2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

I awoke four hours later.
CHAPTER
15
It took me minutes to remember where I was, what had happened. And each tick of the
little clock on the rosewood writing desk was a shove back-back-back into that heavy
dark. But at least I wasn’t tired. Weary, but no longer on the cusp of feeling like sleeping
forever.
I’d think about what happened at the Spring Court later. Tomorrow. Never.
Mercifully, Rhysand’s Inner Circle left before I’d finished dressing.
Rhys was waiting at the front door—which was open to the small wood-and-marble
antechamber, which in turn was open to the street beyond. He ran an eye over me, from
the suede navy shoes—practical and comfortably made—to the knee-length sky-blue
overcoat, to the braid that began on one side of my head and curved around the back.
Beneath the coat, my usual flimsy attire had been replaced by thicker, warmer brown
pants, and a pretty cream sweater that was so soft I could have slept in it. Knitted gloves
that matched my shoes had already been stuffed into the coat’s deep pockets.
“Those two certainly like to fuss,” Rhysand said, though something about it was
strained as we headed out the front door.
Each step toward that bright threshold was both an eternity and an invitation.
For a moment, the weight in me vanished as I gobbled down the details of the emerging
city:
Buttery sunlight that softened the already mild winter day, a small, manicured front
lawn—its dried grass near-white—bordered with a waist-high wrought iron fence and
empty flower beds, all leading toward a clean street of pale cobblestones. High Fae in
various forms of dress meandered by: some in coats like mine to ward against the crisp air,
some wearing mortal fashions with layers and poofy skirts and lace, some in riding
leathers—all unhurried as they breathed in the salt-and-lemon-verbena breeze that even
winter couldn’t chase away. Not one of them looked toward the house. As if they either
didn’t know or weren’t worried that their own High Lord dwelled in one of the many
marble town houses lining either side of the street, each capped with a green copper roof
and pale chimneys that puffed tendrils of smoke into the brisk sky.
In the distance, children shrieked with laughter.
I staggered to the front gate, unlatching it with fumbling fingers that hardly registered
the ice-cold metal, and took all of three steps into the street before I halted at the sight at
the other end.