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

by Sarah J. Maas

I had been jealous—of Cresseida. I had been so profoundly unhappy on that barge because I’d wanted to be the one he smiled at like that. And I knew it was wrong, but … I did not think Rhys would call me a whore if I wanted it—wanted … him. No matter how soon it was after Tamlin. Neither would his friends. Not when they had been called the same and worse. And learned to live—and love—beyond it. Despite it.

So maybe it was time to tell Rhys that. To explain that I didn’t want to pretend. I didn’t want to write it off as a joke, or a plan, or a distraction. And it’d be hard, and I was scared and might be difficult to deal with, but … I was willing to try—with him. To try to … be something. Together. Whether it was purely sex, or more, or something between or beyond them, I didn’t know. We’d find out. I was healed—or healing—enough to want to try. If he was willing to try, too. If he didn’t walk away when I voiced what I wanted: him. Not the High Lord, not the most powerful male in Prythian’s history.

Just … him. The person who had sent music into that cell; who had picked up that knife in Amarantha’s throne room to fight for me when no one else dared, and who had kept fighting for me every day since, refusing to let me crumble and disappear into nothing. So...

“When Rhys came back, after Amarantha, he was a ghost. He pretended he wasn’t, but he was. You made him come alive again.”

“I have known many High Lords,” Amren continued, studying her paper. “Cruel ones, cunning ones, weak ones, powerful ones. But never one that dreamed. Not as he does.” “Dreams of what?” I breathed. “Of peace. Of freedom. Of a world united, a world thriving. Of something better—for all of us.” “He thinks he’ll be remembered as the villain in the story.” She snorted. “But I forgot to tell him,” I said quietly, opening the door, “that the villain is usually the person who locks up the maiden and throws away the key.”

“Oh?” I shrugged. “He was the one who let me out.”

If you’ve moved elsewhere, I wrote after getting home from Amren’s apartment, you could have at least given me the keys to this house. I keep leaving the door unlocked when I go out. It’s getting to be too tempting for the neighborhood burglars. No response. The letter didn’t even vanish. I tried after breakfast the next day—the morning of Starfall. Cassian says you’re sulking in the House of Wind. What un-High-Lord-like behavior. What of my training? Again, no reply. My guilt and—and whatever else it was—started to shift. I could barely keep from shredding the paper as I wrote my third one after lunch. Is this punishment? Or do people in your Inner Circle not get second chances if they piss you off? You’re a hateful coward. I was climbing out of the bath, the city abuzz with preparations for the festivities at sundown, when I l...

But the High Lord was circling me. I crossed my arms as he paused and smirked. “You look like a woman again.”

“Why does anything cling to something? Maybe they love wherever they’re going so much that it’s worth it. Maybe they’ll keep coming back, until there’s only one star left. Maybe that one star will make the trip forever, out of the hope that someday—if it keeps coming back often enough—another star will find it again.”

Rhys was examining his hands, covered in the dust, and I stepped toward him, peering at the way it glowed and glittered. He went still as death as I took one of his hands in my own and traced a star shape on the top of his palm, playing with the glimmer and shadows, until it looked like one of the stars that had hit us. His fingers tightened on mine, and I looked up. He was smiling at me. And looked so un-High-Lord-like with the glowing dust on the side of his face that I grinned back.

“You’re exquisite,” he breathed. The air was too tight, too close between our bodies, between our joined hands. But I said, “You owe me two thoughts—back from when I first came here. Tell me what you’re thinking.” Rhys rubbed his neck. “You want to know why I didn’t speak or see you? Because I was so convinced you’d throw me out on my ass. I just … ” He dragged a hand through his hair, and huffed a laugh. “I figured hiding was a better alternative.”

“Who would have thought the High Lord of the Night Court could be afraid of an illiterate human?” I purred.

Rhys looked up, meeting my gaze. And whatever was on my face—I think it might have been mirrored on his: the hunger and longing and surprise. I swallowed hard, traced another line of stardust along the inside of his powerful wrist. I didn’t think he was breathing. “Do you—do you want to dance with me?” I whispered. He was silent for long enough that I lifted my head to scan his face. But his eyes were bright—silver-lined. “You want to dance?” he rasped, his fingers curling around mine. I pointed with my chin toward the celebration below. “Down there—with them.” Where the music beckoned, where life beckoned. Where he should spend the night with his friends, and where I wanted to spend it with them, too. Even with the strangers in attendance. I did not mind stepping out of the shadows, did not mind even being in the shadows to begin with, so long as he was with me. My friend through so many dangers—who had fought for me when no one else would, even myself. “Of course I’ll dance with you,” Rhys said, his voice still raw. “All night, if you wish.” “Even if I step on your toes?” “Even then.” He leaned in, brushing his mouth against my heated cheek. I closed my eyes at the whisper of a kiss, at the hunger that ravaged me in its wake, that might ravage Prythian. And all around us, as if the world itself were indeed falling apart, stars rained down. Bits of stardust glowed on his lips as he pulled away, as I stared up at him, breathless, while he smiled. The smile the world would ...

when the night had shifted toward dawn and the music became soft and honeyed, I had let Rhys take me in his arms and dance with me, slowly, until the other guests had left, until Mor was asleep on a settee in the dining room, until the gold disc of the sun gilded Velaris. He’d flown me back to the town house through the pink and purple and gray of the dawn, both of us silent, and had kissed my brow once before walking down the hall to his own room. I didn’t lie to myself about why I waited for thirty minutes to see if my door would open. Or to at least hear a knock. But nothing.

Devlon sniffed at me. I poured every bit of cranky exhaustion into holding his narrowed gaze. “Another like that … creature you bring here? I thought she was the only one of her ilk.” “Amren,” Rhys drawled, “sends her regards. And as for this one … ” I tried not to flinch away from meeting his stare. “She’s mine,” he said quietly, but viciously enough that Devlon and his warriors nearby heard. “And if any of you lay a hand on her, you lose that hand. And then you lose your head.” I tried not to shiver, as Cassian and Mor showed no reaction at all. “And once Feyre is done killing you,” Rhys smirked, “then I’ll grind your bones to dust.”

I didn’t want to think what it meant, what I was doing. What this was—whatever it was—between us. Because things between us had never been normal, not from the very first moment we’d met on Calanmai. I’d been unable to easily walk away from him then, when I’d thought he was deadly, dangerous. But now …

But at least we wouldn’t have to camp out here. Rhys had promised there was some sort of wayfarer’s inn nearby.

I was not the High Lord’s pet any longer. And maybe the world should learn that I did indeed have fangs.

“Don’t come looking for me again,” I said with equal softness. “He’ll never stop looking for you; never stop waiting for you to come home.” The words hit me in the gut—like they were meant to. It must have shown in my face because Lucien pressed, “What did he do to you? Did he take your mind and—”

“Enough,” Rhys said, angling his head with that casual grace. “Feyre and I are busy. Go back to your lands before I send your heads as a reminder to my old friend about what happens when Spring Court flunkies set foot in my territory.”

“Careful, Lucien,” Rhysand drawled. “Or Feyre darling will send you back in pieces, too.”

“When you spend so long trapped in darkness, Lucien, you find that the darkness begins to stare back.”

“You look good with wings,” he said, and kissed my brow.

The bed. “I asked for two,” Rhys said, hands already up.

“If you can’t risk using magic, then we’ll have to warm each other,” I said, and instantly regretted it. “Body heat,” I clarified. And, just to wipe that look off his face I added, “My sisters and I had to share a bed—I’m used to it.” “I’ll try to keep my hands to myself.”

He tugged on the hood, and I savored the shadows and menace and wings. Death on swift wings. That’s what I’d call the painting. He said softly, “I love it when you look at me like that.” The purr in his voice heated my blood. “Like what?” “Like my power isn’t something to run from. Like you see me.”

Fae males were territorial, dominant, arrogant—but the ones in the Spring Court … something had festered in their training. Because I knew—deep in my bones—that Cassian might push and test my limits, but the moment I said no, he’d back off. And I knew that if … that if I had been wasting away and Rhys had done nothing to stop it, Cassian or Azriel would have pulled me out. They would have taken me somewhere—wherever I needed to be—and dealt with Rhys later.

“Did you think I would go with him?” He paused mid-bite, then lowered his fork. “I heard every word between you. I knew you could take care of yourself, and yet … ” He went back to his pie, swallowing a bite before continuing. “And yet I found myself deciding that if you took his hand, I would find a way to live with it. It would be your choice.” I sipped from my wine. “And if he had grabbed me?” There was nothing but uncompromising will in his eyes. “Then I would have torn apart the world to get you back.”

A shiver went down my spine, and I couldn’t look away from him. “I would have fired at him,” I breathed, “if he had tried to hurt you.” I hadn’t even admitted that to myself. His eyes flickered. “I know.”

“When you lick me,” he said roughly, “I want to be alone—far away from everyone. Because when you lick me, Feyre,” he said, pressing nipping kisses to my jaw, my neck, “I’m going to let myself roar loud enough to bring down a mountain.”

His eyes were open when I nestled my head against his arm. Within the shelter of his wing, we watched each other. And I realized I might very well be content to do exactly that forever.

Azriel would likely love Mor until he was a whisper of darkness between the stars.

Rhys’s voice was raw as he said to the floor, “What did you paint for yourself?” I drew out the fifth, moving to the sixth before saying, “I painted the night sky.”

He stilled. I went on, “I painted stars and the moon and clouds and just endless, dark sky.” I finished the sixth, and was well on my way sawing through the seventh before I said, “I never knew why. I rarely went outside at night—usually, I was so tired from hunting that I just wanted to sleep. But I wonder … ” I pulled out the seventh and final arrow. “I wonder if some part of me knew what was waiting for me. That I would never be a gentle grower of things, or someone who burned like fire—but that I would be quiet and enduring and as faceted as the night. That I would have beauty, for those who knew where to look, and if people didn’t bother to look, but to only fear it … Then I didn’t particularly care for them, anyway. I wonder if, even in my despair and hopelessness, I was never truly alone. I wonder if I was looking for this place—looking for you all.”

His head lifted. Pain-filled eyes, bloodless lips. “You saved me,” he rasped.

“I was looking for you, too,” Rhys murmured.

The Suriel’s stained teeth clacked against each other. “If you wish to speed your mate’s healing, in addition to your blood, a pink-flowered weed sprouts by the river. Make him chew it.” I fired my arrow at the snare before I finished hearing its words. The trap sprang free. And the word clicked through me. Mate.

“What did you say?” The Suriel rose to its full height, towering over me even from across the clearing. I had not realized that despite the bone, it was muscled— powerful. “If you wish to … ” The Suriel paused, and grinned, showing nearly all of those brown, thick teeth. “You did not know, then.” “Say it,” I gritted out.

“The High Lord of the Night Court is your mate.” I wasn’t entirely sure I was breathing. “Interesting,” the Suriel said. Mate. Mate. Mate. Rhysand was my mate. Not lover, not husband, but more than that. A bond so deep, so permanent that it was honored over all others. Rare, cherished. Not Tamlin’s mate. Rhysand’s. I was jealous, and pissed off … You’re mine. The words slipped out of me, low and twisted, “Does he know?” The Suriel clenched the robes of its new cloak in its bone-fingers. “Yes.” “For a long while?” “Yes. Since—” “No. He can tell me—I want to hear it from his lips.” The Suriel cocked its head. “You are—you are feeling too much, too fast. I cannot read it.” “How can I possibly be his mate?” Mates were equals—matched, at least in some ways. “He is the most powerful High Lord to ever walk this earth. You are … new. You are made of all seven High Lords. Unlike anything....

I stared down at him, the half-Illyrian warrior who was my soul-bonded partner. “How long have you known that I’m your mate?” Rhys stilled. The entire world stilled. He swallowed. “Feyre.” “How long have you known that I’m your mate?” “You … You ensnared the Suriel?”

“I suspected for a while,” Rhys said, swallowing once more. “I knew for certain when Amarantha was killing you. And when we stood on the balcony Under the Mountain—right after we were freed, I felt it snap into place between us. I think when you were Made, it … it heightened the smell of the bond. I looked at you then and the strength of it hit me like a blow.” He’d gone wide-eyed, had stumbled back as if shocked—terrified. And had vanished. That had been over half a year ago. My blood pounded in my ears. “When were you going to tell me?” “Feyre.” “When were you going to tell me?”

“I don’t know. I wanted to yesterday. Or whenever you’d noticed that it wasn’t just a bargain between us. I hoped you might realize when I took you to bed, and—” “Do the others know?” “Amren and Mor do. Azriel and Cassian suspect.” My face burned. They knew—they— “Why didn’t you tell me?” “You were in love with him; you were going to marry him. And then you … you were enduring everything and it didn’t feel right to tell you.” “I deserved to know.” “The other night you told me you wanted a distraction, you wanted fun. Not a mating bond. And not to someone like me—a mess.” So the words I’d spat after the Court of Nightmares had haunted him. “You promised—you promised no secrets, no games. You promised.” Something in my chest was caving in on itself. Some part of me I’d thought long gone. “I know I did,” Rhys said, the glow returning to his face. “You think I didn’t want to tell you? You think I liked hearing you wanted me only for amusement and release? You think it didn’t drive me out of my mind so completely that those bastards shot me out of the sky because I was too busy wondering if I should just tell you, or wait—or maybe take whatever pieces that you offered me and be happy with it? Or that maybe I should let you go so you don’t have a lifetime of assassins and High Lords hunting you down for being with me?” “I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to hear you explain how you assumed that you knew best, that I couldn’t handle it—” “I didn’t do that—” “I don’t want to ...

“Feyre—” “Take me back to the Illyrian camp. Now.” He was panting in great, rattling gulps. “Please.” But I stormed to him and grabbed his hand. “Take me back now.” And I saw the pain and sorrow in his eyes. Saw it and didn’t care, not as that thing in my chest was twisting and breaking. Not as my heart—my heart—ached, so viciously that I realized it’d somehow been repaired in these past few months. Repaired by him. And now it hurt. Rhys saw all that and more on my fac...

“The house is warded, so no one can winnow in. No one can get beyond this point, actually, without our family’s permission.”

“You’re—allowed in,” Mor said. “Because I’m his mate?” She kept wading through the knee-high snow. “Did you guess, or did he tell you?” “The Suriel told me. After I went to hunt it for information on how to heal him.”

I looked away. “Please don’t tell him where I am.” “He’ll try to find you.” “Tell him I don’t want to be found. Not for a while.” Mor bit her lip. “It’s not my business—” “Then don’t say anything.” She did, anyway. “He wanted to tell you. And it killed him not to. But … I’ve never seen him so happy as he is when he’s with you. And I don’t think that has anything to do with you being his mate.”

My relationship with Tamlin had been doomed from the start. I had left—only to find my mate. To go to my mate.

“Paint Azriel’s. Next to mine. And Cassian’s next to Amren’s.” I lifted my brows. Mor gave me an innocent smile. “So we can all watch over you.” I just shook my head and hopped off the stool to start figuring out how to paint hazel eyes. Mor said quietly, “Is it so bad—to be his mate? To be a part of our court, our family, tangled history and all?” I blended the paint in the small dish, the colors swirling together like so many entwined lives. “No,” I breathed. “No, it’s not.” And I had my answer.

There you are. I’ve been looking for you. His first words to me—not a lie at all, not a threat to keep those faeries away. Thank you for finding her for me.

I had my reasons to be out then, he’d once said to me Under the Mountain. Do not think, Feyre, that it did not cost me.