Elain linked elbows to lead Nesta into the room, and I followed, watching the group beyond as they paused.

Watching Cassian especially, now standing with Az at the fire.

He was the portrait of relaxed, an arm braced against the carved mantel, his wings tucked in loosely, a faint grin on his face and a glass of wine in his hand. He slid his hazel eyes toward my sister without him moving an inch.

Elain had plastered a smile onto her face as she led Nesta not toward the fire as she’d promised, but the liquor cabinet.

“Don’t take her to the wine—take her to the food,” Amren called to Elain from her perch on the armchair as she slid the pearl earrings Az had given her into her lobes. “I can see her bony ass even through that dress.”

Nesta halted halfway across the room, spine stiff. Cassian went still as death.

Elain paused beside our sister, that plastered-on smile faltering.

Amren just smirked at Nesta. “Happy Solstice, girl.”

Nesta stared at Amren—until a ghost of a smile curved her lips. “Pretty earrings.”

I felt, more than saw, the room relax slightly.

Elain said brightly, “We were just getting to presents.”

It occurred to me only when she said the words that none of the gifts in this room had Nesta’s name on them.

“We haven’t eaten yet,” I supplied, lingering in the threshold between the sitting room and foyer. “But if you’re hungry, we can get you a plate—”

Nesta accepted the glass of wine Elain pressed into her hand. I didn’t fail to note that when Elain turned again to the liquor cabinet, she poured a finger of amber-colored liquor into a glass and knocked back the contents with a grimace before facing Nesta again.

A soft snort from Amren at that, missing nothing.

But Nesta’s attention had gone to the birthday cake still sitting on the table, its various tiers delved into many times over.

Her eyes lifted to mine in the silence. “Happy birthday.”

I offered a nod of thanks. “Elain made the cake,” I offered somewhat uselessly.

Nesta only nodded before heading for a chair near the back of the room, by one of the bookcases. “You can return to your presents,” she said softly, but not weakly, as she sat.

Elain rushed toward a box near the front of the pile. “This one’s for you,” she declared to our sister.

I threw Rhys a pleading glance. Please start talking again. Please.

Some of the light had vanished from his violet eyes as he studied Nesta while she drank from her glass. He didn’t respond down the bond, but instead said to Varian, “Does Tarquin host a formal party for the Summer Solstice, or does he have a more casual gathering?”

The Prince of Adriata didn’t miss a beat, and launched into a perhaps unnecessarily detailed description of the Summer Court’s celebrations. I’d thank him for it later.

Elain had reached Nesta by then, offering her what seemed to be a heavy, paper-wrapped box.

By the windows, Mor sprang into motion, handing Azriel his gift.

Torn between watching the two, I remained in the doorway.

Azriel’s composure didn’t so much as falter as he opened her present: a set of embroidered blue towels—with his initials on them. Bright blue.

I had to look away to keep from laughing. Az, to his credit, gave Mor a smile of thanks, a blush creeping over his cheeks, his hazel eyes fixed on her. I looked away at the heat, the yearning that filled them.

But Mor waved him off and moved to pass Cassian his gift; but the warrior didn’t take it. Or take his eyes off Nesta as she undid the brown paper wrapping on the box and revealed a set of five novels in a leather box. She read the titles, then lifted her head to Elain.

Elain smiled down at her. “I went into that bookshop. You know the one by the theater? I asked them for recommendations, and the woman—female, I mean … She said this author’s books were her favorite.”

I inched close enough to read one of the titles. Romance, from the sound of it.

Nesta pulled out one of the books and fanned through the pages. “Thank you.”

The words were stiff—gravelly.

Cassian at last turned to Mor, tearing open her present with a disregard for the fine wrapping. He laughed at whatever was inside the box. “Just what I always wanted.” He held up a pair of what seemed to be red silk undershorts. The perfect match to her negligee.

With Nesta pointedly preoccupied with flipping through her new books, I moved to the presents I’d wrapped yesterday.

For Amren: a specially designed folding carrier for her puzzles. So she didn’t need to leave them at home if she were to visit sunnier, warmer lands. This earned me both an eye roll and a smile of appreciation. The ruby-and-silver brooch, shaped like a pair of feathered wings, earned me a rare peck on the cheek.

For Elain: a pale blue cloak with armholes, perfect for gardening in the chillier months.

And for Cassian, Azriel, and Mor …

I grunted as I hauled over the three wrapped paintings. Then waited in foot-shifting silence while they opened them.

While they beheld what was inside and smiled.

I hadn’t any idea what to get them, other than this. The pieces I’d worked on recently—glimpses of their stories.

None of them explained what the paintings meant, what they beheld. But each of them kissed me on the cheek in thanks.

Before I could hand Rhys his present, I found a heap of them in my lap.

From Amren: an illuminated manuscript, ancient and beautiful. From Azriel: rare, vibrant paint from the continent. From Cassian: a proper leather sheath for a blade, to be set down the groove of my spine like a true Illyrian warrior. From Elain: fine brushes monogrammed with my initials and the Night Court insignia on the handles. And from Mor: a pair of fleece-lined slippers. Bright pink, fleece-lined slippers.

Nothing from Nesta, but I didn’t care. Not one bit.

The others passed around their gifts, and I finally found a moment to haul the last painting over to Rhys. He’d lingered by the bay window, quiet and smiling. Last year had been his first Solstice since Amarantha—this year, his second. I didn’t want to know what it had been like, what she’d done to him, during those forty-nine Solstices he’d missed.

Rhys opened my present carefully, lifting the painting so the others wouldn’t see it.

I watched his eyes rove over what was on it. Watched his throat bob.

“Tell me that’s not your new pet,” Cassian said, having snuck behind me to peer at it.

I shoved him away. “Snoop.”

Rhys’s face remained solemn, his eyes star-bright as they met mine. “Thank you.”

The others continued on a tad more loudly—to give us privacy in that crowded room.

“I have no idea where you might hang it,” I said, “but I wanted you to have it.”

To see.

For on that painting, I’d shown him what I had not revealed to anyone. What the Ouroboros had revealed to me: the creature inside myself, the creature full of hate and regret and love and sacrifice, the creature that could be cruel and brave, sorrowful and joyous.

I gave him me—as no one but him would ever see me. No one but him would ever understand.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, voice still hoarse.

I blinked away the tears that threatened at those words and leaned into the kiss he pressed to my mouth. You are beautiful, he whispered down the bond.