Nesta couldn’t stop the small voice in her mind from wondering what her own power might do, if she untethered her leash on it. And couldn’t stop the bolt of panic that answered. As if thinking about it would allow it to roam free.

Nesta made herself ask, “So Rhysand didn’t want the baby to have wings?”

Cassian kept eating. “It’s not that. It will be a joy for him, for me and Az and Feyre, too, I suppose, to teach the baby how to fly, to love the wind and sky as we do. The problem is the birth.”

“I don’t understand.”

“How many half-Illyrians have you met?”

“Only Rhys, I suppose.”

“That’s because they’re extremely uncommon. But Rhys’s mother was Illyrian herself. And Illyrian women hardly ever marry and reproduce outside their communities. Illyrian males do so far more often, or at least fuck around, but you rarely see the offspring.”

“Why?”

“Illyrian females have a pelvis shaped specifically for children with wings to pass through. High Fae females do not. And when a child has wings, they can get stuck during labor.” His face had gone pale beneath the bruises. “Most females die, the babes with them. There’s no way for magic to help, short of fracturing a female’s pelvis to widen it for the birthing. Which might kill the babe anyway.”

“Feyre is going to die?” Her words were a whisper. For a heartbeat, every bit of spite, of anger, of bitterness faded away. Pure, clear panic replaced it.

“A few do survive.” Cassian made to rub his face, then stopped before he could press the bruises. “But the labor is so brutal that many of them either come close to death or are so altered by it that they can’t have another child.”

“Even with a healer to repair them?” Her heart was pounding, so sickeningly fast she had to set down her utensils.

“Honestly, I don’t know. And any attempts in the past to cut the child out of the mother’s womb have been …” He shuddered. “No mother has ever survived.” Nesta’s blood turned to acid. Cassian rolled his shoulders. “So we won’t even try that route. Madja will be there each step of the way, though, doing whatever she can. And we don’t yet know how Feyre’s own magic will impact the birth.”

“Is Feyre distraught?”

“She doesn’t know the full scope of it. But all of us who have grown up here know what it means for a High Fae female to bear a baby with wings.”

Nesta willed herself to settle the fear leaching through her. “And Rhys needed to fight out his fear.”

“Yes. Along with his guilt and pain.”

“Perhaps another court has a healer who knows more than Madja. Maybe one with a winged people. The Dawn Court has the Peregryns—Drakon’s people are Seraphim. Miryam doesn’t have wings and yet she’s given birth to Drakon’s children.”

“Rhys is heading to their island tomorrow. And Mor is making discreet inquiries at the Fae courts on the continent.” He ran a hand through his hair, Siphon catching the light. “If there is a way to save Feyre from a death sentence, Rhys will find it. He will stop at nothing until he figures out a way to spare her.”

Silence fell, and the weight upon her chest was nearly unbearable. Rhys would do that, she knew without a doubt. The High Lord would go to the ends of the world for a way to save Feyre.

She said quietly, “I’ll try scrying again.”

Cassian’s black eye was stark in the light as he lowered his brows in warning. “After last night—”

She lifted her chin. If that babe survived … Nesta would not allow him to be born into a world once more plunged into war. But she didn’t say that, couldn’t open herself up like that. “I need to regain my strength after yesterday’s attempt. We’ll do it tomorrow night.”

“I want Rhys and Amren there. And Az.”

“Fine.”

Cassian leaned back in his chair. It was almost comical, his heavy stare combined with his split lip and black eye. He said after a moment, “Why haven’t you sought me out?”

Nesta knew what he meant solely from the way his voice had dropped an octave.

She could play this game of distraction. He had no idea how well she’d learned to play it. So she let her own voice drop, too. “Why haven’t you sought me?”

“I’m taking my cues from you. You seemed to have no interest in me after …” He nodded to the table between them, the floor where she’d knelt between his legs. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Nesta let out a rough laugh. “No, you didn’t hurt me.” She reached across the table, tracing a finger down his arm before meeting his eyes. “I loved it when you fucked my mouth, Cassian.”

His eyes darkened. She rose, and he went wholly still as she rounded the table and came to a stop beside his chair. “Do you want to fuck me on this table?” she asked softly, running a hand over the smooth surface. He shuddered, as if he imagined that touch on his skin.

“Yes,” he said, voice guttural. “On this table, on this chair, on every surface in the House.”

“I don’t think the House would appreciate such filthy behavior. Even if it’s a romance reader as well.”

“I … What?” His breath had turned uneven.

She leaned in to press a kiss against his torn mouth. It wasn’t a loving gesture. Wasn’t even a sweet one. It was a challenge and a wicked taunt to forget their fear and pain and come tangle with her. “I have no interest in bedding a male who looks like he’s been in a tavern brawl,” she said onto his lips.

“We can dim the lights.”

Nesta chuckled. Desire had fogged his eyes, and she knew if she looked down, she’d see the evidence of how affected he was. But she wouldn’t give herself that temptation.

He’d be her reward—but only after she’d accomplished the scrying.

Her lips curved. “When you’re healed and looking pretty again,” she said, pulling away, “then I’ll let you fuck me wherever you please in this House.”

Cassian’s hands dug into the arms of his chair, as if restraining himself from leaping upon her. But his mouth parted in a savage grin. “Deal.”

No one asked about Nesta’s change of heart when she and Cassian entered the study in the river house late the next afternoon and found Rhys, Feyre, Azriel, and Amren waiting before a giant map of the faerie realms. A bowl of stones and bones sat beside it.

They all stared, weighed and judged her. But her eyes went to Feyre, who stood across the room, a hand resting idly on the slight swell of her belly.

Nesta refused to let anything show on her face as she offered her sister a small nod of greeting. She hated herself when Feyre’s eyes softened—hated the raw emotion there as Feyre nodded back, smiling tentatively.

She couldn’t stand the relief and happiness in Feyre’s eyes. That merely acknowledging her sister politely had caused it. Unable to stomach it, Nesta glanced to where Rhysand stood at Feyre’s side. One look into his eyes and Nesta allowed her mind to open—just a crack.

I will not say a word to Feyre, she swore.

She didn’t do it for any particular kindness, but to wipe that cautious look from Rhys’s eyes before it grated further. He’d no doubt either heard or guessed that Cassian had told her about the baby’s wings.