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Except once.

A thought to the Symphonia summoned the sound to the surface. A tap from her finger had it playing into the frosty, empty night.

“I love you,” Cassian’s voice whispered.

They’d been at the music hall together that night. Sitting in that box, where she hadn’t sat in a month. He’d leaned over during the brief pause between movements and whispered it into her ear.

She’d only realized what had happened when she’d gone to listen to the symphony the next day and his words suddenly sounded into the room.

I love you. More than life itself.

The Symphonia had never captured a single spoken word before. But it was as if it somehow knew that those words, in Cassian’s voice, made the most beautiful music she’d ever heard.

So now, with all she’d done like an impenetrable wall between them . . . Nesta played the words again.

I love you. More than life itself.

In the empty alley, the chill seeping into her bones, she clung to those words. The treasure she’d broken in order to do the right thing.

She allowed herself another moment to feel it, that burn in her throat, her soul. Then she locked it away and buried it deep. Lifted her face to the river of stars glinting overhead.

And walked alone into the bitter night.

Cassian didn’t come back to the House of Wind that night—again.

And like the fool she was, Nesta had waited up for most of it. Listening for any creaking floorboards or that familiar stomping strut down the hall.

Sleep had been elusive once she’d given up hoping her mate would return, and she’d tossed and twisted in the sheets until she’d been tangled up in them. Only a driving need for tea had dragged her from her room—and a driving need for some sort of company had sent her across the city to the river house.

Feyre and Elain weren’t in the dining room as she shouldered open the doors, breathing in the sweet-smoky scent of her tea, along with all her favorite breakfast treats.

Azriel, however, was seated at one end of the long table, wreathed in shadows despite the brilliant autumn morning outside. He didn’t look up, though he’d certainly already known she was about to walk in.

“Morning,” she said, mostly to taunt him, since he seemed content to ignore her.

Azriel’s hazel eyes flicked up. “Morning,” he said, barely more than a grunt.

The plate piled high with breakfast foods before him was untouched. Only his teacup was empty, drained to the dregs.

“Food not up to snuff?” Nesta asked coolly as she took a seat at the opposite end of the table.

Az blinked down at his plate. As if surprised to find that there was, indeed, food in front of him. But he said nothing. His shadows draped off his shoulders, like they, too, couldn’t be bothered.

“Where is everyone?” she asked, serving herself soft scrambled eggs, hard cheese, peppery arugula salad, and toast.

“Cassian’s off to see Eris. But surely you knew that already.” His eyes flicked to hers again.

Score one for the shadowsinger.

Az went on, “Amren went to the Day Court to search through Helion’s libraries for any hint about Made objects that might have woken up—or might awaken soon, if a death-god is stirring.”

Nesta frowned. She could have joined the female for that—would have loved an excuse to browse through the High Lord of Day’s vast and stunning collection. Or what remained of it after Amarantha and her cronies had looted many of his one thousand libraries. It would have required enough focus that she could have avoided thinking about her mate. Wondering.

“And Feyre and Rhys are preparing to go see Jurian and Vassa, to ask about Koschei,” Az said, tapping a scarred finger on the table beside his teacup.

Nesta met Azriel’s cool stare and added, “And to see Lucien.”

The shadowsinger’s mouth tightened. His shadows writhed.