Amren gazed at the blades. “It has been … It has been such a long time, but … yes.”
“Someone please explain,” Azriel said, peering at the three blades from a safe distance.
Cassian forced himself to sit perfectly still as Rhys dragged a hand through his black hair. “Once, the High Fae were more elemental, more given to reading the stars and crafting masterpieces of art and jewelry and weaponry. Their gifts were rawer, more connected to nature, and they could imbue objects with that power.”
Cassian instantly knew where this was headed. “Nesta put her power in those swords?”
“No one has been able to create a magic sword in more than ten thousand years,” Amren said. “The last one Made, the great blade Gwydion, vanished around the time the last of the Trove went missing.”
“This sword isn’t Gwydion,” Cassian said, well aware of the myths regarding the sword. It had belonged to a true Fae High King in Prythian, as there had been in Hybern. He had united the lands, its people—and for a while, with that sword, peace had reigned. Until he had been betrayed by his own queen and his fiercest general, and lost the sword to them, and the lands fell into darkness once more. Never again to see another High King—only High Lords, who ruled the territories that had once answered to the king.
“Gwydion is gone,” Amren said, a shade sadly, “or has been gladly missing for millennia.” She nodded toward the great sword. “This is something new.”
Azriel said, “Nesta created a new magic sword.”
“Yes,” Amren said. “Only the Great Powers could do that—Gwydion was given its powers when the High Priestess Oleanna dipped it into the Cauldron during its crafting.”
Cassian’s blood chilled, waves rippling over his skin. “One touch from Nesta’s magic while the blade was still hot …”
“And the blade was infused with it.”
“Nesta didn’t know what she was doing,” Cassian said. “She was letting off some steam.”
“Which might be worse,” Amren said. “Who knows what emotions she poured into the blades with her power? It might have shaped them into instruments of such feelings—or it might have been the catalyst to release her power. There is no way of knowing.”
“So we use the sword,” Cassian said, “and figure it out.”
“No,” Amren countered sharply. “I wouldn’t dare draw these blades. Especially not the great sword. I can feel power clustering there. Did she work on that one longest?”
“Yes.”
“Then it is to be treated as an object of the Dread Trove. A new Trove.”
“You can’t be serious.”
Amren’s brows flattened. “The Dread Trove was forged by the Cauldron. Nesta possesses the Cauldron’s powers. So anything she crafts and imbues with her power becomes a new Trove. At this point, I wouldn’t so much as eat a piece of bread if she’d toasted it.”
They all stared at the three blades atop the desk.
Azriel said, “People will kill for this power. Either kill her to stop it, or kill us to capture her.”
“Nesta forged a new Trove,” Cassian said, reining in his rage at the truth of Azriel’s words. “She could create anything.” He nodded to Rhys. “She could fill our arsenals with weapons that would win us any war.” Briallyn, Koschei, and Beron wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Which is why Nesta must not learn about it,” Amren said.
Cassian demanded, “What?”
Amren’s gray eyes held steady. “She cannot know.”
Rhys said, “That seems like a risk. What if, unaware, she creates more?”
“What if, in one of her moods,” Amren challenged, “Nesta creates what she pleases just to spite us?”
“She’d never do that,” Cassian said hotly. He pointed at her. “You fucking know it, too.”
“Nesta would create not a Dread Trove,” Amren said, unfazed by his snarling, “but a Trove of Nightmares.”
“I can’t lie to her,” Cassian said, looking to Rhys. “I can’t.”
“You don’t need to lie,” Amren answered. “Simply don’t volunteer the information.”
He appealed to Rhys, “You’re all right with this? Because I’m sure as hell not.”
“Amren’s order holds,” Rhys said, and for a heartbeat, Cassian hated him. Hated the mistrust and wariness he beheld on Rhys’s face.