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January 5 - January 14, 2019
“I love you,” Tamlin said quietly. I nodded, murmuring it back as he trotted to where Lucien still waited, the emissary now frowning slightly.
I hated the bright dresses that had become my daily uniform, but didn’t have the heart to tell Tamlin—not when he’d bought so many, not when he looked so happy to see me wear them.
So I wore the gowns, and let Alis arrange my hair—if only so it would buy these people a measure of peace and comfort.
“I know you are not fond of the dress—” Understatement. I hated the monstrosity of tulle she’d selected. Tamlin had, too—though he’d laughed himself hoarse when I showed him in the privacy of my room.
To pray that I’d one day learn to love the dresses, and the parties, and my role as a blushing, pretty bride.
He kept his own quarters, deeming it vital for me to have my own space.
“You think I don’t know that? But does he honestly expect me to spend the rest of my life in that manor, overseeing servants and wearing pretty clothes?” Lucien watched the ever-young forest. “Isn’t that what all human women wish for? A handsome faerie lord to wed and shower them with riches for the rest of their lives?” I gripped the reins of my horse hard enough that she tossed her head.
next month, he will demand the Tithe. Ianthe told him it’s time—that the people are ready.” He waited, and I wanted to spit at him, because he knew—he knew that I didn’t know what it was, and wanted me to admit to it. “Tell me,” I said flatly.
he will do everything in his power to protect you from that danger again, even if it means keeping secrets, even if it means sticking to rules you don’t like. In this, he will not bend. So don’t ask him to—not yet.”
I was grateful that I’d never be High Lady, never be Tamlin’s equal in responsibility and power. A small, forgotten part of me roared and screamed at that, but …
I’d already contemplated how pathetic it would be if I asked her to permanently stay after the wedding. If I revealed that I dreaded her leaving me to this court, these people,
“Have you heard from the High Lord at all?” Ianthe stiffened, and Bron immediately cut his gaze toward my inked flesh. “No,” I said, holding Hart’s gaze. “He’s probably running scared now that Tamlin’s got his powers back.” “Then you don’t know Rhysand very well at all.” Hart blinked, and even Ianthe kept silent. It was probably the most assertive thing I’d said to anyone during these parties.
So unaware of the true extent of how broken and dark I was inside.
The fading sun was too hot, the garden too hedged in. As inescapable as the vow I was about to make, binding me to him forever, shackling him to my broken and weary soul. The thing inside me was roiling now, my body shaking with the building force of it as it hunted for a way out—
I tried to get my traitorous lungs to draw air so I could voice the word. No—no. But I didn’t have to say it. Thunder cracked behind me, as if two boulders had been hurled against each other. People screamed, falling back, a few vanishing outright as darkness erupted. I whirled, and through the night drifting away like smoke on a wind, I found Rhysand straightening the lapels of his black jacket. “Hello, Feyre darling,” he purred.
“Was I interrupting? I thought it was over.” Rhys gave me a smile dripping with venom. He knew—through that bond, through whatever magic was between us, he’d known I was about to say no. “At least, Feyre seemed to think so.”
He’d take me back to the Night Court, the place Amarantha had supposedly modeled Under the Mountain after, full of depravity and torture and death— “Tamlin, please.” “Such dramatics,” Rhysand said, tugging me closer. But Tamlin didn’t move—and those claws were wholly replaced by smooth skin. He fixed his gaze on Rhys, his lips pulling back in a snarl. “If you hurt her—” “I know, I know,” Rhysand drawled. “I’ll return her in a week.” No—no, Tamlin couldn’t be making those kinds of threats, not when they meant he was letting me go. Even Lucien was gaping at Tamlin, his face white with fury and
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He shrugged. “What better time to take you here? Maybe Tamlin didn’t notice you were about to reject him in front of his entire court—maybe you can now simply blame it on me.” “You’re a bastard. You made it clear enough that I had … reservations.” “Such gratitude, as always.” I struggled to get down a single, deep breath. “What do you want from me?” “Want? I want you to say thank you, first of all. Then I want you to take off that hideous dress. You look … ” His mouth cut a cruel line. “You look exactly like the doe-eyed damsel he and that simpering priestess want you to be.” “You don’t know
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I again surveyed the room, my wedding gown hissing on the warm marble floors. I peered down at myself. You look ridiculous. Heat itched along my cheeks and neck. It didn’t excuse what he’d done. Even if he’d … saved me—I choked on the word—from having to refuse Tamlin. Having to explain.
Rhysand went on, pouring a cup for me,
and I don’t believe for one damn minute that you’re remotely fine with being a pretty trophy for someone who sat on his ass for nearly fifty years, then sat on his ass while you were shredded apart—”
The only evidence I had at all that Rhys remained on the premises were the blank copies of the alphabet, along with several sentences I was to write every day, swapping out words, each one more obnoxious than the last: Rhysand is the most handsome High Lord. Rhysand is the most delightful High Lord. Rhysand is the most cunning High Lord.
Rhysand is interesting; Rhysand is gorgeous; Rhysand is flawless—and
And then noticed the study walls—the claw marks raked down them. All over them. And the table they’d been using … that was new. “You trashed the study.”
“Damn the consequences.” But I heard it for the empty threat it was—and how much it destroyed him.
Or I was trying to know.
“Training would draw too much attention,” Tamlin said. “You don’t need to train. I can guard you from whatever comes our way.” For there had been a time when he could not. When he had been vulnerable, and when he had watched me be tortured to death. And could do nothing to stop Amarantha from—
End of discussion. No room for debate. We stared each other down for a moment, and my stomach twisted further.
He didn’t tell me why or where. Only that I was to keep to the grounds, and that I’d have sentries guarding me at all times.
he said: “Because that’s the way it is. That’s the way my father did it, and his father, and the way my son shall do it.”
Those words, the look he gave Lucien and the way Lucien lowered his head—my temper was a burning river in my veins. Look up, I silently beseeched him. Push back. He’s wrong, and we’re right.
He recoiled as if he’d hit something solid.
And I realized that the line, that bubble of protection … It was from me.
I didn’t have the nerve to wonder what I wanted or needed now. Who I had become.
“Feyre.” Rhys’s eyes lingered, taking in every detail. “Are you running low on food here?”
Rhysand just brushed an invisible fleck of dust off Tamlin’s sleeve. Part of me admired the sheer nerve it must have taken. Had Tamlin’s teeth been inches from my throat, I would have bleated in panic. Rhys cut a glance at me. “No, you wouldn’t have. As far as your memory serves me, the last time Tamlin’s teeth were near your throat, you slapped him across the face.” I snapped up my forgotten shields, scowling.
But I’d had enough fighting, and snarling,
and going back to that open, serene place atop that mountain … It seemed better than hiding in the library.
And the thought of returning to that manor with the sentries and the patrols and the secrets … I sank back into my chair. Frozen once more.
I’d found they all talked to each other like they were sparring partners. Pretty words masking sharp-edged insults.
“Tamlin,” I said again, pushing against the wall. He didn’t turn. I slammed my hand into the invisible barrier. No movement—nothing but hardened air. And I had not learned about my own powers enough to try to push through, to shatter it … I had let him convince me not to learn those things for his sake—
Mor held me—carried me. The darkness guttered long enough that I could draw breath, that I could see the garden door she walked toward. I opened my mouth, but she peered down at me and said, “Did you think his shield would keep us from you? Rhys shattered it with half a thought.”
Those two in the antechamber,” he added, eyes sparkling, “might not be on that list of people you should bother knowing, if they keep banging on the door like children.” Another pound, emphasized by the first male voice saying, “You know we can hear you, prick.”
“You Illyrians are worse than cats yowling to be let in the back door.” The knob jangled. She sighed sharply. “Really, Rhysand? You locked us out?”
“We were here first. Wait your turn, Tiny Ancient One.”
“Why is everyone here so early? I thought we were meeting tonight at the House.” Below, Rhysand grumbled—grumbled—“Trust me, there’s no party. Only a massacre, if Cassian doesn’t shut his mouth.” “We’re hungry,” that first male—Cassian—complained. “Feed us. Someone told me there’d be breakfast.”
Maybe it was some shred of courage, or recklessness, or I was so high above everything that no one save Rhys and the wind could hear, but I said, “I’m thinking that I must have been a fool in love to allow myself to be shown so little of the Spring Court. I’m thinking there’s a great deal of that territory I was never allowed to see or hear about and maybe I would have lived in ignorance forever like some pet. I’m thinking … ”
“I’m thinking that I was a lonely, hopeless person, and I might have fallen in love with the first thing that showed me a hint of kindness and safety. And I’m thinking maybe he knew that—maybe not actively, but maybe he wanted to be that person for someone. And maybe that worked for who I was before. Maybe it doesn’t work for who—what I am now.” There.
And you, girl …” She sniffed again, and I’d never felt so laid bare. Surprise lit Amren’s eyes. Rhys just nodded.
Yet if they might all live through their pain, might still laugh … I cleared my throat, straightening,
