“You’re not going to enjoy this part,” Nesta said through her clacking teeth, hauling Emerie back to the water. “Neither am I,” she muttered, the icy water biting into her numbed feet.
Cold as the Cauldron. Cold as—
Nesta let the thought pass, willing it to drift by like a cloud. Focused.
She managed to get Emerie into the water up to their waists, holding her as tightly as her shaking fingers would allow. Then she hoisted her friend onto her back and hooked the Illyrian bow around them both, letting the near-unbreakable string dig into her own chest so the wood rested against Emerie’s spine, tethering them together.
“Better than nothing.” She looped Emerie’s limp arms around her shoulders, then took Emerie’s nightgown and wrapped it around her wrists, tying them in place. “Hold on,” she warned, even though Emerie remained an unmoving weight across her back.
Rock to rock. Just as she’d done before. Rock to rock and then back to the shore.
Rock to rock. Step to step.
She’d done ten thousand steps in the House of Wind. Had done more than that over these months. She could do this.
Nesta moved deeper into the water, biting back her cry at its cold.
Emerie swayed and banged into her, and the Illyrian bow’s string dug into Nesta’s chest hard enough to slice the skin. But it held.
Step to step to step.
By the time Nesta returned to the far bank, shaking, near sobbing, the bowstring had drawn blood. But they were on solid land, and her clothes and weapons were there, and—and now to find warmth and shelter.
Nesta laid Emerie on the pine needles, covering her friend with the dry clothes she’d left behind, and gathered what wood she could carry. Naked, shaking, she could barely hold on to the sticks in her arms as she piled them near Emerie. Her trembling fingers struggled to twist the sticks long enough to ignite a spark, to coax the kindling to a flame, but—there. Fire. She raided the area for fallen logs, praying they weren’t too wet from the mists off the rapids to catch flame.
When the fire was crackling steadily, Nesta slithered under her pile of clothes beside Emerie and wrapped her arms around her friend, their skin pressing close. They were both freezing, but the fire was warm, and beneath the male’s large clothes the chill from the water began to fade.
But they were utterly exposed to the world. If someone came by, they’d be dead.
Nesta held Emerie, feeling her body warm by increments. Watching her breathing ease. Feeling her own chattering teeth calm.
Soon it would be night. And what would emerge in the dark …
Nesta remembered Cassian’s tales of the monsters that prowled these woods. She swallowed, wrapping her arms more tightly around Emerie. She glanced at her arm, the charm still glowing faintly, only pointing southward now. A sole glimmer of hope, of direction. What had happened to Gwyn? Was she enduring her worst nightmares again? Was she—
Nesta focused on her breathing. Stilled her mind.
She’d survive the night. Help Emerie. Then find Gwyn.
Around a river, she’d learned on her hike with Cassian, cave systems were often carved out by the water. But to find one, she’d have to leave Emerie …
Nesta glanced at the vanishing sun, then slipped out from under the pile of clothes. She covered Emerie with leaves and twigs, added another log to the fire, and risked taking the male’s jacket to wrap around herself.
Nesta wore the boots, even though her blistered feet objected, and made a careful circle around the campsite, listening for anything. Anyone. Scanning every rock and cleft boulder.
Nothing.
The sky darkened. There had to be caves around here somewhere. Where the fuck were they? Where—
“The entrance is here.”
Nesta whirled, dagger out, to find an Illyrian male standing ten feet away. How he’d crept up, how he’d survived given the gash running down the side of his face—
He noted her own wounds, her nakedness beneath the coat, the bare legs and the boots. The knife.
Yet no lust or hatred clouded his brown eyes.
The male carefully pointed to what she’d mistaken for a leaf-covered boulder. “That’s a cave. Big enough to fit inside.”
Nesta drew herself up to her full height. Let him see the cold violence in her eyes.
“You won’t survive an hour on the ground once night falls,” the male said, his boyishly charming face neutral. “And if you’re not already scaling a tree, then I’m going to guess you’ve got someone hurt with you.”
She revealed nothing.
He lifted his hands. No weapons, no blood on him save the gash leaking down his face. “I came from the landing site to the west.” Where she’d come from. “I saw the body in the gulch—you did that to Novius, didn’t you? He was naked. You’re in a male’s clothes. And that must be the knife that pierced his throat. Do you know who the hell dumped weapons here?”
Nesta kept her silence. Night deepened around them.
The male shrugged when she didn’t reply. “I decided to head northward, hoping to reach Ramiel by a less traveled path, avoiding conflict with the others entirely, if I can. I have no quarrel with you. But I am going into that cave now, and if you’re smart, you’ll bring whoever is with you and come inside, too.”
“And have you take my weapons and kill me in my sleep?”
The male’s brown eyes flickered. “I know who you are. I’m not stupid enough to go after you.”
“It’s the Blood Rite. You’d be forgiven.”
“Feyre Cursebreaker would not forgive me for killing her sister.”
“So you do this to gain her favor?”
“Does it matter? I swear an oath on Enalius himself not to kill you or whoever is with you. Take it or leave it.”
“Not to kill us or harm us in any way. Or have anyone you know do so, either.”
A slight smile. “You adapted to the rules of the Fae quickly. But yes. I swear that, too.”
Nesta’s throat bobbed as she weighed the male’s expression. Glanced to the hidden cave entrance behind him.
“I need help carrying her.”
They didn’t risk a fire in the cave, but the male, whose name was Balthazar, offered his thick wool cloak to cover Emerie. Nesta slid Emerie into the dead male’s clothing, leaving herself wearing only the leather jacket, and though it went against every instinct, she allowed Balthazar to sit on her other side, his warmth leaking into her chilled body.
“When dawn comes, be gone,” Nesta said into the dark of the musty, leaf-filled cave as night fell.
“If we survive the night, I’ll be glad to go,” Balthazar said. “The beasts of the woods might smell your friend’s blood and track us right to this cave.”
Nesta slid her gaze to the young warrior. “Why aren’t you out there killing everyone?”
“Because I want to reach the mountain and become Oristian. But if I meet someone I’d like to kill, I won’t hesitate.”
Silence fell, and remained.
Within moments, branches snapped.
Balthazar’s body tightened, his breath becoming impossibly quiet. In the pitch-black of the cave, the only sounds were the rustle of their clothes and the leaves beneath them.
A howl rent the night, and Nesta flinched, clutching Emerie closer to her side.
But the snapping branches and howling moved off, and Balthazar’s body relaxed. “It’s just the first,” he whispered into the blackness. “They’ll prowl until dawn.” She didn’t want to know what was out there. Not as screaming began in the distance. “Some can climb trees,” Balthazar murmured. “The dumb warriors forget that.”
Nesta stayed silent.
“I’ll take first watch,” the warrior said. “Rest.”
“Fine.” But she did not dare close her eyes.
Nesta remained awake the entire night. If Balthazar knew she hadn’t been sleeping during his watch, he didn’t say. She’d used the time to do her Mind-Stilling exercises,
which kept the edge off, but not entirely.
The crackle of brush under the paws and talons of stalking beasts and the screaming of the Illyrians continued for hours.
When Balthazar nudged her with a knee and she feigned waking, he only murmured that he was going to sleep and tucked himself against her. Nesta let herself soak up his warmth against the frigid cave air. Whether his deep breaths were true sleep or faked, as hers had been, she didn’t care.
Nesta kept her eyes open, even when they became unbearably sore and heavy. Even when the warmth from her two companions threatened to lull her to sleep.
She would not sleep. Wouldn’t lower her guard for one moment.
Dawn eventually leaked through the lattice of branches, and the screams and howling faded, then vanished. A quick inspection in the dim light revealed that though her friend remained unconscious, the wound on Emerie’s head had stopped bleeding. But—
“You’ll find plenty of clothes today,” Balthazar said, seeming to read her mind. He stepped into the daylight and peered around, then cursed under his breath. “Plenty of clothes.”
The words sent Nesta scrambling out of the cave.
Winged bodies lay everywhere, many half-eaten.
A brisk wind ruffled Balthazar’s dark hair as he walked away. “Good luck, Archeron.”
Eris was nowhere to be found in the lands surrounding the queens’ castle. But Azriel had encountered a passing human merchant on the road from the palace, who hadn’t hesitated when he’d been asked whether a Fae male had recently arrived. He readily supplied that a red-haired Fae male had been dragged into the castle the night before last. He’d heard in the tavern that the male was to be taken soon to another site.
“We’ll wait here until they leave the castle. Then trail them from the cloud cover,” Azriel said, face dark.
Cassian grunted his agreement and dragged a hand through his hair. He’d barely slept, thinking of Nesta, and of Feyre and Rhys.
Cassian and Azriel hadn’t discussed their brother’s bargain, which would doom Rhys should Feyre not survive the labor. To lose her would be unbearable, but to also lose Rhys … Cassian couldn’t think of it without feeling sick. Perhaps Amren was working on some way to undo the bargain—if anyone could think of a way, it would be her. Or Helion, he supposed.
Cassian and Azriel were beyond Rhys’s and Feyre’s daemati range, though. They’d have no news of anything.
But he’d know if Nesta were dead. In his heart, his soul, he’d sense it. Would feel it.
A mate always did.
Even if she’d rejected that bond.
Nesta had lived through the night, thanks to dumb luck and an Illyrian more interested in politics than killing.
Exhaustion slowed every movement as Nesta picked her way through the dismembered bodies, peeling off whatever clothes were intact and not stained by blood or bodily fluids. Many of the warriors had pissed or shit themselves when the beasts of the forest had found them. Finding a clean pair of pants was a tall order.
But Nesta gathered enough, including a smaller pair of boots for herself and one set for Emerie, and picked up another dagger, two canteens of water, and what seemed to be someone’s half-eaten rabbit dinner.
By the time she returned to the cave—dressed, watered, and with half a leg of rabbit in hand—Emerie was awake. Weak, but awake. She said nothing as Nesta handed her the meat and the water, then helped her dress.
Only when Nesta eased her out of the cave and Emerie surveyed the carnage did she rasp, “Gwyn?”
Nesta, her arm looped around Emerie’s middle, lifted her free hand—the one with the bracelet on her wrist. She slowly pointed her arm in each direction. “South,” she said when the charm gleamed. Gwyn’s general location hadn’t changed since yesterday.
Emerie sucked in a breath. Lifted her own bracelet to the south. The charm glittered almost frantically now, emitting an urgent sense of needing to move, to act, to be swift.
Wonder flashed in Emerie’s eyes before sharpening to grim focus. “Let’s hurry.”
CHAPTER
67
Emerie confirmed that she’d been attacked and chased by the males Nesta had spied at the river. She’d leaped in as a final shot at survival, hit her head on a rock, and remembered nothing until the cave.
Nesta gave her a swift, brutal rundown of her own encounters as they picked their way southward, mostly keeping silent to listen for any passing Illyrians. A few solo warriors ignored them as they trudged past, covered in blood, all heading east; a few packs battled each other; and many more bodies lay on the cold earth.
They scanned for any gleam of copper hair. But they saw and heard no sign of Gwyn. They did not speak of whether their charms might be leading them toward a body.
The day passed, and they found another cave as night fell, huddling together for warmth. Emerie insisted on taking the first watch, and Nesta slept at last. When her friend woke her, Nesta had the feeling that Emerie had let her doze for longer than she should have.
In the morning, they emerged to find blood mixed with the snow on the ground. The animal tracks around the mouth of the cave were large enough to roil Nesta’s stomach.
Soon, snow began falling in earnest. Enough to veil the world ahead and behind, and any enemies with it. They shivered with each step southward, though they’d piled on extra jackets from fallen warriors, and as the morning crept toward midday, Nesta flexed her fingers to keep her hands from freezing through.
If she survived, she’d never again complain about the summer heat; never again take for granted her coat and hat and gloves and that stupid scarf Cassian had made her wear out of her apartment all those months earlier.
“I smell fire,” Emerie murmured. They’d last spoken hours ago, concentrating instead on staving off the cold that was so deep it made their teeth ache.
They halted behind two pines, surveying the terrain, the snow-heavy sky. Nesta consulted her charm. “That way,” she said, inclining her head to the left. “The fire is also in that direction—the wind’s carrying the smoke down from that ridge.”
“It could be Gwyn’s fire,” Emerie suggested hopefully.
Nesta nodded, calming her pounding heart. They inched along, darting from tree to tree, listening for any danger around them, any hint of Gwyn ahead. They’d been moving for several minutes when the laughter reached them. Male laughter.
Emerie’s face paled as she held her bracelet toward the source of the laughter. Its charm glowed, glinting even in the sun’s weak winter light.
“Keep downwind,” Nesta said grimly. “We’ll take the ridge from the southern side.”
A nightgown hung on a branch near the camp’s edge.
Nesta’s stomach rose, her meager breakfast burning her throat. A soft inhale of breath from Emerie was her friend’s only sign of dread and pain as they climbed the last of the ridge toward the warriors camped atop it. They were boasting about the males they’d killed, the remaining trek toward Ramiel. Nesta strained to hear any hint of a female amongst them. If Gwyn’s nightgown was hanging from a tree, then Gwyn—
To hell with reaching Ramiel. She’d spend the rest of the week here, killing them all slowly.
The crest of the ridge lay ten feet above.
Nesta controlled her breathing, keeping it silent and shallow, as the Valkyries had done. A glance at Emerie told her the female was doing the same, even as rage kindled in her dark eyes.
They’d decided before they ascended the slope that, as Emerie’s wings arced too high above her head, Nesta would assess what lay beyond the ridge. Emerie held two knives; Nesta had one dagger and the Illyrian bow and two arrows. Nesta would have to use her peek to gather information about what weapons the males had, too.
They swapped one final look, just as the males burst into laughter, and Nesta rose. Only high enough for her vision to clear the ridge’s edge.
Ten males sat around a fire, eating. Some had axes, some had swords, some had knives. Nesta pic
ked out the male in the middle, laughing and talking the loudest, as the leader. His face—she’d seen his face before. Somewhere.
No sign of Gwyn. Nesta ducked back down, pivoting toward Emerie.
But Emerie was gone. Dragged halfway down the slope, and held between two grinning males.
No one went in or out of the towering, gray-stoned castle. Azriel and Cassian took turns circling it from high above, waiting for any sign of a departing group, but the gates did not open. Nobody even came or departed from the walled city surrounding it. As if the gates had been locked, its people kept within. No villages dotted the hills around it, either.
The castle seemed to have risen out of the earth and settled there, squatting like some enormous beast over the land.
“Briallyn has to know we’re here,” Cassian said as he alit, his latest aerial survey completed. “You think she’s waiting for us to make a move?”
“I think the better question is if Eris is still alive,” Azriel murmured, shadows whispering in his ear. “I can’t get a read on it.”
“Waiting is pointless. We should break in. Keep out of sight, so she won’t even know we’re there and be tempted to use the Crown on us.”
“I told you: the place is guarded with as many wards as the House of Wind. If Briallyn is moving Eris, we’ll be better off catching him then.”
“Maybe the merchant was wrong.”
“Maybe. We’ll continue surveillance through tomorrow.” Azriel crossed his arms. “I know you want to help Nesta. Maybe Amren can find some loophole in the laws …”
Cassian swallowed hard. “There’s no loophole. If I interfere, we’re both dead. And even if I did, Nesta would kill me if I jumped in to save her. She’d never forgive me for it.”
He’d had nothing else to do except contemplate it these past days. Nesta’s fate was her own. She was strong enough to forge her own path, even through the horrors of the Blood Rite. He’d taught her the skills to do so himself.
And even if the laws had allowed it, he would never take that away from her: the chance to save herself.
A Court of Silver Flames Page 61
