2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

said, “I know. I felt you. Even with your shields up—for once.”
I made myself meet his stare. “I have nowhere else to go.”
It was both a question and a plea.
He waved a hand, the wings fading. “Stay here for however long you want. Stay here
forever, if you feel like it.”
“I—I need to go back at some point.”
“Say the word, and it’s done.” He meant it, too. Even if I could tell from the ire in his
eyes that he didn’t like it. He’d bring me back to the Spring Court the moment I asked.
Bring me back to silence, and those sentries, and a life of doing nothing but dressing
and dining and planning parties.
He crossed his ankle over a knee. “I made you an offer when you first came here: help
me, and food, shelter, clothing … All of it is yours.”
I’d been a beggar in the past. The thought of doing it now …
“Work for me,” Rhysand said. “I owe you, anyway. And we’ll figure out the rest day by
day, if need be.”
I looked toward the mountains, as if I could see all the way to the Spring Court in the
south. Tamlin would be furious. He’d shred the manor apart.
But he’d … he’d locked me up. Either he so deeply misunderstood me or he’d been so
broken by what went on Under the Mountain, but … he’d locked me up.
“I’m not going back.” The words rang in me like a death knell. “Not—not until I figure
things out.” I shoved against the wall of anger and sorrow and outright despair as my
thumb brushed over the vacant band of skin where that ring had once sat.
One day at a time. Maybe—maybe Tamlin would come around. Heal himself, that
jagged wound of festering fear. Maybe I’d sort myself out. I didn’t know.
But I did know that if I stayed in that manor, if I was locked up one more time … It
might finish the breaking that Amarantha had started.
Rhysand summoned a mug of hot tea from nowhere and handed it to me. “Drink it.”
I took the mug, letting its warmth soak into my stiff fingers. He watched me until I took
a sip, and then went back to monitoring the mountains. I took another sip—peppermint
and … licorice and another herb or spice.
I wasn’t going back. Maybe I’d never even … gotten to come back. Not from Under the
Mountain.
When the mug was half-finished, I fished for something, anything, to say to keep the
crushing silence at bay. “The darkness—is that … part of the power you gave me?”
“One would assume so.”
I drained the rest of the mug. “No wings?”