Again, she replayed the conversation. Each step was a different word, or motion, or scent.
Nesta was on step two thousand when she halted.
She knew what she had to do.
CHAPTER
24
Five days later, Cassian sat before the desk of the library’s high priestess and watched her enchanted pen move. He’d met Clotho a few times over the centuries—found she had a dry, wicked sense of humor and a soothing presence. He’d made a point not to stare at her hands, or at the face he’d only seen once, when Mor had brought her in so long ago. It had been so battered and bloody it hadn’t looked like a face at all.
He had no idea how it had healed beneath the hood. If Madja had been able to save it in a way she hadn’t been able to save Clotho’s hands. He supposed it didn’t matter what she looked like, not when she had accomplished and built so much with Rhys and Mor within this library. A sanctuary for females who’d endured such unspeakable horrors that he was always happy to carry out justice on their behalf.
His mother had needed a place like this. But Rhys had established it long after she’d left this world. He wondered if Azriel’s mother had ever considered coming here, or if he’d ever pushed her to.
“Well, Clotho,” he said, leaning back in the chair, surrounded by the sounds of rustling parchment and the robes of the priestesses like fluttering wings, “you asked for an audience?”
Her pen made a flourish as it finished what she’d been writing.
I have asked Nesta twice now not to practice in the library, and she has disregarded my request. For five days, she has blatantly ignored my commands to stop.
Cassian’s brows rose. “She’s practicing down here?”
Again, the pen scraped over the paper. He glanced to the open pit to his left, as if he’d spot Nesta down there. A week had passed since that madness in her bedroom, and they had not spoken of it, done nothing further. He wasn’t entirely sure it would be wise to continue.
In addition to the grueling set of exercises to hone her body, Cassian had walked her through the minutiae of hand-to-hand combat, individual steps and movements that could be assembled in endless combinations. Learning each of those steps required not just strength but focus—to remember which movement correlated with the numbered step, to let her body start to remember all on its own: a jab, a hook, a high kick … He’d lost count of how many times he’d caught her muttering at her body to remember so she didn’t need to think so hard.
But he knew she liked the punches. The kicks. A light shone in her face as her body flowed through the motions, a slingshot of strength all narrowing to a point of impact. He’d always felt that way when he did the movements correctly, like his body and mind and soul had lined up and begun singing.
Clotho wrote, Nesta has practiced constantly of late.
“Has she done any damage?”
No. But I asked her to stop, and she has not.
He suppressed his smile. Perhaps the morning lessons weren’t demanding enough. “Is her work suffering for it?”
No. That’s beside the point.
His mouth twisted to the side.
Clotho wrote, I need you to put a stop to this.
“Does it bother the others?”
It distracts them, to see someone kicking and punching at shadows.
Cassian had to duck his head so she wouldn’t read the amusement in his eyes. “I’ll talk to her. Is she down there now?” He nodded to the sloping ramp. “With your permission, of course.”
This was their safe harbor. It didn’t matter if he was a member of Rhys’s court, or that he’d come here before. Every time, he asked permission. He’d only ever failed to do so once: when Hybern’s Ravens had attacked.
Yes. I give you permission to enter. Nesta is on Level Five. Perhaps you shall manage to get through to her.
Taking that as his cue, Cassian rose. “You do know this is Nesta Archeron we’re talking about? She does nothing unless she wishes to. And she’s the least likely to listen to me.”
Clotho huffed a laugh. She has a will of iron.
“Of steel.” He smiled. “Good seeing you, Clotho.”
You as well, Lord Cassian.
“Just Cassian,” he said, as he had said so many times now.
You are a lord in good deeds. It is not a title born, but earned.
He bowed his head as he said thickly, “Thank you.”
It took him until he reached the section where Clotho had said Nesta would be to shake off the high priestess’s words. What they meant to him.