A Court of Silver Flames - Sarah J. Maas Page 0,200

a duke in a single waltz.”

She’d forgotten that night, the blur of jewels and silks and that duke’s handsome face. All she’d felt then was wild, savage triumph.

“Over my dead fucking body,” Cassian exploded.

Nesta asked, “You want me to dance with Eris?” Her heart began to pound, not entirely with fear.

“I want you to seduce him,” Rhys said. “Not into bed, but to make him realize what he might attain once he understands that we have no plans to break this alliance. To weigh the benefits more strongly than the risks.”

Nesta crossed her arms, ignoring Cassian’s pointed glare, silently demanding that she dismiss this notion entirely. “You really think my dancing with Eris will solidify his loyalty?”

“I think Eris is our ally, and will expect to dance with a lady of this court at the ball no matter what. I won’t let Feyre within five feet of him, Mor might kill him, and Amren is more likely to scare him off than win him over, so you and Elain are the only options.”

“Elain doesn’t go near him,” Feyre said. “And you won’t let me near him?”

Rhys threw her a charming smile. “You know what I mean.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “You’re becoming insufferable.” She turned to Nesta. “Eris isn’t … He’s not good. He’s not like Beron, but he …”

“I know what he did to Morrigan,” Nesta said. Or rather, what he didn’t do: help her, when her family had brutalized her and dumped her over the Autumn Court border as punishment for ruining their marriage alliance. Eris had found her, and then merely walked away. “I dealt with him the other day. I know what I’d be getting into with him.”

“Mor,” Rhys went on, “can teach you the dances. She had to learn all of them, and since she still presides over the Court of Nightmares, she’s the best one to instruct you.”

“Nesta hasn’t agreed to anything,” Cassian snapped. “Even one dance with that prick is too much—”

“I’ll do it,” Nesta cut in, if only to spite him for being so … territorial. She glanced to the sword still in her hand. “I just killed an immortal being. Eris is nothing. And if it will make him remember why he wants to be allied with us, make him think he might attain me if he holds up his end, then fine.”

“He’s already our ally,” Cassian countered. “One dance is really going to secure his continued cooperation?”

“We need to show Eris that we respect and trust him,” Feyre conceded with a defeated sigh. “Even if we don’t. And letting him dance with one of our family is proof of that—at least for someone from the Autumn Court. If he winds up eating out of Nesta’s hand, fantastic. If it just makes him remember that we’re on his side, good. But these bonds have to be maintained.”

“I don’t like it,” Cassian growled.

“You don’t have to like it,” Feyre said, head lifting, full of that High Lady’s authority. “You just have to watch from the sidelines and not look like you want to rip his head off.”

Nesta cut in, “Tell Morrigan I’ll meet with her for dancing lessons whenever she’s available.”

Feyre and Cassian, still bristling at each other, silently turned toward her.

Nesta approached the desk, laying Ataraxia there. “Here,” she said to Rhys. “You can take it back.”

Rhys said nothing, but Feyre’s brows rose. “Why don’t you keep it?”

Cassian’s curious stare seared her like a brand, but Nesta only said, “I have no interest in more death.”

Nesta inhaled through her nose for a count of six, held her breath for a few seconds, then exhaled through her mouth for another six beats. In the quiet of her bedroom that night, settled in the chair, she focused on her breath, nothing more.

Any thoughts that came in, she acknowledged and let pass. Even if some kept returning.

She didn’t care where they hid the Harp. If they needed her blood to ward it as they had for the Mask, they’d let her know. But the thought of what came next—

Breathe. Count.

Nesta inhaled again, attention fixing on her expanding ribs, the feeling of the breath in her body. Even weeks into it, some days’ Mind-Stilling exercises were harder than others. But she kept at it, ten minutes in the morning and ten minutes at night.

Nesta exhaled, counting. Kept going.

That was all she supposed she could do: just keep going. One day, one breath at a time.

She let that thought go, too. Breathed and breathed, and then stopped