A Court of Rage and Fire

Chapter 1

Part I

Prythian, the day after Winter Solstice.

✦✦✦

Nesta opened her eyes.

She knew she was warm and content, though it took her a moment to remember the reason. To remember what had passed between her and Cassian last night.

You're mine.

And I am yours.

Cassian had slipped out perhaps an hour before, murmuring that he couldn't be late to the annual snowball fight, and that he would return after a few days of rounds through Illyria. General duty called. He had vanished without so much as a farewell kiss.

His warmth still lingered not just between the sheets, but in the pleasant soreness between her legs. Despite the soreness—not just from Cassian, but still from the dancing a few days earlier, too—Nesta felt rejuvenated, alive. Gods, she even felt a little generous. And she knew exactly what she wanted to do with the brisk winter day.

The House seemed to agree. It had laid out a warm cloak, her favorite day dress, and sensible boots, the type that she'd need where she was going. A steaming mug of tea, a bowl of hot oatmeal, and her current book lay on the table by the window where she liked to take her breakfast when Cassian and Azriel weren't around to drag her to training. Nesta ate so quickly that she barely finished a chapter during breakfast, and she was so rushed in dressing that she could tell her cheeks were blushed even before she got to the stairs.

By the time Nesta was not even halfway down the stairs, the pleasant afterglow in her legs had turned into a true burn. But her heart was steady and pulled her toward her errand in town.

Down and down and down she went.

Nesta hummed her favorite song from the Symphonia, the one that she and Cassian had danced to the other night, and timed her steps to the music. Strangely, it kept her breathing rhythmic despite the exertion. She'd have to try music during her training exercises. She made a game of it: how much humming she could do before she truly emptied her lungs, how full she could fill herself on each breath.

She passed seven thousand stairs. Eight thousand.

Her hums evolved into deep, powerful breaths. She did not lose pace. She was excited to walk around the city, in the fresh snow and morning light. Hell, she was even excited to see her sisters afterward.

And maybe, just maybe, she could like the person she was today.

She was smiling when the stairs vanished and were replaced by a door.

✦✦✦

A couple hours later, her arms filled with a motley assortment of rectangular packages, Nesta rested a moment on the porch of the River House. Despite her overall glowing feeling of love for the Night Court this morning, she still felt a tiny inkling of anxiety. She had never called on her sister's Court unannounced. Even though the last few days had passed rather pleasantly, she was unsure if they really want to see more of her. Even if she came bearing tokens of good will.

She had passed the morning in the bookshop, spending the first dozen or so of the credits Feyre and Elain had given her on everyone but herself. A thick book of what her human family would have called fairy tales—did Fae still call them fairy tales?—with whimsically painted illustrations, for Feyre and Rhys. Not technically for the baby, as it was ill luck to gift before birth, but she hoped they would read the stories to the child. A guide book of herbs and their magical and mundane uses, so old it was browned by time, for Elain. Fashion history for Mor, though Nesta supposed five-hundred-year-old Mor had already lived through much of it. A gilded stationery set for Amren to write letters to Varian. As for Azriel and Cassian, she was not entirely sure if they read much, other than dull strategy books, of which there were few in the bookshop. They did try to encourage pleasure reading there, after all. But the bookshop had allowed her to use credits toward the confectioneries they sold in the little reading lounge in the front of the store. She had noticed from their meals together in the House of Wind that Azriel had a hearty love for dessert, and if Cassian had less of a sweet tooth, well, maybe he'd be eager to eat a few off her bare skin when he returned. She had asked the bookseller to wrap each item for her, and Nesta had painstakingly written everyone's name on their gift with the beautiful calligraphy her mother had drilled into her so long ago.

Nesta debated leaving the gifts on the porch as if to say, I'm a coward and also didn't have any money to buy Solstice gifts until you gave me shop credit. But then she remembered how lovely it had been to spend time with them yesterday, and how it had made her a bit nostalgic for the days she and her sisters had shared in their human childhood. She expected that Mor and Amren might have slept in after the late night, and that the bat boys would likely still be at the mountain cabin, depending on how quickly the snowball fight had been won. But she at least hoped to see Feyre and Elain.

So Nesta knocked, and waited. No answer. The servants would have the day off since the Inner Circle liked to recover quietly from all the Solstice partying, so she tested the knob. Although Nesta expected it to be locked and enchanted, it turned easily, likely having been spelled to allow family members in as they wished. She found an empty living room. Thinking to perhaps find Elain in the garden, where she still liked to sit even in winter with little tending to do, Nesta began to head toward the back door.

But the sound of voices behind an imposing, closed door stopped her. It sounded like everyone was in there, all arguing and talking at once.

Nesta knew the door. It was Rhysand's office, which was often used as a formal, private meeting room. Not so private that she couldn't hear from right outside the door, however. Rhysand apparently hadn't thought to seal the room with no servants around and the House being enchanted against unwelcome guests.

She might have been added to the list of welcome guests, but Nesta was sure they hadn't expected her.

Imagining her presence would be an unwelcome interruption, she almost decided to take the cowardly route of leaving the presents at the door, so she could scurry back to the bookshop to pick up a book for herself and enjoy the reading lounge before making the climb back up the stairs. But a word caught her attention. Her name.

"Nesta's debts—" came from Amren's voice.

"—her choice—!" Definitely Mor.

"—not having this conversation!" Cassian's impassioned voice roared above the others.

Then, there was silence and a rush of air from the small space between the parquet floor and the door. Feyre must have taken the air out of the room to quiet everyone for a moment, so that her mate could regain control.

Nesta moved closer to the door as a gaping black hole formed in her chest.

Rhysand's voice came on a thin strand of air through the keyhole where Nesta now pressed her ear. Even with her Fae hearing, the door and walls were thick and well-built, and she did not want to miss another word. Rhysand's was no longer the voice of a male arguing with his family, but the pompous voice of a High Lord speaking with absolute power.

"We will put it to vote."