That thing deep in Nesta stirred, but she ignored it, pushed it down as best she could without the distraction of music or sex or wine. She took a sip of her water, letting it cool her throat, her belly, and supposed that would have to be enough.
“What’d Rhys say about it?” Cassian asked around a mouthful of food.
“Who do you think insisted I not risk a base over there?”
“Protective bastard.” A note of affection rang in Cassian’s words, though.
Silence fell again. Azriel nodded at her. “What happened to you?”
She knew what he meant: the black eye that was finally fading. Her hands and chin had healed, along with the bruising on her body, but the black eye had turned greenish. By tomorrow morning, it’d be gone entirely. “Nothing,” she said without looking at Cassian.
“She fell down the stairs,” Cassian said, not looking at her, either.
Azriel’s silence was pointed before he asked, “Did someone … push you?”
“Asshole,” Cassian growled.
Nesta lifted her eyes from her plate enough to note the amusement in Azriel’s gaze, even though no smile graced his sensuous mouth.
Cassian went on, “I told her earlier today: if she’d bother to train, she’d at least have bragging rights for the bruises.”
Azriel took a calm sip of his water. “Why aren’t you training, Nesta?”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
Cassian muttered, “Don’t waste your breath, Az.”
She glared at him. “I’m not training in that miserable village.”
Cassian glared right back. “You’ve been given an order. You know the consequences. If you don’t get off that fucking rock by the end of this week, what happens next is out of my hands.”
“So you’ll tattle to your precious High Lord?” she crooned. “Big, tough warrior needs oh-so-powerful Rhysand to fight his battles?”
“Don’t you fucking talk about Rhys with that tone,” Cassian snarled.
“Rhys is an asshole,” Nesta snapped. “He is an arrogant, preening asshole.”
Azriel sat back in his seat, eyes simmering with anger, but said nothing.
“That’s bullshit,” Cassian spat, the Siphons on the backs of his hands burning like ruby flames. “You know that is bullshit, Nesta.”
“I hate him,” she seethed.
“Good. He hates you, too,” Cassian shot back. “Everyone fucking hates you. Is that what you want? Because congratulations, it’s happened.”
Azriel let out a long, long breath.
Cassian’s words pelted her, one after another. Hit her somewhere low and soft, and hit hard. Her fingers curled into claws, scraping along the table as she flung back at him, “And I suppose now you’ll tell me that you are the only person who doesn’t hate me, and I’m supposed to feel something like gratitude, and agree to train with you.”
“Now I tell you I’m done.”
The words rumbled between them. Nesta blinked, the only sign of surprise she’d allow.
Azriel tensed, as if surprised as well.
But she sliced into Cassian before he could go on. “Does that mean you’re done panting after me as well? Because what a relief that will be, to know you’ve finally taken the hint.”
Cassian’s muscled chest heaved, his throat working. “You want to rip yourself apart, go right ahead. Implode all you like.” He stood, meal half-finished. “The training was supposed to help you. Not punish you. I don’t know why you don’t fucking get that.”
“I told you: I’m not training in that miserable village.”
“Fine.” Cassian stalked out, his pounding steps fading down the hall.
Alone with Azriel, Nesta bared her teeth at him.
Azriel watched her with that cool quiet, keeping utterly still. Like he saw everything in her head. Her bruised heart.
She couldn’t bear it. So she stood, only two bites taken from her food, and left the room as well.
She returned to the library. The lights blazed as brightly as they had during the day, and a few lingering priestesses wandered the levels. She found her cart, filled again with books needing to be shelved.
No one spoke to her, and she spoke to no one as she began to work, with only the roaring silence in her head for company.
Amren had been wrong. Keep reaching out your hand was utter bullshit when the person it was extended to could bite hard enough to rip off fingers.
Cassian sat on the flat top of the mountain in which the House of Wind had been built, peering down into the open-air training ring beneath him. The stars glinted overhead, and a brisk autumn breeze that whispered of changing leaves and crisp nights flowed past him. Below, Velaris was a golden sparkle, accented along the Sidra with a rainbow of color.