acourtofbloodandflame

[acourtofbloodandflame]

Chapter I

“He knew why he’d come here, why he always came here . For all that Amren taunted him about being an Illyrian brute, he knew his own mind, his own heart. Devlon was a fairer camp-lord than most. But for the females who were less fortunate, who were preyed upon or cast out, there was little mercy. So training these women, giving them the resources and confidence to fight back, to look beyond their campfires . . . it was for her. For the mother buried here, perhaps buried nowhere. So it might never happen again. So his people, whom he still loved despite their faults, might one day become something more. Something better.

The unmarked, unknown grave in this pass was his reminder. Cassian stood in silence for long minutes before turning his gaze westward. As if he might see all the way to Velaris.

Rhys wanted him home for the Solstice, and he’d obey.

Even if Nesta-- 

Nesta.

Even in his thoughts, her name clanged through him, hollow and cold. Now wasn’t the time to think of her. Not here.

He very rarely allowed himself to think of her, anyway. It usually  didn’t end well for whoever was in the sparring ring with him.

He wasn’t a fool. Nesta had been human, she’d seen her sister taken and turned fae, she’d been bound and dragged from her home below the wall by fae hands, she’d been cauldron-made against her will. Her hatred of him and his ilk, her fear, her anger, he understood them all. That the rest of the court, her own sisters, even Rhys who had walked with Feyre through her own similar journey, that they all expected her to simply forgive, forget . . . He shook his head. 

He’d obey. He’d go to Solstice and be the jester they expected him to be, but it didn’t change how he felt, did nothing to soothe the unbridled rage he felt on her behalf, did nothing to salve the hurt he felt for her. It had cracked something in him, the unwavering loyalty he’d sworn to his court had begun to falter with Nesta; first with the stories his High Lady had spun of her sisters, and now this. 

“She’ll be there,” Rhys had said, grinding his teeth, “and she’ll be pleasant. She owes Feyre that much.”

Nesta had been prepared to give Feyre, give this court her life, she had tended to his soldiers in the last war. Yet this was the repayment she got? That she owed Feyre her smiles? The mating bond had blinded Rhys. 

Cassian wasn’t afraid of the mating bond he had scented when he’d first met Nesta below the wall.  But this was why he wanted nothing to do with it, a force he didn’t understand, a force he’d seen destroy Rhys’s mother, a force he’d seen destroy Tamlin’s mother, a force now blinding his blood brother distilling his political counsel to his mate’s voice alone. 

Feyre had been hurting, a girl of twenty who knew nothing of Prythian’s history. She had been thrust into the role of High Lady with little understanding of the Night Court territories beyond the glittering parts of Velaris. She knew little of the storm brewing in Illyria, knew little of the wounds that festered in the Hewn City. She was his High Lady and he’d obey but he saw her missteps all too clearly. 

Illyrian camp lords had marked the opulent wealth on display at the riverfront estate when Rhys had summoned them for a meeting, traders who reached Illyria had talked of the riches of Velaris while Illyria lay in destitution. Mor, his High Lady’s right hand woman only deigned to visit the Hewn City when it suited their needs. She let Keir and his ilk rule over the lesser fae who dwelt there. 

Cassian shut his eyes and let out a long frustrated sigh. 

Nesta. She saw it all too. He’d heard it in her cutting words to Feyre, in her dislike of Rhys. He didn’t care if she laughed with his inner circle when those laughs rang so hollow. He didn’t care if she adjusted. He didn’t care about the mating bond. He wanted to be her friend and ally; this female brimming with irrepressible power. Together, he wanted to right the imbalance the last war had left in its wake. 

He had not forgotten, as the others had, that she had taken a stand against the human queens even when fear of their retribution had been sour on her scent. He had not forgotten her words to the High Lords either, the ferocity with which she’d sought to protect her new world and her old. 

He had not forgotten who Nesta was even if she now wanted to. He would keep reaching out.