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

But for now, neither rumor nor truth had reached Emerie.

“I would like that,” Nesta said, and meant it.



The back room of Emerie’s shop was as immaculate as the front, though crates of extra stock were stacked against one wall. Two windows looked out onto a snow-covered garden, and beyond that, the nearest mountain peak squatted, blocking the gray sky with its rocky bulk.

A small kitchen lay to the right, little more than a hearth and a counter and a small worktable. A few wooden chairs sat around it, and Nesta realized the table was also the dining area. A place setting had been laid there for one person.

“Just you?” Nesta asked as Emerie went to the wood counter and gathered a platter of roast beef and a dish of roasted carrots. She set them on the table before Nesta and grabbed a loaf of bread, along with a bowl of butter.

“Just me.” Emerie opened a cabinet to retrieve a second place setting. “No mate or husband to bother me.”

She spoke a bit tensely, like there was more to it than that, but Nesta said, “Me neither.”

Emerie threw her a wry look. “What about that handsome General Cassian?”

Nesta blocked out the memory of his head between her thighs, his tongue at her entrance, sliding into her. “Not a chance,” Nesta said, but Emerie’s eyes glimmered with knowing.

“Well, it’s nice to meet another female who’s not obsessed with marriage and baby-making,” Emerie said, sitting at the table and gesturing for Nesta to do the same. She’d put some roast beef, carrots, and bread onto Nesta’s plate, and slid the bowl of butter to her. “It’s cold, but it’s meant to be eaten that way. I usually stop for lunch only long enough to feed myself.”

Nesta dug in and grunted. “It’s delicious.” She took another bite. “Did you make this?”

“Who else would? We don’t have any sort of food shops here except the butcher.” Emerie pointed with her fork to the garden beyond the building. “I grow my own vegetables. These carrots came from that garden.”

Nesta took a bite. “They have a lovely flavor.” Butter and thyme and something bright …

“It’s all in the spices. Which are in short supply around here, unfortunately. Illyrians don’t particularly know or care about them.”

“My father used to be a merchant,” Nesta said, a chasm yawning open in her at the words. She cleared her throat. “He traded spices from all over the world. I can still remember the smell in his offices—it was like a thousand different personalities all crammed into one space.”

Feyre had loved to hang about their father’s office, more fascinated in the trade than what Nesta had been taught was acceptable for a wealthy girl. Feyre had always been that way: completely uninterested in the rules that governed their lives, uninterested in becoming a true lady who would help advance their family’s fortunes through an advantageous marriage.

They had rarely agreed on anything. And those visits to their father’s offices had resulted in a simmering resentment between them. Feyre had tried to get her interested, had shown her so many rarities to tempt her. But Nesta had barely listened to her sister’s explanations, mostly eyeing up their father’s business partners for whether their sons might be a good match. Feyre had been disgusted. It had made Nesta even more determined.

“Did you travel with him?”

“No, my two sisters and I remained home. It wasn’t appropriate for us to travel the world.”

“I always forget how similar human ideas of propriety are to the Illyrians’.” Emerie took another bite. “Would you have wanted to see the world, if you could?”

“It was half a world, wasn’t it? With the wall in place.”

“Still better than nothing.”

Nesta chuckled. “You’re right.” She considered Emerie’s question. If her father had offered to bring them on one of his ships, to let them see strange and distant shores, would they have gone? Elain had always wanted to visit the continent to study the tulips and other famed flowers, but her imagination had stretched no further. Feyre had talked once about the glorious art in the continent’s museums and private estates. But that was all the western edge of it. Beyond that, the continent was vast. And to the south, another continent sprawled. Would she have gone?

“I would have put up a fight,” Nesta said at last, “but in the end, I’d have yielded to curiosity.”

“Do you still have any family in the human lands?”

“My mother died when I was twelve, and my father … He did not survive the most recent war. Their parents died during my childhood. I have no kin on my father’s side, and my mother had one cousin, who lives on the continent and conveniently forgot about us when we fell on hard times.”

Nesta had written letter after letter when they’d fallen into poverty, begging her cousin Urstin to take them in. They’d gone unanswered, and then the money for postage had run out. Nesta still wondered if their cousin had ever learned what had become of the relatives she’d ignored and left to die.

Nesta asked carefully, “What about your family?” She’d seen and heard enough from Bellius to have a general idea, but she couldn’t help asking.

“Mother died giving birth to me, and my elder brother died in a skirmish between war-bands ten years before I was born. My father died during the war with Hybern.” The words were stiff, cold. “I do not bother with the rest of my kin, though my father’s family makes it a point to try to claim this store and his wealth as their own.”