A Court of Silver Flames - Sarah J. Maas Page 0,146

after their lesson had finished. Nestled in a warm, comfortable nook in a rarely visited part of the library, Nesta sipped at her peppermint tea, letting its warmth soak through her body as she read through the chapter Gwyn had copied. She’d given one to Emerie before their friend had left, getting a promise from the Illyrian that she’d practice tonight and they’d compare notes tomorrow.

“So it’s really that easy?” Nesta asked, setting down the papers on the worn couch cushion.

Gwyn, seated on the opposite end of the couch, stretched her feet toward the fire, robes rustling. “It certainly seems easy, but according to everything I’ve read, it’s not.”

“This says you just sit somewhere comfortable and quiet, close your eyes, breathe a whole lot, and let your mind go.”

“I’m telling you: it took the Valkyries months to learn the basics, and mastering it required doing these exercises multiple times a day. But let’s try it. It says at the end of this chapter that if we’re doing this for the first time, we might grow sleepy—or even fall asleep during it—but learning to fight the urge to sleep is for further down the road.”

“I could use a nap after today’s training,” Nesta muttered, and Gwyn chuckled her agreement. Nesta set her tea on the low table before the couch. “All right. Let’s try it.”

“I memorized the steps, so I’ll lead us through it,” Gwyn offered.

Nesta snorted. “Of course you did.”

Gwyn playfully smacked her on the shoulder. “Learning this is my job, you know.”

“You’d have memorized this information anyway.”

“Fair enough.” Gwyn laughed, finishing her own tea and then sitting up straight. “Get into a comfortable seated position—alert, but at ease.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

Gwyn demonstrated, scooting until her spine touched the back cushions, feet flat on the floor, hands lightly resting on her knees. Nesta copied the position. Gwyn surveyed her, then nodded. “Now take three deep breaths, in through your nose for a count of six, out through your mouth for a count of six. After you finish the third breath, close your eyes, and keep breathing.”

Nesta obeyed. Inhaling and exhaling for that long required more concentration and effort than she expected. Her breathing was too loud to her ears; each breath seemed out of sync with Gwyn’s. Had she taken two breaths, or three? Or four?

“I can feel you overthinking this,” Gwyn murmured. “Close your eyes and keep breathing. Take five breaths.”

Nesta did. Without anything to visually distract her, she figured her breathing would be easier to track.

It wasn’t. Somehow, her mind just wanted to wander off. She told herself to focus on the count, on timing each breath and keeping a tally of how many she’d taken, and yet she found herself thinking of the couch cushions, her cooling tea, her still-damp hair—

How many breaths had it been? “I think I’m losing my mind,” Nesta muttered.

Gwyn shushed her. “Now let your breathing steady, and focus on the sounds around you. Acknowledge them, then let them fade away.”

Nesta did. To her left, she could make out shuffling feet and whispering robes. Who was walking through the stacks? What book were they—

Focus. Let the sounds go. Someone was walking nearby. She marked it, and with an exhale, sent the thought floating away. To her right, Gwyn’s breathing remained steady.

Gwyn was probably good at this. Gwyn was good at everything, actually. It didn’t irk her, though. For whatever reason, Nesta wanted to crow about her friend to anyone who’d listen.

Her friend. That was what Gwyn was. It had been—

Focus. Let go. Nesta noted Gwyn’s breathing, released the thought, and moved on to the next sound. Then the next.

“Now survey your body,” Gwyn said softly. “Starting at your head, slowly working down to your toes, assess how you’re feeling. If there are sore spots—”

“Everything is sore after that sword lesson,” Nesta hissed.

Gwyn choked on another laugh. “I mean it. Note if there are sore spots, if there are spots that feel good …” Papers rustled. “Oh, and the instructions also say that when you’re done, you should assess how you are feeling. Don’t dwell on it, but just acknowledge it.”

Nesta didn’t particularly like the sound of the last bit, but she obeyed. Every part of her body ached, from a stiffness in her neck to a soreness along her left foot. She hadn’t realized how many little pieces of herself existed, all constantly blaring their pains or status. How much noise it produced in her head. But she acknowledged each