Eris was waiting for Nesta and Cassian when they arrived in a forest clearing nestled in the Middle. But Nesta didn’t bother to do more than glance at the High Lord’s son—not with the sight rising above the trees. The sacred mountain—the mountain under which Feyre, Rhys, and all the other High Lords had been trapped by Amarantha. It rose like a wave on the horizon, bleak and barren and somehow thrumming with presence.
“Have you never seen it?” Eris asked by way of greeting, tracking her stare.
“No.” She looked away from the unnerving peak. “Why is it sacred to you?”
Eris shrugged, and Nesta knew Cassian monitored his every breath. “There are three of them, you know. Sister peaks. This one, the mountain called the Prison, and the one the Illyrian brutes call Ramiel. All bald, barren mountains at odds with those around them.”
“We didn’t come for a history lesson,” Cassian muttered.
Nesta cut him a look. “I asked. I want to know.”
Cassian snorted, and jerked his chin to Eris in a silent order to go on.
“We don’t know why they exist, but do you not find it strange that two out of the three have underground palaces carved into them?”
“I’d hardly call the Prison a palace,” Cassian cut in. “Just ask the inmates.”
Eris gave him a mocking smile, but continued, “Unsurprisingly, the Illyrians were never curious enough to see what secrets lie beneath Ramiel. If it, too, was carved up like the others by ancient hands.”
“I thought Amarantha made the court Under the Mountain herself,” Nesta said.
“Oh, she decorated it and made us act like a sorry imitation of your Court of Nightmares, but the tunnels and halls were carved long before. By who, we don’t know.”
“That’s all the history I can take,” Cassian said, earning a withering glare from Eris. Nesta followed suit. Cassian only gave her an amused wink before continuing, “Your letter seemed to imply that your father was making a move. Out with it.”
“My father went to the continent again last week. He came back seeming normal, without the glassy-eyed aloofness my soldiers displayed. He did not invite me to accompany him, or explain what he discussed with Briallyn. I can only assume the fallout is approaching, though, and wanted to warn you. It was not something I could risk putting in writing. But for now … for now, it seems as if the world is holding its breath.”
“For what?” Nesta asked.
“For you to find the Harp.”
Nesta blinked. And realized too late, too slowly, that they had not told Eris they’d found it. And her blink had given it away.
Eris demanded, “You have it?”
“Does it make a difference?” Cassian said casually.
“The Night Court possesses two objects of the Trove. I’d say yes.” Eris straightened. “Is that what all these delays have been about? Biding your time so you can learn the Trove’s secrets and use the power for your own gains?”
“That’s absurd,” Nesta snapped. “What do we have to gain?”
Red flame sizzled in Eris’s eyes. “What did the King of Hybern have to gain by attaining the Cauldron and invading our lands?”
“We have no interest in conquest, Eris,” Cassian said, crossing his arms. “You know that. And we’re not going to use the Trove.”
Eris barked a laugh. Nesta could see that he didn’t believe them—that he was so used to the twisted politics and scheming of his court that even when the simple, easy truth was offered, he could not see it. “I find myself not entirely comfortable with your court possessing two items in the Trove.” His gaze shifted to Nesta. “Especially when you have so many other weapons in your arsenal.”
Nesta stiffened, but Cassian didn’t so much as shift on his feet. “Rhys has his own plans, Eris. You can’t be foolish enough to think we’d tell you all of them, but I can assure you they don’t involve using the Trove.”
Nesta tried not to gape at the cool, amused voice that had come out of Cassian. A courtier’s voice. As if he’d been listening to her and Rhysand, and had perfectly replicated that combination of boredom and cruelty. Nesta couldn’t help the thrill that shot down her spine. She wanted him to use that voice in the bedroom. Wanted him to whisper like that in her ear while he—
“So you claim,” Eris said. “I suppose you’re going after the Crown now.” His hair shone like embers in the dappled light.
Cassian smirked. “We’ll tell you when you need to know. And we’ll try not to forget this time.”
Eris picked at a piece of lint on his jacket. At his side hung the dagger Rhys and Feyre had gifted him, simple and plain compared to the finery on him. Her dagger. “You’d be truly stupid to go after Briallyn directly.”
“Leave the heroics to the brutes, Eris,” Cassian said. “Wouldn’t want to risk cutting up those pretty hands.”
Eris’s fingers curled slightly on his biceps. Nesta reined in her smile. Cassian’s words had found their mark.
“And what will you do when you have all three objects in the Trove?” Eris’s brows flattened. “You can’t destroy them; and I doubt hiding them would work. Considering the danger that gathers around us, I don’t see why you wouldn’t use them.”
Nesta kept silent, content to let Cassian take the lead.
Cassian let out a soft laugh, and Nesta’s blood again sang at the mastery of it. He’d toy with Eris a bit longer. Indeed, Cassian asked coolly, “And what are you going to do to stop us?”
Eris only said, “If you fail in retrieving the Crown, you risk Briallyn using it upon you. She could turn you on each other. Make you do unspeakable things. Even reveal to her where the other two objects are. And you’d have no choice but to tell her everything.” He worried about them revealing their alliance—for his own sake. “You threaten to expose us. Do not pursue the Crown.”
“We’ll see,” Cassian said, the portrait of unruffled calm. Nesta nearly snickered as he nodded toward the dagger at Eris’s side. “We have our own ways to protect ourselves against the Crown.” Nesta hid her surprise. The weapons she Made shielded against the Trove? No one had told her such a thing.
Eris glowered. “Has this been the plan the whole time? To string me along, make me an enemy of my father, then use the Trove against all of us?”
“You made yourself an enemy of your father,” Cassian said, smiling faintly. “When he finds out, I wonder if he’ll let your hounds rip you to shreds, or if he’ll do it himself.”
Eris paled slightly. “Don’t you mean if he finds out?”
Cassian said nothing. Kept his face neutral. Nesta stifled her smugness and did the same.
Eris observed them. For the first time since Nesta had known the male, uncertainty banked the fire in his gaze.
And then he turned toward the other subject in his letter, facing Nesta before he asked, “And my offer for you?” Not one ounce of affection or longing laced his words.
Nesta lifted her chin, smirking at last. “I suppose once we have the Crown in our hands, the Night Court won’t need you after all. Neither will I.”
She could have sworn Cassian was repressing a laugh, but she kept her gaze on Eris, who went rigid, rippling with rage. “I do not appreciate being toyed with, Nesta Archeron. My offer was sincere. Stay with the Night Court and you risk your ruin.”