The Blood Rite last spring had taken care of the worst of them, including the troublemaker Kallon, whose arrogance hadn’t been enough to compensate for his shoddy training when he’d been slain just miles from the slopes of Ramiel. That Cassian had heaved a sigh of relief at the news of the young male’s demise had lingered with him, but the Illyrians had stopped their grumbling soon after. And Cassian had spent the time since then rebuilding their ranks, overseeing the training of promising new warriors and making sure the seasoned ones were still in good enough shape to fight again. Replenishing their depleted numbers had at least given the Illyrians something to focus on—and Cassian knew there was little he could add anymore beyond the occasional inspection and council meeting.
So the Illyrians were at peace—or as peaceful as a warrior society could be, with their constant training. Which was what Rhys wanted. Not just because a rebellion would be a disaster, but because of this. What he knew Rhys was about to say.
“I think it’s time for you to take on bigger responsibilities.”
Cassian grimaced. There it was.
Rhys chuckled. “You can’t honestly mean to tell me you didn’t know the Illyrian situation was a test?”
“I’d hoped not,” he grumbled, tucking in his wings.
Rhys smirked, though he quickly sobered. “Nesta is not a test, though. She’s … different.”
“I know.” Even before she’d been Made, he’d seen it. And after that terrible day in Hybern … He’d never forgotten the Bone Carver’s whispered words in the Prison.
What if I tell you what the rock and darkness and sea beyond whispered to me, Lord of Bloodshed? How they shuddered in fear, on that island across the sea. How they trembled when she emerged. She took something—something precious. She ripped it out with her teeth.
What did you wake that day in Hybern, Prince of Bastards?
That final question had chased him from slumber more nights than he cared to admit.
Cassian made himself say, “We haven’t seen a hint of her power since the war. For all we know, it vanished with the Cauldron’s breaking.”
“Or maybe it’s dormant, as the Cauldron is now asleep and safely hidden in Cretea with Drakon and Miryam. Her power could rise at any moment.”
A chill skittered down Cassian’s spine. He trusted the Seraphim prince and the half-human woman to keep the Cauldron concealed, but there would be nothing they or anyone could do to control its power if awoken.
Rhys said, “Be on your guard.”
“You sound like you’re afraid of her.”
“I am.”
Cassian blinked.
Rhys lifted a brow. “Why do you think I sent you to get her this morning?”
Cassian shook his head, unable to help his laugh. Rhys smiled, lacing his fingers behind his head and leaning back in his seat.
“You need to get out in the practice ring more, brother,” Cassian told him, surveying his friend’s powerful body. “Don’t want that mate of yours to find any soft bits.”
“She never finds any soft bits when I’m around her,” Rhys said, and Cassian laughed again.
“Is Feyre going to kick your ass for what you said earlier?”
“I already told the servants to clear out for the rest of the day as soon as you take Nesta up to the House.”
“I think the servants hear you fighting plenty.” Indeed, Feyre had no hesitation when it came to telling Rhys that he’d stepped out of line.
Rhys threw him a wicked smile. “It’s not the fighting I don’t want them hearing.”
Cassian grinned right back, even as something like jealousy tugged on his gut. He didn’t begrudge them their happiness—not at all. There were plenty of times when he’d see the joy on Rhys’s face and have to walk away to keep from weeping, because his brother had waited for that love, earned it. Rhys had gone to the mat again and again to fight for that future with Feyre. For this.
But sometimes, Cassian saw that mating ring, and the portrait behind the desk, and this house, and just … wanted.
The clock chimed ten thirty, and Cassian rose. “Enjoy your not-fighting.”
“Cassian.”
The tone stopped him.
Rhys’s face was carefully calm. “You didn’t ask what bigger responsibilities I have in mind for you.”
“I assumed Nesta was big enough,” he hedged.
Rhys gave him a knowing look. “You could be more.”
“I’m your general. Isn’t that enough?”