A Court of Frost and Starlight (A Court of Thorns and Roses, #3.5)

by Sarah J. Maas

“We keep away to let you have your privacy, but don’t think for one moment that there isn’t a single one of us who doesn’t know and remember, who isn’t grateful that you came here and fought for us.”

“I love you,” he breathed. “More than life, more than my territory, more than my crown.”

“You look like an angry snowball,” Cassian said.

The weaver went on, “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.” Her hand rested on her heart, and my eyes burned.

I truly knew what I wanted to wish for, as if it were a piece of Amren’s puzzle clicking into place, as if the threads of the weaver’s tapestry finally revealed the design they’d formed to make.

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.

Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.” Silence again. Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed.

The floorboards thudded behind me, and then I was being gently but forcibly moved to the side. It happened so fast I barely had time to realize that Cassian had gone storming past—right out the front door. To my sister.

Cassian’s fingertips dug into the soft wood of the small box. He was grateful the streets were empty when he hurled that box into the Sidra. Hurled it hard enough that the splash echoed off the buildings flanking the river, ice cracking from the impact.

“You never told me where you got it—where you got all my favorite dresses.” Rhys arched a dark brow. “You never figured it out?” I shook my head. For a moment, he said nothing, his head dipping to study the dress. “My mother made them.”

His eyes were star-bright. “Long ago, when I was still a boy, she made them—all your gowns. A trousseau for my future bride.” His throat bobbed. “Every piece … Every piece I have ever given you to wear, she made them. For you.”

“It could take years,” he murmured. “I can be patient.” He lifted a brow at that, and I smiled, amending, “I can try to be patient.” His own answering smile set me grinning.

I lifted my eyes to his again and found stars and darkness waiting. Found home waiting.

that image of my gift remained between us, shimmering as bright as any star. That beautiful, blue-eyed, dark-haired boy that the Bone Carver had once shown me. That promise of the future.

“Consider it a Solstice and birthday present in one.” He gestured to the house, the gardens, the grounds that flowed to the river’s edge. With a perfect view of the Rainbow at night, thanks to the land’s curve. “It’s yours. Ours. I purchased it on Solstice Eve. Workers are coming in two days to begin clearing the rubble and knock down the rest of the house.”

But Rhys silenced it with a kiss to my mouth, lingering and sweet. “Build a house with a nursery, Feyre.” My heart tightened to the point of pain, and I kissed him back. Kissed him again, and again, the property wide and clear around us. “I will,” I promised.

Feyre Archeron, a request. Leave this world a better place than how you found it. I swallowed down my tears, and brushed a stray strand of my hair back into my braid before I turned to the faerie. “You wouldn’t be looking for a wholly inexperienced business partner, would you?”

If there were children in this city who might need a place to express the horrors that had happened during the war. If there were children who might not be able to talk about what they’d endured, but could perhaps paint or draw or sculpt it. Perhaps they wouldn’t do any of those things, but the act of creating something … it could be a balm to them.

I love you, I said down the bond. What’s not to love? Before I could elbow him, Rhys kissed me again, breathless and swift. To the stars who listen, Feyre. I brushed a hand over his cheek to wipe away the last of his tears, his skin warm and soft, and we turned down the street that would lead us home. Toward our future—and all that waited within it. To the dreams that are answered, Rhys.