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

by Sarah J. Maas

“You are a better friend to me, Feyre,” he said quietly, “than I ever was to you.”

How many others had seen the truth of my suffering—and tried to spare him from it? Seen my suffering and done nothing to help me.

Alis squeezed my hand. “Blood rubies or no, you will always have one friend in the Summer Court.” My throat bobbed. “And you will always have one in mine,” I promised her. She knew which court I meant. And did not look afraid.

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.

Rhys said smoothly, “I’m not entirely sure Velaris is prepared for Nesta Archeron.”

“Honestly,” I said to Lucien, who wordlessly stacked a pile of buttery green beans onto his plate but didn’t touch it, perhaps marveling at the simple fare, so at odds with the overwrought dishes of Spring, “Azriel is the only polite one.” A few cries of outrage from Mor and Cassian, but a ghost of a smile danced on the shadowsinger’s mouth as he dipped his head and hauled a platter of roast beets sprinkled with goat cheese toward himself. “Don’t even try to pretend that it’s not true.”

“We deserve to be happy,” he said, his eyes sparkling enough to tell me that he recalled the words I’d given him on the town house roof after the attack. “And I will fight with everything I have to ensure it.” “We will fight,” I said hoarsely. “Not just you—not anymore.”

“You need to strengthen your back muscles—and your thighs. And your arms. And core.” “So everything, then.” Again, that dry, quiet smile. “Why do you think Illyrians are so fit?” “Why did no one warn me about this cocky side of yours?” Azriel’s mouth twitched upward.

“Nothing about Nesta could frighten me.”

But for my home, for Prythian and the human territory and so many others … I would clean my blades, and wash the blood from my skin. And I would do it again and again and again.

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

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.

“No going back now,” Cassian said to Rhys, gesturing to his wings. Rhys slid his hands into his pockets. “I figure it’s time for the world to know who really has the largest wingspan.” Cassian laughed, and even Azriel smiled. Mor gave me a look that had me biting my lip to keep from howling.

But it was Azriel who said, his voice like cold death, “Be careful how you speak about my High Lady.”

I witnessed children—entire families—starve to death.” She jerked her chin at me. “Were it not for my sister … I would be among them.” My eyes burned, but I blinked it away.

I considered—Helion’s beauty and the others … Why the hell haven’t they said yes? Rhys barked a laugh that had all of them looking at him with raised brows.

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

“I’m grateful,” he said after a while, as the camp beneath us stirred in the building light. “To have you at my side. I don’t know if I ever told you that—how grateful I am to have you stand with me.”

“Then why come at all?” “You … were kind. You … fought your fear. You were … kind,” it said again. I began crying.

“And you were kind to me,” I said, not brushing away the tears that fell onto its bloodied, tattered robe. “Thank you—for helping me. When no one else would.” A small smile on that lipless mouth. “Feyre Archeron.” A labored breath. “I told you—to stay with the High Lord. And you did.”

Another rattling breath. “Leave this world … a better place than how you found it.”

I understood why the Suriel had come to help me, again and again. Not just for kindness … but because it was a dreamer.

“Remember that you are a wolf. And you cannot be caged.”

“He told me that he’s got three daughters who live here. And that he failed them for many years. But he would not fail them this time.” The ships at the front of the human armada became clear, along with the gold lettering on their sides. “He named his three personal ships after them,” Drakon said with a smile. And there, sailing at the front … I beheld the names of those ships. The Feyre. The Elain. And leading the charge against Hybern, flying over the waves, unyielding and without an ounce of fear … The Nesta. With my father … our father at the helm.

She lifted a steady hand toward my arm. “I am glad we met, Feyre.” I smiled at her, bowing my head. “Me too, Amren. Me too.”

“For someone who was just dead,” I said tightly, “you seem remarkably relaxed.” Rhys smirked. “I’m glad you’re bouncing back to your usual spirits, Feyre darling.”

“The new Amren is even crankier than the old one,” Elain said softly. I burst out laughing. The others joined me, and even Elain smiled—broadly.