Cassian shoveled more eggs into his mouth and said around them, “Doesn’t count when you use your hands to do most of the work.” Nesta schooled her face into utter disdain, even as a hiss rose inside her. “I bet that isn’t what you’ve been telling yourself at night.
The stars winked into existence, dim and small above the blazing fires. I watched them through the long hours of celebrating, and could have sworn that they kept me company, my silent and stalwart friends.
The High Lord would go to the ends of the world for a way to save Feyre.
He had come to save her from her nightmare, had stayed with her while she slept. Had guarded and fought for her. He would let no harm come to her now.
No,” Feyre said quietly. “I can’t.” She looked to Rhys, who nodded, his eyes shining. Everyone watched Feyre now. But Feyre’s attention remained fixed upon Nesta. “I can’t risk it.” “Why?” Nesta snapped. “Because I’m pregnant.
People would name their children after him. Warriors would want to be him. A fine warrior would be known as Cassian reborn.
What if we go on, to only more pain and despair?” “Then it is not the end.
Is it living though? To take the safe road?
The world was beautiful, and she was so grateful to be in it.
The others nodded, and Nesta dared a look at Cassian, who gave her a soft smile. Like in saying the few words she’d managed to get out, she’d somehow done something... worthy.
Yet Lehabah remained at the foot of the stairs. “Then let the world know that my first act of freedom was to help my friends.
To live, to love knowing that it might all vanish tomorrow... it makes everything that much more precious.
I write to you not as a High Lord, but as a male in love with a woman who was once human. I write to you to beg you to act quickly. To save her people – to help save my own. I write to you so one day we might know true peace. So I might one day be able to live in a world where the woman I love may visit her family without fear of hatred and reprisal. A better world.
When the arrow had fired for Chaol, that was the death he could not endure.
We are the thirteen. From now until darkness claims us.
But Nesta knew well how invisible wounds could be. How they could scar as deeply and badly as any physical breaking.
Cassian surveyed her. Gazed into her eyes and breathed, “Beautiful.
Nesta’s eyes stung as Gwyn said, “So we climb Ramiel. We take the Breaking. We win to prove to everyone that something new can be as powerful and unbreakable as the old rules. That something no one has ever seen before, not entirely Valkyrie nor entirely Illyrian, can win the Blood Rite.” “No,” Nesta said at last. “We win to prove to ourselves that it can be done.” She bared her teeth in a feral grin at the mountain. “We win the whole damn thing.
I made it give something back,” she said with terrifying quiet.
For you, I have no strategies.