A Court of Mist and Fury (A Court of Thorns and Roses, #2)

by Sarah J. Maas

“Hello, Feyre darling,” he purred.

“Get the hell out,” growled Tamlin, stalking toward us. Claws ripped from his knuckles. Rhys clicked his tongue again. “Oh, I don’t think so. Not when I need to call in my bargain with Feyre darling.”

Had Tamlin’s teeth been inches from my throat, I would have bleated in panic.

“But I’ll always make time for you.”

But it had filled my time—given me quiet, steadfast company with those characters, who did not exist and never would, but somehow made me feel less … alone.

I was burning through books every day—stories about people and places I’d never heard of. They were perhaps the only thing that kept me from teetering into utter despair.

“Did you think his shield would keep us from you? Rhys shattered it with half a thought.”

“He locked me in that house,” I managed to say. A shadow of mighty wings spread behind Rhys’s chair. But his face was calm as he said, “I know. I felt you. Even with your shields up— for once.” I made myself meet his stare. “I have nowhere else to go.” It was both a question and a plea. He waved a hand, the wings fading. “Stay here for however long you want. Stay here forever, if you feel like it.”

“Take me with you.”

“Where are we going?” Rhys’s smile widened into a grin. “To Velaris—the City of Starlight.”

“Welcome to my home,” Rhysand said.

Rhys entered a few of the jewelry shops, looking for a present for a friend, he said. I chose to wait outside each time, hiding in the shadows beneath the Palace buildings.

“Cassian, Azriel, and Amren.”

The most powerful High Lord in history.

In the countless millennia they had existed here in Prythian, Rhys—Rhys with his smirking and sarcasm and bedroom eyes …

Rhys’s wing curved around me, herding me closer to where I could nearly feel the heat of his powerful body. “I promise I won’t let the wind destroy your hair.” He lifted a hand as if he might tug on one of those loose curls, then lowered it.

“I expected more screaming from you. I must not be trying hard enough.”

“Come on, Feyre. We don’t bite. Unless you ask us to.”

“The last I heard, Cassian, no one has ever taken you up on that offer.”

Rhys chuckled from my other side. “Remind me to have family dinners more often.”

Through the bond in my hand, I could have sworn I felt a glimmer of pleased surprise. I checked my mental shields—but they were intact. And Rhysand’s calm face revealed no hint of its origin.

His fingers were gentle, but firm where he’d fisted them in my hair.

His other hand stroked long, soothing lines down the curve of my back,

Even while I drank, he didn’t let go of my hand.

“The calf-bone that made the final kill when Feyre slew the Middengard Wyrm,” Rhys said. My very blood stilled. There had been many bones that I’d laid in my trap—I hadn’t noticed which had ended the Wyrm. Or thought anyone would.

“There was only that bond in the darkness.”

Rhys merely said, “I don’t suppose you know who now has the Cauldron.” The Bone Carver pointed a small finger at me. “Promise that you’ll give me her bones when she dies and I’ll think about it.” I stiffened, but the boy laughed. “No—I don’t think even you would promise that, Rhysand.”

Rhys’s hand contracted on my back, but remained. Warm, steady. And I wondered if the touch was more to reassure him that I was there, still breathing.

I knew there was something else waiting beyond that dark. Something good.”

I dared a glance at Rhys, and there was something like devastation on his beautiful face. It was gone in a blink.

“Amren’s right,” Rhys drawled, leaning against the threshold of the town house sitting room. “You are like dogs, waiting for me to come home. Maybe I should buy treats.”

“Then it’s settled,” Rhys said. None of them looked particularly happy. “Once Feyre darling returns from the Weaver, we’ll bring Hybern to its knees.”

Rhys yanked open the drawers and pulled out my undergarments. He dangled the bits of midnight lace and chuckled. “I’m surprised you didn’t demand Nuala and Cerridwen buy you something else.” I stalked to him, snatching the lace away. “You’re drooling on the carpet.” I slammed the bathing room door before he could respond.

Rhys knelt and spread wide the web of leather and steel, beckoning for me to stick a leg through one loop.

“You are my salvation, Feyre.”

His words were a lethal caress as he said, “Did you enjoy the sight of me kneeling before you?”

I was not a pet, not a doll, not an animal. I was a survivor, and I was strong. I would not be weak, or helpless again. I would not, could not be broken. Tamed.

Feyre darling

But he merely picked up the ring and gave me a nod of thanks. “It was my mother’s ring.” As if that were all the explanation and answers owed.

“How’d you lose it?” I demanded. “I didn’t. My mother gave it to me as a keepsake, then took it back when I reached maturity—and gave it to the Weaver for safekeeping.” “Why?” “So I wouldn’t waste it.”

Rhys said, “And what about training your other … gifts?” Through the rising steam from the tub, I said, “I think you and I would shred each other to bits.” “Oh, we most definitely will.” He leaned against the bathing room threshold. “But it wouldn’t be fun otherwise. Consider our training now officially part of your work requirements with me.” A jerk of the chin. “Go ahead—try to get past my shields.”

Don’t let the hard days win.”

He’d seen and endured such … such unspeakable things, and yet … his hands on my thighs had been gentle, the touch like— I didn’t let myself finish the thought as I said, “I’ll fly with Azriel.” Rhys and Cassian looked as if I’d declared I wanted to parade through Velaris in nothing but my skin, but the shadowsinger merely bowed his head and said, “Of course.” And that, thankfully, was that.

“Your High Lord … You went through all that”—she waved a hand at me, my ears, my body—“and it still did not end well?”

“And now you are at a new court.” Not quite a question, but I said, “Would you like to meet them?”

Looking at Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel, I knew I’d been right to select it as the meeting spot. They were enormous—wild and rough and ancient.

He’d been good—there was a part of Tamlin that was good—

Then they took in the winged males—or two of them. Rhys’s wings had vanished, his leathers replaced with his fine black jacket and pants.

My sisters both stiffened at Cassian and Azriel, at those mighty wings tucked in tight to powerful bodies, at the weapons, and then at the devastatingly beautiful faces of all three males. Elain, to her credit, did not faint. And Nesta, to hers, did not hiss at them.

“Cassian,” I said, inclining my head to the left. Then I shifted to the right, grateful those shadows were nowhere to be found as I said, “Azriel.” I half turned. “And Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court.” Rhys had dimmed it, too, I realized. The night rippling off him, the otherworldly grace and thrum of power. But looking in those star-flecked violet eyes, no one would ever mistake him for anything but extraordinary.