A Court of Silver Flames - Sarah J. Maas Page 0,41

was due to the pressing nature of the work she does.

“She wanted me to shelve her books, not find more.”

Other scholars need them. But I am not in the business of explaining my acolytes’ behavior. If you did not like Gwyneth’s request, you should have said so. To her.

Nesta bristled. “I did. She’s a piece of work.”

Some might say the same of you.

Nesta crossed her arms. “Some might.”

She’d have bet that Clotho was smiling beneath her hood, but the priestess wrote, Gwyneth, like you, has her own history of bravery and survival. I would ask that you give her the benefit of the doubt.

Acid that felt an awful lot like regret burned in Nesta’s veins. She shoved it aside. “Noted. And the work is fine.”

Clotho only wrote, Good night, Nesta.

Nesta trudged up the steps, and entered the House proper. The wind seemed to moan through the halls, answered only by her grumbling stomach.

The private library was mercifully empty when she strode through the double doors, instantly relaxing at the sight of all those books crammed close, the sunset on the city below, the Sidra a living band of gold. Sitting at the desk before the wall of windows, she said to the House, “I’m sure you won’t do it now, but I would like that soup.”

Nothing. She sighed up at the ceiling. Fantastic.

Her stomach twisted, as if it’d devour her organs if she didn’t eat soon. She added tightly, “Please.”

The soup appeared, a glass of water beside it. A napkin and silverware followed. A fire roared to life in the hearth, but she said quickly, “No fire. No need.”

It banked to nothing, but the faelights in the room flared brighter.

Nesta was reaching for her spoon when a plate of fresh, crusty bread appeared. As if the House were a fussing mother hen.

“Thank you,” she said into the quiet, and dug in.

The faelights flickered once, as if to say, You’re welcome.

CHAPTER

10

Nesta ate until she couldn’t fit another morsel into her body, helping herself to thirds of the soup. The House seemed more than happy to oblige her, and had even offered her a slice of double-chocolate cake to finish.

“Is this Cassian-approved?” She picked up the fork and smiled at the moist, gleaming cake.

“It certainly isn’t,” he said from the doorway, and Nesta whirled, scowling. He nodded toward the cake. “But eat up.”

She put down the fork. “What do you want?”

Cassian surveyed the family library. “Why are you eating in here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

His grin was a slash of white. “The only thing that’s obvious is that you’re talking to yourself.”

“I’m talking to the House. Which is a considerable step up from talking to you.”

“It doesn’t talk back.”

“Exactly.”

He snorted. “I walked into that one.” He stalked across the room, eyeing the cake she still didn’t touch. “Are you really … talking to the House?”

“Don’t you talk to it?”

“No.”

“It listens to me,” she insisted.

“Of course it does. It’s enchanted.”

“It even brought food down to the library unasked.”

His brows rose. “Why?”

“I don’t know how your faerie magic works.”

“Did you … do anything to make it act that way?”

“If you’re taking a page from Devlon’s book and asking if I did any witchcraft, the answer is no.”

Cassian chuckled. “That’s not what I meant, but fine. The House likes you. Congratulations.” She growled, and he leaned over her to pick up the fork. She went stiff at his closeness, but he said nothing as he took a bite of the cake. He let out a hum of pleasure that traveled along her bones. And then took another bite.

“That’s supposed to be mine,” she groused, peering up at him as he continued to eat.

“Then take it from me,” he said. “A simple disarming maneuver would do, considering my center of gravity is off balance and I’m distracted by this delicious cake.”

She glowered at him.

He took a third bite. “These are the things, Nes, that you’d learn in lessons with me. Your threats would be a hell of a lot more impressive if you could back them up.”

She drummed her fingers on the desk. Eyed the fork in his hands and pictured stabbing him in the thigh with it.

“You could do that, too,” he said, reading the direction of her stare. “I could teach you how to turn anything into a weapon. Even a fork.”

She bared her teeth, but Cassian only set down the fork with grating precision and walked out, leaving her the half-eaten cake.

Nesta read the deliciously erotic romance she’d found on a shelf of the private