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A ​Court of Silver Flames

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Sarah J. Maas
Sarah J. Maas

Sarah J. Maas is an American author known for her fantasy novels. Her works are celebrated for their rich imagination, complex characters, and gripping plots. Born on March 5, 1986, Maas has developed a passion for writing from a young age and has become a successful author in her own right. more

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“Azriel nodded at her. 'What happened to you?' She knew what he meant: the black eye that was finally fading. Her hands and chin had healed, along with the bruising on her body, but the black eye had turned greenish. By tomorrow morning, it'd be gone entirely. 'Nothing,' she said without looking at Cassian. 'She fell down the stairs,' Cassian said, not looking at her, either. Azriel's silence was pointed before he asked, 'Did someone... push you?' 'Asshole,' Cassian growled. Nesta lifted her eyes from her plate enough to note the amusement in Azriel's gaze, even though no smile graced his sensuous mouth. Cassian went on, 'I told her earlier today: if she'd bother to train, she'd at least have bragging rights for the bruises.”

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“Why aren't you training, Nesta?' 'I don't want to.' 'Why not?' Cassian muttered, 'Don't waste your breath, Az.' She glared at him. 'I'm not training in that miserable village.' Cassian glared right back. 'You've been given an order. You know the consequences. If you don't get off that fucking rock by the end of the week, what happens next is out of my hands.' 'So you'll tattle to your precious High Lord?' she crooned. 'Big, tough warrior needs oh-so-powerful Rhysand to fight his battles?' 'Don't you talk about Rhys with that tone,' Cassian snarled. 'Rhys is an asshole,' Nesta snapped. 'He is an arrogant, preening asshole.' Azriel sat back in his seat, eyes simmering with anger, but said nothing. 'That's bullshit,' Cassian spat, the Siphons on the backs of his hands burning like ruby flames. 'You know that's bullshit, Nesta.' 'I hate him,' she seethed. 'Good. He hates you, too,' Cassian shot back. 'Everyone fucking hates you. Is that what you want? Because congratulations, it's happened.' Azriel let out a long, long breath. Cassian's words pelted her, one after another. Hit her somewhere low and soft, and hit hard. Her fingers curled into claws, scraping along the table as she flung back at him, 'And I suppose now you'll tell me that you are the only person who doesn't hate me, and I'm supposed to feel something like gratitude, and agree with you?' 'Now I tell you I'm done.' The words rumbled between them. Nesta blinked, the only sign of her surprise. Azriel tensed, surprised as well. But she sliced into Cassian before he could go on. 'Does that mean you're done panting after me as well? Because what a relief that will be, to know you've finally taken the hint.' Cassian's muscled chest heaved, his throat working. 'You want to rip yourself apart, go right ahead. Implode all you like.' He stood, meal half-finished. 'The training was supposed to help you. Not punish you. I don't know why you don't fucking get that.' 'I told you: I'm not training in that miserable village.' 'Fine.' Cassian stalked out, his pounding steps fading down the hall. Alone with Azriel, Nesta bared her teeth at him. Azriel watched her with that cool quiet, keeping utterly still. Like he saw everything in her head. Her bruised heart. She couldn't bear it. So she stood, only two bites taken from her food, and left the room as well.”

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“I went into her nightmare,' Rhys peered up at Cassian. 'Why didn't you tell me you attempted a scrying today?' 'It didn't work.' And Nesta's fear and guilt had been so heavy in the room that his chest had ached. He'd left her alone afterward knowing she'd want privacy. Rhys let out a shuddering breath. 'The scrying was a trip wire. For the memories. I caught that as I went in.' His throat worked, as if he'd heave, but he held it odnw. 'She was dreaming of the Cauldron. Of... of when she went in.' Cassian had never seen Rhys at such a loss for words. 'I saw it,' Rhys whispered. 'Felt it. Everything that happened within the Cauldron. Saw her take its power with her teeth and claws and rage. And I saw... felt... what it took from her.' Rhys rubbed his face and slowly straightened. He met Cassian's stare unflinchingly, his eyes full of remorse and agony. 'Her trauma is...' Rhys's throat bobbed. 'I know,' Cassian whispered. 'I guessed,' Rhys breathed, 'but it was different to feel it.' 'What is her power?' Azriel asked. 'Death,' Rhys whispered, hands trembling again as he got to his feet and aimed toward the window, which was now repairing itself shard by shard, as if a careful, patient hand worked upon it. He gazed at the female sleeping in the bed, and fear clouded the face of the High Lord of the Night Court. 'Pure death.”

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“But then grey, watery light hit her. And the air- the air was heavy, full of slow-running water and mould and loamy earth. No wind moved around them; not even a breeze. Cassian whistled. 'Look at this hellhole.' Dropping Azriel's hand. Nesta did just that. Oorid stretched before them. She had never seen a place so dead. A place that made the still-human part of her recoil, whispering that it was wrong wrong wrong to be here. Azriel winced. The shadowsinger of the Night Court winced as the full brunt of Oorid's oppressive air and scent and stillness hit him. The three of them surveyed the wasteland. Even the Cauldron's water hadn't been so solidly black as the water here, as if it were made of ink. In the shallows mere feet away, where the water met the grass, not one blade was visible where the surface touched it. Dead trees, grey with age and weather, jutted like the broken lances of a thousand soldiers, some draped with curtains of moss. No leaves clung to their branches. Most of the branches had been cracked off, leaving jagged spears extending from the trunks. 'Not one insect,' Azriel observed. 'Not one bird.' Nesta strained to listen. Only silence answered. Empty of even a whistle of a breeze.”

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“Cassian said it might be... good if I came.' Elain's eyes flickered. 'Did Feyre pay you, like last year?' 'No.' Shame washed through her. Elain sighed, glancing over Nesta's shoulder to the open doorway across the entry. The party within, only for their small inner circle. 'Please don't upset Feyre. It's her birthday, first of all. And in her state-' 'Oh, fuck you,' Nesta snapped, and then choked. Elain blinked. Nesta blinked back, horror lurching through her. And then Elain burst out laughing. Howling, half-sobbing laughs that sent her bending over at the waist, gasping for breath. Nesta just stared, torn between questions and wanting to throw herself into the icy Sidra. 'I- I'm so sorry-' Elain held up a hand, wiping her eyes with the other. 'You've never said such a thing to me!' She laughed again. 'I think that's a good sign, isn't it?' Nesta shook her head slowly, not understanding. Elain just linked her arm through Nesta's and led her toward the family room, where Azriel stood in the doorway, monitoring them. As if he'd heard Elain's sharp laugh and wondered what had caused it.”

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“I want to train with him instead.' She could have sworn Cassian went still. Interesting. Azriel coughed into his tea. Cassian drummed his fingers on the table. 'I think you'll find that Az is even less forgiving that I am.' 'With that pretty face?' she crooned. 'I have a hard time believing that.' Azriel ducked his head, focusing on his food. 'You want to train with Az,' Cassian said tightly. 'then go ahead.' He appeared thoughtful for a moment, his eyes lighting before he added, 'Though I doubt that you'll survive a lesson with him, when you can't manage to walk down a hundred stairs without being so sore the next morning that you're unable to get out of your chair.”

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