But Azriel, locked in his hateful father’s dungeons like some criminal until he was eleven, denied the ability to fly, to fight, to do anything his Illyrian instincts screamed at him to do …
Darkness rumbled down the bond. Not anger at me, but … as Rhys, too, remembered what had been done to his friend. He’d never forgotten. None of them had. It was an effort not to look at the brutal scars coating Azriel’s hands. I prayed Nesta wouldn’t inquire about it.
“We’ve taught plenty of younglings the basics,” Cassian countered.
Azriel shook his head, shadows twining around his wrists. “It’s not the same. When you’re older, the fears, the mental blocks … it’s different.”
None of them, not even Amren, said anything.
Azriel only said to me, “I’ll teach you. Train with Cass for a few hours, and I’ll meet you when you’re through.” He added to Lucien, who did not balk from those writhing shadows, “After lunch, we’ll meet.”
I swallowed, but nodded. “Thank you.” And perhaps Azriel’s kindness snapped some sort of tether in me, but I turned to Nesta. “The King of Hybern is trying to bring down the wall by using the Cauldron to expand the holes already in it.” Her blue-gray eyes revealed nothing—only simmering rage at the king’s name. “I might be able to patch up those holes, but you … being made of the Cauldron itself … if the Cauldron can widen those holes, perhaps you can close them, too. With training—in whatever time we have.”
“I can show you,” Amren clarified to my sister. “Or, in theory I can. If we start soon—tomorrow morning.” She considered, then declared to Rhys, “When you go to the Court of Nightmares, we will go with you.”
I whipped my head to Amren. “What?” The thought of Nesta in that place—
“The Hewn City is a trove of objects of power,” Amren explained. “There may be opportunities to practice. Let the girl get a feel for what something like the wall or the Cauldron might be like.” She added when Azriel seem poised to object, “Covertly.”
Nesta said nothing.
I waited for her outright refusal, the cold shutdown of all hope.
But Nesta only asked, “Why not just kill the King of Hybern before he can act?”
Utter silence.
Amren said a bit softly, “If you want his killing blow, girl, it’s yours.”
Nesta’s gaze drifted toward the open interior doors of the dining room. As if she could see all the way to Elain. “What happened to the human queens?”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Were they made immortal?” This question went to Azriel.
Azriel’s Siphons smoldered. “Reports have been murky and inconsistent. Some say yes, others say no.”
Nesta examined her wineglass.
Cassian braced his forearms on the table. “Why?”
Nesta’s eyes shot right to his face. She spoke quietly to me, to all of us, even as she held Cassian’s gaze as if he were the only one in the room. “By the end of this war, I want them dead. The king, the queens—all of them. Promise me you’ll kill them all, and I’ll help you patch up the wall. I’ll train with her”—a jerk of her chin to Amren—“I’ll go to the Hewn City or whatever it is … I’ll do it. But only if you promise me that.”
“Fine,” I said. “And we might need your assistance during the meeting with the High Lords—to provide testimony to other courts and allies of what Hybern is capable of. What was done to you.”
“No.”
“You don’t mind fixing the wall or going to the Court of Nightmares, but speaking to people is where you draw your line?”
Nesta’s mouth tightened. “No.”
High Lady or sister; sister or High Lady … “People’s lives might depend on your account of it. The success of this meeting with the High Lords might depend upon it.”
She gripped the arms of her chair, as if restraining herself. “Don’t talk down to me. My answer is no.”
I angled my head. “I understand that what happened to you was horrible—”
“You have no idea what it was or was not. None. And I am not going to grovel like one of those Children of the Blessed, begging High Fae who would have gladly killed me as a mortal to help us. I’m not going to tell them that story—my story.”
“The High Lords might not believe our account, which makes you a valuable witness—”
Nesta shoved her chair back, chucking her napkin on her plate, gravy soaking through the fine linen. “Then it is not my problem if you’re unreliable. I’ll help you with the wall, but I am not going to whore my story around to everyone on your behalf.” She shot to her feet, color rising to her ordinarily pale face, and hissed, “And if you even dare suggest to Elain that she do such a thing, I will rip out your throat.”
Her eyes lifted from mine to sweep over everyone—extending the threat.
None of us spoke as she left the dining room and slammed the door shut behind her.
I slumped in my chair, resting my head against the back.
Something thumped in front of me. A bottle of wine. “It’s fine if you drink directly from it,” was all Mor said.
“I’d say Nesta rivals Amren for sheer bloodthirstiness,” Rhys mused hours later as he and I walked alone through the streets of Velaris. “The only difference is that Amren actually drinks it.”
I snorted, shaking my head as we turned onto the broad street beside the Sidra and meandered along the star-flecked river.
So many scars still marred the lovely buildings of Velaris, streets gouged from fallen debris and claws. Most of it had been repaired, but some storefronts had been left boarded up, some homes along the river no more than mounds of rubble. We’d flown down from the House as soon as we’d finished dinner—well, the wine, I supposed. Mor had taken another bottle with her when she’d disappeared into the House, Azriel frowning after her.
Rhys and I hadn’t invited anyone else with us. He’d only asked me through the bond, Walk with me? And I’d merely given him a subtle nod.
And here we were. We’d walked for over an hour now, mostly quiet, mostly … thinking. Of the words and information and threats shared today. Neither of us slowed our steps until we reached that little restaurant where we had all dined under the stars one night.
Something tight in my chest eased as I beheld the untouched building, the potted citrus plants sighing in the river breeze. And on that breeze … those delectable, rich spices, garlicky meat, simmering tomatoes … I leaned my back against the rail along the river walkway, watching the restaurant workers serve the packed tables.
“Who knows,” I murmured, answering him at last. “Perhaps Nesta will take up the blood-drinking habit, too. I certainly believe her threat to rip out my throat. Maybe she’ll enjoy the taste.”