A Court of Frost and Starlight (A Court of Thorns and Roses #3.1) by Sarah J. Maas

While they beheld what was inside and smiled.

I hadn’t any idea what to get them, other than this. The pieces I’d worked on recently—glimpses of their stories.

None of them explained what the paintings meant, what they beheld. But each of them kissed me on the cheek in thanks.

Before I could hand Rhys his present, I found a heap of them in my lap.

From Amren: an illuminated manuscript, ancient and beautiful. From Azriel: rare, vibrant paint from the continent. From Cassian: a proper leather sheath for a blade, to be set down the groove of my spine like a true Illyrian warrior. From Elain: fine brushes monogrammed with my initials and the Night Court insignia on the handles. And from Mor: a pair of fleece-lined slippers. Bright pink, fleece-lined slippers.

Nothing from Nesta, but I didn’t care. Not one bit.

The others passed around their gifts, and I finally found a moment to haul the last painting over to Rhys. He’d lingered by the bay window, quiet and smiling. Last year had been his first Solstice since Amarantha—this year, his second. I didn’t want to know what it had been like, what she’d done to him, during those forty-nine Solstices he’d missed.

Rhys opened my present carefully, lifting the painting so the others wouldn’t see it.

I watched his eyes rove over what was on it. Watched his throat bob.

“Tell me that’s not your new pet,” Cassian said, having snuck behind me to peer at it.

I shoved him away. “Snoop.”

Rhys’s face remained solemn, his eyes star-bright as they met mine. “Thank you.”

The others continued on a tad more loudly—to give us privacy in that crowded room.

“I have no idea where you might hang it,” I said, “but I wanted you to have it.”

To see.

For on that painting, I’d shown him what I had not revealed to anyone. What the Ouroboros had revealed to me: the creature inside myself, the creature full of hate and regret and love and sacrifice, the creature that could be cruel and brave, sorrowful and joyous.

I gave him me—as no one but him would ever see me. No one but him would ever understand.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, voice still hoarse.

I blinked away the tears that threatened at those words and leaned into the kiss he pressed to my mouth. You are beautiful, he whispered down the bond.

So are you.

I know.

I laughed, pulling away. Prick.

There were only a few presents left—Lucien’s. I opened mine to find a gift for me and my mate: three bottles of fine liquor. You’ll need it, was all the note said.

I handed Elain the small box with her name on it. Her smile faded as she opened it.

“Enchanted gloves,” she read from the card. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.” She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment. And I wondered if she preferred to have torn and sweaty hands, if the dirt and cuts were proof of her labor. Her joy.

Amren squealed—actually squealed—with delight when she beheld Rhys’s present. The jewels glittering inside the multiple boxes. But her delight turned quieter, more tender when she opened Varian’s gift. She didn’t show any of us what was inside the small box before offering him a small, private smile.

There was a tiny box left on the table by the window—a box that Mor lifted, squinted at the name tag, and said, “Az, this one’s for you.”

The shadowsinger’s brows lifted, but his scarred hand extended to take the present.

Elain turned from where she’d been speaking to Nesta. “Oh, that’s from me.”

Azriel’s face didn’t so much as shift at the words. Not even a smile as he opened the present and revealed—

“I had Madja make it for me,” Elain explained. Azriel’s brows narrowed at the mention of the family’s preferred healer. “It’s a powder to mix in with any drink.”

Silence.

Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.”

Silence again.

Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed.

I’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous. Cassian and Rhys joined him, the former grabbing the glass bottle from Azriel’s hand and examining it. “Brilliant,” Cassian said.

Elain smiled again, ducking her head.

Azriel mastered himself enough to say, “Thank you.” I’d never seen his hazel eyes so bright, the hues of green amid the brown and gray like veins of emerald. “This will be invaluable.”

“Prick,” Cassian said, but laughed again.

Nesta watched warily from her chair, Elain’s present—her only present—in her lap. Her spine stiffened slightly. Not at the words, but at Elain, laughing with them. With us.

As if Nesta were looking at us through some sort of window. As if she were still standing out in the front yard, watching us in the house.

I forced myself to smile, though. To laugh with them.

I had a feeling Cassian was doing the same.



The night was a blur of laughter and drinking, even with Nesta sitting in near-silence at the packed dinner table.

It was only when the clock chimed two that the yawns began to appear. Amren and Varian were the first to leave, the latter bearing all of her presents in his arms, the former nestled in the fine ermine coat that he’d given her—a second gift to whatever one he’d put in that small box.