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

Amren just continued cleaning her nails—with a tiny bone, I realized. “Touch me, Cassian, and I’ll remove your favorite part. Small as it might be.”

He let out a low chuckle. Standing between them in the sparring ring atop the House of Wind, a dagger in each hand, sweat sliding down my body, I wondered if I should find a way to slip out. Perhaps winnow—though I hadn’t been able to do it again since that morning in the mortal realm, despite my quiet efforts in the privacy of my own bedroom.

Four days of this—training with him, working with Rhys afterward on trying to summon flame or darkness. Unsurprisingly, I made more progress with the former.

Word had not yet arrived from the Summer Court. Or from the Spring Court, regarding my letter. I hadn’t decided if that was a good thing. Azriel continued his attempt to infiltrate the human queens’ courts, his network of spies now seeking a foothold to get inside. That he hadn’t managed to do so yet had made him quieter than usual—colder.

Amren’s silver eyes flicked up from her nails. “Good. You can play with her.”

“Play with who?” said Mor, stepping from the stairwell shadows.

Cassian’s nostrils flared. “Where’d you go the other night?” he asked Mor without so much as a nod of greeting. “I didn’t see you leave Rita’s.” Their usual dance hall for drinking and revelry.

They’d dragged me out two nights ago—and I’d spent most of the time sitting in their booth, nursing my wine, talking over the music with Azriel, who had arrived content to brood, but reluctantly joined me in observing Rhys holding court at the bar. Females and males watched Rhysand throughout the hall—and the shadowsinger and I made a game of betting on who, exactly, would work up the nerve to invite the High Lord home.

Unsurprisingly, Az won every round. But at least he was smiling by the end of the night—to Mor’s delight when she’d stumbled back to our table to chug another drink before prancing onto the dance floor again.

Rhys didn’t accept any offers that came his way, no matter how beautiful they were, no matter how they smiled and laughed. And his refusals were polite—firm, but polite.

Had he been with anyone since Amarantha? Did he want another person in his bed after Amarantha? Even the wine hadn’t given me the nerve to ask Azriel about it.

Mor, it seemed, went to Rita’s more than anyone else—practically lived there, actually. She shrugged at Cassian’s demand and another chaise like Amren’s appeared. “I just went … out,” she said, plopping down.

“With whom?” Cassian pushed.

“Last I was aware,” Mor said, leaning back in the chair, “I didn’t take orders from you, Cassian. Or report to you. So where I was, and who I was with, is none of your damn concern.”

“You didn’t tell Azriel, either.”

I paused, weighing those words, Cassian’s stiff shoulders. Yes, there was some tension between him and Mor that resulted in that bickering, but … perhaps … perhaps Cassian accepted the role of buffer not to keep them apart, but to keep the shadowsinger from hurt. From being old news, as I’d called him.

Cassian finally remembered I’d been standing in front of him, noted the look of understanding on my face, and gave me a warning one in return. Fair enough.

I shrugged and took a moment to set down the daggers and catch my breath. For a heartbeat, I wished Nesta were there, if only to see them go head to head. We hadn’t heard from my sisters—or the mortal queens. I wondered when we’d send another letter or try another route.

“Why, exactly,” Cassian said to Amren and Mor, not even bothering to try to sound pleasant, “are you two ladies here?”

Mor closed her eyes as she tipped back her head, sunning her golden face with the same irreverence that Cassian perhaps sought to shield Azriel from—and Mor herself perhaps tried to shield Azriel from as well. “Rhys is coming in a few moments to give us some news, apparently. Didn’t Amren tell you?”

“I forgot,” Amren said, still picking at her nails. “I was having too much fun watching Feyre evade Cassian’s tried-and-true techniques to get people to do what he wants.”

Cassian’s brows rose. “You’ve been here for an hour.”

“Oops,” Amren said.

Cassian threw up his hands. “Get off your ass and give me twenty lunges—”

A vicious, unearthly snarl cut him off.

But Rhys strolled out of the stairwell, and I couldn’t decide if I should be relieved or disappointed that Cassian versus Amren was put to a sudden stop.

He was in his fine clothes, not fighting leathers, his wings nowhere in sight. Rhys looked at them, at me, the daggers I’d left in the dirt, and then said, “Sorry to interrupt while things were getting interesting.”

“Fortunately for Cassian’s balls,” Amren said, nestling back in her chaise, “you arrived at the right time.”

Cassian snarled halfheartedly at her.

Rhys laughed, and said to none of us in particular, “Ready to go on a summer holiday?”

Mor said, “The Summer Court invited you?”

“Of course they did. Feyre, Amren, and I are going tomorrow.”

Only the three of us? Cassian seemed to have the same thought, his wings rustling as he crossed his arms and faced Rhys. “The Summer Court is full of hotheaded fools and arrogant pricks,” he warned. “I should join you.”