Chapter Text
“How are you enjoying the Glen?” Nesta asked.
“Retirement has been nice,” Keir said with a shrug, sipping his drink. “I do not envy your trip to Winter.”
“You’ll still visit for her birthday?” Nesta asked, polishing Ataraxia.
“Oh, but of course,” Keir said, smiling faintly. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Will your sons be joining you? In the Glen... or Summer?” she asked, careful with the question.
Aemma tensed, but said nothing, her knitting needles clicking softly.
“Responsibility comes at a price,” Keir said quietly. “I left so my sons could lead. Hewn City needs a fresh face. Rhysand’s paranoia is mounting. If he suspects someone’s vying for power, he’ll lash out.”
“So by leaving, and putting your sons in charge…”
“He won’t suspect them of going against him,” Keir finished. “They’re safer that way. Aemma visits biweekly. And sees our other grandchildren.”
“I’d like to meet them one day,” Nesta said softly.
“I’d like that,” Keir replied. “My youngest grandson—he’s about Vivi’s age.” Pride lit his eyes. “I think the two of them would be fast friends.”
“Why’s that?” Nesta asked, a smile tugging at her lips. This unlikely friendship with Keir still surprised her sometimes—but now, years later, she couldn’t imagine life without him and Aemma.
Keir’s expression warmed with fond memory. “He’s sneaky. Charismatic. Gets into trouble, and somehow always talks his way out of it.”
Nesta laughed. “Sounds like they shouldn’t meet.”
“No, they should,” Aemma said without looking up. “Give them both a run for their money.”
Nesta nodded toward the long fabric in Aemma’s lap. “Are you knitting a scarf for Winter?”
“Yes,” Aemma answered. “I was born and raised there. But it’s too cold. The wind’s the worst part.”
“Viviana’s excited to see the snow,” Nesta said.
“And you?” Keir asked, “Excited to leave Summer?”
“Honestly... a little,” she admitted.
Keir nodded, understanding. “I think you’ve hidden long enough, Nesta. It’s time you stepped toward the center of the stage—where you belong.”
“In a few years, Viviana will be out in society,” Aemma added. “You can’t keep her in the shadows forever.”
“I know,” Nesta murmured, watching as her daughter soared over the city on Orion’s back.
They had been in winter for a month, starting Viviana’s training with Kalias. Get her used to the snow, the cold, and the wind. Orion was used to the Summer winds, flying effortlessly over the city. The winter winds was not his strength, but it was necessary for them both.
“Ready!”
Winter wind whipped across Nesta’s face as she stood beside Aemma, watching the field below.
“Aim!”
Viviana sat astride Orion, arms wide, magic coiled and waiting.
“Fire!”
Orion launched forward, wings slicing the air, diving toward the red target. Viviana released a burst of shimmering stardust—stars flaring in arcs of golden navy.
Kalias responded instantly, throwing jagged shards of ice into the air, intercepting the magic mid-flight. Orion swerved to avoid a collision, the sudden move throwing Viviana off-balance. She faltered, then regained her seat just in time for Orion to land—five feet from the target.
“That was good,” Kalias called, voice crisp. “Closer than yesterday.”
“Huzzah!” Aemma clapped, cheeks rosy in the cold.
Nesta smiled and applauded as well. It was progress— not perfect, and she knew Viviana would take that personally.
“Why did you swerve, Orion?” Viviana asked, frowning as she dismounted. “We were so close.”
“Don’t blame the beast for following his instincts,” Kalias chided. “Any creature would swerve if you shot magic near its face. Instead, you must react faster. Aim. Release. Then focus only on the charge. If he swerves, guide him back. Train him to follow you—not fear.”
His winter-blue eyes pinned Viviana with steel-like precision.
“Again.”
And again. And again. Each time missing the mark—sometimes by a foot, sometimes more.
Finally, Kalias gave a firm nod. “We’re done for today. He’s tired. Try again tomorrow.”
Viviana gave a bow, then led Orion toward the stables without a word.
“Oh dear,” Aemma murmured.
“I’ll meet you at the cabin,” Nesta said softly.
“I’ll make sure there’s hot cocoa waiting,” Aemma promised before winnowing away.
The barn was warm, the air heavy with hay and the sweet scent of animals. Viviana stood in Orion’s stall, brushing his fur and wiping away the frost clinging to his wings.
“You looked great out there,” Nesta said, leaning against the stall door.
“I was terrible,” Viviana mumbled.
“What was that?” Nesta cupped her ear dramatically. “Didn’t catch the mumble.”
“I was terrible,” Viviana repeated, louder.
“You’re learning ,” Nesta said. “Bad practice days happen.”
“I’ve been bad all month. The wind throws me off.” Viviana sighed. “In winter, I can’t focus. Not on targets, dodging, or even landing. Nothing .”
“Because of the wind?”
“Yes! It makes me feel cold.”
“So use a heating spell,” Nesta offered, brow raised.
Viviana hesitated. “I’m scared I’ll set Orion’s wings on fire.”
Nesta blinked. “Why would you think that?”
“I used one on my pillow when we got here…” Viviana’s voice dropped. “I set it on fire.”
Nesta burst into laughter, the sound echoing warmly through the barn. “I knew I’d been smelling something weird all week!”
Viviana looked mortified.
“Tell you what,” Nesta said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “ I will do the heating spells for you and Orion tomorrow. Deal?”
Viviana nodded quickly. “Deal.”
“Good. Now—want some time alone with Orion, or should I stay?”
“I think I want to be alone,” Viviana whispered.
“All right,” Nesta said gently. “I’ll be with Aemma. I’ll try to save you some chocolate cake.”
Viviana perked up. “With fudge?”
“Of course. It’s your birthday, after all.”
“Thank you!”
Nesta smiled and stepped back into the chill. She missed the Summer warmth—the golden light, the salt air—but this was necessary, she kept telling herself.
Nesta winnowed to the small, snowy cabin. Inside, the scent of chocolate drifted through the air as Aemma supervised a servant arranging the cake. More fae bustled about, decorating, placing presents on the table.
“I told you only a few gifts,” Nesta said, grinning.
Emerie raised her hands, scandalized. “This is a few!”
“She’ll be back in Summer in a week,” Gwyn added, placing a small box on the pile. “So I vetoed your ‘few gifts’ rule and said bring them all.”
“You vetoed me?” Nesta said, taking a steaming mug of cider from Aemma.
“I did!” Gwyn beamed. “Let me spoil the girl!”
Just then, the door creaked open.
“ Whoa, ” Viviana breathed, eyes huge as she stared at the gift-laden table.
“Get dressed,” Nesta said, smiling. “Then we celebrate!”
Aemma clapped her hands and a servant appeared. “Make sure the barn smells out of her hair, please .”
Emerie gasped. “Did you just say please to a servant?”
Aemma rolled her eyes. “I suppose you three are rubbing off on me.”
“Aww, we love you too ,” Emerie laughed.
Viviana sat at the head of the table, her back straight, eyes bright, wearing a long-sleeved navy blue dress embroidered with delicate gold stars along the sleeves. Nesta sat at her side, her own gown a matching navy, but trimmed in silver.
“And this next one is from Keir and I,” Aemma said, sliding a flat, wrapped package across the table.
Viviana unwrapped it carefully—then stilled.
In her hands lay a banner made of deep blue cloth, eight golden stars sewn across it, with a leaping pegasus at the center. The border shimmered like the golden fields of Summer, sun-washed and eternal.
A coat of arms.
“Grandma…” Viviana breathed, voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, my dear,” Aemma said, eyes soft and shining. “Happy tenth birthday.”
Emerie stood next, setting a heavy box on the table with a playful grunt. “This one is from Cresseida and I—it goes with your mother’s gift.”
Viviana opened it and gasped. Nestled inside was a saddle, its leather polished and embossed with fine detail. “Made by the best crafters in the Day Court,” Emerie explained. “Designed specifically for pegasi—it’ll support Orion’s wings properly without interfering with flight.”
“It’s beautiful,” Viviana whispered, brushing her hand over the leather.
“The best part,” Cresseida added, “is that it’s enchanted to always fit you and Orion—no matter how much you grow.”
Viviana’s jaw dropped. “That’s amazing! Thank you both so much.”
Nesta leaned forward, placing a second gift in her daughter’s lap. Inside lay a bridle, sleek and reinforced. But it was the piece in the center, where the straps would rest between Orion’s eyes, that caught the light—a golden cup, identical to the emblem on the coat of arms.
“I infused a spell in the gold,” Nesta explained. “It’s a shield spell. If anyone ever fires at Orion, it’ll block the strike.”
Viviana looked up, tears pooling in her eyes. “Now we can really take on Kalias’s ice storms,” she joked, voice wobbling. “I love it.”
Gwyn stepped forward next, holding a neatly folded piece of fabric. “This is from me,” a saddle pad, dark navy, enchanted to match the weather. “It’ll always stay dry and the right temperature for both of you.”
Viviana hugged the pad to her chest, marveling at the golden trim that matched her coat of arms perfectly.
The Valkyries gave her a matching cloak, thick and weatherproof, lined with protective enchantments and golden embroidery.
And then Tarquin—smiling gently from his seat next to Gwyn—presented a collection of beautifully wrapped parcels: dresses of seafoam and sunshine, jewelry carved from coral and opal, and books, some rare and old, others new and full of spellwork and sea-lore.
By the time the final gift was opened, Viviana was crying. Not with sadness—but overwhelmed with love, gratitude, and something deeper. Something she couldn’t yet name.
“Thank you,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Thank you all.”
Nesta swallowed hard past the lump in her throat, her hand finding the stem of her glass, grounding herself.
They had celebrated her daughter’s birthday with weapons, enchantments, protection spells, and royal insignias.
Beautiful. Thoughtful. Full of love.
But all of it meant only one thing.
Preparation.
Viviana didn’t know it yet—but Nesta did.
According to Tamlin’s seer, they had nine years left.
Only a few more birthdays before her daughter would take the Night Court throne.
“Again,” Kalias barked, his voice sharp against the frozen wind.
Viviana charged on Orion, arms wide as she summoned her stars. They shot forward like comets—striking every target in a clean, glowing line.
“Now, land,” Kalias commanded.
Orion obeyed, banking hard and pulling his wings in as they descended. They touched down—nearly perfect. Only a foot shy of the marker.
Before Viviana could correct herself, Kalias called, “Dismount! Prepare for hand-to-hand combat!”
She slid off Orion, unsheathing her sword just as Winter soldiers charged forward. Training arrows flew. Viviana lifted her shield, deflecting them with quick, practiced movements. She pivoted, kicked, parried, slashed—her form clean, but fierce.
From the edge of the field, Nesta’s hands clenched at her sides. She watched as her daughter struck down the last soldier. Kalias raised his hand, signaling for them to stand down.
He and Nesta approached.
“You’re good,” Kalias said, voice low. “But you’re holding back. And you’re not using all your weapons.”
“I only have my sword and shield,” Viviana replied, catching her breath.
“You have a pegasus,” Kalias said, pointing at Orion. “Use him. Work with him. If this were a real fight—against the Night Court, against any member of the Inner Circle—you’d already be dead.”
Viviana flinched. But she nodded.
“Give it everything you’ve got,” Kalias said. “And then more. Again.”
Nesta pulled closer to him, lowering her voice. “You’re pushing her hard.”
“Good,” Kalias replied, eyes still on the field. “She needs it.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken things. Then Kalias added, “Rhysand has Azriel and Cassian. She’ll need to be ready to fight them—and Rhysand last. Best case? She takes him out first, gets the High Lord power, and uses it to finish the rest.”
Nesta let out a breath, frost curling from her lips. “You think she can do it?”
Kalias scoffed softly. “Ask Eris how easy it is to kill a High Lord with heir powers.”
“You don’t believe she could,” Nesta said quietly.
“I didn’t say that,” Kalias replied. “But she’s still thinking too much. Cassian is a general—he plays chess while everyone else plays war. If she’s going to win, she has to be unpredictable. Exploit the chaos. Use surprise like it’s a weapon.”
“And Rhysand?” Nesta asked.
Kalias’s eyes narrowed. “She needs to be prepared for mind games. Keep her mental shields locked down. If he reads her next move... she’s dead before the fight even begins.”
“My entire body hurts,” Viviana groaned, face buried in her pillow.
Nesta sat beside her, gently massaging warming oils into her back. “I know. That session looked brutal.”
“The heating spell worked, though,” Viviana mumbled.
“Good,” Nesta said softly, rubbing the oil into a knot near her shoulder blade. “I’m glad.”
Silence stretched for a beat. Then, hesitantly, Viviana spoke.
“I heard what you and Kalias were saying.”
Nesta’s hands stilled. “How?”
“Orion heard you,” Viviana admitted, voice sheepish. “And he told me.”
Nesta blinked. “Explain.”
Viviana let out a long sigh and rolled over, reaching for her dress. “So, remember that book Tarquin gave me? The one about magical bonds between companions?”
“The one you weren’t supposed to experiment with unsupervised?” Nesta asked, one brow arching.
Viviana winced. “That’s the one. It had a spell for making your bonded animal live as long as you do. I tried it.”
Nesta’s lips parted. “Okay...”
“And now we can communicate. Telepathically.”
There was a beat of silence. Then Nesta said, “Well... I suppose that makes training easier.”
“It does,” Viviana said, pulling her dress over her head. “But also? He is so opinionated. I didn’t know he had that many complaints.”
Nesta snorted. “Sounds very familiar.”
Viviana grinned. “He’s also bossy. He keeps telling me what to do like he’s the commander.”
“And what happens,” Nesta asked, tilting her head, “if you follow his orders?”
Viviana’s smile widened. “I plan to find out tomorrow.”
“Go!” Kalias bellowed.
Viviana shot into the sky on Orion’s back, slicing through the air with precision. Her stars found every flying target. She adjusted her posture in the saddle, guiding Orion downward. The bay stallion landed smoothly—just two feet shy of the red mark.
Kalias’s soldiers charged. Swords drawn, arrows flying.
But Orion didn’t hold back. He surged forward, barreling into the soldiers as Viviana leapt from the saddle, drawing her sword.
“She’s running the wrong way,” Kalias muttered, narrowing his eyes.
Nesta tensed beside him, her gaze locked on her daughter.
Viviana darted from soldier to soldier, drawing them away— forcing the pursuit. Then, suddenly, she threw out her hands.
A surge of navy mist exploded from her palms, swallowing the field. Visibility dropped to nothing.
Nesta’s heart leapt.
Through the fog, she caught a faint shimmer: Orion’s silhouette diving.
Then—movement.
A flash of Viviana swinging into the saddle mid-stride.
Orion charged again, cloaked in mist.
Nesta saw it then. One by one, soldiers toppled—struck down before they ever saw her coming.
Only when the last one fell did Viviana release the mist, letting it fade into the morning air.
Silence.
“Well done,” Kalias said, lips tugging into the barest smirk. He clapped once. “ Huzzah! ”
Nesta and Aemma joined in, beaming as they applauded.
Kalias stepped forward, giving Orion a solid pat. “Keep things unpredictable. Play chess, while everyone else is still playing card games.”
“Your reports,” Tarquin said to the spy.
The fae bowed, offering a thick stack of parchment. “The boy remains in Illyria, still trying to find his place... but failing. The droughts and harsh winter have ruined Night’s crops. Merchants are having to raise their prices to make ends meet, now the lower class has been outpriced. They are hungry, many are facing homelessness, and families are being separated as parents are sending their children to be housed by more well to do relatives– if they are lucky.”
“And the Inner Circle?” Tarquin asked.
The spy’s eyes flicked toward Nesta and Viviana, hesitation tightening his jaw. “The Shadowsinger and the General are also in Illyria. Lady Feyre is out of touch. Rhysand remains silent. Mor sides with the High Lady. Amren is fighting with Rhysand to act.”
“We should help them,” Viviana said quickly, her eyes wide with concern.
“We will not,” Nesta said sharply, her gaze steady on her daughter. “They’re weakening. The people no longer believe in them.”
“They’re my people too,” Viviana hissed.
“In time they will be. But not yet.” Nesta softened slightly. “Trust me, my little star. Your heart is noble. But now is not the time for mercy.”
Viviana folded her arms, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes fixed on the map of Prythian.
The spy glanced at her again before continuing, voice lower. “The High Lord has all but disowned his son. It’s driving a wedge between him and the High Lady. The General and the Spymaster have taken the boy under their wings—training him, mentoring him. Amren and Mor remain in Velaris, no reports on if they are in contact with the boy.”
Viviana tensed, her jaw ticking. But she said nothing.
Nesta’s expression didn’t shift, but something in her eyes flickered. Of course Cassian would.
“Good. Thank you,” Tarquin said.
Silence settled over the war table.
Tarquin turned. “Lady Nesta. How would you proceed?”
“Whisper truths,” Nesta said. “Fan the flames of chaos. Paint them as aristocrats—rich, unreachable. Then plant rumors of a secret heir, spread truths that she will be a better option. Feed Rhysand’s paranoia.”
“And you, Lady Viviana?” Tarquin asked, his gaze heavy.
Viviana inhaled slowly. “Stage accidents– expensive accidents. Make it look like the boy’s fault. His mother will defend him. The Inner Circle will too. But not without question. Leave just enough uncertainty to turn more public opinion against him... and strain their trust in him.”
A long pause. Then Tarquin smiled, slow and sharp. “Do you give the order?”
Viviana closed her eyes for a heartbeat. Then opened them. “I do.”
Tarquin handed the order to the spy, his fingers steady. The spy took it, before shifting into a small song bird.
The bird flew into the wind.
“Courtney!!” Viviana shouted, leaping from the carriage before the wheels had fully stopped. Her dark skirts swirled around her legs as she sprinted across the gravel drive, hair streaming like a silken banner behind her.
“Vivi!” Courtney squealed, just as breathless, her curly blonde hair bouncing wildly as she flung herself into her best friend’s arms. The two girls hugged tightly, spinning once in pure giddy joy before Courtney stepped back and held up a parcel wrapped in shimmering seafoam paper.
“I’m sorry I missed your birthday,” she said, a little breathless but grinning wide. “But I brought you something!”
Viviana accepted it with surprising tenderness for someone usually so fierce in training. She opened the package with careful fingers, peeling away the wrapping like it was sacred. A soft gasp escaped her lips.
“It’s a portrait of us…” she whispered, awe in every syllable.
“I painted it myself,” Courtney said proudly, beaming. “It’s from last summer, remember? The picnic by the falls?”
Viviana nodded, eyes still locked on the delicate brushstrokes of their faces. “It’s perfect.”
Nesta watched them from the path, a small smile playing on her lips. Aemma was looped through her arm, her cane tapping softly with each step, while Keir followed behind them like a shadow, eyes flicking to the servants unloading their luggage with the critical scrutiny of someone who never stopped commanding.
“I’m glad she has a friend,” Aemma said, her voice warm.
“Me too,” Nesta replied, her gaze still on Viviana. “I worried I raised her to be too mature, too serious.”
Aemma chuckled. “There’s no such thing, darling. And besides—maturity will serve her well. She’s eleven now. It won’t be long before her cycle starts.”
“I know,” Nesta said with a sigh, accepting a sealed letter from a waiting servant—Varian’s handwriting on the front. “I read those books you recommended.”
Aemma rolled her eyes and dropped into a nearby chair, pulling out her knitting. “Those books are trash. Nothing can prepare you for the real thing. The first one is the worst—cramps, emotions, powers going haywire. I nearly incinerated my mother with magic when I got mine.”
Keir stepped into the room, flicking a speck of dust from his sleeve with practiced disdain. “Lord Thanatos gives his daughters faebane when they cycle,” he offered casually.
Nesta gave him a long, incredulous look. “Your Hewn City is showing.”
“It works,” he replied with a shrug. “We made a safe room for Morrigan when she was thirteen. For us. And our boys.”
“So you want me to lock my daughter up during her first cycle, feed her faebane, and hope for the best?” Nesta asked dryly. “Sounds like something you'd do with a tiger.”
“The tiger might be better behaved,” Aemma said with a snort, not looking up from her needles. “It helps having a father figure,” Aemma added softly, her tone far too casual to be innocent.
“Please stop trying to marry me off to your sons,” Nesta groaned, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
“Eris is still single,” Aemma said cheerfully. “He could use a wife. A queen. You could rule Autumn together.”
Keir jumped in, utterly serious. “Thesan and his lover might be looking for a surrogate again. Or there’s always Tamlin. You’d bring power to the Spring Court.”
“No, thank you,” Nesta said, laughing despite herself. “Tamlin slept with Feyre. That’s… that’s just feels wrong.”
Keir gave a shrug. “You didn’t mind sleeping with Cassian after Morrigain did.”
Nesta’s mouth fell open, stunned. “That’s different!”
“How?” Aemma asked, brow raised.
Nesta looked down, twisting the letter from Varian in her hand. “Because I thought… I thought he and I would be together forever.”
Keir’s expression softened just slightly. “Then perhaps politics would be better. Eris. Tamlin. Even Helion, if you like charm. No heartbreak.”
Nesta didn’t answer. She turned to the window, staring out at the garden where Viviana and Courtney danced beneath the sun. Courtney’s water magic created floating bubbles in the shapes of horses and stags, and Viviana chased them like a little girl again, laughter lighting up her entire face.
“They’re opposites,” Nesta said softly. “Courtney is so bubbly, so light. The only thing they really share is their love of horses.”
Aemma paused in her knitting. “It’s enough.”
Nesta slowly opened the letter. Her eyes scanned the report from Varian’s spies. The words sent a cold ripple through her:
Cassian has been reported feeding the orphans and bastards of the camp. It appears to lighten his spirits.
Nesta’s throat tightened. She swallowed hard, folding the note with care. He would be a father figure to anyone, but never to his own daughter.
Nesta woke suddenly, the sharp scent of smoke pulling her from sleep. Panic shot through her as she threw on a robe and rushed to the window. Flames flickered in the distance, glowing against the dark.
Heart pounding, Nesta ran outside, barefoot over the cool grass, following the smell of burning paper. But she stopped short when she saw the source.
Books. A pile of them, engulfed in fire.
And Viviana, sitting calmly on a log beside the blaze, her face lit orange and gold by the flames.
“Viviana, what are you doing?” Nesta cried, horrified.
Her daughter didn’t look away from the fire. “I bought all these books with my allowance,” she said evenly. “Any book that referenced my—” she paused, her voice hardening. “That referenced Cassian .”
She pointed to a book near the edge of the pile. “I bought that one last year.”
“Why are you burning them?” Nesta asked, kneeling beside her. “Books shouldn't be burned, sweetheart. They’re knowledge. History.”
“Exactly,” Viviana said, eyes still fixed on the flames. “By burning them, I’m releasing the hold he has on me. He is not my father. He’s just... a sire.”
Nesta blinked. “A sire?”
Viviana turned to look at her, her silver-blue eyes glowing with quiet fire. “He isn’t my father. He is a source. Nothing more.”
“You don’t mean that,” Nesta whispered. “You don’t even know him.”
“I know enough. And that’s all I need.” Viviana said.
She reached forward and tossed another book onto the fire. “He’s dead to me.”
“Lady Feyre is having a fit over her son’s placement in Illyria,” Varian said, voice dry as dust as he looked around the table. “The situation is escalating tension between the camp lords and the Night Court.”
The room grew still. Lantern light flickered against the carved stone walls of Tarquin’s war room, casting long shadows over the polished wood table where the small group of fae sat—calm, calculating, and ready to strike.
“She has interrupted several training sessions,” Varian continued, glancing down at his notes. “Demanded Nyx be given a siphon—though he hasn’t earned one, nor could he have one—and ordered the execution of several Illyrian boys for…” his brow furrowed as he read the words aloud, “for not wanting to be friends with him.”
A stunned silence followed.
“Were the children executed?” Nesta asked, her voice low and tight with concern.
“No,” Varian said, sighing. “Azriel and Cassian intervened before she could act on it. They managed to redirect her wrath, for now.”
“And what has Rhysand done about her behavior?” Tarquin asked, his tone sharp with the steel of a ruler. “He cannot afford to lose his army.”
Varian’s lips pressed into a thin line. “He’s ordered her confined to Velaris. Warded the entire city so she cannot leave without his permission.”
Marissa let out a sharp scoff, reclining lazily in her chair. “Didn’t she throw a tantrum when Tamlin did the same to her?”
“I’m sure she’ll call it love this time,” Nesta muttered, rolling her eyes.
“My son reports Hewn City hasn’t seen Rhysand or Feyre once this year,” Keir added, voice smooth as oil. “It seems Rhysand’s so preoccupied managing his wife’s instability, he’s neglecting his governance entirely.”
“I wonder,” Marissa said, tapping a manicured nail to her chin, “if she has Land Sickness.”
Gwyn perked up from her place beside Nesta. “I’ve been wondering that too. About both of them, actually.”
“What is Land Sickness?” Viviana asked carefully, her voice just loud enough to be heard across the table.
“It’s what happens when the land rejects a ruler,” Marissa said, smiling down at her goddaughter with a kind elegance. “It creeps in slowly—paranoia, irrationality, erratic behavior. The land speeds up their decline to clear the way for the heir.”
Viviana’s eyes, silver-blue and serious, shifted thoughtfully toward the maps strewn across the table. She said nothing, but her jaw was set like stone.
Nesta sat back, folding her arms across her chest. “And how are the rumors we’ve spread?”
Tarquin leaned forward with a grin. “Very effective. It stirred unrest. The people are starting to speak out—publicly.”
“Which only feeds Rhysand’s paranoia,” Marissa said, practically purring with satisfaction.
“And drives Feyre further into her spiral,” Varian added. He flipped a page, expression caught between disbelief and smug amusement. “Citizens in Velaris have started pelting Mor with rotten fruit when she walks the streets.”
Gwyn let out a bark of laughter. “Her pride must be bleeding.”
“And it gets worse,” Varian went on, tone dry as ash. “She recently traveled to Winter to escape the drama. Got very drunk and attempted to seduce Kalias.”
“No,” Nesta said, eyes wide, her voice almost a whisper. “She didn’t.”
“She did,” Varian confirmed, glancing toward Tarquin, who shook his head slowly.
“And when that failed,” Varian continued, not even trying to hide his disbelief, “she…pleasured herself on a portrait of Kalias’s father. She’s now banned from Winter.”
“Oh gods,” Gwyn muttered, covering her mouth, whether to hide laughter or horror was unclear.
“It’s fortunate Kalias is so even-tempered, and in the loop of our plan.” Tarquin said. “Otherwise the male would’ve declared war.”
“And speaking of secrets,” Varian said, voice sharpening, “Azriel has pulled all of his spies out of the seasonal courts.”
Viviana frowned, her eyes darting to her mother. Nesta gently brushed her hair in a soothing motion, calming her distressed daughter.
Varian went on. “And one final update. After eleven years, the Inner Circle has only just realized the books in the old library are fakes—glamoured copies.”
Gwyn blinked. “It took them that long?”
“Yes,” Varian confirmed without humor.
Marissa gave Gwyn a pitying look. “I suppose the library didn’t matter enough to them.”
Nesta’s lips tightened. “What is Rhysand planning now?”
Varian hesitated. “Since the House of Wind is void of magic, and the library is empty, he’s ordered both to be destroyed.”
“No,” Gwyn whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. Her voice cracked like glass.
“At least we still have House,” Nesta murmured, reaching across the table to clasp Gwyn’s hand. “House is safe here, with us.”
Viviana leaned forward, her eyes bright with determination. “I’ll rebuild the library when I take over. I promise.”