A Court of Rage and Fire

Chapter 5

The Moonstone Palace atop the Hewn City was silent, an enchanted warm breeze fluttering the curtains around the glass-less windows despite the snow-covered mountains outside.

Mor broke the peace first with a dark laugh. "Oh, you're going to fit right into the Autumn Court, aren't you?"

Nesta had thought that their quick exit from the dressing room was evidence of the tentative truce they had forged during weeks of dancing lessons, but if Mor just wanted her own chance to bring Nesta down...Nesta could play that game, too.

"For someone who claims to wield the power of truth, you're quite adept at enabling Rhysand's lies, Morrigan." It was only a few days ago that Mor had told Nesta that only Amren called her Morrigan, because Amren was a cranky bastard. Nesta felt like a cranky bastard, too.

"Let me tell you a truth that you need to hear," Morrigan said. "Not everyone deserves your truth. You need to learn when your truth is righteous, and when it's dangerous. If you don't, you won't last a week in Beron's house."

Nesta's cold rage turned to steel in her spine as she folded her arms and glared at Mor. She allowed her eyes to narrow only a fraction of an inch, her chin lifted ever so slightly, the picture of imperiousness.

Mor rolled her eyes and took a stiffening breath. "You know, I wanted to help you, make sure you knew what you were getting into with your harebrained attempt to get away from us. But you're just so talented at making everyone hate you."

"Good," Nesta said. As if their hatred for her could compare to the way she felt about them. Or herself, for that matter.

She was so close to never needing to see any of them again—never needing to make herself docile enough to protect their fragile, hypocritical feelings again.

She was not docile any longer.

They had believed the worst of her, so she was the worst. She would become death itself. She was fearsome.

Mor crossed one arm under her breasts while the other rose to pinch the bridge of her nose, as if relieving a headache or physically holding back a further barrage of insults from escaping her inside thoughts. It was a long moment before Mor quietly said without meeting Nesta's eyes, "You're on your own."

Nesta barely moved a muscle, only her eyes tracing Mor's movement as she crossed the room to the great moonstone door that led to the Hewn City below, flung it open—and came face-to-face with the eldest son of the Autumn Court.

Eris Vanserra breezed past Mor as if she were a butler welcoming him into a lord's home for a dinner party. Keir followed close behind.

"Morrigan," Eris greeted her with a nod of his head.

Mor did not wait for Keir to acknowledge her. She simply snorted, "Good luck with her," and slammed the great door behind her as she disappeared into the Hewn City.

Nesta stood, arms crossed and back as straight as a greatsword, looking down her nose at the two males before her.

Eris parted his lips and inclined his head toward Nesta, but was interrupted by Keir.

"I see no reason to waste any time. Let's go," he said impatiently before winnowing away.

Eris strode toward Nesta, sweeping into a mild bow and gracefully proffering his hand to her. "Shall we?"

Nesta hesitated a moment as the gravity of her decision weighed on her. She could still run after Mor into the Hewn City, and ask the hateful female to return her to her old life of inertia. Trapped in an endless cycle of resistance and obedience, bottling up all that made her Nesta in mindless tasks and training and sex with Cassian until she finally exploded in the worst moments. Over and over until not even Feyre would find it in her heart to love Nesta. Or worse...until there was nothing left of Nesta. An obedient shell, if their attempts to tame her ever succeeded.