Cassian refrained from observing that both sisters seemed to need each other—that Nesta perhaps needed Feyre more than she realized. And from mentioning that this mess between the two females hurt him more than he could express.
Feyre sighed. “That’s my long way of saying that if Nesta hated you … I know what it looks like, and she doesn’t hate you.”
“She might after what I said to her tonight.”
“Azriel filled me in.” Feyre rubbed her face again. “I don’t know what to do. How to help her.”
“Three days in and I’m already at my wits’ end,” he said.
They sat in silence, the wind drifting past them. Mist gathered on the Sidra far below, and white plumes of smoke from countless chimneys rose to meet it.
Feyre asked, “So what do we do?”
He didn’t know. “Maybe the library work will be enough to pull her out of this.” But even as he spoke the words, they rang false.
Feyre apparently agreed. “No, in the library she can hide in the silence and amongst the shelves. The library was meant to balance what the training does.”
He rolled his shoulders. “Well, she said she’s not training in that miserable village, so we’re at an impasse.”
Feyre sighed again. “Seems like it.”
But Cassian paused. Blinked once, and peered down at the training ring before him.
“What?”
He snorted, shaking his head. “I should have known.”
A tentative smile bloomed on Feyre’s mouth, and Cassian leaned in to kiss her cheek. He only got within an inch of her face before his lips met night-kissed steel.
Right—the shield. “That level of protection is insane.”
She smoothed her thick cream sweater. “So is Rhys.”
Cassian sniffed, trying and failing to detect her scent. “He’s got your scent shielded, too?”
Feyre grinned. “It’s all part of the same shield. Helion wasn’t joking about it being impenetrable.”
And despite everything, Cassian grinned back. Memory washed over him from when he’d met her in the dining room several levels below, this girl who would become his High Lady. She’d been so horribly thin then, so dead-eyed and withdrawn that it had taken all his self-control not to fly to the Spring Court and rip Tamlin limb from limb.
Cassian shook the thought away, focusing instead on the revelation before him.
One last time. He’d try one last time.
CHAPTER
12
Nesta stood in the training ring atop the House of Wind and scowled. “I thought we were going up to Windhaven.”
Cassian strode over to the rope ladder laid out on the ground and straightened a rung. “Change of plans.” No trace of that red-hot anger had remained on his face this morning when she’d walked into the breakfast room. Azriel was already gone, and Cassian hadn’t said a word about why he’d left. Something about the queens, presumably, judging by what she’d heard the previous night.
When she’d finished her porridge, she’d looked for any sign of Morrigan, but the female had never appeared. And Cassian had led her here, not speaking on the walk up.
Everyone hates you. The words had lingered, like a bell that wouldn’t stop ringing.
He finally clarified, “Mor’s gone back to Vallahan, and Rhys and Feyre are busy. So there’s no one to winnow us to Windhaven. We’ll be training here today.” He gestured to the empty ring. Free of any watching eyes. He added with a sharp grin that made her swallow, “Just you and me, Nes.”
Nesta had said last night she wasn’t training at the village. She’d said it multiple times, Cassian had realized. She wasn’t training at that miserable village.
He should have realized it days ago. He knew her better than that, after all.
Nesta might be willing to face down the King of Hybern himself, but she was proud as all hell. Appearing foolish, making herself vulnerable—she’d rather die. Would rather sit on a freezing rock in the icy wind for hours than look like a fool in front of anyone, especially arrogant warriors predisposed to mock any female who attempted to fight like them.
It didn’t matter to him where she trained. So long as she began the training.
If she refused today, he didn’t know what he’d do.
The morning sun beat down, promising a warm day, and Cassian removed his leather jacket before rolling up a shirtsleeve. “Well?” he asked, lifting his eyes to her face.
“I …”
The hesitation made his chest tighten unbearably. But he stomped on that hope, slowly folding his other sleeve. He wondered if she noticed his fingers trembling slightly.