He caught her staring and that grin became a little more knowing. But he just said to her, “If you were to name a sword, what would you call it?”
Gwyn answered, though she hadn’t been asked, “Silver Majesty.”
Emerie snorted. “Really?”
Gwyn demanded, “What would you call it?”
Emerie considered. “Foe Slayer, or something. Something intimidating.”
“That’s no better!”
Nesta’s mouth tugged upward at their teasing. Gwyn looked to her, teal eyes bright. “Which one is worse: Foe Slayer or Silver Majesty?”
“Silver Majesty,” Nesta said, and Emerie crowed with triumph. Gwyn waved a hand, booing.
“What would you call it?” Cassian asked Nesta again.
“Why do you want to know?”
“Humor me.”
She lifted a brow. But then said with all sincerity. “Killer.”
His brows flattened.
Nesta shrugged. “I don’t know. Is it necessary to name a sword?”
“Just tell me: If you had to name a sword, what would you call it?”
“Are you getting her one as a Winter Solstice present?” Emerie asked.
“No.”
Nesta hid her smile. She loved this—when the three of them ganged up on him, like lionesses around a very muscled, very attractive carcass.
“Then why keep asking?” Gwyn said.
Cassian scowled. “Curiosity.”
But his jaw tightened. It wasn’t that. There was something else. Why would he want her to name a sword?
“Back to work,” he said, clapping his hands. “For all that sass, you’re doing double time on the Valkyrie lunge hold.”
Emerie and Gwyn groaned, but Nesta surveyed Cassian for another moment before following their lead.
She was still mulling it over when they finished two hours later, drenched in sweat, legs wobbling. Emerie and Gwyn picked up their earlier conversation and aimed for the water station.
Nesta watched the two of them go, then turned to Cassian. “Why were you pestering me about naming a sword?”
His eyes remained on Gwyn and Emerie. “I just wanted to know what you’d name one.”
“That’s not an answer. Why do you want to know?”
He crossed his arms, then uncrossed them. “Do you remember when we went to the blacksmith?”
“Yes. He’s giving me a blade for Winter Solstice?”
“He’s given you three. The ones you touched.”
She arched an eyebrow.
He tapped his foot on the ground. “When you hammered those blades, you imbued them—the two swords and the dagger—with your power. The Cauldron’s power. They’re now magic blades. And I’m not talking nice, pretty magic. I’m talking big, ancient magic that hasn’t been seen in a long, long time. There are no magic weapons left. None. They were either lost or destroyed or dumped in the sea. But you just Made three of them. You created a new Dread Trove. You could create even more objects, if you wished.”
Her brows rose higher with each absurd word. “I Made three magic weapons?”
“We don’t know yet what manner of magic they have, but yes.”
She angled her head. Emerie and Gwyn halted their chatting at the water station, as if they could see or sense the shift in her. And it wasn’t the fact that she’d Made these weapons that hit her like a blow.
“Who is ‘we’？”
“What?”
“You said ‘We don’t know what manner of magic they have.’ Who is ‘we’？”
“Rhys and Feyre and the others.”
“And how long have all of you known about this?”
He winced as he realized his error. “I … Nesta …”
“How long?” Her voice became sharp as glass. The priestesses were watching, and she didn’t care.
He did, apparently. “This isn’t the place to talk about it.”
“You’re the one trying to coax a name out of me in the middle of training!” She gestured to the ring.
Her blood pounded in her ears, and Cassian’s face grew pained. “This isn’t coming out the way it should. We argued about whether to tell you, but we took a vote and it went in your favor. Because we trust you. I just … hadn’t gotten a chance to bring it up yet.”
“There was a possibility you wouldn’t even tell me? You all sat around and judged me, and then you voted?” Something deep in her chest cracked to know that every horrible thing about her had been analyzed.