“Scythia,” Mor said, shaking her head. “I remember them. They’re horse people. A mounted cavalry could travel far faster—”

“Firebird by day,” Rhys mused, “woman by night … So she’s held captive by this sorcerer-lord?”

It was the former he saw first, stumbling out of the dark, wide-eyed, her fear a tang that whetted his rage into something so sharp he could barely think, barely breathe—

I raised a brow. Azriel shrugged. “We—Rhys, Cass, and I—will occasionally remind each other that what we think to be our greatest weakness can sometimes be our biggest strength. And that the most unlikely person can alter the course of history.” “The Nephelle Philosophy.”

Cassian was staring at Nesta—hard enough that my sister at last twisted toward him. Met his gaze. His head tilted—slightly. A silent order. Nesta, to my shock, obeyed. Drifted over to Cassian’s side as Amren replied to Rhys, “No.”

Cassian casually stepped in her path, wings folded in tight. Feet braced apart on the carpet. A fighting stance—casual, but … his Siphons glimmered. “Do you know,” Cassian drawled to her, “that the last time I got into a brawl in this house, I was kicked out for a month?” Nesta’s burning gaze slid to him, still outraged—but hinted with incredulity.

“When I sleep,” she murmured, “I can hear your heart beating through the stone.” She angled her head, as if the city view held some answer. “Can you hear mine?” He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.” Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. “No one ever does. No one ever looked—not really.” A

“And why must I train at all? I am no warrior, nor do I desire to be.” “It could make you strong—” “There are many types of strength beyond the ability to wield a blade and end lives. Amren told me that yesterday.”

She said, “I can hear the sea. Even at night. Even in my dreams. The crashing sea—and the screams of a bird made of fire.”