A Court of Thorns and Roses (A Court of Thorns and Roses, #1)

by Sarah J. Maas

giant wolves were on the prowl, and in numbers.

strange folk spotted in the area, tall and eerie and deadly.

revealing the faded ward-markings etched around the threshold. My father had once convinced a passing charlatan to trade the engravings against faerie harm in exchange for one of his wood carvings.

The man, claiming some High Fae blood in his ancestry, had just carved the whorls and swirls and runes around the door and windows,

His dark eyes flicked to mine. “Feyre,” he murmured, and his mouth became a tight line. “Where did you get this?”

in our miserable human world—shielded only by the promise made by the High Fae five centuries ago—in our world where we’d forgotten the names of our gods, a promise was law; a promise was currency; a promise was your bond.

Or maybe impending death had given her some clarity about the true nature of her children, her husband.

Long ago, the High Fae had been our overlords—not gods. And they certainly hadn’t been kind.

a mountain of a woman sitting on the lip of our broken square fountain, without any cart or stall, but looking like she was holding court nonetheless. The scars and weapons on her marked her easily enough. A mercenary.

Her tan face seemed hewn of granite, and her black eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of me. Such interesting eyes—not just one shade of black, but … many, with hints of brown that glimmered amongst the shadows.

her voice clipped with an accent I’d never heard before.

She was massive even sitting down.

Not a question—a command. Perhaps someone who had encountered others who did not see vows as sacred, words as bonds. And had punished them accordingly.

“You weren’t lying about the wolf’s size,” she murmured. “Doesn’t seem like a faerie, though.” She examined them with an expert eye, running her hands over and under. She named her price.

Not like the faerie she’s seen

“Someone once did the same for me and mine, at a time when we needed it most. Figure it’s time to repay what’s due.”

“I travel light and have no need for them. These, however”—she patted the pelts in her hands—“save me the trouble of killing them myself.”

Where is she going? Somewhere cold? Hel?

the upper class could afford hired swords, like this woman, to guard their lands bordering the immortal realm.

The mercenary stroked the wolf pelt. “A word of advice, from one hunter to another.”

things slipping through the wall.”

it took six mortal queens

the North of our world conceded to the High Fae and faeries, who took their magic with them; the South to we cowering mortals, forever forced to scratch out a living from the earth.

“No one knows what the Fae are planning,” the mercenary said, her face like stone. “We don’t know if the High Lords’ leash on their beasts is sli...

pack of martax crossed the wall and tore half his village apart.”

The mercenary’s night-dark eyes flickered. “Body big as a bear’s, head something like a lion’s—and three rows of teeth sharper than a shark’s. And mean—meaner than all three put together. They left the villagers in literal ribbons, the nobleman said.”

Especially if the High Fae start turning up—or worse, one of the High Lords. They would make the martax seem like dogs.”

I studied her scarred hands, chapped from the cold. “Have you ever faced another type of faerie?” Her eyes shuttered. “You don’t want to know, girl—

The woman pulled back the sleeve of her heavy jacket, revealing a tanned, muscled forearm flecked with gruesome, twisted scars. The arc of them so similar to—“Didn’t have the brute force or size of a martax,” she said, “but its bite was full of poison.

Beautiful, I thought, even as the horror of it writhed in my gut. Against her tanned skin, the veins were black—solid black, spiderwebbed, and creeping like frost.

I’m lucky to be walking with the poison still in my legs.

at least I’ll go knowing I kille...

The blood in my own veins see...

Those ridiculous wards on our threshold were as good as cobwebs against him. I should have asked the mercenary how she’d killed that faerie.

“Get out,” I snapped at the creature, brandishing the knives before me.

“Get out, and begone.”

prayed to whatever long-forgotten gods might still be skulking about.

whatever rift in the wall he’d used to get here,

the invisible wall, once we were in Prythian,

I’d be little more than a lamb in a kingdom of wol...

The beast had burned my ash arrow—

Knowledge of that weakness, of their susceptibility to ash, was the only reason we’d ever survived against the High Fae during the ancient uprising, a secret betrayed by one of their own.

the narrow trunk and explosion of branches that I’d learned marked ash trees.

the High Fae still governed the northern parts of our world—

Some faerie territories were empires; some were overseen by kings and queens.

Prythian, divided and ruled by seven High Lords—beings of such unyielding power that legend claimed they could level buildings, break apart armies, and butcher you before you could blink.

what Nesta might resort to in order to keep Elain alive. She wouldn’t mind my father’s death. But she would lie and steal and sell anything for Elain’s sake—and her own as well.

Perhaps I would try to kill him,

just for being the one who came to claim my life—my life,

The mercenary had survived; maybe I coul...

I didn’t have a chance to struggle, to fight back, when a charged, metallic tang stung my nose. Exhaustion slammed down upon me and blackness swallowed me whole.

invisible bonds.