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

But this front space … Empty. Save for the tapestry I’d hung on one wall, the black of the Void mesmerizing. And a reminder. As much of a reminder as the impossible iridescence of Hope, glittering throughout. To work through loss, no matter how overwhelming. To create.

And then there were the ten easels and stools set in a circle in the middle of the gallery floor.

Waiting.

“Will they come?” I murmured to Ressina.

The faerie shifted on her feet, the only sign of her worry. “They said they would.”

In the month that we’d been working together, she’d become a good friend. A dear friend. Ressina’s eye for design was impeccable, good enough that I’d asked her to help me plan the river-house. That’s what I was calling it. Since river-manor … No. House it would be, even if it was the largest home in this city. Not from any preening, but simply from practicality. From the size of our court, our family. A family that would perhaps keep growing.

But that was later. For now …

A minute passed by. Then two.

“Come on,” Ressina muttered.

“Perhaps they had the wrong time?”

But as I said it, they emerged. Ressina and I held our breath as the pack of them rounded the corner, aiming for the studio.

Ten children, High Fae and faerie, and some of their parents.

Some of them—since others were no longer alive.

I kept a warm smile on my face, even as my heart thundered with each child that passed through our door, wary and unsure, clustering near the easels. My palms sweated as the parents gathered with them, their faces less guarded, but still hesitant. Hesitant, yet hopeful.

Not just for themselves, but the children they’d brought with them.

We hadn’t advertised broadly. Ressina had reached out to some friends and acquaintances, and requested they ask around. If there were children in this city who might need a place to express the horrors that had happened during the war. If there were children who might not be able to talk about what they’d endured, but could perhaps paint or draw or sculpt it. Perhaps they wouldn’t do any of those things, but the act of creating something … it could be a balm to them.

As it was for me.

As it was for the weaver, and Ressina, and so many of the artists in this city.

Once word had gotten out, inquiries had poured in. Not just from parents or guardians, but from potential instructors. Artists in the Rainbow who were eager to help—to teach classes.

I’d instruct one a day, depending on what was required of me as High Lady. Ressina would do another. And a rotating schedule of other teachers to teach the third and fourth classes of the day. Including the weaver, Aranea, herself.

Because the response from parents and family had been overwhelming.

How soon do classes start? was the most frequent question. The close second being How much does it cost?

Nothing. Nothing, we told them. It was free. No child or family would ever pay for classes here—or the supplies.

The room filled, and Ressina and I swapped a quick, relieved look. A nervous look, too.

And when I faced the families gathered, the room open and sunny around us, I smiled once more and began.





CHAPTER

28

Feyre

He was waiting for me an hour and a half later.

As the last of the children flitted out, some laughing, some still solemn and hollow-eyed, he held the door open for them and their families. They all gawked, bowing their heads, and Rhys offered them a wide, easy smile in return.

I loved that smile. Loved that casual grace as he strode into the gallery, no sign of his wings today, and surveyed the still-drying paintings. Surveyed the paint splattered on my face and sweater and boots. “Rough day at the office?”

I pushed back a strand of my hair. Knowing it was likely streaked with blue paint. Since my fingers were covered in it. “You should see Ressina.”

Indeed, she’d gone into the back moments ago to wash off a face full of red paint. Courtesy of one of the children, who’d deemed it a good idea to form a bubble of all the paint to see what color it would turn, and then float it across the room. Where it collided with her face.

Rhys laughed when I showed him down the bond. “Excellent use of their budding powers, at least.”

I grinned, surveying one of the paintings beside him. “That’s what I said. Ressina didn’t find it so funny.”

Though she had. Smiling had been a little difficult, though, when so many of the children had both visible and unseen scars.

Rhys and I studied a painting by a young faerie whose parents had been killed in the attack. “We didn’t give them any detailed prompts,” I said as Rhys’s eyes roved around the painting. “We only told them to paint a memory. This is what she came up with.”

It was hard to look at. The two figures in it. The red paint. The figures in the sky, their vicious teeth and reaching claws.

“They don’t take their paintings home?”

“These will dry first, but I asked her if she wanted me to keep this somewhere special. She said to throw it out.”

Rhys’s eyes danced with worry.

I said quietly, “I want to keep it. To put in my future office. So we don’t forget.”

What had happened, what we were working for. Exactly why Aranea’s tapestry of the Night Court insignia hung on the wall here.