A Court of Silver Flames - Sarah J. Maas Page 0,62

to stand incorrectly. You have twenty-five years of bad habits to break.”

She rose from the squat, legs shaking. She had half a mind to call in their bargain and order him to never make her do another squat again. “And you truly enjoy this endless exercising and training?”

“Two more, and then I’ll tell you.”

Grumbling, Nesta obeyed. Only because she was tired of being as weak as a mewling kitten, as he’d called her several nights ago.

When she was done, Cassian said, “Get some water.” The midmorning sun beat down on them relentlessly.

“I don’t need you to tell me when to drink,” she snapped.

“Then go ahead and faint.”

Nesta met his hazel stare, the no-nonsense face, and drank the water. To stop her head spinning, she told herself. When she’d gulped down a glass, Cassian said, “I was born to an unwed female in a settlement that makes Windhaven look like a tolerant, welcoming paradise. She was shunned for bearing a child out of wedlock, and forced to give birth to me alone in a tent in the dead of winter.”

Horror lurched through her. She’d known Cassian was low-born, but that level of cruelty because of it … “What of your father?”

“You mean the piece of shit who forced himself on her and then went back to his wife and family?” Cassian let out a cold laugh that she rarely heard. “There were no consequences for him.”

“There never are,” Nesta said coolly. She blocked out the image of Tomas’s face.

“There are here,” Cassian growled, as if he sensed the direction of her thoughts. Cassian gestured to the city below, hidden by the mountain and the House blocking the view. “Rhys changed the laws. Here in the Night Court, and in Illyria.” His face hardened further. “But it still requires the survivor to come forward. And in places like Illyria, they make life a living hell for any female who does. They deem it a betrayal.”

“That’s outrageous.”

“We’re all Fae. Forget the High Fae or lesser Fae bullshit. We’re all immortal or close to it. Change comes slowly for us. What humans accomplish in decades takes us centuries. Longer, if you live in Illyria.”

“Then why do you bother with the Illyrians?”

“Because I fought like hell to prove my worth to them.” His eyes glittered. “To prove that my mother brought some good into this world.”

“Where is she now?” He’d never spoken of her.

His eyes shuttered in a way she had not witnessed before. “I was taken away from her when I was three. Thrown out into the snow. And in her so-called disgraced state, she became prey to other monsters.” Nesta’s stomach twisted with each word. “She did their backbreaking labor until she died, alone and …” His throat worked. “I was at Windhaven by then. I wasn’t strong enough to return to help her. To bring her somewhere safe. Rhys wasn’t yet High Lord, and none of us could do anything.”

Nesta wasn’t entirely certain how they’d wound up speaking of this.

Apparently, Cassian realized it as well. “It’s a story for another time. But what I meant to try to explain is that through it all, through every awful thing, the training centered me. Guided me. When I had a shit day, when I was spat on or pummeled or shunned, when I led armies and lost good warriors, when Rhys was taken by Amarantha—through all of that, the training remained. You said the other day the breathing helped you. It helps me, too. It helped Feyre.” She watched the wall rise in his eyes, word after word. As if he waited for her to rip it down. Rip him down. “Make of that what you will, but it’s true.”

Oily shame slithered through her. She’d done that—brought this level of defensiveness to him.

Heaviness weighed on her. Started gnawing on her insides.

So Nesta said, “Show me another set of movements.”

Cassian scanned her face for a heartbeat, his gaze still shuttered, and began his next demonstration.

The House had a taste for romance novels. Nesta stayed up later than she should have to finish the one it had left the day before, and when she returned to her room that evening, another was waiting.

“Don’t tell me you somehow read these.” She leafed through the volume on her nightstand.

In answer, two more books thumped on the surface. Each one utterly filthy.

Nesta let out a small chuckle. “It must get awfully dull up here.”

A third book plopped atop the others.

Nesta laughed again, a rusty, hoarse sound. She couldn’t remember