2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

CHAPTER
16
Rhys sauntered toward the two males standing by the dining room doors, giving me the
option to stay or join.
One word, he’d promised, and we could go.
Both of them were tall, their wings tucked in tight to powerful, muscled bodies covered
in plated, dark leather that reminded me of the worn scales of some serpentine beast.
Identical long swords were each strapped down the column of their spines—the blades
beautiful in their simplicity. Perhaps I needn’t have bothered with the fine clothes after all.
The slightly larger of the two, his face masked in shadow, chuckled and said, “Come on,
Feyre. We don’t bite. Unless you ask us to.”
Surprise sparked through me, setting my feet moving.
Rhys slid his hands into his pockets. “The last I heard, Cassian, no one has ever taken
you up on that offer.”
The second one snorted, the faces of both males at last illuminated as they turned
toward the golden light of the dining room, and I honestly wondered why no one hadn’t: if
Rhysand’s mother had also been Illyrian, then its people were blessed with unnatural good
looks.
Like their High Lord, the males—warriors—were dark-haired, tan-skinned. But unlike
Rhys, their eyes were hazel and fixed on me as I at last stepped close—to the waiting
House of Wind behind them.
That was where any similarities between the three of them halted.
Cassian surveyed Rhys from head to foot, his shoulder-length black hair shifting with
the movement. “So fancy tonight, brother. And you made poor Feyre dress up, too.” He
winked at me. There was something rough-hewn about his features—like he’d been made
of wind and earth and flame and all these civilized trappings were little more than an
inconvenience.
But the second male, the more classically beautiful of the two … Even the light shied
from the elegant planes of his face. With good reason. Beautiful, but near-unreadable.
He’d be the one to look out for—the knife in the dark. Indeed, an obsidian-hilted hunting
knife was sheathed at his thigh, its dark scabbard embossed with a line of silver runes I’d
never seen before.
Rhys said, “This is Azriel—my spymaster.” Not surprising. Some buried instinct had
me checking that my mental shields were intact. Just in case.
“Welcome,” was all Azriel said, his voice low, almost flat, as he extended a brutally