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

by Sarah J. Maas

“For this week? I want you to learn how to read.”

“You are no one’s subject.”

Rhysand is interesting; Rhysand is gorgeous; Rhysand is flawless—and

What I had wanted when I was cold and hard and joyless; what I had needed to melt the ice of bitter years on the cusp of starvation. I didn’t have the nerve to wonder what I wanted or needed now. Who I had become.

“Let me help you,” Rhys said. “We went through enough Under the Mountain—” I flinched. “She wins,” Rhys breathed. “That bitch wins if you let yourself fall apart.”

“You’re free,” Mor said tightly. “You’re free.” Not safe. Not protected. Free.

“So what is there that was worth saving at the cost of everyone else?” When I faced him, his blue eyes were as ruthless as the churning winter sea in the distance. “Everything,” he said.

“Males are horrible creatures, aren’t they?” Amren said. “Repulsive,” Mor said, clicking her tongue.

“As long as the people who matter most know the truth, I don’t care about the rest. Get some sleep.”

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

“There are good days and hard days for me—even now. Don’t let the hard days win.”

“There are different kinds of darkness,” Rhys said. I kept my eyes shut. “There is the darkness that frightens, the darkness that soothes, the darkness that is restful.” I pictured each. “There is the darkness of lovers, and the darkness of assassins. It becomes what the bearer wishes it to be, needs it to be. It is not wholly bad or good.”

I could feel Rhys still assessing me. I shut him out. Maybe I’d send a water-dog barking after him later—let it bite him in the ass.

Rhys clinked his glass against mine. “To the stars who listen—and the dreams that are answered.”

He had stayed. And fought for me. Week after week, he’d fought for me, even when I had no reaction, even when I had barely been able to speak or bring myself to care if I lived or died or ate or starved. I couldn’t leave him to his own dark thoughts, his own guilt. He’d shouldered them alone long enough.

“Many atrocities,” Rhys purred, “have been done in the name of the greater good.”

Here—here was the most powerful High Lord ever born. The face of dreams and nightmares.

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.

“Then I would have torn apart the world to get you back.”

So I winnowed toward him, toward me.

I was in your dream, watching as you had a nightmare about some woman slitting your throat, while you were chased by the Bogge

But I felt you through the bond, through your open mental shields. I felt your pain, and sadness, and loneliness. I felt you struggling to escape the darkness of Amarantha the same way I was. I heard you were going to marry him, and I told myself you were happy. I should let you be happy, even if it killed me. Even if you were my mate, you’d earned that happiness.

“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.

“You’re mine,”

I felt it then, the bond between us, like an unbreakable chain, like an undimmable ray of light.

My friend through many dangers. My lover who had healed my broken and weary soul. My mate who had waited for me against all hope, despite all odds.

“I can keep the shadows hidden easily enough.” “Ah, but you only lose control of those when you’re pissed. And since I have every intention of making you as happy as a person can be … I have a feeling we’ll need to learn to control that wondrous glow.”

held out my own glass for Mor to fill. “He does need unusual amounts of coddling.”

I flipped my Illyrian blade in my hand and winnowed into the burning and bloody Rainbow. This was my home. These were my people. If I died defending them, defending that small place in the world where art thrived … Then so be it.

My mate. Death incarnate. Night triumphant.

“Feyre Cursebreaker, the Defender of the Rainbow.”

You chose to fight for them. For Velaris.” He kissed my neck. “I don’t deserve you.” My heart strained. He meant it—truly felt that way. I stroked his hair again. And I said to him, the words the only sounds in the silent, dark city, “We deserve each other. And we deserve to be happy.”

If I hadn’t been already in love with him, I might have loved him for that—for not insisting I stay, even if it drove his instincts mad, for not locking me away in the aftermath of what had happened yesterday.

The Court of Dreams. I had belonged to a court of dreams. And dreamers. And for their dreams … for what they had worked for, sacrificed for … I could do it.

“Not consort, not wife. Feyre is High Lady of the Night Court.” My equal in every way; she would wear my crown, sit on a throne beside mine. Never sidelined, never designated to breeding and parties and child-rearing. My queen.

And so Tamlin unwittingly led the High Lady of the Night Court into the heart of his territory.