A Court of Silver Flames - Sarah J. Maas Page 0,109

hour.

Emerie only went stiffer. “I appreciate the offer, but it’s unnecessary.”

Cassian opened his mouth, but Nesta interrupted, “Enough chitchat. If we only get Emerie for an hour today, then walk us through the punching, Cassian. Let her see what she’ll need to catch up to.”

Emerie threw her a grateful look, and Nesta offered her a slight smile in return.

Cassian nodded, and from the gleam in his eye, she knew he was well aware of why she’d interrupted.

Gwyn asked Emerie, “Do you have libraries in Illyria?” Another lifeline thrown.

“No. I’ve never been in one.” The stiffness faded from Emerie’s posture, word by word.

Gwyn retied her shining hair at the nape of her neck. “Do you like to read?”

Emerie’s mouth curled upward. “I live alone, up in the mountains. I have nothing to do with my spare time except work in my garden and read whatever books I order through the mail service. And in the winter, I don’t even have the distraction of my gardening. So, yes. I like to read. I cannot survive without reading.”

Nesta grunted her agreement.

“What manner of books?” Gwyn asked.

“Romances,” Emerie said, adjusting her own hair, the thick black braid full of reds and browns in the sunlight. Nesta started. Emerie’s eyes lit. “You too? Which ones?”

Nesta rattled off her top five, and Emerie grinned, so broadly it was like seeing another person. “Have you read Sellyn Drake’s novels?”

Nesta shook her head. Emerie gasped, so dramatically that Cassian muttered something about sparing him from smut-obsessed females before heading farther into the ring. “You must read her books. You must. I’ll bring the first one tomorrow. You’ll stay up all night reading it, I swear.”

“Smut?” Gwyn asked, catching Cassian’s muttered words. There was enough hesitation in her voice to make Nesta draw up straight.

Nesta glanced at Emerie, realizing the female didn’t know about Gwyn—her history, or why the priestesses lived in the library. But Emerie asked, “What do you read?”

“Adventure, sometimes mysteries. But mostly I have to read whatever Merrill, the priestess I work with, has written that day. Not as exciting as romance, not by a long shot.”

Emerie said casually, “I can bring one of Drake’s books for you, too—one of her milder ones. An introduction to the wonders of romance.” Emerie winked at Nesta.

Nesta waited for Gwyn to refuse, but the priestess smiled. “I’d like that.”

Rhys appeared in the ring precisely when he said he would. One hour—no more, no less.

Red dirt and sweat covered Emerie, but her gaze shone bright as she bowed to the High Lord.

Gwyn, however, stilled, those large teal eyes looking even more unearthly as they widened. No fear tinged her scent, but rather something like surprise—awe.

Rhys threw her an easy smile, one Nesta would have bet was crafted to put people at ease in his oh-so-magnificent presence. The casual smile of a male used to people either fleeing in terror or falling to their knees in worship. “Hello, Gwyn,” he said warmly. “Good to see you again.”

Gwyn blushed, shaking herself out of her stupor, and bowed low. “My lord.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, and found Rhys watching her. That casual smile sharpened as he met her stare. “Nesta.”

“Rhysand.”

The other two women were glancing between them, the bouncing of their stares almost comical. Cassian just strode to Nesta’s side and slung an arm around her shoulders before drawling to Rhys, “These ladies are going to hand your ass to you in combat soon enough.”

Nesta made to step out from under the heavy, sweaty weight of his arm, but Cassian clamped a too-friendly hand on her shoulder, his grin unfaltering. Rhys’s gaze slid between them, little warmth to be found in his eyes. But plenty of wariness.

Little princeling didn’t like her with his friend.

Nesta leaned into Cassian. Not much, but enough for a trained warrior like Rhysand to note.

A dark, silken hand brushed inside her mind. A request.

She debated ignoring it, but found herself opening a small door through the steel, spiked barrier she kept around herself day and night. The door was essentially a peephole, and she allowed what she supposed was the equivalent of her mental face to peer through it to the dark, sparkling plane beyond. What?

You are to treat Gwyn with kindness and respect.

The thing that stood beyond the fortress of her mind was a creature of claws, scales, and teeth. It was veiled from sight beneath writhing shadows and the occasional passing star glinting in the darkness, but every now and then, a glimpse of a wing or a