A Court of Mist and Fury

He took me to other rooms beneath his palace, some full of jewels, others weapons, others clothes from eras long since past. He showed me one full of books, and my heart leaped—but there was nothing in there. Nothing but leather and dust and quiet. No trickle of power that felt like the male beside me—no hint of the book I needed.

  Tarquin brought me to one last room, full of crates and stacks covered in sheets. And as I beheld all the artwork looming beyond the open door I said, “I think I’ve seen enough for today.”

  He asked no questions as he resealed the chamber and escorted me back to the busy, sunny upper levels.

  There had to be other places where it might be stored. Unless it was in another city.

  I had to find it. Soon. There was only so long Rhys and Amren could draw out their political debates before we had to go home. I just prayed I’d find it fast enough—and not hate myself any more than I currently did.

  Rhysand was lounging on my bed as if he owned it.

  I took one look at the hands crossed behind his head, the long legs draped over the edge of the mattress, and ground my teeth. “What do you want?” I shut the door loud enough to emphasize the bite in my words.

  “Flirting and giggling with Tarquin did you no good, I take it?”

  I chucked the box onto the bed beside him. “You tell me.”

  The smile faltered as he sat up, flipping open the lid. “This isn’t the Book.”

  “No, but it’s a beautiful gift.”

  “You want me to buy you jewelry, Feyre, then say the word. Though given your wardrobe, I thought you were aware that it was all bought for you.”

  I hadn’t realized, but I said, “Tarquin is a good male—a good High Lord. You should just ask him for the damned Book.”

  Rhys snapped shut the lid. “So he plies you with jewels and pours honey in your ear, and now you feel bad?”

  “He wants your alliance—desperately. He wants to trust you, rely on you.”

  “Well, Cresseida is under the impression that her cousin is rather ambitious, so I’d be careful to read between his words.”

  “Oh? Did she tell you that before, during, or after you took her to bed?”

  Rhys stood in a graceful, slow movement. “Is that why you wouldn’t look at me? Because you think I fucked her for information?”

  “Information or your own pleasure, I don’t care.”

  He came around the bed, and I stood my ground, even as he stopped with hardly a hand’s breadth between us. “Jealous, Feyre?”

  “If I’m jealous, then you’re jealous about Tarquin and his honey pouring.”

  Rhysand’s teeth flashed. “Do you think I particularly like having to flirt with a lonely female to get information about her court, her High Lord? Do you think I feel good about myself, doing that? Do you think I enjoy doing it just so you have the space to ply Tarquin with your smiles and pretty eyes, so we can get the Book and go home?”

  “You seemed to enjoy yourself plenty last night.”

  His snarl was soft—vicious. “I didn’t take her to bed. She wanted to, but I didn’t so much as kiss her. I took her out for a drink in the city, let her talk about her life, her pressures, and brought her back to her room, and went no farther than the door. I waited for you at breakfast, but you slept in. Or avoided me, apparently. And I tried to catch your eye this afternoon, but you were so good at shutting me out completely.”

  “Is that what got under your skin? That I shut you out, or that it was so easy for Tarquin to get in?”

  “What got under my skin,” Rhys said, his breathing a bit uneven, “is that you smiled at him.”

  The rest of the world faded to mist as the words sank in. “You are jealous.”

  He shook his head, stalking to the little table against the far wall and knocking back a glass of amber liquid. He braced his hands on the table, the powerful muscles of his back quivering beneath his shirt as the shadow of those wings struggled to take form.

  “I heard what you told him,” he said. “That you thought it would be easy to fall in love with him. You meant it, too.”

  “So?” It was the only thing I could think of to say.

  “I was jealous—of that. That I’m not … that sort of person. For anyone. The Summer Court has always been neutral; they only showed backbone during those years Under the Mountain. I spared Tarquin’s life because I’d heard how he wanted to even out the playing field between High Fae and lesser faeries. I’ve been trying to do that for years. Unsuccessfully, but … I spared him for that alone. And Tarquin, with his neutral court … he will never have to worry about someone walking away because the threat against their life, their children’s lives, will always be there. So, yes, I was jealous of him—because it will always be easy for him. And he will never know what it is to look up at the night sky and wish.”

  The Court of Dreams.

  The people who knew that there was a price, and one worth paying, for that dream. The bastard-born warriors, the Illyrian half-breed, the monster trapped in a beautiful body, the dreamer born into a court of nightmares … And the huntress with an artist’s soul.

  And perhaps because it was the most vulnerable thing he’d said to me, perhaps it was the burning in my eyes, but I walked to where he stood over the little bar. I didn’t look at him as I took the decanter of amber liquid and poured myself a knuckle’s length, then refilled his.

  But I met his stare as I clinked my glass against his, the crystal ringing clear and bright over the crashing sea far below, and said, “To the people who look at the stars and wish, Rhys.”

  He picked up his glass, his gaze so piercing that I wondered why I had bothered blushing at all for Tarquin.

  Rhys clinked his glass against mine. “To the stars who listen—and the dreams that are answered.”

  CHAPTER

  35

  Two days passed. Every moment of it was a balancing act of truth and lies. Rhys saw to it that I was not invited to the meetings he and Amren held to distract my kind host, granting me time to scour the city for any hint of the Book.

  But not too eagerly; not too intently. I could not look too intrigued as I wandered the streets and docks, could not ask too many leading questions of the people I encountered about the treasures and legends of Adriata. Even when I awoke at dawn, I made myself wait until a reasonable hour before setting out into the city, made myself take an extended bath to secretly practice that water-magic. And while crafting water-animals grew tedious after an hour … it came to me easily. Perhaps because of my proximity to Tarquin, perhaps because of whatever affinity for water was already in my blood, my soul—though I certainly was in no position to ask.

  Once breakfast had finally been served and consumed, I made sure to look a bit bored and aimless when I finally strode through the shining halls of the palace on my way out into the awakening city.

  Hardly anyone recognized me as I casually examined shops and houses and bridges for any glimmer of a spell that felt like Tarquin, though I doubted they had reason to. It had been the High Fae—the nobility—that had been kept Under the Mountain. These people had been left here … to be tormented.

  Scars littered the buildings, the streets, from what had been done in retaliation for their rebellion: burn marks, gouged bits of stone, entire buildings turned to rubble. The back of the castle, as Tarquin had claimed, was indeed in the middle of being repaired. Three turrets were half shattered, the tan stone charred and crumbling. No sign of the Book. Workers toiled there—and throughout the city—to fix those broken areas.

  Just as the people I saw—High Fae and faeries with scales and gills and long, spindly webbed fingers—all seemed to be slowly healing. There were scars and missing limbs on more than I could count. But in their eyes … in their eyes, light gleamed.

  I had saved them, too.

  Freed them from whatever horrors had occurred during those five decades.

  I had done a terrible thing to save them … but I had saved them.

  And it wou
ld never be enough to atone, but … I did not feel quite so heavy, despite not finding a glimmer of the Book’s presence, when I returned to the palace atop the hill on the third night to await Rhysand’s report on the day’s meetings—and learn if he’d managed to discover anything, too.

  As I strode up the steps of the palace, cursing myself for remaining so out of shape even with Cassian’s lessons, I spied Amren perched on the ledge of a turret balcony, cleaning her nails.

  Varian leaned against the threshold of another tower balcony within jumping range—and I wondered if he was debating if he could clear the distance fast enough to push her off.

  A cat playing with a dog—that’s what it was. Amren was practically washing herself, silently daring him to get close enough to sniff. I doubted Varian would like her claws.

  Unless that was why he hounded her day and night.

  I shook my head, continuing up the steps—watching as the tide swept out.

  The sunset-stained sky caught on the water and tidal muck. A little night breeze whispered past, and I leaned into it, letting it cool the sweat on me. There had once been a time when I’d dreaded the end of summer, had prayed it would hold out for as long as possible. Now the thought of endless warmth and sun made me … bored. Restless.

  I was about to turn back to the stairs when I beheld the bit of land that had been revealed near the tidal causeway. The small building.

  No wonder I hadn’t seen it, as I’d never been up this high in the day when the tide was out … And during the rest of the day, from the muck and seaweed now gleaming on it, it would have been utterly covered.

  Even now, it was half submerged. But I couldn’t tear my eyes from it.

  Like it was a little piece of home, wet and miserable-looking as it was, and I need only hurry along the muddy causeway between the quieter part of the city and the mainland—fast, fast, fast, so I might catch it before it vanished beneath the waves again.

  But the site was too visible, and from the distance, I couldn’t definitively tell if it was the Book contained within.

  We’d have to be absolutely certain before we went in—to warrant the risks in searching. Absolutely certain.

  I wished I didn’t, but I realized I already had a plan for that, too.

  We dined with Tarquin, Cresseida, and Varian in their family dining room—a sure sign that the High Lord did indeed want that alliance, ambition or no.

  Varian was studying Amren as if he was trying to solve a riddle she’d posed to him, and she paid him no heed whatsoever as she debated with Cresseida about the various translations of some ancient text. I’d been leading up to my question, telling Tarquin of the things I’d seen in his city that day—the fresh fish I’d bought for myself on the docks.

  “You ate it right there,” Tarquin said, lifting his brows.

  Rhys had propped his head on a fist as I said, “They fried it with the other fishermen’s lunches. Didn’t charge me extra for it.”

  Tarquin let out an impressed laugh. “I can’t say I’ve ever done that—sailor or no.”

  “You should,” I said, meaning every word. “It was delicious.”

  I’d worn the necklace he’d given me, and Nuala and I planned my clothes around it. We’d decided on gray—a soft, dove shade—to show off the glittering black. I had worn nothing else—no earrings, no bracelets, no rings. Tarquin had seemed pleased by it, even though Varian had choked when he beheld me in an heirloom of his household. Cresseida, surprisingly, had told me it suited me and it didn’t fit in here, anyway. A backhanded compliment—but praise enough.

  “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 neve
r 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?”

  Rhys pushed off the door, crossing to where I sat on the bed. “There are parts of your mind I left undisturbed, things that belong solely to you, and always will. And as for the rest … ” His jaw clenched. “You scared the shit out of me for a long while, Feyre. Checking in that way … I couldn’t very well stroll into the Spring Court and ask how you were doing, could I?” Light footsteps sounded in the hall—Amren. Rhys held my gaze though as he said, “I’ll explain the rest some other time.”

  The door opened. “It seems like a stupid place to hide a book,” Amren said by way of greeting as she entered, plopping onto the bed.

  “And the last place one would look,” Rhys said, prowling away from me to take a seat on the vanity stool before the window. “They could spell it easily enough against wet and decay. A place only visible for brief moments throughout the day—when the land around it is exposed for all to see? You could not ask for a better place. We have the eyes of thousands watching us.”

  “So how do we get in?” I said.

  “It’s likely warded against winnowing,” Rhys said, bracing his forearms on his thighs. “I won’t risk tripping any alarms by trying. So we go in at night, the old-fashioned way. I can carry you both, then keep watch,” he added when I lifted my brows.