Like the fact that each bubble held a tiny bird fluttering about inside.

Silent fireworks still exploded in the far corner of the room, and a miniature pegasus—Nesta’s request, made only when her friends goaded her into submitting one—fed on a small patch of grass by the shelf, content to ignore them. A cake taller than Cassian stood in the center of the room, lit with a thousand candles. Six frogs danced circles around a red-and-white-spotted toadstool, the waltzes provided by Nesta’s Symphonia.

Emerie wore a diamond crown and six strings of pearls. Gwyn sported a broad-brimmed hat fit for any fine lady, perched at a rakish angle on her head. A lace parasol leaned against her other shoulder, and she twirled it idly as she surveyed the windows, the world beyond, and said in a hushed voice, “I sometimes wonder if I shall ever have the courage to go out there again. I fear every day that I won’t.”

Nesta’s smile slid away. She considered her words before she said, “I feel the same.”

Because this existence, living in the House, training, working in the library … It wasn’t real life. Not entirely. When she was allowed to return to the city proper, then she’d face life again. See if she was worthy of it. The thought made her stomach twist.

Dispelling the gloom, Gwyn leaped out of her tub, bubbles spraying, and padded for her bag. “Now, don’t you two dare laugh at me, but I brought something for us to do. I didn’t realize we’d have a magic house to keep us occupied.” She pulled out a bundle of various colored threads. “My sister and I used to braid bracelets and put these little charms on them full of wishes for each other.” She lifted a sack, dumping a few silver coins into her palm. They were no larger than her pinkie nail, and as thin as a wafer. Her voice grew soft. “We believed that the wish would come true once the bracelet fell off.”

Emerie asked gently, “What was her name?”

“Catrin.” Gwyn’s voice held so much pain and longing. “We were fraternal twins. Her hair was dark as onyx, her skin pale as the moon. And she was as moody as the sea.” She laughed quietly. “Despite her faults—and mine—we loved each other dearly. We were all each other had while growing up. She was the only one I could truly rely on. I miss her every day.”

Nesta couldn’t stop herself from thinking of Feyre.

Gwyn said, “I wish I could just have one more moment with her. Just one, to tell her that I love her and say good-bye.” She wiped at her eyes, lifting her head. Looked right at Nesta. “It’s what really mattered in the end, you know. Not our petty fights or differences. I forgot all of that the moment she …” Gwyn shook her head. “It’s all that matters.”

Nesta nodded slowly. Perhaps it wasn’t just her and Feyre, then. Perhaps all sisters had difficulties, fights, chasms between them. She wasn’t perfect, but … neither was Feyre. They had both made mistakes. And both had long, long lives ahead of them. What had occurred in the past did not have to dictate the future.

So Nesta nodded again, letting Gwyn see her understanding. “It’s all that matters,” Nesta agreed.

Gwyn smiled, and then straightened, clearing her throat. “I managed to track the thread and charms down before Solstice, thinking I’d make them for you as little presents, but they took longer to arrive than I thought they would. So I figured we could make the bracelets tonight.” She carefully set the materials upon the nearest table.

Nesta and Emerie rose to survey the variety of threads: all colors and hues, all carefully bundled. “Show me how to do it,” Emerie said softly. Nesta wondered if Gwyn’s words had resonated with her, too—what pain and hope Emerie might be holding within her.

But Gwyn grinned, beginning her demonstration by selecting three colors that she thought matched Emerie’s spirit, she claimed. Green, purple, and gold. Nesta refrained from snickering and selected colors for Gwyn: blue, white, and teal. Emerie, in turn, selected Nesta’s colors: navy blue, crimson, and silver. Nesta and Emerie dutifully tried to copy Gwyn’s “easy” steps: doubling up the thread, knotting it, cutting the looped bits, then pinning the top of the bracelet beneath a heavy book as they separated each length by color. And then began a process of looping and pulling, back and forth. Emerie’s knots were flawless. Nesta’s …

“Your bracelet is going to be an eyesore, Gwyn.” Nesta scowled at the wobbly, bunched-up mess that was her first ten rows.

“Keep going,” Gwyn said, leagues ahead on her own bracelet and beginning to add pretty patterns within the rows. “The knots will get better-looking with practice. Just tell me when you’ve gotten to the halfway point and then we’ll add the charm.”

They worked in music-filled companionship, idle chatter bouncing between them, Emerie and Gwyn occasionally laughing at Nesta’s awful workmanship. “Now,” Gwyn said when they were halfway through, “we make wishes for each other.” She reached for one of the tiny coins. “I’ll just hold this in my hand, think of something for Emerie, and—”

“Wait,” Nesta said, catching Gwyn’s hand before it could touch the charm. “Let me.”

Her friends regarded her curiously, and Nesta swallowed. “Let me make a wish for all of us,” she explained, gathering the three charms. A small gift—for the friends who had become like sisters.

A chosen family. Like the one Feyre had found for herself.

Nesta squeezed the charms in her palm, closing her eyes, and said: “I wish for us to have the courage to go out into the world when we are ready, but to always be able to find our way back to each other. No matter what.”

Gwyn and Emerie cheered at that. And when Nesta opened her eyes, palm unfurling, she could have sworn the coins glowed faintly.

CHAPTER

60

Cassian had been gone for five days. Five days, to inspect every single one of the Illyrian legions, and remember how to behave like a normal, sane male rather than a lovesick puppy. But somehow, by the time he returned, a shift had occurred.

Not just the world-altering shift that had happened on Winter Solstice between him and Nesta. But a shift between Nesta and Emerie and Gwyn.

He emerged into the frigid morning to find the three of them already in the practice ring. They stood around the beam, the ribbon drifting gracefully on the icy wind. Gwyn held a blade in her hand, and Emerie and Nesta stood a few feet away. All three wore braided, colorful bracelets with silver charms dangling from them.

Cassian lingered at the doorway as Nesta murmured to Gwyn, “You’ve got this.” Azriel came up beside him, silent as the shadows that wreathed his wings.

Gwyn stared the ribbon down like an enemy on a battlefield. It rippled in the wind, dancing away, its motions unpredictable as any foe.

“Do it for the miniature pegasus,” Emerie said. Cassian had no idea what it meant, but Gwyn’s lips twitched upward.

Nesta laughed.

The sound might as well have been a lightning strike to his head for how much it rocked him, that laugh. Free and light and so unlike anything he’d ever heard from her that even Azriel blinked. A true laugh. “The miniature pegasus,” Nesta said, “was an illusion. And is now back in his make-believe meadow.”

“He loved Gwyn most,” Emerie teased. “Despite your efforts to woo him.”