Page 40

Cassian

Cassian hated to admit it: The Autumn Court was beautiful. Beyond beautiful. Like straying into a dream. Reds and golds and oranges all around, trees like temple pillars rising toward a crushingly blue sky, each step cushioned by velvet moss, every breath crisp and tasting of pine.

He might have enjoyed it, might have even laid himself in the glade and basked in the buttery warmth of the sun streaming through the oaks and pines, had he not stood before one of his least favorite people in Prythian.

Eris was in more finery than usual, which was saying something. Silver rings encircled his long fingers, and his usually unbound hair had been braided back in an ornate warrior’s plait. Not one thread lay out of place on his silver jacket, the embroidery so delicate it glistened like the babbling brook running through the clearing in which they stood.

“You’re late,” Eris said by way of greeting. “I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes.”

Cassian shifted his weight, checking his temper. “The winds coming down from Illyria weren’t in my favor.” A severe understatement. They’d been brutal. He was only fifteen minutes late because he’d pushed himself to near exhaustion.

But he wasn’t about to show Eris his trembling arms and legs, the stomach muscles that ached from the effort of supporting his back while he flew. Or the wings that were so tired he could barely keep them from slumping on the mossy, leaf-strewn floor.

Only pure pride held his wings upright. Even if it required almost all his concentration to do so. But Cassian still managed to say, “Do you have somewhere more important to be?”

“Yes. At my father’s hall. Helping him prepare for our most honored and holy celebration of the year.”

“Right—Autumn Equinox,” Cassian said, letting himself sound as glib and brainless as he knew Eris believed him to be. “We’re not invited to the party?”

“I hear you’re having a party of your own that day,” Eris countered coolly. “Are we not invited to that? A Naming Day for a High Lord’s child is usually an event that we all attend.”

Cassian snickered—he knew a high-born asshole like Eris would resent it from a common nobody. “You’re our enemy, remember? Why should we invite you?” He winked, nodding to the empty wilderness around them. “Feeling lonely in the woods these days, Eris?”

Eris toyed with a delicately embossed silver button on his jacket. “Here I was, thinking you saw me as a good male.” His eyes lifted to Cassian. “I thought the High Lady herself was coming to meet with me today.”

“Change of plans.” Cassian had no idea why. Feyre and Rhys had decided to go see Lucien and Jurian—a job that had initially been set aside for Az. But apparently, Az was pulled from the duty, and not only Rhys had filled in for him, but Feyre, too. Leaving Cassian to meet with this unbearable piece of garbage.

Eris asked, bored and annoyed, “What is it you came here to tell me?”

“Shit is happening on the continent,” Cassian said, not wasting more breath than necessary on this prick. “Armies are mobilizing to march south. Koschei’s all tangled up in it somehow, too, and we need solid proof of that to convince everyone else to pressure the territories to back down. Does your father know anything about it?”

“If he does, he has not confided in me.”

Cassian had been in Illyria yesterday when Feyre had sent him the order to come down here—apparently for nothing, if Eris had no more to say than that. Cassian had debated returning to Velaris last night, and flying out this morning, but what was the point? The only reason he would have returned to Velaris was to see Nesta, and these days . . .

He couldn’t even think of what to say to his mate these days. So he’d extended his stay in Windhaven. Rhys’s mother’s house felt bigger than it ever had in years past, and he’d flown down here at dawn, glad for the complex brutality of the headwinds to occupy his thoughts.

Until he’d stopped flying—and now every muscle screamed to collapse and never move again.

Eris frowned. “My father stands to gain more from a victory for the continent in this conflict than in joining you, Koschei or no. I don’t need him to tell me that. He’s established a clear enough pattern by now that you should be able to predict how he’ll side.”

“And I don’t suppose you could bother to lift a finger to try to persuade him otherwise.” Cassian crossed his arms, muscles shrieking in protest. “Maybe have him try to convince the continental territories not to march southward. And that allying with Koschei is a dangerous plan.”

“As if that’s even remotely possible.”

Cassian bristled. “Fine. I don’t know why we bothered to ask you anyway. Mor’s headed back to Vallahan one last time to see if she can sway them.” Among other things, but Eris didn’t need to know about the Made item hanging in the balance.

A muscle ticked in Eris’s cheek. “She won’t be successful.”

Cassian might have agreed, but the sneering smugness . . . He bit out, “If Mor sets her mind to do something, she does it.”

“So do they.”

Cassian flashed a grin that was all teeth. “When are you making your move to oust dear old papa?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Prythian united looks a hell of a lot more formidable against the continent than a bunch of scattered courts. If you’re going to murder your father in cold blood, now would be the most beneficial time for the rest of us.”