A Court of Silver Flames - Sarah J. Maas Page 0,254

magic,” a slithering voice drawled from the lake.

Thirty feet from shore, standing atop the surface, floated a shadow. It shifted and warped, its edges fluttering, but it had the vague shape of a tall male.

“Who are you?” Azriel demanded.

But Cassian knew. “Koschei,” he whispered.

Nesta stood under the Pass of Enalius for a long minute.

She took out her canteen. Drank the last of the water. Chucked it to the side.

She tucked the dagger into her belt. Picked up the sword. And drew a line in the dirt in front of the archway.

Her final stand. Her last line of defense.

Nesta gathered the shield. Peered over her shoulder to where Emerie had cleared the last cluster of boulders and now struggled up the long, straight path to the peak.

A small, quiet smile passed over Nesta’s face.

Then she hefted her shield. Angled her sword.

And stepped beyond the line she’d drawn to meet her enemy.

CHAPTER

70

Bellius sent his warriors through the bottleneck first. A wise move, designed to wear Nesta down.

She had no choice but to meet them.

There were no hateful voices in her head. Only the knowledge that her friends lay behind her, beyond the line she’d drawn in the earth, and she would not cede that line to these males.

She would not fail her friends. She had no room for fear in her heart.

Only calm. Determination.

And love.

Nesta’s lips curved in a smile as the first of the warriors ran at her, sword raised. She was still smiling when she lifted her shield to take the full impact of the blow.

Nesta slammed her shield into the first male, sliced the shins of the second, and dispatched the third with a parry that sent him careening into the fourth and both of them tumbling to the ground. One for each breath, a movement for each inhale and exhale. She stilled her mind again, let it root her.

For a heartbeat, she wondered what she might have done with Ataraxia in her hand. What she might do with this body, these skills trained into her bones. If she was worthy of the sword at last.

She’d opted for a name in the Old Language, a tongue no one had spoken in fifteen thousand years. A name Lanthys had laughed to hear.

Nesta engaged four of the Illyrians at once, then five, then six, and the males started to go down, one after another. Nesta held the line in a storm of unflinching focus and death, guarding the friends at her back.

Ataraxia, she had named that magic sword.

Inner Peace.

CHAPTER

71

The being that stood atop the lake was a shadow. It must be a reflection, Cassian thought. Smoke and mirrors.

“Where is Briallyn?” Azriel demanded, Siphons flaring like cobalt flame.

“I spend so many months preparing for you,” Koschei crooned, “and you don’t even wish to speak to me?”

Cassian crossed his arms. “Let Eris go, and then we’ll talk.” He prayed Koschei didn’t know of the Made dagger that Eris had again sheathed at his side, that the Crown’s aura of power had blinded even Briallyn to its presence. But if the death-lord got his hands on it … Fuck. Cassian didn’t let himself so much as glance toward the blade.

“You fell for it rather easily,” Koschei went on, “though you took your time making contact. I thought you’d rush in for the kill, brute that you are.” They could make out nothing of him beyond the shadows of his form. Even Azriel’s own shadows kept tucked behind his wings. Koschei laughed, and Azriel stiffened. Like his shadows had murmured a warning.

His Siphons flared again. “Run,” Az breathed, and the pure terror on his brother’s face had Cassian spreading his wings, readying to launch—

But his wings halted. His entire body halted.

Azriel grabbed Eris and shot into the skies, the Made dagger with them. They had to get it far from Koschei. Yet Cassian could not move.

Cassian’s Siphons glowed like fresh blood, then sputtered out. Azriel shouted his name from high above. Koschei drifted closer to the shore. “You can take him now, Briallyn. You have plenty of time before dawn.”

A small, hunched figure emerged from behind the trees. A crone. A golden crown sat upon her head, right above her arched ears. Hate burned in her eyes.

Koschei said, “Tell my Vassa I’m waiting.” His shadows swirled.

Azriel soared back toward the ground, his Siphons creating a blue orb of power encircling him, but Briallyn had already reached Cassian.

“I have need of you, Lord of Bastards,” the ancient-looking queen seethed. Cassian could say nothing. Couldn’t move. The