A Court of Silver Flames - Sarah J. Maas Page 0,152

to, nothing tangible to break, yet it was there.”

Rhys asked, “Does it feel less like a spell and more like … an influence?”

Shit. Shit.

Helion rubbed his jaw. “I can’t explain how, but it’s as if this fog around their mind sways them.” He noted their expressions. “What is it?”

Feyre’s mouth tightened. “The Crown—part of the Dread Trove.”

And then it all came out, Queen Briallyn and her hunt for the Trove, Koschei’s involvement, the Mask that Nesta had retrieved. Only Eris’s secrets regarding the depths of Beron’s treachery remained unspoken. When Feyre finished, Helion shook his head slowly. “I thought we’d at least have a break from trying to avoid disasters like this.”

“Just the Harp remains at large, then,” Azriel said. He remained leaning against the pillar, swathed in shadows. “If Briallyn has the Crown, it’s possible she’s had it for a while—and it’s why the other queens fled to their own territories. Maybe they thought she’d use it on them, and ran. Maybe she even found it here during the war, while we were all distracted with fighting Hybern, and used it to pull her forces back, to bide her time. It could be what brought her to Koschei’s attention—that it’s what he wants from her.”

“I can buy that,” Feyre said, “but why use it on Eris’s soldiers to attack our people in Oorid? What’s the motive?”

“Perhaps it was to let us know she’s aware that we know of her plans,” Rhys suggested.

“But how did she know we’d be in the bog?” Cassian asked. “Those soldiers didn’t have the power to winnow—they would have had to travel on foot for weeks before they got there.”

“They’ve been missing for more than a month,” Feyre pointed out.

Helion said, “Remember that Briallyn is Made, too. She might not be able to scry for the Cauldron, but she can scry for the Dread Trove as well as Nesta Archeron can. She could have learned the Mask was in Oorid, but did not dare to venture into its darkness. It’s possible that she planted the soldiers to take the Mask from you once you found it.”

“Or trick us into killing them, thus making an enemy of the Autumn Court,” Cassian said.

“But Briallyn has to be stupid,” Feyre said, “if she thinks those soldiers would be enough to overpower any of us.”

Helion nodded to Feyre. “You said the Mask is here now? May I see it?”

“We need your help with it, actually,” Feyre said. “Rhys warded and locked the room where the Mask lies, but it opened the locks to let my sister in, likely because she’s Made. And if she can get in, it’s possible Briallyn could as well.” Feyre slid her tattooed hands into her pockets. “Can you show Nesta how to ward it herself? Something perhaps with a bit more … oomph?”

“Oomph?” Rhys asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Oomph,” Feyre said, throwing him a glare. “We can’t all be silver-tongued like you.”

Rhys winked. “Good thing you benefit from it, Feyre darling.”

Cassian chose to ignore the innuendo, and the flicker of arousal from both of them. Helion, however, snickered.

Azriel cleared his throat. “Nesta’s waiting.”

“She’s here?” Helion practically shimmered with golden light.

“Yes,” Feyre said simply, rising from the chair. Cassian didn’t miss the sultry look his High Lady gave Rhys as she passed by, aiming for the rooms at the northern end of the palace. And he didn’t miss the deep laugh Rhys gave her in return, full of sensual promise.

He couldn’t help the pang in his chest at the casual intimacy, the blatant affection and love. A far cry from just sex.

Helion trailed, commenting on the palace’s beauty. Cassian blocked him out, too busy mulling over how Nesta hadn’t so much as bothered to object when he’d left her bed. And hadn’t so much as approached him for more since.

He’d held himself back, especially since she seemed to drive herself into the ground during practice, working out whatever she needed to in her heart, her mind. But he hadn’t been able to stop remembering it—the sex, and that image of her, her backside still upraised as she lay on the bed, her beautiful sex swollen and gleaming, wet with his seed.

“What are you thinking about?” Helion drawled as they approached a shut wooden door.

Cassian straightened. He hadn’t realized his thoughts had dragged such a scent from him. He grinned. “Your mother.”

Helion chuckled. “I always forget how much I like you.”

“Happy to remind you.” Cassian winked.

Feyre reached the door, knocked, and then there she was—Nesta.

She sat at