A Court of Silver Flames (A Court of Thorns and Roses #5)

Nesta opened her eyes.

She knew she was warm and content, though it took her a moment to remember the reason. To realize she was still in Cassian’s arms. She reveled in it. Savored each breath that brushed against her temple, felt the press of his fingers along her lower back. A calm settled over her, strikingly similar to what she felt when she did her daily Mind-Stilling.

Cassian awoke soon after, giving her a sleepy, sated smile. It softened into something tender, and for long minutes, they lay there, staring at each other, Cassian idly brushing his hand down her back. Caressing soon turned to more fervent touching, and as the dawn broke, they tangled again, their lovemaking thorough and unhurried.

When she again lay sweating and panting beside him, running a finger down the groove of his muscled stomach, Nesta murmured, “Good morning.”

Cassian’s fingers idly smoothed her hair. “Good morning to you, too.” He glanced toward the mantel—the small wooden clock in its center, then lurched upright. “Shit.”

Nesta frowned. “You have somewhere to be?” He was already hopping into his pants, scanning the floor for the rest of his clothes. Nesta silently pointed to the other side of the bed, where his shirt lay atop her dress.

“Snowball fight. I’ll be late.”

Nesta had to unload each word of his statement. But she could only ask, “What?”

“Annual tradition, with Rhys and Az. We go up to the mountain cabin—remind me to take you there one day—and … Well, it’s a long story, but we’ve done it pretty much every year for centuries, and I haven’t won in years. If I don’t win this year, I will never hear the end of it.” All of this was said while shoving himself into his shirt, leather jacket, and boots.

Nesta just laughed. “You three—the most feared warriors in all the land—have an annual snowball fight?”

Cassian reached the door, throwing her a wicked grin. “Did I mention we take a steam in the birchin attached to the cabin afterward?”

From that wicked grin, she knew he meant completely naked. Nesta sat up, hair sliding over her breasts. His eyes dipped lower, a muscle pounding in his neck. For a heartbeat she hoped he’d lunge for her again. Indeed, his nostrils flared, scenting the need that boiled in her just at the sight of his gaze roving freely over her body, the way every part of him tensed.

But Cassian swallowed, grin and wickedness fading as he cleared his throat. “After the fight, I need to do a comprehensive inspection of the legions in Illyria for a few days. I’ll be back after that.”

Without so much as a farewell kiss, he vanished.

Three days passed with no word from Cassian. He’d been replaced in training by a stone-faced Azriel, who was more aloof than usual and wouldn’t even give her a smile. But he didn’t object when she brought her Symphonia to the ring each morning for some extra motivation while exercising. The priestesses had marveled at the gift, a few of them dancing to the music, but Nesta had only been able to think about how much time and effort Cassian had put into it. How he had known what such a present would mean to her.

Her entire body ached with need, setting her teeth on edge. Three days without him might as well have been three months. She’d become desperate enough for him that her hand now slid between her legs in the bath, in bed, even during lunch in her room. But release left her empty, as if her body knew it needed him in her, filling her. She’d asked Azriel every day when he’d be back, and Azriel had only said, Soon, before conducting their lessons.

Maybe she’d gone mad. Maybe that was what that iron wall around her mind had been—the thing that kept her sanity in check. Surely it wasn’t normal to think of a person this much, need them this much.

It was that worry that hounded her as they wrapped up lessons, panting and sweating despite the frigid morning thanks to the Valkyrie sprints they’d been practicing: ten seconds at a full sprint, thirty seconds trotting, another ten seconds sprinting … For fifteen minutes straight. Once they could get through it, they’d add in their shields. Then swords. All of it designed to build their stamina and focus on controlling their breathing between bursts of attack and retreat. All of it utter insanity that couldn’t quite dull the edge of Nesta’s fretting as she asked Emerie and Gwyn, “Do you want to stay over at the House with me tonight?” She motioned to the archway. “Have a read-in or something?”

Gwyn blinked, considering. She had not set foot outside of the library save to come to these lessons or to use the practice ring to hack at that ribbon. But she said, “I’ll ask Clotho.”

Emerie smirked at Nesta, as if aware of why she needed company. “Sure.”

That evening, Nesta and Emerie read in companionable silence in the private library, waiting for Gwyn. Emerie had sprawled across the armchair, legs dangling over an arm, her back against the other. Without looking up from the book in her lap, she said, “Cassian must be really good at sex, if you’re so tied up in knots while he’s gone.”

Nesta cleared her throat, dispelling the memories of his mouth, his strong body, the way his silken black hair fell on either side of his face as he lay over her, swaying as he pounded into her. “He’s …” She made a low noise in her throat.

“I figured,” Emerie said, chuckling. “He’s got the Walk.”

“The Walk?”

Emerie smirked. “You know, when a male knows how to use his cock well and struts around with that swagger that basically declares it to everyone.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “I’d hope he knows how to use it well after being alive for five hundred years.” She snorted. “Though I’ve met plenty who proved that wrong.”

Emerie arched a brow for her to continue, but a knock sounded on the library door. Gwyn’s head popped in, and she scanned the room before entering. She bore a small bag, presumably of what she’d need for the night. Nesta had already asked the House to prepare a bedroom for all three of them to share, and she’d entered the private library to find it transformed: by the window against the far wall, a worktable and chairs had been swapped for three cots, each laden with blankets and pillows.

Gwyn smiled, though her pulse pounded wildly against the column of her throat. “Sorry I’m late. Merrill made me go over a paragraph with her ten times.” Gwyn sighed. “Please tell me all the chocolate is for us.”

The House had stocked the table between the armchairs with piles of chocolate: truffles and confections and bars of it. Along with cookies and small finger cakes. And a platter of cheeses and fruit. And carafes of water and various juices.

Gwyn surveyed the table. “Did you go to all this trouble?”

“Oh, no,” Emerie said, eyes glowing. “Nesta’s been holding out on us.”

Nesta scoffed, but Emerie said, “The House will get you anything you want. Just say it aloud.” At Gwyn’s raised brows, Emerie said, “I’d like a slice of pistachio cake, please.”

A plateful of one appeared before her. As well as a bowl of whipped cream topped with raspberries.

Gwyn blinked. “You live in a magic house.”

“It likes to read,” Nesta admitted, patting a stack of the romances. “We’ve bonded over that.”

Gwyn whispered to the room, “What’s your favorite book?”

One thumped on the table beside Emerie’s cake, and Gwyn squawked in surprise. But then rubbed her hands together. “Oh, this is delightful.”

“That smile means trouble,” Emerie said.

Gwyn’s grin just widened.

Two hours later, Nesta found herself fully clothed in a bathtub in the middle of the private library, the entire thing filled with bubbles. No water, just bubbles. In matching tubs on either side of her, Emerie and Gwyn were giggling. “This is ridiculous,” Nesta said, even as her mouth curved upward.

Each one of their requests had gotten more and more absurd, and Nesta might have felt like they were exploiting the House had it not been so … exuberant in answering their commands. Adding creative flourishes.

Like the fact that each bubble held a tiny bird fluttering about inside.

Silent fireworks still exploded in the far corner of the room, and a miniature pegasus—Nesta’s request, made only when her friends goaded her into submitting one—fed on a small patch of grass by the shelf, content to ignore them. A cake taller than Cassian stood in the center of the room, lit with a thousand candles. Six frogs danced circles around a red-and-white-spotted toadstool, the waltzes provided by Nesta’s Symphonia.

Emerie wore a diamond crown and six strings of pearls. Gwyn sported a broad-brimmed hat fit for any fine lady, perched at a rakish angle on her head. A lace parasol leaned against her other shoulder, and she twirled it idly as she surveyed the windows, the world beyond, and said in a hushed voice, “I sometimes wonder if I shall ever have the courage to go out there again. I fear every day that I won’t.”

Nesta’s smile slid away. She considered her words before she said, “I feel the same.”

Because this existence, living in the House, training, working in the library … It wasn’t real life. Not entirely. When she was allowed to return to the city proper, then she’d face life again. See if she was worthy of it. The thought made her stomach twist.

Dispelling the gloom, Gwyn leaped out of her tub, bubbles spraying, and padded for her bag. “Now, don’t you two dare laugh at me, but I brought something for us to do. I didn’t realize we’d have a magic house to keep us occupied.” She pulled out a bundle of various colored threads. “My sister and I used to braid bracelets and put these little charms on them full of wishes for each other.” She lifted a sack, dumping a few silver coins into her palm. They were no larger than her pinkie nail, and as thin as a wafer. Her voice grew soft. “We believed that the wish would come true once the bracelet fell off.”

Emerie asked gently, “What was her name?”

“Catrin.” Gwyn’s voice held so much pain and longing. “We were fraternal twins. Her hair was dark as onyx, her skin pale as the moon. And she was as moody as the sea.” She laughed quietly. “Despite her faults—and mine—we loved each other dearly. We were all each other had while growing up. She was the only one I could truly rely on. I miss her every day.”

Nesta couldn’t stop herself from thinking of Feyre.

Gwyn said, “I wish I could just have one more moment with her. Just one, to tell her that I love her and say good-bye.” She wiped at her eyes, lifting her head. Looked right at Nesta. “It’s what really mattered in the end, you know. Not our petty fights or differences. I forgot all of that the moment she …” Gwyn shook her head. “It’s all that matters.”

Nesta nodded slowly. Perhaps it wasn’t just her and Feyre, then. Perhaps all sisters had difficulties, fights, chasms between them. She wasn’t perfect, but … neither was Feyre. They had both made mistakes. And both had long, long lives ahead of them. What had occurred in the past did not have to dictate the future.

So Nesta nodded again, letting Gwyn see her understanding. “It’s all that matters,” Nesta agreed.

Gwyn smiled, and then straightened, clearing her throat. “I managed to track the thread and charms down before Solstice, thinking I’d make them for you as little presents, but they took longer to arrive than I thought they would. So I figured we could make the bracelets tonight.” She carefully set the materials upon the nearest table.

Nesta and Emerie rose to survey the variety of threads: all colors and hues, all carefully bundled. “Show me how to do it,” Emerie said softly. Nesta wondered if Gwyn’s words had resonated with her, too—what pain and hope Emerie might be holding within her. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

But Gwyn grinned, beginning her demonstration by selecting three colors that she thought matched Emerie’s spirit, she claimed. Green, purple, and gold. Nesta refrained from snickering and selected colors for Gwyn: blue, white, and teal. Emerie, in turn, selected Nesta’s colors: navy blue, crimson, and silver. Nesta and Emerie dutifully tried to copy Gwyn’s “easy” steps: doubling up the thread, knotting it, cutting the looped bits, then pinning the top of the bracelet beneath a heavy book as they separated each length by color. And then began a process of looping and pulling, back and forth. Emerie’s knots were flawless. Nesta’s …

“Your bracelet is going to be an eyesore, Gwyn.” Nesta scowled at the wobbly, bunched-up mess that was her first ten rows.

“Keep going,” Gwyn said, leagues ahead on her own bracelet and beginning to add pretty patterns within the rows. “The knots will get better-looking with practice. Just tell me when you’ve gotten to the halfway point and then we’ll add the charm.”

They worked in music-filled companionship, idle chatter bouncing between them, Emerie and Gwyn occasionally laughing at Nesta’s awful workmanship. “Now,” Gwyn said when they were halfway through, “we make wishes for each other.” She reached for one of the tiny coins. “I’ll just hold this in my hand, think of something for Emerie, and—”

“Wait,” Nesta said, catching Gwyn’s hand before it could touch the charm. “Let me.”

Her friends regarded her curiously, and Nesta swallowed. “Let me make a wish for all of us,” she explained, gathering the three charms. A small gift—for the friends who had become like sisters.

A chosen family. Like the one Feyre had found for herself.

Nesta squeezed the charms in her palm, closing her eyes, and said: “I wish for us to have the courage to go out into the world when we are ready, but to always be able to find our way back to each other. No matter what.”

Gwyn and Emerie cheered at that. And when Nesta opened her eyes, palm unfurling, she could have sworn the coins glowed faintly.