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Nesta crossed her arms. “So it’s about controlling me?” Disgust and annoyance flared through her, and though the bulk of her power had returned to the Cauldron, she knew silver flame still flickered in her stare.

“No,” Amren said coolly. “It’s about where you fit into this court.”

“I’m a Valkyrie. That’s all anyone needs to know.” She’d sweated and bled for that title.

“But who do the Valkyries serve?” At Nesta’s suddenly neutral face, Amren added, “Are Rhys and Feyre your High Lord and Lady?”

Nesta had never sworn allegiance to either of them. As an individual or as a Valkyrie. At the thought of kneeling before Rhys and Feyre, however much she might care about and respect them . . . Her teeth clenched.

“I thought so,” Amren said a shade quietly. “And don’t believe Rhys hasn’t thought about that, too.”

“Feyre is my sister. I’ll always help her.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“So, what,” Nesta snapped, unable to help it, “I need to get on my knees and swear fealty?”

The wind dragged strands of Amren’s hair across her pale face. Her lips curved into a sharp smile. “No. But I think you already know where your path lies, Nesta Archeron.”

I think that eight-pointed star was tattooed on you for a reason.

Amren nodded, like she’d somehow heard the memory of Bryce Quinlan’s words echo through Nesta’s head. Her eyes turned to quicksilver as she cast her gaze toward the northern horizon, as if she could see all the way to the Prison. “So do it.”

How Amren knew, how she guessed—“It’s too far. I can’t rally the power to winnow all the way out there.”

“I would go with you, if I could,” Amren admitted, voice raw. But the female would never again set foot on that blasted island. From fear, from rage, from the threat of whatever forces might try to entomb her down there again. “But in lieu of that, I will tell you this: winnowing is as much a matter of will as it is of power.”

“But when the others winnow—”

“You are not the others. No rules need apply to you, if you do not wish to submit to them.”

Nesta swallowed hard. “Do you know why . . . What’s waiting out there?”

Amren answered gravely, “It’s for you to learn. And for you to decide whether to go that way”—she pointed toward Velaris—“to serve the court and family you love.”

“Or?” Nesta dared ask.

Amren pointed to the Prison. “Or to go there. To see if there might be more.”

“More what?” Nesta begged.

“More ways, other ways, to serve. To save those you love.”

Bryce’s voice echoed in Nesta’s head: Through love, all is possible.

“I will say,” Amren murmured, “the fact that you can and do love us, Nesta Archeron, is something of a miracle, and brings me a great deal of joy.”

Nesta’s throat closed up.

“Find a way to save us,” Amren said. “Explore the forgotten tunnels and passages. Rhys has altered the wards to the Prison to allow our circle in—since you all seem to keep winding up there, he told me. Find what keeps calling to you, what keeps bringing you here to this cliff at the edge of the world.”

“Maybe it’s nothing,” Nesta hedged.

“Maybe. But you’ll never know for sure unless you go.”

“You’re not going to warn me not to enter the Prison alone?” As far as Nesta knew, no one in this court had ever risked such a thing.

“The others have not been called there, not as you have. Even your sisters are not Made quite as you are. So go explore. See what wants so desperately to be found. Maybe the Mother is throwing us a bone.” She surveyed Nesta from head to toe. “And bring Gwydion with you.”