2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

She was several inches shorter than me, her chin-length black hair glossy and straight,
her skin tan and smooth, and her face—pretty, bordering on plain—was bored, if not
mildly irritated. But Amren’s eyes …
Her silver eyes were unlike anything I’d ever seen; a glimpse into the creature that I
knew in my bones wasn’t High Fae. Or hadn’t been born that way.
The silver in Amren’s eyes seemed to swirl like smoke under glass.
She wore pants and a top like those I’d worn at the other mountain-palace, both in
shades of pewter and storm cloud, and pearls—white and gray and black—adorned her
ears, fingers, and wrists. Even the High Lord at my side felt like a wisp of shadow
compared to the power thrumming from her.
Mor groaned, slumping into a chair near the end of the table, and poured herself a glass
of wine. Cassian took a seat across from her, wiggling his fingers for the wine bottle. But
Rhysand and Azriel just stood there, watching—maybe monitoring—as the female
approached me, then halted three feet away.
“Your taste remains excellent, High Lord. Thank you.” Her voice was soft—but honed
sharper than any blade I’d encountered. Her slim, small fingers grazed a delicate silverand-pearl
brooch pinned above her right breast.
So that’s who he’d bought the jewelry for. The jewelry I was to never, under any
circumstances, try to steal.
I studied Rhys and Amren, as if I might be able to read what further bond lay between
them, but Rhysand waved a hand and bowed his head. “It suits you, Amren.”
“Everything suits me,” she said, and those horrible, enchanting eyes again met my own.
Like leashed lightning.
She took a step closer, sniffing delicately, and though I stood half a foot taller, I’d never
felt meeker. But I held my chin up. I didn’t know why, but I did.
Amren said, “So there are two of us now.”
My brows nudged toward each other.
Amren’s lips were a slash of red. “We who were born something else—and found
ourselves trapped in new, strange bodies.”
I decided I really didn’t want to know what she’d been before.
Amren jerked her chin at me to sit in the empty chair beside Mor, her hair shifting like
molten night. She claimed the seat across from me, Azriel on her other side as Rhys took
the one across from him—on my right.
No one at the head of the table.
“Though there is a third,” Amren said, now looking at Rhysand. “I don’t think you’ve
heard from Miryam in … centuries. Interesting.”
Cassian rolled his eyes. “Please just get to the point, Amren. I’m hungry.”