“Busybody.”
Az took a bite. “You let her suck your cock in the middle of the dining room. At a table I’m currently using to eat my dinner. I’d say that entitles me to an opinion.”
Cassian laughed, his earlier gloom chased away. By her. All by her. “Fair enough.”
CHAPTER
27
Nesta hadn’t the faintest idea how she’d look Cassian in the face the next morning, but Gwyn provided a buffer she was all too eager to use. She met the priestess on the steps up to the training pit, and Gwyn offered her a bright smile. “Morning.”
“Morning,” Nesta said, falling into step with her. “Anything on the Trove?”
Gwyn shook her head. She still wore her robes, though she’d taken to tying back her hair in a tight braid. “I even asked Merrill last night. She broke through that glamour, but beyond a few mentions in old texts, she couldn’t find anything more than what you already know. Not a hint about when or where they were lost, or who lost them. We can’t even uncover who last possessed them, since it’s information that goes back at least ten thousand years.”
It was always a shock to remember just how old the Fae were. How old Amren must be, to have remembered the Dread Trove objects when they were still free in the world. But apparently even Amren had no memory of who’d last used them.
Nesta shoved away the thought of the female, and the accompanying cold slice of pain.
“It might prove an impossible task,” Gwyn said, mouth twisting to one side. “Is there no other way of finding it?”
There was. It involved bones and stones. Nesta’s body locked up. “No,” she lied. “There’s no other way.”
“You’re going up to Windhaven?” Nesta found herself asking Cassian as Gwyn bade them farewell at the end of their lesson. Gwyn had started on fighting stances that morning, and it had taken enough focus from all of them that Nesta hadn’t had a moment to really speak to him alone. There had been one slightly overlong glance when she’d appeared, and that had been it.
She had no regrets about what she’d done in the dining room. Even if it had been glaringly obvious that Azriel had known what he was interrupting.
But standing here alone with Cassian … The taste of him lingered in her mouth, as if he’d branded himself onto her tongue.
She’d lain awake in bed last night thinking of every stroke, every sound he’d made, still feeling the press of his fingers into her head as he’d thrust into her mouth. The memory alone had made her slide a hand between her legs, and she’d needed to find release twice before her body calmed enough to sleep.
Cassian plucked his jacket from where he’d left it, shrugging into the black leather and scales. “I need to inspect the legions again. Make sure they’re preparing for possible conflict and that the recruits are in good shape.”
“Ah.” Their eyes met, and she could have sworn his darkened, as if remembering every delicious moment from the night before. But she shook her head, clearing away the cobwebs.
“Gwyn’s doing well,” Cassian said, nodding to the archway where the priestess had disappeared. “She’s a nice girl.”
Nesta had learned that Gwyn was twenty-eight—indeed, just a girl to him.
“I like her,” Nesta admitted.
Cassian blinked. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that about anyone.” She rolled her eyes, but he added, “It’s too bad the other priestesses won’t come.”
Nesta checked the sign-up sheet every day, but no one else had added their name. Gwyn told Nesta that she’d personally invited a few of the priestesses, but they were too scared, too unsure.
“I don’t know what I can do to encourage them,” Nesta said.
“Keep doing what you’re doing.” He finished fastening his jacket.
A brisk autumn breeze flowed past, bringing with it scents from the city below: bread and cinnamon and oranges; roast meats and salt. Nesta inhaled, identifying each one, wondering how they could all somehow combine to create a singular sense of autumn.
Nesta angled her head as an idea struck her. “If you’re stopping by Windhaven, can you do me a favor?”
Cassian stood in Emerie’s shop and made his best attempt at a nonthreatening smile as he laid out the contents of the sack he’d carried.
Emerie peered at what he placed onto her pristine counter. “Nesta gave you this?”
Technically, Nesta had informed him, the House had given it to her. But she’d asked the House for these items, intending them to be brought here. “She said it’s a gift.”