Had she gone into Velaris, night after night, not only to distract and numb herself, but to be around people who didn’t know the weight of all she carried?
Cassian reached the door, blowing out a soft breath. He’d refused to think of what she’d done to him in the dining room while they’d been training, especially with Gwyn there, but seeing Nesta’s tentative smile as she’d shoved the tea and spices into a bag had him suppressing the urge to push her against the wall and kiss her.
He had no idea where things stood with them. If they were back to a favor for a favor. She’d given him no inkling about whether she’d let him into her bed, or if she’d gotten on her knees to knock him out of the brooding he’d fallen into.
If she had, it implied some level of caring about his well-being, didn’t it? And pity. Fuck, if she’d sucked him because she pitied him—
No. It hadn’t been that. He’d seen the desire in her eyes, felt the softness of her mouth on his neck in those initial touches. It had been comfort, given in the only way she knew how.
Cassian opened the door and looked back, finding Emerie still at the counter, her hand resting on the array of spices and tea. Her eyes were solemn, her lips a tight line. She didn’t seem aware of his presence, so he took that as his cue to leave and leaped into the skies.
Nesta climbed the steps to the training ring, pondering the Dread Trove. She assumed the others had met with no better luck than she had, and if things were indeed as urgent as Azriel had claimed, then perhaps library research wasn’t the best route.
But her stomach clenched to weigh the other option, to recall what had occurred the first and only time she’d scried. Her hands shook as she climbed the last of the steps. She squeezed her fingers into fists, blowing out a steady breath through her nose.
Cassian already stood in the center of the ring. He grinned as she emerged.
It was a wider grin than his usual ones, excited and—pleased.
Nesta’s eyes narrowed as she stepped into the brightness of the ring. Gwyn was already waiting a few feet from Cassian, a smile lighting her own face.
And before them, drinking a glass at the water station, stood Emerie.
CHAPTER
28
As graceful as Gwyn had been, Emerie proved to be equally awkward and unbalanced.
“It has to do with your wings,” Cassian said with such gentleness that Nesta, balancing on one leg and sweeping the other up behind her, nearly fell into the dirt next to Emerie. “Without full use of your wings, your body compensates for its off-kilter balance in ways like that.” He nodded toward the ground-eating spill she’d taken.
Gwyn halted her own balancing. “Why?”
“The wings usually act as a counterweight.” He offered a hand to help Emerie rise. “They’re full of delicate muscles that constantly adjust and steady without us so much as thinking about it.” Emerie ignored his hand and stood herself. Cassian explained carefully, “Many of the key muscles can be impacted when someone’s wings are clipped.”
Gwyn glanced to Nesta, who tensed, frowning. Gwyn and Emerie had fallen into an easy camaraderie within minutes. That could have been due to Gwyn peppering Emerie with questions about her shop as they’d gone through the opening exercises.
Emerie dusted the dirt off the legs of her leathers, looser than the ones Nesta wore, as if she were uncomfortable with the skintight norm.
Cassian’s eyes softened. “Which of the healers clipped you?”
Emerie’s chin lifted, color stealing across her face. She met his eyes, though—with a level of directness that Nesta could only admire. “My father did it himself.”
Cassian swore, low and nasty.
Emerie said, voice cold, “I fought him, so his work became even sloppier.”
Gwyn and Nesta kept quiet as Emerie stretched out her right wing nearly all the way before it bunched and shuddered. So did Emerie’s face. “I can’t extend this one past here.” She stretched out the left wing—to barely half its length. “This is all I can get on this side.”
Cassian looked like he’d be sick. “He deserved to die in that battle. Deserved to die a long time before that, Emerie.” His Siphons glared in answer, and something wild and wicked heated in Nesta’s blood at the pure rage in his face, his growling words.
Emerie folded back her wings. “He deserved to die for far more than what he did to my wings.”
“If you’re going to come to Velaris every day, I can get Madja up here. She’s the court’s private healer.” Rhys had brought Emerie, Nesta had learned. And would return her in an hour.
Emerie only went stiffer. “I appreciate the offer, but it’s unnecessary.”
Cassian opened his mouth, but Nesta interrupted, “Enough chitchat. If we only get Emerie for an hour today, then walk us through the punching, Cassian. Let her see what she’ll need to catch up to.”
Emerie threw her a grateful look, and Nesta offered her a slight smile in return.
Cassian nodded, and from the gleam in his eye, she knew he was well aware of why she’d interrupted.
Gwyn asked Emerie, “Do you have libraries in Illyria?” Another lifeline thrown.
“No. I’ve never been in one.” The stiffness faded from Emerie’s posture, word by word.
Gwyn retied her shining hair at the nape of her neck. “Do you like to read?”
Emerie’s mouth curled upward. “I live alone, up in the mountains. I have nothing to do with my spare time except work in my garden and read whatever books I order through the mail service. And in the winter, I don’t even have the distraction of my gardening. So, yes. I like to read. I cannot survive without reading.”
Nesta grunted her agreement.
“What manner of books?” Gwyn asked.
“Romances,” Emerie said, adjusting her own hair, the thick black braid full of reds and browns in the sunlight. Nesta started. Emerie’s eyes lit. “You too? Which ones?”
Nesta rattled off her top five, and Emerie grinned, so broadly it was like seeing another person. “Have you read Sellyn Drake’s novels?”
Nesta shook her head. Emerie gasped, so dramatically that Cassian muttered something about sparing him from smut-obsessed females before heading farther into the ring. “You must read her books. You must. I’ll bring the first one tomorrow. You’ll stay up all night reading it, I swear.”
“Smut?” Gwyn asked, catching Cassian’s muttered words. There was enough hesitation in her voice to make Nesta draw up straight.
Nesta glanced at Emerie, realizing the female didn’t know about Gwyn—her history, or why the priestesses lived in the library. But Emerie asked, “What do you read?”
“Adventure, sometimes mysteries. But mostly I have to read whatever Merrill, the priestess I work with, has written that day. Not as exciting as romance, not by a long shot.”
Emerie said casually, “I can bring one of Drake’s books for you, too—one of her milder ones. An introduction to the wonders of romance.” Emerie winked at Nesta.
Nesta waited for Gwyn to refuse, but the priestess smiled. “I’d like that.”
Rhys appeared in the ring precisely when he said he would. One hour—no more, no less.