“Varian?” Amren asked. Nesta had never learned the story of how the female and the Summer Court’s Prince of Adriata had become entwined. She supposed now she never would.
“Not yet,” Rhys repeated, shaking his head. “Not until Feyre’s farther along.”
Nesta angled her head at her sister. “So you can’t do magic while pregnant?”
Feyre winced. “I can, but given my unusual set of gifts, I’m not sure how it might impact the baby. Winnowing is fine, but some other powers, when we’re still so early in the pregnancy, could strain my body dangerously.” Rhys’s hand tightened on her shoulder. “It’s a pain in the ass.” Feyre flicked at the hand gripping her arm. “As much of a pain in the ass as he’s become.”
Rhys winked at her. Feyre rolled her eyes. But then she said to Nesta, “Elain will need time to dust off her powers to try to See the Trove. But you, Nesta … You could scry again.”
Rhys added, “As swiftly as possible. Time is not our ally.”
Nesta asked Amren, “You’re not Made?”
“Not as you were,” Amren said. She gave Nesta a wicked grin. “Afraid?”
Nesta ignored the taunt. Even Cassian’s bright happiness had faded.
“What choice do I have?” Nesta asked.
If it was between her and Elain, there was no choice at all. She would always go first if it meant keeping Elain from harm. Even if she’d just hurt her sister more than she could stomach.
“You do have a choice,” Rhys said firmly. “You will always have a choice here.”
Nesta threw him a cool look. “I’ll search for it.” She glanced at her sister’s stomach, the hand idly resting atop it. “Of course I’ll search for it.”
Cassian wanted to have a word with Rhys about the Illyrian legions, so Nesta found herself walking to the front entry of the river house alone.
She’d made it halfway down the hall when Feyre called her name, and Nesta paused, right in front of the painting of Ramiel.
Feyre’s smile was tentative. “I’ll wait with you until he’s done.”
Don’t bother, Nesta almost said, but reined it in. They walked in silence to the main entry, all those paintings and portraits of everyone but her and their mother watching them.
The quiet tightened, becoming nearly unbearable as they halted in the sprawling foyer. Nesta could think of nothing to say, nothing to do with herself.
Until Feyre said, “It’s a boy.”
Nesta whipped her head toward her sister. “The baby?”
Feyre smiled. “I wanted you to know first. I told Rhys to wait until I’d told you, but …” Feyre chuckled as renewed shouts of joy echoed down the hall. “I suppose he’s telling Az and Cassian now.”
But Nesta needed a breath to sort through it: the offering of kindness Feyre had extended, what she had revealed—“How can you possibly know its sex?”
The smile faded from Feyre’s face. “During the conflict with Hybern, the Bone Carver showed me a vision of the child I’d have with Rhys.”
“How did he know?”
“I don’t know,” Feyre admitted, her hand again drifting to her stomach. “But I didn’t realize how much I wanted a boy until I knew I’d bear one.”
“Likely because having sisters was so horrible for you.”
Feyre sighed. “That’s not what I meant.”
Nesta shrugged. Feyre might say that, but the feeling was no doubt there. Everything that had just happened with Elain—
Feyre seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts. “Elain was right. We’ve become so focused on how her trauma impacted us that we forget she was the one who experienced it.”
“It was directed at me, not you.”
“I’ve been guilty of the same things, Nesta.” Sorrow dimmed Feyre’s eyes. “It was unfair for Elain to level that truth only at you.”
Nesta didn’t have an answer to that, didn’t know where to start. “Why not tell Elain about the baby’s sex first?”
“She discovered the pregnancy. I wanted you to know this part before anyone else.”
“I hadn’t realized you were keeping score.”
Feyre gave her an exasperated look. “I’m not, Nesta. I just … Do I need an excuse to share things with you? You’re my sister. I wanted to tell you before anyone else. That’s it.”
Nesta didn’t have an answer to that, either. Thankfully, Cassian’s voice filled the hallway as he bid his farewell to Rhys.
“Good luck,” Feyre said softly before rushing to meet a jubilant Cassian, and Nesta knew her sister didn’t only mean with the Dread Trove.
CHAPTER
22
“Do you think Nesta can find the Trove?” Azriel asked Cassian as they relaxed in the sitting room that separated their bedchambers, flames crackling in the hearth before them. The night had turned chill enough that they needed the fire, and Cassian, who’d always loved fall despite the pricks in the Autumn Court, savored the warmth.
“I hope so,” Cassian hedged. He couldn’t stomach the thought of Nesta putting herself in danger, but he understood her motivations entirely. If he’d had to pick between sending one of his brothers into danger or doing it himself, he would always—always—choose himself. Though he’d winced at every harsh word that had come out of Nesta’s mouth to Elain, he couldn’t fault the fear and love behind her decision. Could only admire that she had stepped up—if not for the good of the world, then to keep her sister safe.
Azriel said, “Nesta really should do a scrying.”
Cassian gazed across the space between their two armchairs. They’d sat in them, before this fire, so many times that it was an unspoken rule that Azriel’s was the one on the left, closer to the window, and Cassian’s the one to the right, closer to the door. A third sat to Azriel’s left, usually for Rhys, and a fourth to Cassian’s right, always for Mor. A lace-lined golden throw pillow adorned the fourth chair, a permanent mark of her ownership. Amren, for whatever reason, rarely stayed here long enough to see this room, so no chair had ever been held for her.
“Nesta isn’t up for a scrying,” Cassian said. “We don’t even know what power she has left.”
But Elain had confirmed it for everyone: both sisters still possessed their Cauldron-gifted powers. Whether they were as powerful as before, he had no idea.
“You do know, though,” Azriel countered. “You’ve seen it—even beyond when it glows in her eyes.”
Cassian hadn’t told anyone about the step he’d found with the clear finger holes burned into it. He wondered if Azriel had somehow learned of them, the news brought to him on his shadows’ whispers. “She’s volatile right now. The last time she did a scrying, it ended badly. The Cauldron looked at her. And then took Elain.” He’d seen every horrific memory flash before Nesta’s eyes today. And though he understood that Elain had spoken true, claiming the trauma of that memory, Cassian knew firsthand the lingering horror and pain of a loved one stolen and hurt.
Azriel stiffened. “I know. I helped rescue Elain, after all.”