A Court of Silver Flames - Sarah J. Maas Page 0,83

Trove?”

“No,” Rhys said. “We’d only risk one of them going after it. Beron would send out every warrior and spy of his to find it first. That he hasn’t done so already suggests he doesn’t know about the Trove, but we need Eris to confirm.”

Feyre asked, “Why didn’t we look for the Trove when we were hunting for the Cauldron ourselves?”

“The Book was easier to find,” Amren said. “And it has been ten thousand years since anyone used the Trove. I assumed it was all at the bottom of an ocean.”

“So we find it,” Cassian declared. “Any ideas?”

“Made objects tend to not wish to be found by just anyone,” Amren cautioned. “That they have faded from memory, that even I didn’t think of them immediately in the fight against Hybern, suggests that perhaps they willed it that way. Wanted to stay hidden. True things of power have such gifts.”

“You say that as if the objects have a sentience,” Cassian said.

“They do,” Amren said, storms drifting across her eyes. “They were Made in a time when wild magic still roamed the earth, and the Fae were not masters of all. Made objects back then tended to gain their own self-awareness and desires. It was not a good thing.” Amren’s face clouded with memory, and a chill whispered over Nesta’s spine.

Rhys mused, “Just as I’m able to alter a mind to forget, perhaps they have a similar gift.”

“But Briallyn is Made,” Amren said. Nesta’s mouth again went dry. “When Briallyn was Made, it likely removed from her the Dread Trove’s glamour, for lack of a better term. Recognized her as kin. Where she might have glanced over a mention of the items before and never thought twice, now it stuck. Or perhaps called to her, presented itself in a dream.”

All of them, all at once, looked at Nesta.

“You,” Amren said quietly, “are the same. So is Elain.”

Nesta stiffened. “If they’re all enchanting you to forget, how is it that Azriel was able to remember and bear the information here?”

“Perhaps once you learn of it, recognize it, the spell is broken,” Amren said. “Or perhaps the Dread Trove wants us to know of it now, for some dark reason of its own.”

The hair on Nesta’s arms rose.

Cassian shifted in his seat. “So we track down the Dread Trove—how?”

Elain spoke from the doorway, having appeared so silently that they all twisted toward her, “Using me.”

CHAPTER

21

Nesta’s head went silent as Elain’s words finished sounding in the room. Feyre had twisted in her seat, face white with alarm.

Nesta shot to her feet. “No.”

Elain remained in the doorway, her face pale but her expression harder than Nesta had ever seen it. “You do not decide what I can and cannot do, Nesta.”

“The last time we involved ourselves with the Cauldron, it abducted you,” Nesta countered, fighting her shaking. She found the words, the weapons she sought. “I thought you didn’t have powers anymore.”

Elain pursed her lips. “I thought you didn’t, either.”

Nesta’s spine straightened. No one spoke, but their attention lingered on her like a film on her skin. “You will not go looking for it.”

Amren said coolly, “So you look for it, girl.”

Nesta turned to the small female. “I don’t know how to find anything.”

“Like calls to like,” Amren countered. “You were Made by the Cauldron. You may track other objects Made by it as well, as Briallyn can. And because you are Made by it, you are immune to the influence and power of the Trove. You might use them, yes, but they cannot be used upon you.” A glance to Elain. “Either of you.”

Nesta swallowed. “I can’t.” But to let Elain involve herself, jeopardize her safety—

Amren said, “You tracked the Cauldron—”

“It nearly killed me. It trapped me like a bird in a cage.”

Elain said, “Then I will find it. I might require some time to … reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today.”

“Absolutely not,” Nesta spat, fingers curling at her sides. “Absolutely not.”

“Why?” Elain demanded. “Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“Then go off on adventures,” Nesta said. “Go drink and fuck strangers. But stay away from the Cauldron.”

Feyre said, “It is Elain’s choice, Nesta.”

Nesta whirled on her, ignoring the warning flicker of primal wrath in Rhys’s stare. “Keep out of this,” she hissed at her youngest sister. “I have