Page 46

Rhys cleared his throat. “Tell me something, Vassa: When Koschei let you leave . . . did he say why? It couldn’t have been out of the kindness of his heart. So why agree to it at all?”

Vassa traced an idle finger along the river that flowed from the western coast to Koschei’s lake. “Your father, Feyre”—her words thickened with what I could have sworn was grief—“was very good at bargaining.”

My heart twisted a bit. Like it did every time I visited the lone stone marker on that grassy hill outside Velaris.

“But what is the benefit to Koschei?” Rhys pushed. “Why allow you out, when it was clear that you would help us, the very people he would later send Briallyn after?” My mate angled his head as he turned to Lucien. “Did anyone in your party give him something in return?”

“Koschei received nothing,” Lucien said darkly. “He seemed to find it amusing.”

I studied the vague depiction of Koschei’s vast lake; not the one near Briallyn’s palace, where Cassian and Azriel had encountered an apparition of the male. But rather the true place where the death-lord resided. Only a tiny marker indicated where his castle lay. No other details—though they would need to be filled in. Along with many other things. As if thinking the same thing, Rhys said to Lucien, “I wasn’t aware you got close enough to him that day to be able to tell such things.”

“I didn’t,” Lucien conceded. “I saw him only briefly, and from a distance, but I could hear his laughter echo over the lake.” He nodded at me. “Your father was the only one of us brave enough to get close. Koschei’s very presence seemed to drain all joy, all courage, all hope.” His throat bobbed, “But your father was so desperate to help you and your sisters that he overcame his fear of the death-lord. He loved you that much.”

There was pain in his words—perhaps for the fact that he’d never had a father who cared about him the same way. Even if it had taken my father until the very end to try.

But Rhys said to Vassa, “You’ve been near Koschei often, though.”

Vassa shook her head. “Koschei kept back—used magic to amplify his voice across the lake. I believe he liked to remain out of sight so that we’d imagine the worst. So that we’d picture our darkest nightmares. Merely his voice could drive some of the other girls into trembling, sobbing fits. He’d sometimes send whispers on the wind through the trees just to torment them.”

Rhys’s mouth pressed into a tight line. “Could I look into your mind? To see for myself?”

Vassa went completely rigid. Lucien and Jurian both eyed her carefully—protectively.

“No,” Vassa said, paling so much that her freckles stood out like splattered mud. “I—I’m sorry, but I . . .” Her hands shook.

This warrior had charged into battle for us, stood toe to toe with my mate and never backed down, but this request was clearly beyond her comfort.

“I’ve had one too many faerie creatures . . . touching me with their magic,” Vassa explained. Her fear shoved itself up my nose.

Jurian laid a scarred hand on her shoulder. He turned damning eyes on Rhys. “She’ll tell you what she knows, but no more—nothing more invasive on your part.”

I faced Lucien in time to see his throat work while he, too, scented Vassa’s lingering terror. Lucien said, “She doesn’t even have to do that if she doesn’t wish to.”

I tucked away my interest at that protectiveness and instead said gently, “If you do, though, you could just tell one of us—you could talk to Mor, even.” I offered her a smile. “People tend to like her best.”

“I take offense at that,” Rhys said, and I could tell the humor was for Vassa’s sake.

To help further lighten the atmosphere, I pointed to my mate. “You’re too slick. Az is too scary. And Cassian would likely wind up getting us into a second conflict at a time when we can barely handle one.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me at all,” Lucien replied—perhaps an attempt at humor for Vassa’s sake as well.

But Rhys said to Lucien, amusement banking slightly, “If Vassa can’t tell us anything new about Koschei, that leaves you, I suppose.”

Lucien shifted. “Aren’t I already your human emissary—”

“We need proof of Koschei working with our enemies. Beron has made it known that he’s more than open to Koschei’s influence. Koschei likely knows we’re working against him, so if he makes his move within Prythian, it will be soon. I want you in the Autumn Court, waiting for that moment. And I want you to use this”—Rhys reached into his pocket—“to capture your memories of it for the world to see.” The Veritas orb landed on the table with a soft thud.

I couldn’t conceal my shock. Neither, it seemed, could Vassa or Jurian.

“He could be killed if Beron finds out, Rhys,” I protested.

Rhys waved a hand. “Not if he’s in the Autumn Court under the right circumstances.”

“Like what?” I demanded.

Rhys again leaned against the desk as he said to Lucien, “You still technically work as Tamlin’s Second in command. Tamlin has a record of allying with enemies at great cost to Prythian’s safety. It won’t seem strange to anyone if suddenly Tamlin sends his Second to the Autumn Court, seeking a way into this unholy alliance with Koschei.”

It was my turn to shake my head. “Tamlin will kill him if he finds out—”