A Court of Thorns and Roses (A Court of Thorns and Roses #1) by Sarah J. Maas

Still on his knees, Tamlin’s eyes turned so bright—defiant.

“So,” Amarantha said, but I didn’t look at her. “What will it be, Feyre?”

Kill him and save his court and my life, or kill myself and let them all live as Amarantha’s slaves, let her and the King of Hybern wage their final war against the human realm. There was no bargain to get out of this—no part of me to sell to avoid this choice.

I stared at the ash dagger on that pillow. Alis had been right all those weeks ago: no human who came here ever walked out again. I was no exception. If I were smart, I would indeed stab my own heart before they could grab me. At least then I would die quickly—I wouldn’t endure the torture that surely awaited me, possibly a fate like Jurian’s. Alis had been right. But—

Alis—Alis had said something … something to help me. A final part of the curse, a part they couldn’t tell me, a part that would aid me … And all she’d been able to do was tell me to listen. To listen to what I’d heard—as if I’d already learned everything I needed.

I slowly faced Tamlin again. Memories flashed, one after another, blurs of color and words. Tamlin was High Lord of the Spring Court—what did that do to help me? The Great Rite was performed—no.

He lied to me about everything—about why I’d been brought to the manor, about what was happening on his lands. The curse—he hadn’t been allowed to tell me the truth, but he hadn’t exactly pretended that everything was fine. No—he’d lied and explained as best he could and made it painfully obvious to me at every turn that something was very, very wrong.

The Attor in the garden—as hidden from me as I was from it. But Tamlin had hidden me—he’d told me to stay put and then led the Attor right toward me, let me overhear them.

He’d left the dining room doors open when he’d spoken with Lucien about—about the curse, even if I hadn’t realized it at the time. He’d spoken in public places. He’d wanted me to eavesdrop.

Because he wanted me to know, to listen—because this knowledge … I ransacked each conversation, turning over words like stones. A part of the curse I hadn’t grasped, that they couldn’t explicitly tell me, but Tamlin had needed me to know …

Milady makes no bargains that are not advantageous to her.

She would never kill what she desired most—not when she wanted Tamlin as much as I did. But if I killed him … she either knew I couldn’t do it, or she was playing a very, very dangerous game.

Conversation after conversation echoed in my memory, until I heard Lucien’s words, and everything froze. And that was when I knew.

I couldn’t breathe, not as I replayed the memory, not as I recalled the conversation I’d overheard one day. Lucien and Tamlin in the dining room, the door wide open for all to hear—for me to hear.

“For someone with a heart of stone, yours is certainly soft these days.”

I looked at Tamlin, my eyes flicking to his chest as another memory flashed. The Attor in the garden, laughing.

“Though you have a heart of stone, Tamlin,” the Attor said, “you certainly keep a host of fear inside it.”

Amarantha would never risk me killing him—because she knew I couldn’t kill him.

Not if his heart couldn’t be pierced by a blade. Not if his heart had been turned to stone.

I scanned his face, searching for any glimmer of truth. There was only that bold rebellion within his gaze.

Perhaps I was wrong—perhaps it was just a faerie turn of phrase. But all those times I’d held Tamlin … I’d never felt his heartbeat. I’d been blind to everything until it came back to smack me in the face, but not this time.

That was how she controlled him and his magic. How she controlled all the High Lords, dominating and leashing them just as she kept Jurian’s soul tethered to that eye and bone.

Trust no one, Alis had told me. But I trusted Tamlin—and more than that, I trusted myself. I trusted that I had heard correctly—I trusted that Tamlin had been smarter than Amarantha, I trusted that all I had sacrificed was not in vain.

The entire room was silent, but my attention was upon only Tamlin. The revelation must have been clear on my face, for his breathing became a bit quicker, and he lifted his chin.

I took a step toward him, then another. I was right. I had to be.

I sucked in a breath as I grabbed the dagger off the outstretched pillow. I could be wrong—I could be painfully, tragically wrong.

But there was a faint smile on Tamlin’s lips as I stood over him, ash dagger in hand.

There was such a thing as Fate—because Fate had made sure I was there to eavesdrop when they’d spoken in private, because Fate had whispered to Tamlin that the cold, contrary girl he’d dragged to his home would be the one to break his spell, because Fate had kept me alive just to get to this point, just to see if I had been listening.

And there he was—my High Lord, my beloved, kneeling before me.

“I love you,” I said, and stabbed him.





Chapter 44


Tamlin cried out as my blade pierced his flesh, breaking bone. For a sickening moment, when his blood rushed onto my hand, I thought the ash dagger would go clean through him.

But then there was a faint thud—and a stinging reverberation in my hand as the dagger struck something hard and unyielding. Tamlin lurched forward, his face going pale, and I yanked the dagger from his chest. As the blood drained away from the polished wood, I lifted the blade.