A Court of Silver Flames - Sarah J. Maas Page 0,70

but …” He winced. “Nesta, many of the females in the library do not want to be—cannot stand to be—around males again.”

“Then we’ll ask one of your female friends to join. Mor or anyone else you can think of.”

“The priestesses might not even be able to stomach having me present.”

“You’d never hurt anyone like that.”

His eyes softened slightly. “It’s not about that for them. It’s about the fear—the trauma they bear. Even if they know I’d never do that to them, I might still drag up memories that are incredibly difficult for them to face.”

“You said this training would help me with my … problems. Perhaps it could help them. At the very least give them a reason to get outside for a bit.”

Cassian watched her for a long moment. Then he said, “Whoever you can get up here with us, I’ll gladly train. Mor’s away, but I can ask Feyre—”

“Not Feyre.” Nesta hated the words. The way his back stiffened. She couldn’t look at him as she said, “I just …” How could she explain the tangle between her and her sister? The self-loathing that threatened to consume her every time she looked at her sister’s face?

“All right,” Cassian repeated. “Not Feyre. But I need to give her and Rhys a heads-up. You should probably ask Clotho for permission, too.” A warm hand clasped her shoulder and squeezed. “I like this idea, Nes.” His hazel eyes shone bright. “I like it a lot.”

And for some reason, the words meant everything.

CHAPTER

17

“I have a proposition for you.”

Stomach muscles throbbing, legs aching, Nesta stood before Clotho’s desk as the priestess finished writing on whatever manuscript she was annotating, her enchanted pen scratching along.

Clotho lifted her head when the pen dotted its last mark and wrote on a scrap of paper, Yes?

“Would you allow your priestesses to train with me every morning in the ring at the top of the House? Not all of them—just whoever might be interested.”

Clotho sat perfectly still. Then the pen moved. Train for what?

“To strengthen their bodies, to defend themselves, to attack, if they wish. But also to clear their minds. Help steady them.”

Who will oversee this training? You?

“No. I’m not qualified for that. I’ll be training with them.” Her heart pounded. She wasn’t sure why. “Cassian will be overseeing it. He’s not handsy— I mean, he’s respectful and …” Nesta shook her head. She sounded a proper fool.

Beneath the shadows of her hood, Nesta could sense Clotho’s gaze lingering upon her. The pen moved again.

Not many will come, I am afraid.

“I know. But even one or two … I’d like to offer.” Nesta gestured to a pillar beyond Clotho. “I’ll put a sign-up sheet there. Whoever wants to join is welcome.”

Again, that long stare from beneath the hood, its weight like a phantom touch.

Then Clotho wrote, Whoever wants to join has my blessing.

Nesta pasted the sign-up sheet onto the pillar that day.

No one had inked their name on it by the time she departed.

She awoke early, made the trek to the library to check the list, and found it still empty.

“It’ll take time,” Cassian consoled her when he read whatever lay etched on her face as she stepped into the training ring. He added a shade softly, “Keep reaching out your hand.”

So Nesta did.

Every afternoon when she arrived at the library, she checked the list. Every evening when she left, she checked it as well. It was always empty.

At training, Cassian began to instruct her on basic footwork and body positioning in hand-to-hand combat. No punches or kicks, not yet. Nesta held that infernal plank for ten seconds. Then fifteen. Then twenty. Thirty.

Cassian added weights to her exercises, in order to build up her flimsy arms. Heavy stones with carved handles to carry while she did her lunges and squats.

All while she breathed and breathed and breathed.

She tried the stairs again. Made it to step five hundred before her muscles demanded she turn around. The next night, she halted on six hundred ten. Then seven hundred fifty.

She didn’t know what she’d do at the bottom: find a tavern or a pleasure hall and drink herself stupid, she supposed. If she made it, she’d deserve it, she told herself with each step.

At night, exhaustion weighed so heavily she could barely eat and bathe before tumbling into bed. Barely read a chapter of a book before her eyelids drooped. She’d found a smutty novel she’d already read and loved in one of the trunks Elain had packed, and had