“Feyre Cursebreaker would not forgive me for killing her sister.”
“So you do this to gain her favor?”
“Does it matter? I swear an oath on Enalius himself not to kill you or whoever is with you. Take it or leave it.”
“Not to kill us or harm us in any way. Or have anyone you know do so, either.”
A slight smile. “You adapted to the rules of the Fae quickly. But yes. I swear that, too.”
Nesta’s throat bobbed as she weighed the male’s expression. Glanced to the hidden cave entrance behind him.
“I need help carrying her.”
They didn’t risk a fire in the cave, but the male, whose name was Balthazar, offered his thick wool cloak to cover Emerie. Nesta slid Emerie into the dead male’s clothing, leaving herself wearing only the leather jacket, and though it went against every instinct, she allowed Balthazar to sit on her other side, his warmth leaking into her chilled body.
“When dawn comes, be gone,” Nesta said into the dark of the musty, leaf-filled cave as night fell.
“If we survive the night, I’ll be glad to go,” Balthazar said. “The beasts of the woods might smell your friend’s blood and track us right to this cave.”
Nesta slid her gaze to the young warrior. “Why aren’t you out there killing everyone?”
“Because I want to reach the mountain and become Oristian. But if I meet someone I’d like to kill, I won’t hesitate.”
Silence fell, and remained.
Within moments, branches snapped.
Balthazar’s body tightened, his breath becoming impossibly quiet. In the pitch-black of the cave, the only sounds were the rustle of their clothes and the leaves beneath them.
A howl rent the night, and Nesta flinched, clutching Emerie closer to her side.
But the snapping branches and howling moved off, and Balthazar’s body relaxed. “It’s just the first,” he whispered into the blackness. “They’ll prowl until dawn.” She didn’t want to know what was out there. Not as screaming began in the distance. “Some can climb trees,” Balthazar murmured. “The dumb warriors forget that.”
Nesta stayed silent.
“I’ll take first watch,” the warrior said. “Rest.”
“Fine.” But she did not dare close her eyes.
Nesta remained awake the entire night. If Balthazar knew she hadn’t been sleeping during his watch, he didn’t say. She’d used the time to do her Mind-Stilling exercises, which kept the edge off, but not entirely.
The crackle of brush under the paws and talons of stalking beasts and the screaming of the Illyrians continued for hours.
When Balthazar nudged her with a knee and she feigned waking, he only murmured that he was going to sleep and tucked himself against her. Nesta let herself soak up his warmth against the frigid cave air. Whether his deep breaths were true sleep or faked, as hers had been, she didn’t care.
Nesta kept her eyes open, even when they became unbearably sore and heavy. Even when the warmth from her two companions threatened to lull her to sleep.
She would not sleep. Wouldn’t lower her guard for one moment.
Dawn eventually leaked through the lattice of branches, and the screams and howling faded, then vanished. A quick inspection in the dim light revealed that though her friend remained unconscious, the wound on Emerie’s head had stopped bleeding. But—
“You’ll find plenty of clothes today,” Balthazar said, seeming to read her mind. He stepped into the daylight and peered around, then cursed under his breath. “Plenty of clothes.”
The words sent Nesta scrambling out of the cave.
Winged bodies lay everywhere, many half-eaten.
A brisk wind ruffled Balthazar’s dark hair as he walked away. “Good luck, Archeron.”
Eris was nowhere to be found in the lands surrounding the queens’ castle. But Azriel had encountered a passing human merchant on the road from the palace, who hadn’t hesitated when he’d been asked whether a Fae male had recently arrived. He readily supplied that a red-haired Fae male had been dragged into the castle the night before last. He’d heard in the tavern that the male was to be taken soon to another site.
“We’ll wait here until they leave the castle. Then trail them from the cloud cover,” Azriel said, face dark.
Cassian grunted his agreement and dragged a hand through his hair. He’d barely slept, thinking of Nesta, and of Feyre and Rhys.
Cassian and Azriel hadn’t discussed their brother’s bargain, which would doom Rhys should Feyre not survive the labor. To lose her would be unbearable, but to also lose Rhys … Cassian couldn’t think of it without feeling sick. Perhaps Amren was working on some way to undo the bargain—if anyone could think of a way, it would be her. Or Helion, he supposed.