2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

Rhys kept a step behind for the rest of the walk to the town house.
Some small part of me whispered that I could survive Amarantha; I could survive
leaving Tamlin; I could survive transitioning into this new, strange body … But that
empty, cold hole in my chest … I wasn’t sure I could survive that.
Even in the years I’d been one bad week away from starvation, that part of me had been
full of color, of light. Maybe becoming a faerie had broken it. Maybe Amarantha had
broken it.
Or maybe I had broken it, when I shoved that dagger into the hearts of two innocent
faeries and their blood had warmed my hands.
“Absolutely not,” I said atop the town house’s small rooftop garden, my hands shoved
deep into the pockets of my overcoat to warm them against the bite in the night air. There
was room enough for a few boxed shrubs and a round iron table with two chairs—and me
and Rhysand.
Around us, the city twinkled, the stars themselves seeming to hang lower, pulsing with
ruby and amethyst and pearl. Above, the full moon set the marble of the buildings and
bridges glowing as if they were all lit from within. Music played, strings and gentle
drums, and on either side of the Sidra, golden lights bobbed over riverside walkways
dotted with cafés and shops, all open for the night, already packed.
Life—so full of life. I could nearly taste it crackling on my tongue.
Clothed in black accented with silver thread, Rhysand crossed his arms. And rustled his
massive wings as I said, “No.”
“The House of Wind is warded against people winnowing inside—exactly like this
house. Even against High Lords. Don’t ask me why, or who did it. But the option is either
walk up the ten thousand steps, which I really do not feel like doing, Feyre, or fly in.”
Moonlight glazed the talon at the apex of each wing. He gave me a slow grin that I hadn’t
seen all afternoon. “I promise I won’t drop you.”
I frowned at the midnight-blue dress I’d selected—even with the long sleeves and
heavy, luxurious fabric, the plunging vee of the neckline did nothing against the cold. I’d
debated wearing the sweater and thicker pants, but had opted for finery over comfort. I
already regretted it, even with the coat. But if his Inner Circle was anything like Tamlin’s
court … better to wear the more formal attire. I winced at the swath of night between the
roof and the mountain-residence. “The wind will rip the gown right off.”
His grin became feline.
“I’ll take the stairs,” I seethed, the anger welcome from the past few hours of numbness
as I headed for the door at the end of the roof.
Rhys snapped out a wing, blocking my path.
Smooth membrane—flecked with a hint of iridescence. I peeled back. “Nuala spent an
hour on my hair.”