A Court of Wings and Ruin (A Court of Thorns and Roses, #3)

by Sarah J. Maas

I’d always thought death would be some sort of peaceful homecoming—a sweet, sad lullaby to usher me into whatever waited afterward.

Lucien squeezed our linked arms as we rounded a hedge, the house rising up before us. “You are a better friend to me, Feyre,” he said quietly, “than I ever was to you.”

When I looked to Ianthe and smiled again, I let a little bit of the wolf show.

“Perhaps that’s because Rhysand has not lost you at all. But rather unleashed you upon us.”

“You were right,” Lucien declared at last. “That girl I knew did die Under the Mountain.”

“Lord of Foxes,”

“I am High Lady of the Night Court,” I said quietly to them all.

“This is Velaris,” I explained. “The City of Starlight.” His throat bobbed. “And you are High Lady of the Night Court.” “Indeed she is.” My blood stopped at the voice that drawled from behind me. At the scent that hit me, awoke me. My friends began smiling. I turned. Rhysand leaned against the archway into the sitting room, arms crossed, wings nowhere to be seen, dressed in his usual immaculate black jacket and pants. And as those violet eyes met mine, as that familiar half smile faded … My face crumpled. A small, broken noise cracked from me.

“There’s my darling Feyre.”

The Clever Fox Stares Down Winged Death.

“I hadn’t realized I was a villain in your narrative,” Lucien breathed.

Nesta had been beautiful as a human woman. As High Fae, she was devastating. From the utter stillness with which Cassian stood beside me, I wondered if he thought the same thing.

When I looked ahead, I found Cassian staring back at Nesta as well. I wondered why no one had yet mentioned what now shone in Cassian’s eyes as he gazed at my sister. The sorrow. And the longing.

“We can make whatever rules we want. You have every right to question me, push me—both in private and in public.”

“We will keep planning for the future, war or no war. I will keep planning for our future.” My throat burned, and I nodded. “We deserve to be happy,”

“You and this city helped wake me up—helped bring me back to life.” His eyes flickered as I smiled up at him. “I will fight with everything I have, too, Rhys. Everything.”

“I’m willing to take the brunt of it, if it means the others will at least stand with us against him.” I clenched the tufted arms of the chair. “You shouldn’t have to.” “It might be the only choice.” “I don’t accept that as an option.” He blinked at me. “Prythian might need me as an option.” Because with that power of his … He’d take on the king and his entire army. Burn himself out until he was— “I need you. As an option. In my future.”

“How can you ask me not to give everything I have to ensure that you, that my family and people, survive?” “You’ve given enough.” “Not enough. Not yet.” It was hard to breathe, to see past the burning in my eyes. “Why? Where does this come from, Rhys?” For once, he didn’t answer.

“But this is war. We don’t have the luxury of good ideas—only picking between the bad ones.”

The Carver inclined his head in greeting—in greeting and in confirmation, as if he knew precisely what I realized. Who I had seen and was still seeing. The High Lord’s son. My son. Our son. Should we survive long enough to bear him.

Cauldron help the male who wound up shackled to her.

And it’s Cassian 🤭🤭

He had not seen her entire face since that day in Hybern. Then, it had been drawn and terrified, then utterly blank and numb, her hair plastered to her head, her lips blue with cold and shock. Looking at her now … She was pale, yes. The vacancy still glazing her features. But he couldn’t breathe as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen.

Until Lucien breathed, “What are you?” Cassian didn’t seem to dare take his focus off Nesta. But my sister slowly looked at Lucien. “I made it give something back,” she said with terrifying quiet.

“Only Nesta would not just conquer Death—but pillage it.”

But here, I did not thank anyone. Here, I took what was mine, and offered no gratitude or apologies for it.

Heavy—there was an old heaviness in me. Like I could sleep for a hundred years and it wouldn’t be enough.

Then went into my bedroom, crawled onto the mattress, and cried. I didn’t really know why.

Nesta in a pale gray gown that brought out the steel in her eyes, Elain in dusty pink. Both males went a bit still.

That was why the Cauldron couldn’t shatter the wall. Not because its power was spent. But because Nesta had stolen too much of it.

War would linger with me long after it had ended, some invisible scar that would perhaps fade, but never wholly vanish.

“You are not going to die in this war, Rhysand.”

And it was precisely because of it that I said, “I love you.” His head lifted, eyes churning. “There was a time when I dreamed of hearing that,” he murmured. “When I never thought I’d hear it from you.” He gestured to the tent—to Adriata beyond it. “Our trip here was the first time I let myself … hope.”

To the stars who listen—and the dreams that are answered.

If Rhysand was Night Triumphant, I was the star that only glowed thanks to his darkness, the light only visible because of him.

I had been terrified once, in Tamlin’s court, of being given a crown. Had dreaded it. And I supposed that I indeed had never fretted over it when it came to Rhys. As if some small part of me had always known that this was where I was meant to be: at his side, as his equal. His queen.

Night Triumphant—and the Stars Eternal. If he was the sweet, terrifying darkness, I was the glittering light that only his shadows could make clear.

I see all of you, Rhys. And there is not one part that I do not love with everything that I am.

“I’m not in the business of discussing our plans with enemies.” Helion, across the reflection pool, grinned like a lion. “No,” Tamlin said with equal ease, “you’re just in the business of fucking them.”

“If you hadn’t stolen my bride away in the night, Rhysand, I would not have been forced to take such drastic measures to get her back.” I said quietly, “The sun was shining when I left you.”

Rhys turned his head, looking me over from head to toe. Then back to Tamlin. A storm about to be unleashed. But it was Azriel who said, his voice like cold death, “Be careful how you speak about my High Lady.”

“You once asked me if you’d be my High Lady, and when I said no …” A low laugh. “Perhaps I underestimated you. Why serve in my court, when you could rule in his?”

Seems like Lucien can still play the fox.

“That bastard,” Nesta said with utter coolness, though her eyes began to burn, “may wind up being the only person standing in the way of Hybern’s forces and your people.” She didn’t so much as look at Cassian as she said it. But he stared at her—as if he’d never seen her before.

I was well aware how wildly I loved him, but looking at him then … I felt it in every pore of my body, felt it as if it might crush me, consume me.

If Elain was a blooming flower in this army camp, then Nesta … she was a freshly forged sword, waiting to draw blood.

“I belong to no one. But my heart belongs to you.”

“We’re all broken,” Mor said. “In our own ways—in places no one might see.”

“Only you can decide what breaks you, Cursebreaker. Only you.”

“You … were kind. You … fought your fear. You were … kind,” it said again. I began crying.

“Feyre Archeron,” the Suriel said again, gazing at the leafy canopy, the sky peeking through it. A painful inhale. “A request.” I leaned close. “Anything.” Another rattling breath. “Leave this world … a better place than how you found it.”