No sign of Elain, but before I could ask, Nesta demanded, “What happened?”
Rhys glanced to me, then to Amren, who had shot to her feet and was now watching us with the same expression as Nesta’s. My mate said to my sister, “There was a battle. We won.”
“We know that,” Amren said, her small feet near-silent on the rugs as she strode for us. “What happened with Tarquin?”
Mor took a breath to say something about Varian that would likely not end well for any of us, so I cut in, “Well, he didn’t try to slaughter us on sight, so … things went decently?”
Rhys gave me a bemused look. “The royal family remains alive and well. Tarquin’s armada suffered losses, but Cresseida and Varian were unscathed.”
Something tight in Amren’s face seemed to relax at the words—his careful, diplomatic words.
But Nesta was glancing between us all, her back still stiff, mouth a thin line. “Where is he?”
“Who?” Rhys crooned.
“Cassian.”
I didn’t think I’d ever heard his name from her lips. Cassian had always been him or that one. And Nesta had been … pacing in the foyer.
As if she was worried.
I opened my mouth, but Mor beat me to it. “He’s busy.”
I’d never heard her voice so … sharp. Icy.
Nesta held Mor’s stare. Her jaw tightened, then relaxed, then tightened—as if fighting some battle to keep questions in. Mor didn’t drop her gaze.
Mor had never seemed ruffled by mention of Cassian’s past lovers. Perhaps because they’d never meant much—not in the ways that counted. But if the Illyrian warrior no longer stood as a physical and emotional buffer between her and Azriel … And worse, if the person who caused that vacancy was Nesta …
Mor said flatly, “When he gets back, keep your forked tongue behind your teeth.”
My heart leaped into a furious beat, my arms slack at my sides at the insult, the threat.
But Rhys said, “Mor.”
She slowly—so slowly—looked at him.
There was nothing but uncompromising will in Rhys’s face. “We now leave for the meeting in three days. Send out dispatches to the other High Lords to inform them. And I’m done debating where to meet. Pick a place and be done with it.”
She stared him down for a heartbeat, then dragged her gaze back to my sister.
Nesta’s face had not altered, the coldness limning it unbending. She was so still she seemed to barely be breathing. But she did not balk. She did not avert her eyes from the Morrigan.
Mor vanished with hardly a blink.
Nesta only turned and headed for the sitting room, where I noticed books had been laid on the low-lying table before the hearth.
Amren flowed in behind her, tossing a backward look over a shoulder at Rhys. The motion shifted her gray blouse enough that I caught the sparkle of red peeking beneath the fabric.
The necklace of rubies that she wore, hidden, beneath her shirt. Gifted from Varian.
But Rhys nodded to Amren, and the female asked my sister, “Where were we?”
Nesta sat in the armchair, holding herself tightly enough that the whites of her knuckles arced through her skin. “You were explaining how the territory lines were formed between courts.”
The words were distant—brittle. And—They’ve also taken up history lessons?
I’m as shocked as you are that the house is still standing.
I swallowed my laugh, linking my arm through his and tugging him down the hall. It had been a while since I’d seen him so … dirty. We both needed a bath, but there was something I had to do first. Needed to do.
Behind us, Amren murmured to Nesta, “Cassian has gone to war many times, girl. He isn’t general of Rhys’s forces for nothing. This battle was a skirmish compared to what lies ahead. He’s likely visiting the families of the fallen as we speak. He’ll be back before the meeting.”
Nesta said, “I don’t care.”
At least she was talking again.
I halted Rhys halfway down the hall.
With so many listening ears in the house, I said down the bond, Take me to the Prison. Right now.
Rhys asked no questions.
CHAPTER
40
I had no bone to bring with me. And though every step up that hillside and then down into the dark ripped and weighed on me, I kept moving. Kept planting one foot in front of the other.
I had the feeling Rhys did the same.
Standing before the Bone Carver two hours later, the ancient death-god still wearing my would-be son’s skin, I said, “Find another object that you desire.”
The Carver’s violet eyes flared. “Why does the High Lord linger in the hall?”
“He has little interest in seeing you.”
Partially true. Rhys had wondered if the blow to his pride would work in our favor.
“You reek of blood—and death.” The Carver breathed in a great lungful of air. Of my scent.
“Pick another object than the Ouroboros,” was all I said.
Hybern knew about our histories, our would-be allies. There remained a shred of hope that he would not see the Carver coming.
“I desire nothing else than my window to the world.”
I avoided the urge to clench my hands into fists.
“I could offer you so many other things.” My voice turned low, honeyed.
“You are afraid to claim the mirror.” The Bone Carver angled his head. “Why?”
“You are not afraid of it?”
“No.” A little smile. He leaned to the side. “Are you frightened of it, too, Rhysand?”
My mate didn’t bother to answer from the hall, though he did come to lean against the threshold, crossing his arms. The Carver sighed at the sight of him—the dirt and blood and wrinkled clothes, and said, “Oh, I much prefer you bloodied up.”
“Pick something else,” I replied. And not a fool’s errand this time.
“What would you give me? Riches do me no good down here. Power holds no sway over the stone.” He chuckled. “What about your firstborn?” A secret smile as he gestured with that small boy’s hand to himself.
Rhys’s attention slid to me, surprise—surprise and something deeper, more tender—flickering on his face. Not just any boy, then.
My cheeks heated. No. Not just any boy.
“It is rude, Majesties, to speak when no one can hear you.”
I sliced a glare toward the Carver. “There is nothing else, then.” Nothing else that won’t break me if I so much as look upon it?
“Bring me the Ouroboros and I am yours. You have my word.”
I weighed the beatific expression on the Carver’s face before I strode out.
“Where is my bone?” The demand cracked through the gloom.
I kept walking. But Rhys chucked something at him. “From lunch.”
The Carver’s hiss of outrage as a chicken bone skittered over the floor followed us out.
In silence, we began the trek up through the Prison. The mirror—I’d have to find some way to get it. After the meeting. Just in case it did indeed … destroy me.
What does he look like?
The question was soft—tentative. I knew who he meant.
I interlaced my fingers through Rhysand’s and squeezed tightly. Let me show you.
And as we walked through the darkness, toward that distant, still-hidden light, I did.
We were starving by the time we returned to the town house. And since neither of us felt like waiting for food to be prepared, Rhys and I headed right for the kitchen, passing by Amren and Nesta with little more than a wave.
My mouth was already watering as Rhys shouldered open the swinging door into the kitchen.
But we beheld what was within and halted.