Azriel returned to his charges, but Nesta had a feeling the shadowsinger monitored every word, every gesture from his brother.
Even Gwyn stopped smiling. “Why did they fight, then? Everyone there knew it would be a slaughter. But I’ve never been able to find anything on the politics behind it.”
“I don’t know. I was a grunt for an Illyrian legion; I wasn’t privy to any of the leaders’ discussions.” He looked to Nesta, who was gaping at him. “But I had … friends who fell that day.” The way he hesitated on friends made her wonder if any had been more than that. And even though they were honorable, fallen dead, something ugly twisted in her chest. “The Valkyries fought when even the bravest males would not. The Illyrians tried to forget that. I fought against males who were my superiors, arguing to help the Valkyries. They beat me senseless, chained me to a supply wagon, and left me there. When I came to, the battle was over, the Valkyries slain.”
This was the male she’d taken to her bed, who’d left again last night without kissing her good-bye. “Why didn’t you mention this when you saw the pages about them on my desk?”
“You didn’t ask.” He unsheathed his Illyrian blade. “Enough history.” He drew four lines in the dirt, all intersecting to form an eight-pointed star. “This is your map for striking with a sword. These eight maneuvers. You’ve learned six of them. You’ll learn the other two today, and we’ll start on the combinations.”
Gwyn asked, “Why don’t we use the Valkyrie techniques, if you admired them so much?”
“Because I don’t know them.”
Nesta smirked. “If we are to be Valkyries born again,” she said, “maybe we should combine the Illyrian and Valkyrie techniques.”
She’d meant it in jest, but the words rumbled through the space, as if she’d spoken some great truth, something that made fate sit up. Azriel turned to them fully this time, eyes narrowed. Like those shadows had whispered something to him.
A chill breathed down Nesta’s spine.
Cassian stared into their faces. Like he beheld something he hadn’t seen there before.
At last, he said thickly, “Today, we learn Illyrian techniques.” He nodded to Gwyn. “Tomorrow, you bring me whatever information you have on the Valkyries’ style.”
“It’s an enormous amount,” Gwyn said. “Merrill is writing a book on it. I could get you a copy of the current manuscript, since it has most of the information in one place.”
Cassian seemed to gain control of whatever emotion had taken hold of him, for he rubbed his jaw. Nesta’s blood thrummed in response. “Something new,” he said more to himself than to them. “Something old becoming something new.”
He grinned again, and Nesta found her mouth twitching to answer with a grin of her own.
Especially as Cassian’s eyes brightened. “All right, ladies. First lesson about Valkyries: they don’t whine about being sweaty.”
“Valkyries?” Feyre asked from across the dining table in the river house, fork half-raised to her lips. “Truly?”
“Truly,” Cassian said, sipping from his wine at dinner that evening. He’d come down to the manor to discuss what to do with the weapons Nesta had Made—to learn what Feyre’s vote would be. She hadn’t hesitated before saying that Nesta should be informed. But when she’d volunteered to tell her, Cassian had stepped in. He’d tell Nesta, when the moment was right.
The only one who hadn’t voted was Mor, who remained in Vallahan to keep coaxing its rulers to sign the new treaty, her absence marked by a place of honor set for her at the table.
“We never heard of them in the human lands,” Elain said. She’d been as riveted as Feyre to hear Cassian tell of it: first of Nesta and the others’ interest, then of the brief history of the female fighters. “They must have been fearsome creatures.”
“Some were as lovely as you, Elain,” Rhys said from beside Feyre, “from the outside. But once they set foot into the arena of battle, they became as bloodthirsty as Amren.”
Amren lifted her glass in salute. “I liked those females. Never let a male boss them around—though I could have done without their foolish king. He is as much to blame for their deaths as the Illyrians who walked away during that battle.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Cassian said. It had taken him a long, long time to get over that battle. He’d never been back to that pass in the Gollian Mountains, but rumor claimed its rocks remained barren, as if the earth still mourned the females who’d given their lives with no hesitation, who had laughed at death and embraced life so fully. His first lover beyond the Night Court’s borders had been from the Valkyries’ ranks—a bold-hearted female named Tanwyn with a smile like a storm. She’d ridden into that battle at the head of the Valkyries and had never come out of the pass. Cassian added after a moment, “Nesta would have fit in well with them.”