A Court of Silver Flames - Sarah J. Maas Page 0,119

had a quiet breakfast, but it hadn’t been awkward. It had been comfortable—easy. Pleasant.

Gwyn asked, on Nesta’s other side, “Do you have them often?”

“Yes.” Nesta finished a sit-up, grunting through the weakness in her middle.

“Me too,” Gwyn said quietly. “Some nights, I need a sleeping potion from our healer to knock me out.”

Emerie gave Gwyn an assessing look. Emerie never asked about Gwyn’s past, or the histories of the other priestesses, but she was a cunning female. Surely she’d seen the way they kept a healthy distance from Cassian, scented their hesitation and fear, and put a few things together. Emerie asked Nesta, “What did you dream about?”

Nesta’s body locked up, but she launched back into motion, refusing to let the memories master her. “I dreamed of the Cauldron. What it did to me.”

Gwyn said, playing with her hair, “I dream of my past, too.”

But Gwyn’s admission, Nesta’s own, didn’t weigh them down. Nesta’s head had cleared slightly. And somehow, she found she could push herself harder.

Perhaps in voicing those truths, they’d given them wings. And sent them soaring into the open sky above.

“How are you holding up?”

Cassian sat across from Rhys’s desk at the river house, an ankle resting on a knee, and asked, “Me? How about you? You look like hell.”

“Yesterday was a rough day, followed by a rough night.” Rhys rested his head atop a propped fist on his desk.

Cassian angled his head. “What happened before the disaster that was last night?”

Gods, he’d nearly wept this morning to open his eyes and find Nesta staring at him, her face clear and free of pain. The shadows still lingered, yes, but he’d take anything over her screaming. Over that magic Rhys could only explain as pure death.

When Rhys didn’t answer, Cassian said, “Rhys.”

Rhys didn’t look at him as he whispered, “The baby has wings.”

Joy sparked through Cassian—even as the broken whisper and what those words meant made his blood go cold. “You’re sure?”

“We had an appointment with Madja yesterday morning.”

“But he’s only a quarter Illyrian.” It was possible, of course, for the baby to have inherited wings, but unlikely, given that Rhys himself had been born without them, and only conjured them through whatever strange, unearthly magic he possessed.

“He is. But Feyre was in an Illyrian form when he was conceived.”

“That can make a difference? I thought she only made the wings—nothing else.”

“She shape-shifts. She transforms her entire self into the form she takes. When she grants herself wings, she essentially alters her body at its most intrinsic level. So she was fully Illyrian that night.”

“She doesn’t have the wings now.”

“No, she shifted back before we knew.”

“So let her change back into an Illyrian to bear the babe.”

Rhys’s face was stark. “Madja has put a ban on any more shape-shifting. She says that to alter Feyre’s body in any way right now could put the baby at risk. On the chance that it could be bad for the baby, Feyre is forbidden to so much as change the color of her hair until after the birth.”

Cassian raked a hand through his hair. “I see. But, Rhys—it’ll be all right. It’s not that bad.”

Rhys snarled. “It is bad. For so many gods-damned reasons, it is fucking bad.”

Rhys was as close to being beside himself as Cassian had seen him since he’d returned from Amarantha’s court. “Breathe,” Cassian said calmly.

Rhys’s eyes simmered; the stars within them winked out. “Fuck you.”

“Take a breath, Rhysand.” Cassian gestured to the window behind him, the lawn sloping down to the river. “You want to go fight it out, I’ve got energy to burn.”

The study doors opened, and Azriel walked in. From the grim expression etched on his face, he already knew.

Azriel claimed the seat beside Cassian. “Tell us what you need, Rhys.”

“Nothing. I need to not fall apart so my mate doesn’t pick up a whiff of this when she comes home for lunch.” Rhys narrowed his eyes, and power rumbled in the room. “No one says a word about this to Feyre. No one.”

“Didn’t Madja warn her?” Azriel asked.

“Not strongly. She only mentioned an elevated risk during labor.” Rhys let out a harsh laugh. “An elevated risk.”

Cassian’s stomach twisted.

Azriel said, “I know this is bad timing, but there is another thing to consider, Rhys.”

Rhys lifted his head again.

Azriel’s face was like stone. “Feyre won’t show for another few weeks, but someone will notice soon enough. People will learn of her pregnancy.”

“I know.”

“Eris will learn.”

“He’s our ally. I suspect he’ll be focused more on