I sighed. “So … that went right, at least.”
Those eyes went razor-sharp again. “I failed. Every time. So, no. It did not go right.”
I didn’t know what to say. Sympathy would likely earn me a tongue-lashing. So I opted for another route. “We need to do something about Elain.”
Nesta stiffened. “And what solution do you propose, exactly? Letting your mate into her mind to scramble things around?”
“I’d never do that. I don’t think Rhys can even … fix things like that.”
Nesta paced in front of the darkened fireplace. “Everything has a cost. Maybe the cost of her youth and immortality was losing part of her sanity.”
My knees wobbled enough that I took a seat on the deep-cushioned couch. “What was your cost?”
Nesta stopped moving. “Perhaps it was to see Elain suffer—while I got away unscathed.”
I shot to my feet. “Nesta—”
“Don’t bother.” But I trailed her as she strode for the stairs. To where Lucien was now descending the steps—and winced at the sight of her approach.
He gave her a wide berth as she stormed past him. One look at his taut face had me bracing myself—and returning to the sitting room.
I slumped into the nearest armchair, surprised to find myself still in my black dress as the fabric scraped against my bare skin. How long had I been back from the Hewn City? Thirty minutes? Less? And had the Prison only been that morning?
It felt like days ago. I rested my head against the embroidered back of the chair and watched Lucien take a seat on the rolled arm of the nearest couch. “Long day?”
I grunted my response.
That metal eye tightened. “I thought the Prison was another myth.”
“Well, it’s not.”
He weighed my tone, and crossed his arms. “Let me do something. About Elain. I heard—from my room. Everything that happened just now. It wouldn’t hurt to have a healer look her over. Externally and internally.”
I was tired enough that I could barely summon the breath to ask, “Do you think the Cauldron made her insane?”
“I think she went through something terrible,” Lucien countered carefully. “And it wouldn’t hurt to have your best healer do a thorough examination.”
I rubbed my hand over my face. “All right.” My breath snagged on the words. “Tomorrow morning.” I managed a shallow nod, rallying my strength to rise from the chair. Heavy—there was an old heaviness in me. Like I could sleep for a hundred years and it wouldn’t be enough.
“Please tell me,” Lucien said when I crossed the threshold into the foyer. “What the healer says. And if—if you need me for anything.”
I gave him one final nod, speech suddenly beyond me.
I knew Nesta still wasn’t asleep as I walked past her room. Knew she’d heard every word of our conversation thanks to that Fae hearing. And I knew she heard as I listened at Elain’s door, knocked once, and poked my head in to find her asleep—breathing.
I sent a request to Madja, Rhysand’s preferred healer, to come the next day at eleven. I did not explain why or who or what. Then went into my bedroom, crawled onto the mattress, and cried.
I didn’t really know why.
Strong, broad hands rubbed down my spine, and I opened my eyes to find the room wholly black, Rhysand perched on the mattress beside me. “Do you want anything to eat?” His voice was soft—tentative.
I didn’t raise my head from the pillow. “I feel … heavy again,” I breathed, voice breaking.
Rhys said nothing as he gathered me up into his arms. He was still in his jacket, as if he’d just come in from wherever he’d been talking with Cassian.
In the dark, I breathed in his scent, savored his warmth. “Are you all right?”
Rhys was quiet for a long minute. “No.”
I slid my arms around him, holding him tightly.
“I should have found another way,” he said.
I stroked my fingers through his silken hair.
Rhys murmured, “If she …” His swallow was audible. “If she showed up at this house …” I knew who he meant. “I would kill her. Without even letting her speak. I would kill her.”
“I know.” I would, too.
“You asked me at the library,” he whispered. “Why I … Why I’d rather take all of this upon myself. Tonight is why. Seeing Mor cry is why. I made a bad call. Tried to find some other way around this shithole we’re in.” And had lost something—Mor had lost something—in the process.
We held each other in silence for minutes. Hours. Two souls, twining in the dark. I lowered my shields, let him in fully. His mind curled around mine.
“Would you risk looking into it—the Ouroboros?” I asked.
“Not yet,” was all Rhys said, holding me tighter. “Not yet.”
CHAPTER
28
I dragged myself out of bed by sheer will the next morning.
Amren had said the Carver wouldn’t bind himself into a Fae body—had claimed that.
But it wouldn’t hurt to try. If it gave us the slightest chance of holding out, of keeping Rhys from giving everything …
He was already gone by the time I awoke. I gritted my teeth as I dressed in my leathers and winnowed to the House of Wind.
I had my wings ready as I hit the wards protecting it, and managed a decent-enough glide into the open-air training ring on its flat top.
Cassian was already waiting, hands on his hips. Watching as I eased down, down …
Too fast. My feet skipped over the dirt, bouncing me up, up—
“Backflap—”
His warning was too late.
I slammed into a wall of crimson before I could get a face full of the ruddy rock, but—I swore, pride skinned as much as my palms as I staggered back, my wings unwieldy behind me. Cassian’s shoulders shook as he reined in a laugh, and I gave him a vulgar gesture in return.
“If you go in for a landing that way, make sure you have room.”
I scowled. “Lesson learned.”
“Or space to bank and circle until you slow—”
“I get it.”
Cassian held up his hands, but the amusement faded as he watched me dismiss the wings and stalk toward him. “You want to go hard today, or take it easy?”
I didn’t think the others gave him enough credit—for noticing the shift in someone’s emotional current. To command legions, I supposed, he needed to be able to read that sort of thing, judge when his soldiers or enemies were strong or breaking or broken.
I peered inside, to that place where I now felt like quicksand, and said, “Hard. I want to limp out of here.” I peeled off the leather jacket and rolled up the sleeves of my white shirt.
Cassian swept an assessing stare over me. He murmured, “It helps me, too—the physical activity, the training.” He rolled his shoulders as I began to stretch. “It’s always helped me focus and center myself. And after last night …” He tied back his dark hair. “I definitely need it—this.”
I held my leg folded behind me, my muscles protesting at the stretch. “I suppose there are worse methods of coping.”
A lopsided grin. “Indeed there are.”