A Court of Silver Flames
Helion offered a bow of his head, the epitome of courtly grace. “Lady Nesta.”
Nesta bobbed a curtsy, but her eyes cut to Feyre. “Lady?”
Feyre shrugged. “He’s being polite.”
Nesta slid her eyes to Cassian’s. “Now I understand why you find the title grating.”
He smiled, and Helion blinked—as if shocked she’d forgotten a High Lord stood before her.
But Nesta had blown past Helion the first time they’d met, too, utterly unimpressed.
Cassian said to her, “It never gets easier.”
Nesta faced Helion again, taking in that spiked golden crown and the draped white robe. “Was that your winged horse that flew over earlier?”
Helion’s smile was a thing of cultivated beauty. “He is my finest stallion.”
“He’s lovely.”
“As are you.”
Nesta angled her head as Cassian found himself near-breathless, waiting for her reply. Feyre and Rhys seemed to be trying not to laugh, and Azriel was the portrait of cool boredom.
Nesta surveyed Helion for long enough that he shifted on his feet. A High Lord shifted on his feet under her gaze. She said at last, “I appreciate the compliment,” and that was that.
That pause while she’d surveyed Helion had been a courtier’s pause. Assessing how best to strike.
Helion frowned slightly.
Rhys cleared his throat, amusement glittering in his eyes. “Well, there it is.” He pointed to the black velvet mound on the table. “Nesta?”
She pulled away the cloth. Ancient, beaten gold gleamed, and Helion hissed as a cold, strange power filled the room, whispering like a chill breeze.
Helion whirled to Nesta, all sensuality vanished. “You truly wore this and lived?” It wasn’t a question meant to be answered. “Cover it again, please. I can’t stand it.”
Rhys tucked in his wings. “It affects you that much?”
“Doesn’t it rake its cold claws down your senses?” Helion asked.
“Not as much as all that,” Feyre said. “We can sense its power, but it didn’t bother any of us so seriously.”
Helion shuddered, and Nesta threw the cloth over the Mask. As if the cloth somehow blinded it to their presence. “Perhaps an ancestor of mine once used it, and the warning of its cost is imprinted upon my blood.” Helion shook out a breath. “All right, not-Lady Nesta. Allow me to show you some warding tricks even clever Rhysand doesn’t know.”
In the end, Helion created the wards and keyed them to Nesta’s blood. A pinprick of it, courtesy of Truth-Teller, had done the job, and Cassian had found himself tensing at the sight of that little bead of red. Its scent.
It was an effort of will to tell his body there was no threat, that the blood was willing, that she was fine. But it didn’t stop him from grinding his teeth loudly enough that Feyre whispered to him beneath Nesta and Helion’s conversation, “What’s wrong with you?”
Cassian muttered back, “Nothing. Stop being such a busybody, Cursebreaker.”
Feyre shot him a sidelong glance. “You’re acting like a caged animal.” Her lips curved upward. “Are you jealous?”
Cassian kept his voice neutral. “Of Helion?”
“I don’t see anyone else in this room who’s currently holding my sister’s hand and smiling at her.”
The bastard was indeed doing that, though Nesta remained stone-faced. “Why would I be jealous?”
Feyre’s laugh was a rustle of air.
Cassian couldn’t stop his answering grin, earning a confused glance from Azriel. Cassian shook his head, just as Nesta pulled her hand from Helion’s grip and asked, “So it’s done?”
“Once we leave this room, no one shall be able to enter it. Even you, if you do not unlock my wards, cannot enter.”
Nesta loosed a little sigh. “Good.”
“I’ll show you the unlocking spell,” Helion said, but she stepped away from him.
“No,” Nesta said abruptly. “No, I don’t want to know it.”
Silence fell.
Nesta declared to none of them in particular, “If Briallyn is hunting for the Mask, if she apprehends me, I don’t want to have any knowledge of how to free it.” It was wise, even if it made him sick to consider, but he could have sworn it was a lie. Could have sworn that Nesta didn’t want to have access to the information—for herself.
As if she might be tempted by the Mask.
Rhys said, “That’s fine. Helion can show me, and if we need the knowledge, I’ll show you.” Rhys held out a hand to Helion, indicating how he’d prefer to be shown the spell. Their fingers interlaced, their eyes going vacant, and then Rhys blinked. “Thank you.”
Azriel said, “We have to notify Eris about his soldiers’ reappearance. And what we did to them.”
Cassian surveyed his family, his friends. “How much do we tell Eris? Do we let him know we have the Mask?”
The question hung there. Then Rhys said, “Not yet.” He nodded to Cassian. “Pay Eris a visit tomorrow.” Rhys gestured to Nesta. “You go with him.”
Nesta stiffened, and Cassian tried not to gape. “Why?” she asked.
“Because you savor playing the game,” Rhys said. He’d undoubtedly noticed how smoothly she dealt with Helion’s attempts to flirt earlier. Rhys knew how to wield a tool at his disposal. “But it’s your choice,” he added.
Cassian cleared his throat. “Sounds fine to me.” Nesta, to his surprise, didn’t object.
“I want to confirm that Briallyn has the Crown,” Azriel said. “I’ll travel to the human lands tomorrow.”
“No,” Feyre and Rhys said at the same time, in the same breath.
Azriel’s eyes shuttered. “I wasn’t asking for permission.”
Rhys smirked. “Doesn’t matter.”
Az opened his mouth to object, but Feyre said, “You’re not going, Azriel. If Briallyn has the Crown and catches you, even if she just suspects you’re nearby, who knows what she could do to you?”
“Give me some credit, Feyre,” Az said. “I can keep hidden well enough.”
“We take no risks,” Feyre said, voice flat with command. “Pull all your spies out.”
“Like hell I will.”
Cassian braced himself, but Feyre didn’t back down. “Information from your spies—any spies—can’t be trusted with the Crown in play. Amren said it needs close contact to sink its claws into someone’s mind. We stay far away from Briallyn.”
Azriel bristled and turned to Rhys. “And you agree with her?”
“She’s your High Lady,” Rhys said coldly. “What she says is law.”
Az eyed him, eyed Feyre. Determined that they were an immovable unit, an impenetrable wall against which his fury would only break again and again.
In the taut silence, Helion nodded to the bright hall beyond the room. “I would like to remove myself from the Mask’s odious presence, and perhaps enjoy your palace, Rhysand. It’s been a long while since I was in a place of such quiet. If you’ll allow it, I’ll stay here for an hour or two.”