A Court of Silver Flames - Sarah J. Maas Page 0,75

“She’s not getting any better. She’s not even trying.” She wrapped her arms around herself and stared toward the distant sea.

Rhys turned to him, his face grave. Feyre warned her.

Cassian swore softly. Nesta is making progress—I know she is. Something set her off. He added, because Rhys was still looking like cold death personified, It’ll take time. Maybe no more visits from her sisters, for the time being. At least not without her permission. He didn’t want to isolate Nesta. Not at all. If Elain wants to see her again, let me ask Nesta first.

Rhys’s voice slithered like liquid night. What about Feyre?

She doesn’t want Feyre here.

Power rumbled through Rhys, guttering the stars in his eyes.

Calm the fuck down, Cassian snapped. They have their own shit to sort out. You threatening to obliterate Nesta every time it comes up doesn’t help.

Rhys held his stare, the inherent dominance in it like the force of a tidal wave. But Cassian weathered it. Let it wash past him. Then Rhys shook his head and said to Elain, “I’ll fly you home.”

Elain didn’t object when Rhys scooped her up and launched into the red-and-pink-stained sky.

When they were a speck of black and purple over the rooftops, Rhys sweeping along the gilded river as if giving Elain a scenic tour, then and only then did Cassian enter the House.

He stormed across the dining room and into the hallway; he charged down the stairs, his feet eating every inch of distance until he flung open the family library’s doors.

“What the fuck happened?”

Nesta was sitting in an armchair before the dark fireplace, fingers digging into the rolled arms of the seat. A queen on a quilted throne.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” was all she said.

His heart thundered, his chest heaving as if he’d run a mile. “What did you say to Elain?”

She leaned forward to peer at him. Then rose to her feet, a pillar of steel and flame, her lips curling back from her teeth. “Of course you’d assume I’m the one at fault.” She prowled closer, her eyes burning with cold fire. “Always defending sweet, innocent Elain.”

He crossed his arms, letting her get as close to him as she wanted. Like hell would he yield one step to her. “I’ll remind you that you’ve been the chief defender of sweet, innocent Elain until recently.” He’d witnessed her go toe to toe with Fae capable of slaughtering her without giving it a thought, all for her sister.

Nesta only simmered, near-shaking with rage. Or cold. Cauldron, it was cold in here. Only the heated floors offered any reprieve. “Fire,” he said, and the House obeyed. A great blaze flared to life in the hearth behind him.

“No fire,” she said, focused upon Cassian, though her words were not to him.

The House seemed to ignore her.

“No fire,” she ordered. He could have sworn she blanched slightly.

For a heartbeat, he was again in Rhys’s mother’s house in Windhaven. She’d been staring and staring into the fire, as if speaking to it, as if unaware that even he was there.

The fire crackled and popped. Nesta seethed to the open air, “I said—”

A log cracked, as if the House were merrily ignoring her, adding heat to the flame.

But Nesta flinched. Barely a blink and half a shudder, but her entire body went rigid. Fear and dread flashed over her features, then vanished.

Strange.

Whatever curiosity Nesta noted on his face had her bristling again before launching toward the open doors of the library.

“Where are you going?” he demanded, unable to keep the temper from his voice.

“Out.” She hit the hall and aimed for the stairwell.

Cassian stalked after her, a snarl ripping from his throat. He quickly closed the distance between them.

“Leave me alone,” she bit out.

“What’s the plan, Nes?” He trailed her to the lowest level of the House and the stairwell halfway down the corridor. “You tear into the people who love you until they eventually give up and leave you alone? Is that what you want?”

She yanked on the handle of the ancient door and threw him a withering glare over a shoulder. She opened her mouth, then shut it against whatever had been about to come out.

As if she’d bank herself for him. Pity him. Spare him. Like he needed shielding from her.

“Say it,” he hissed. “Just fucking say it.”

Nesta’s gaze lit with that silver fire. Her nose crinkled with animalistic rage.

The Siphons atop his hands warmed, readying for an enemy he refused to acknowledge.

Her eyes slid down to