Nesta rested her arms on the railing of Level Five, letting her head hang. This late, no one was up, and she didn’t know where the dormitories were, so she couldn’t seek out Gwyn. Not that she’d want to wake her friend. She doubted Gwyn would want to hear her problems anyway.
A glass of warm milk appeared on the railing beside her.
Nesta peered at the dim library. “Thank you,” she said to the House.
The Spring Court had felt stagnant. Hollow. Empty despite its growing life. But this House was alive. It welcomed her, wanted her to grow and thrive. It was a place where she might rest or explore, where she could be whoever and whatever she wished.
Was that what home was? She had never learned. But this place … Yes, home might be a good name for it. Perhaps that was what Feyre had felt, too, when she’d left the Spring Court and come to these lands. Perhaps Feyre had fallen in love with this court as much as she had its ruler.
Something stirred in the darkness below. Nesta straightened, milk forgotten.
There. In the heart of the black pit, like a tendril of smoke … something moved.
It seemed to expand and contract, throbbing a wild beat—
“I thought I’d find you here. Well, either here or the stairs to the city.”
Cassian’s voice sounded behind her, and Nesta whirled.
He went on alert, but Nesta glanced over a shoulder toward the darkness. Nothing.
It was gone. Or she’d imagined it.
“It’s nothing,” she said as he peered over the railing. “Just shadows.”
Cassian blew out a breath, leaning against the railing. “Can’t sleep?”
“I keep thinking about Tamlin.”
“You did well with him. And you did well against Eris, too. I don’t think he’ll forget that anytime soon.”
“He’s a snake.”
“Glad we agree on something.”
Nesta huffed a laugh. “I didn’t appreciate him speaking to you like that.”
“It’s how a lot of people speak to me.”
“That doesn’t make it right.” She had spoken to him like that. She had said far worse things to Cassian than Eris had. Her throat tightened.
But she said, “I can’t believe Feyre ever loved Tamlin.”
“Tamlin never deserved her.” Cassian rested a hand on her back.
“No.” Nesta again peered into the darkness below. “He didn’t.”
CHAPTER
44
“Someone remind me why this was a good idea?” Gwyn panted beside Nesta, sweat running along her face as they went over their basic sword-work.
“Remind me, too,” Emerie grunted. Nesta, too winded to speak, simply grunted with her.
Cassian chuckled, and the sound raked itself down her body. He’d taken her hand in the library last night, leading her up to her room, his eyes still soft. But that had faded when he’d spied a copy of Gwyn’s chapters about the Valkyries on Nesta’s desk. She’d been reading about them, she’d explained when he’d picked up the pages and leafed through them.
His only answer had been to kiss her deeply before lying on the bed, positioning her above his face so he could feast on her leisurely. Nesta endured all of a minute until she’d needed to touch him, and had pivoted, letting him continue devouring her while she’d stretched down his body and taken him into her mouth.
She’d never done that—feasted and been feasted upon—and he’d come on her tongue just before she’d come on his. They’d waited only a short time, panting in silence on her bed, before she climbed over him, stroking him with her hand, then her mouth, and when he was ready, she’d sunk onto him, taking in each marvelous, thick inch. With him stretching and filling her so deliciously, she’d climaxed swiftly. He’d chased her pleasure with his own, gripping her hips and bucking into her, hitting that perfect spot and sending her climaxing again.
She’d been slightly, pleasantly sore this morning, and he’d winked at her across the breakfast table, as if aware of how tender certain areas were while sitting.
There was no trace of that smug satisfaction now as Cassian said to them, “I’d thought today would be a good day to integrate the eight-pointed star, but if you’re already complaining, we can wait until next week.”
“We’re not complaining,” Gwyn said, sucking in air. “You’re just running us ragged.”
The newest priestesses working with Az were already wobbling on exhausted legs.
Cassian caught Nesta’s stare. “Some Valkyrie unit you have.”
Gwyn whirled on Nesta. “You told him?”
“No,” Nesta and Cassian said together. Cassian added, “You think I haven’t noticed the breathing techniques that let you get that calm, steady look even when me and Az are pissing you off? I sure as hell didn’t teach you that. I can recognize Mind-Stilling a mile off.”
They just gawked at him. Then Gwyn asked, “You know the technique?”
“Of course I do. I fought beside the Valkyries in the War.”
Stunned silence rippled. Nesta had forgotten how old these Fae were, how much Cassian had seen and lived through. She cleared her throat. “You knew the Valkyries personally?”
Gwyn let out a high-pitched noise that was nothing but pure excitement. Azriel, on the other side of the ring with the rest of the priestesses, half-turned at the sound, brows high.
Cassian flashed a grin. “I fought beside the Valkyries for five battles. But that stopped at the Battle of Meinir Pass.” His smile faded. “When most of them died to save it. The Valkyries knew it was a suicide mission from the start.”
Azriel returned to his charges, but Nesta had a feeling the shadowsinger monitored every word, every gesture from his brother.
Even Gwyn stopped smiling. “Why did they fight, then? Everyone there knew it would be a slaughter. But I’ve never been able to find anything on the politics behind it.”
“I don’t know. I was a grunt for an Illyrian legion; I wasn’t privy to any of the leaders’ discussions.” He looked to Nesta, who was gaping at him. “But I had … friends who fell that day.” The way he hesitated on friends made her wonder if any had been more than that. And even though they were honorable, fallen dead, something ugly twisted in her chest. “The Valkyries fought when even the bravest males would not. The Illyrians tried to forget that. I fought against males who were my superiors, arguing to help the Valkyries. They beat me senseless, chained me to a supply wagon, and left me there. When I came to, the battle was over, the Valkyries slain.”
This was the male she’d taken to her bed, who’d left again last night without kissing her good-bye. “Why didn’t you mention this when you saw the pages about them on my desk?”
“You didn’t ask.” He unsheathed his Illyrian blade. “Enough history.” He drew four lines in the dirt, all intersecting to form an eight-pointed star. “This is your map for striking with a sword. These eight maneuvers. You’ve learned six of them. You’ll learn the other two today, and we’ll start on the combinations.”
Gwyn asked, “Why don’t we use the Valkyrie techniques, if you admired them so much?”