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

by Sarah J. Maas

“You can either let it wreck you, let it get you killed like it nearly did with the Weaver, or you can learn to live with it.”

“The issue isn’t whether he loved you, it’s how much. Too much. Love can be a poison.”

“To the people who look at the stars and wish, Rhys.” He picked up his glass, his gaze so piercing that I wondered why I had bothered blushing at all for Tarquin. Rhys clinked his glass against mine. “To the stars who listen—and the dreams that are answered.”

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 I said, “He is lucky to have all of you.” “No,” she said softly—more gently than I’d ever heard. “We are lucky to have him, Feyre.” I turned from the door. “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.”

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

“I love you,” I said again. I hadn’t dared say the words in my head. “And I’d endure every second of it over again so I could find you. And if war comes, we’ll face it. Together. I won’t let them take me from you. And I won’t let them take you from me, either.”

His voice was rough as he said, “Five hundred years ago, I fought on battlefields not far from this house. I fought beside human and faerie alike, bled beside them. I will stand on that battlefield again, Nesta Archeron, to protect this house—your people. I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it most.”

“Against what?” “Feeling. I think Nesta feels everything—sees too much; sees and feels it all. And she burns with it. Keeping that wall up helps from being overwhelmed, from caring too greatly.”

“She is my mate. And my spy,” I said too quietly. “And she is the High Lady of the Night Court.”

Love—love was a balm as much as it was a poison.