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

I hadn’t let myself see the memories from Under the Mountain: of me, of the others … of what it had done to that human girl I’d given Amarantha in Feyre’s place. I didn’t let myself see what it had been like to beat Feyre—to torment and torture her.

I might have splattered him on the walls. And I needed him to send a message more than I needed my own vengeance.

The Attor was already screaming beneath Truth-Teller’s honed edge when I left the cell.

Then it was done. I staggered back, spooling myself into my body.

Tamlin had closed his borders. “What situation with the Spring Court?”

“None. As of right now. But you know how far Tamlin can be driven to … protect what he thinks is his.”

The image of paint sliding down the ruined study wall flashed in my mind.

“I should have sent Mor that day,” Rhys said with quiet menace.

I snapped up my mental shields. I didn’t want to talk about it. “Thank you for telling me,” I said, and took my book and tea up to my room.

“Feyre,” he said. I didn’t stop. “I am sorry—about deceiving you earlier.”

And this, letting me into his mind … a peace offering. “I need to write a letter.”



The letter was quick, simple. But each word was a battle.

Not because of my former illiteracy. No, I could now read and write just fine.

It was because of the message that Rhys, standing in the foyer, now read:

I left of my own free will.

I am cared for and safe. I am grateful for all that you did for me, all that you gave.

Please don’t come looking for me. I’m not coming back.

He swiftly folded it in two and it vanished. “Are you sure?”

Perhaps it would help with whatever situation was going on at the Spring Court. I glanced to the windows beyond him. The mist wreathing the city had wandered off, revealing a bright, cloudless sky. And somehow, my head felt clearer than it had in days—months.

A city lay out there, that I had barely observed or cared about.

I wanted it—life, people. I wanted to see it, feel its rush through my blood. No boundaries, no limits to what I might encounter or do.

“I am no one’s pet,” I said. Rhys’s face was contemplative, and I wondered if he remembered that he’d told me the same thing once, when I was too lost in my own guilt and despair to understand. “What next?”

“For what it’s worth, I did actually want to give you a day to rest—”

“Don’t coddle me.”

“I’m not. And I’d hardly call our encounter this morning rest. But you will forgive me if I make assessments based on your current physical condition.”

“I’ll be the person who decides that. What about the Book of Breathings?”

“Once Azriel returns from dealing with the Attor, he’s to put his other skill set to use and infiltrate the mortal queens’ courts to learn where they’re keeping it—and what their plans might be. And as for the half in Prythian … We’ll go to the Summer Court within a few days, if my request to visit is approved. High Lords visiting other courts makes everyone jumpy. We’ll deal with the Book then.”

He shut his mouth, no doubt waiting for me to trudge upstairs, to brood and sleep.

Enough—I’d had enough of sleeping.

I said, “You told me that this city was better seen at night. Are you all talk, or will you ever bother to show me?”

A low laugh as he looked me over. I didn’t recoil from his gaze.

When his eyes found mine again, his mouth twisted in a smile so few saw. Real amusement—perhaps a bit of happiness edged with relief. The male behind the High Lord’s mask. “Dinner,” he said. “Tonight. Let’s find out if you, Feyre darling, are all talk—or if you’ll allow a Lord of Night to take you out on the town.”



Amren came to my room before dinner. Apparently, we were all going out tonight.

Downstairs, Cassian and Mor were sniping at each other about whether Cassian could fly faster short-distance than Mor could winnow to the same spot. I assumed Azriel was nearby, seeking sanctuary in the shadows. Hopefully, he’d gotten some rest after dealing with the Attor—and would rest a bit more before heading into the mortal realm to spy on those queens.

Amren, at least, knocked this time before entering. Nuala and Cerridwen, who had finished setting combs of mother-of-pearl into my hair, took one look at the delicate female and vanished into puffs of smoke.

“Skittish things,” Amren said, her red lips cutting a cruel line. “Wraiths always are.”

“Wraiths?” I twisted in the seat before the vanity. “I thought they were High Fae.”

“Half,” Amren said, surveying my turquoise, cobalt, and white clothes. “Wraiths are nothing but shadow and mist, able to walk through walls, stone—you name it. I don’t even want to know how those two were conceived. High Fae will stick their cocks anywhere.”

I choked on what could have been a laugh or a cough. “They make good spies.”

“Why do you think they’re now whispering in Azriel’s ear that I’m in here?”

“I thought they answered to Rhys.”

“They answer to both, but they were trained by Azriel first.”