitting his blood out of her mouth, and did not stop running until she’d reached the cottage.

And then word had come of their father’s ships: found, with all the wealth intact.

Nesta knew it was a lie. The trunks of jewels and gold had not come from that doomed shipment, but from Tamlin, payment for the human woman he’d stolen away. To help the family he’d doomed to die without Feyre’s hunting.

Nesta shook off the memory. “It’s all right. But thank you.”

Emerie rubbed her long, slender hands together. “It’s freezing, and I’m about to take my lunch break. Would you like to join me?”

Beyond Cassian, no one had invited her to dine in a long time. She’d given them no reason to. But there it was: an honest, simple offer. From someone who had no idea how terrible she was.

Having lunch with Emerie was an indulgence; it was only a matter of time until the female learned more about Nesta. Until she heard every horrible thing, and then the invitations would stop. Had she been any better than Bellius, drunk and simmering with hatred for months? If Emerie knew, she’d kick her out of this shop, too.