A Court of Mist and Fury (A Court of Thorns and Roses #2) by Sarah J. Maas

“Well, maybe I’ll go tomorrow. If you’ll join me.”

I grinned at Tarquin—aware of every one I offered him, now that Rhys had mentioned it. Beyond his giving me brief, nightly updates on their lack of progress with discovering anything about the Book, we hadn’t really spoken since that evening I’d filled his glass—though it had been because of our own full days, not awkwardness.

“I’d like that,” I said. “Perhaps we could go for a walk in the morning down the causeway when the tide is out. There’s that little building along the way—it looks fascinating.”

Cresseida stopped speaking, but I went on, sipping from my wine. “I figure since I’ve seen most of the city now, I could see it on my way to visit some of the mainland, too.”

Tarquin’s glance at Cresseida was all the confirmation I needed.

That stone building indeed guarded what we sought.

“It’s a temple ruin,” Tarquin said blandly—the lie smooth as silk. “Just mud and seaweed at this point. We’ve been meaning to repair it for years.”

“Maybe we’ll take the bridge then. I’ve had enough of mud for a while.”

Remember that I saved you, that I fought the Middengard Wyrm—forget the threat …

Tarquin’s eyes held mine—for a moment too long.

In the span of a blink, I hurled my silent, hidden power toward him, a spear aimed toward his mind, those wary eyes.

There was a shield in place—a shield of sea glass and coral and the undulating sea.

I became that sea, became the whisper of waves against stone, the glimmer of sunlight on a gull’s white wings. I became him—became that mental shield.

And then I was through it, a clear, dark tether showing me the way back should I need it. I let instinct, no doubt granted from Rhys, guide me forward. To what I needed to see.

Tarquin’s thoughts hit me like pebbles. Why does she ask about the temple? Of all the things to bring up … Around me, they continued eating. I continued eating. I willed my own face, in a different body, a different world, to smile pleasantly.

Why did they want to come here so badly? Why ask about my trove?

Like lapping waves, I sent my thoughts washing over his.

She is harmless. She is kind, and sad, and broken. You saw her with your people—you saw how she treated them. How she treats you. Amarantha did not break that kindness.

I poured my thoughts into him, tinting them with brine and the cries of terns—wrapping them in the essence that was Tarquin, the essence he’d given to me.

Take her to the mainland tomorrow. That’ll keep her from asking about the temple. She saved Prythian. She is your friend.

My thoughts settled in him like a stone dropped into a pool. And as the wariness faded in his eyes, I knew my work was done.

I hauled myself back, back, back, slipping through that ocean-and-pearl wall, reeling inward until my body was a cage around me.

Tarquin smiled. “We’ll meet after breakfast. Unless Rhysand wants me for more meetings.” Neither Cresseida nor Varian so much as glanced at him. Had Rhys taken care of their own suspicions?

Lightning shot through my blood, even as my blood chilled to realize what I’d done—

Rhys waved a lazy hand. “By all means, Tarquin, spend the day with my lady.”

My lady. I ignored the two words. But I shut out my own marveling at what I’d accomplished, the slow-building horror at the invisible violation Tarquin would never know about.

I leaned forward, bracing my bare forearms on the cool wood table. “Tell me what there is to see on the mainland,” I asked Tarquin, and steered him away from the temple on the tidal causeway.



Rhys and Amren waited until the household lights dimmed before coming into my room.

I’d been sitting in bed, counting down the minutes, forming my plan. None of the guest rooms looked out on the causeway—as if they wanted no one to notice it.

Rhys arrived first, leaning against the closed door. “What a fast learner you are. It takes most daemati years to master that sort of infiltration.”

My nails bit into my palms. “You knew—that I did it?” Speaking the words aloud felt too much, too … real.

A shallow nod. “And what expert work you did, using the essence of him to trick his shields, to get past them … Clever lady.”

“He’ll never forgive me,” I breathed.

“He’ll never know.” Rhys angled his head, silky dark hair sliding over his brow. “You get used to it. The sense that you’re crossing a boundary, that you’re violating them. For what it’s worth, I didn’t particularly enjoy convincing Varian and Cresseida to find other matters more interesting.”

I dropped my gaze to the pale marble floor.

“If you hadn’t taken care of Tarquin,” he went on, “the odds are we’d be knee-deep in shit right now.”

“It was my fault, anyway—I was the one who asked about the temple. I was only cleaning up my own mess.” I shook my head. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“It never does. Or it shouldn’t. Far too many daemati lose that sense. But here—tonight … the benefits outweighed the costs.”

“Is that also what you told yourself when you went into my mind? What was the benefit then?”