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

Eris winked before winnowing away.

Alone in the howling wild, Cassian blew out a breath. Embraced the chill winds, the pine-fresh scent, and willed it to wash away his irritation and discomfort.

But it lingered. For some reason, it lingered.





CHAPTER

26

Without doing extra training between the stacks, Nesta found herself less exhausted when she left the library. Cassian had retrieved her from Windhaven after two and a half hours, and she’d already been so bored sitting in Rhys’s mother’s house that she’d nearly smiled to see him. But Cassian’s face had been tight, his eyes cold and distant, and he’d barely spoken to her when Rhys had appeared. Rhys had barely spoken to her, either, but that was to be expected. It was better if they didn’t speak at all.

Yet Cassian hadn’t said more than “I’ll see you later” before leaving again with Rhys after the High Lord had brought them back to the House of Wind, his face still tight and angry.

With the extra energy buzzing through her that night, wondering incessantly why Cassian had been so upset, Nesta didn’t feel like eating in her room and falling asleep. So she found herself in the doorway of the dining room.

Cassian was lounging in his chair, a glass of wine in his hand, staring at nothing. A brooding warrior-prince, contemplating the death of his enemies. She took a step into the room, and the wineglass vanished.

She snorted. “I’m not so wine-addled that I’d steal it from your hand.”

“The House is under specific orders—no wine when you’re in the room.” He flexed his fingers as he sat up. “It took it from me.”

“Ah.” She claimed the seat across from him as a place setting and a plate of food appeared, along with water for both of them.

Cassian returned to staring at his half-eaten food. She hadn’t seen his face this grave since the war.

“Did something happen with the queens or the Trove?”

He blinked. “What?” Then gave a one-shouldered shrug. “No, just … Eris was his usual charming self today.” He pushed around the roast chicken with his fork.

Nesta picked up her own fork, hungry enough that she let the subject drop as she devoured her food. When she’d taken the edge off her hunger, she said, “I asked Emerie to join training.”

“I’m assuming she said no.” His words were flat, his face distant.

“Indeed. But if she changes her mind, I thought maybe someone could winnow her here.”

“Sure.” She could tell he wasn’t just being short with her—he was so preoccupied with whatever was eating at him that he could barely talk.

It bothered her more than it should have. Bothered her enough that she asked, “What happened?” She made herself eat more, acting as casual as possible, trying to coax him into opening up. To talk about what had brought that bruised look to his eyes.

His gaze lowering to his plate, Cassian told her about the meeting with Eris.

“So Eris is set on helping us find the Trove—and making sure his father doesn’t get his hands on it, or hear about it,” Nesta said when he’d finished. “Isn’t that a good thing? Why are you riled?” Why do you look so battered?

“It’s the ugliness of his fucking soul that riles me. I don’t care if he calls me a mongrel bastard.” Eris had called him such things today, she realized. Rage rippled through her. “It’s just that, ally or not, I hate him. He’s so slick and unruffled and … I can’t stand him.” He set down his fork and stared toward the window behind her. “Eris and his twisted word games and politics are an enemy I don’t know how to handle. Every time I meet with him, I feel like he’s got the upper hand. Like I can only catch up to him, and he sees through my every fumbling attempt at being clever. Maybe that makes me a stupid brute after all.”

True sorrow filled his face—and enough self-loathing that Nesta rose from her seat. He went still as she rounded the table, only lifting his head when she leaned against the edge of the table beside his plate. “Rhys should kill him and be done with it.”

“If anyone is going to kill Eris, it will be Mor or me.” His hazel eyes were nearly pleading. Not with her, she knew, but with fate. “But killing him would prove him and his ilk right about me. And regardless of how I feel about Eris, he would be a better High Lord than Beron. No matter what I want, there’s still the well-being of the Autumn Court to consider.”

Cassian was good. In his soul, in his warrior’s heart, Cassian was good in a way Nesta knew most people were not. In a way she knew she was not and would never be.

He was not a warrior who killed on a whim, but a male who carefully considered every life he had to take. Who’d defend what he loved until death.

And Eris … He’d hurt Cassian. With what he’d done to Morrigan, yes, but also with the words so similar to ones that Nesta herself had wielded. The wound lay in Cassian’s eyes, as raw as any injury.

Shame rushed through her. Shame, and anger, and a wild sort of desperation. She couldn’t abide the pain in his eyes, teetering on the brink of despair. Couldn’t stand the absence of the grinning and winking and swaggering she knew so well.

She’d do anything to get rid of that look in his eyes. Even for a few moments.