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233 pages, Paperback
First published May 1, 2018
IM FREEEEEE!!!!!!!! WORST EXPERIENCE OF MY FUCKING LIFE
Cassian and my mate’s sister did not speak to each other at all.
#1 A Court of Thorns and Roses ★★★★★
#2 A Court of Mist and Fury ★★★★★
#3 A Court of Wings and Ruin ★★★★★
#3.5 A Court of Frost and Starlight ★★★★★
Even now, with that bond again flowing between us like a river of star-flecked night, the echo of its vanishing lingered.
In his stare, I could have sworn galaxies swirled. In the shadows between his wings, the glorious depths of the night dwelled.
Shadows different from anything my powers summoned, spoke to. Born in a lightless, airless prison meant to break him. Instead, he had learned its language.
Lucien had not come here to make amends during Solstice, I realized as Tamlin opened the door to the dark library. Lucien had come here out of pity. Mercy.
Cassian set me down at last. “What’d you get me for Solstice?” I smacked his arm. “A heaping pile of shut the hell up.”
Bonus list of tiny things that made me squeal:
→ the sauna scene
→ snowball fight traditions
→ more “the power of art” scenes
→ Morrigan reminiscing (ow, my heart)
→ Amren’s newfound jigsaw puzzle obsession
→ “Illyrian babies”
→ Rhys cooking Tamlin dinner, like… what even?
→ all the fuzzy scarves and winter holiday vibes
→ Amren receiving a million pieces of jewelry as always
→ Mor’s terrible taste in gifts
→ SHAMELESS reference to Cass’ wingspan
The Written Review
Just published my latest BookTube Video - so excited to share it!!
Okay. Okay. I will try to be objective about this one but I just finished ACOWAR and I am still riding that emotional high.
Stars flickered around us, sweet darkness sweeping in. As if we were the only souls in a galaxy.For those who don't know (and are curious) this novel sprang from a very drunk conversation between Sarah J. Maas (aka the Maaster) and her publisher.
“Dangerous words, Rhysand,” Amren warned, strutting through the door, nearly swallowed up by the enormous white fur coat she wore. Only her chin-length dark hair and solid silver eyes were visible above the collar. She looked—Feyre and friends are spending their first winter solstice (aka Christmas without Christ) together. And despite the warmth of the hearth, not all of the winter chill is kept out.
“You look like an angry snowball,” Cassian said.
He'd seen Nesta in that particular pose, too. He called it her I Will Slay My Enemies pose.I know this is just a companion novel and that there won't be much development in terms of relationships but c'mon Sarah J. Maas. Throw us a bone. (Actually, if you read the sneak peek at book 4 included at the end, I suppose she does offer us a bit of relationship hints).
Cassian had named about two dozen poses for Nesta at this point. Ranging from I Will Eat Your Eyes for Breakfast to I Don't Want Cassian to Know I'm Reading Smut. The latter was his particular favorite.
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To the stars who listen, Feyre.
To the dreams that are answered, Rhys.
“The first snow of winter had begun whipping through Velaris...”
“But it had been a long, brutal winter that had brought me so deep into the woods that day nearly two years ago. A long, brutal winter that had made me desperate enough to kill a wolf, that had eventually led me here—to this life, this … happiness.”
“I have to create, or it was all for nothing. I have to create, or I will crumple up with despair and never leave my bed. I have to create because I have no other way of voicing this.”
“Never enough. Not to paint him, know him. Eons would never be enough for all I wanted to do, see with him. For all I wanted to love him.”
“I think my heart knew you were mine long before I ever realized it.””
“She would rather die here, bleed out here. She would rather die and return—return as something wicked and cruel, and shred them all apart.”
“And from far away, as if it was carried on the cold wind, I heard the Suriel’s voice. Feyre Archeron, a request. Leave this world a better place than how you found it.”
“Stars flickered around us, sweet darkness sweeping in. As if we were the only souls in a galaxy.”
I had nearly sent us crashing into the rooftops like an Illyrian whelp.
No, Tamlin deserved what he'd brought upon himself, this husk of a life. He deserved every empty room, every snarl of thorns, every meal he had to hunt for himself.
"You deserve everything that has befallen you. You deserve this pathetic, empty house, your ravaged lands. I don't care if you offered that kernel of life to save me, I don't care if you still love my mate. I don't care that you saved her from Hybern, or a thousand enemies before that. I hope you live the rest of your miserable life alone here."
Tamlin didn't have shields around the house. None to prevent anyone from winnowing in, to guard against enemies appearing in his bedroom and slitting his throat.
It was almost as if he was waiting for someone to do it.
"You can be as much of an asshole as that mate of yours, you know that?"
...cooking, cleaning, child-rearing, clothes-making... There was honor in such tasks - pride and good work to be found in them. But not when every single one of the females here was expected to do it... Traditions going back thousands of years, left mostly unchallenged.
Until us. Until now.
"The boys can help decorate, clean, and cook. They've got two hands."
"My husband didn't return from the war."
"If I were to stop, if I were to let this loom or the spindle go silent... Then there would be no Hope shining in the Void."
The sums we allocated were sizable, more money than I'd ever dreamed of possessing.
It didn't feel real, those numbers and figures. Like it was children's play money. I only bought what I needed.
Decadent - it felt decadent, and selfish, to shop.
"You still can barely talk to Nesta," I said. "Yet Elain you can talk to nicely."
"Elain is Elain."
"If you blame one, you have to blame the other."
"No, I don't. Elain is Elain."
Elain's voice was colder than usual.
I'd never heard Elain's voice so cold.
"What sort of things do you paint?"
"The things that need telling."
I painted and painted and painted.
I painted until my back cramped... I'd known what needed to come out of me the moment I perched on the rickety stool...
But it began to emerge. Began to take form.
I lowered my brush and stared at what I'd created.
Or how I'd been in the Ouroboros, that beast of scale and claw and darkness; rage and joy and cold. All of me. What lurked beneath my skin.
I painted through the grief that lingered at the weaver's story, painted for her loss. I painted all that rose within me, letting the past bleed onto the canvas, a blessed relief with each stroke of my brush.
I hadn't any idea what to get them, other than this. The [paintings] I'd worked on recently - glimpses of their stories. None of them explained what the paintings meant, what they beheld.
For on that painting I'd shown him what I had not revealed to anyone. 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.
❄ DASHING THROUGH PRYTHIAN ❄
❄ ON TAMLIN'S FUCKING FACE ❄
❄ OVER THE HILLS THEY GO ❄
❄ FUCKING ALL THE WAY ❄ no kidding
❄ FEYRE'S BOUT TO STRIP ❄
❄ MAKING HYBERN SHINE ❄
❄ OH WHAT FUN IS TO WEEP AND CRINGE ❄
❄ AT SARAH'S CHEEZY LINES ❄
❄ JINGLE BELLS ❄
❄ CAULDRON YELLS: "OH BOY, THIS WAS LAME" ❄
CHRISTMASSOLSTICE SHOPPING ❄
❄ & FEYSAND SMUTTING ❄
❄BUT NESTA SAVES THE DAY!!! ❄