2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

That was the court he must have shown Amarantha when she first arrived—and its
wickedness must have pleased her enough that she modeled her own after it.
“The Court of Nightmares,” Mor said, sucking on a tooth.
“And what is this court?” I asked, gesturing to them. The most important question.
It was Cassian, eyes clear and bright as his Siphon, who said, “The Court of Dreams.”
The Court of Dreams—the dreams of a half-breed High Lord, two bastard warriors, and
… the two females. “And you?” I said to Mor and Amren.
Amren merely said, “Rhys offered to make me his Second. No one had ever asked me
before, so I said yes, to see what it might be like. I found I enjoyed it.”
Mor leaned back in her seat, Azriel now watching every movement she made with
subtle, relentless focus.
“I was a dreamer born into the Court of Nightmares,” Mor said. She twirled a curl
around a finger, and I wondered if her story might be the worst of all of them as she said
simply, “So I got out.”
“What’s your story, then?” Cassian said to me with a jerk of his chin.
I’d assumed Rhysand had told them everything. Rhys merely shrugged at me.
So I straightened. “I was born to a wealthy merchant family, with two older sisters and
parents who only cared about their money and social standing. My mother died when I
was eight; my father lost his fortune three years later. He sold everything to pay off his
debts, moved us into a hovel, and didn’t bother to find work while he let us slowly starve
for years. I was fourteen when the last of the money ran out, along with the food. He
wouldn’t work—couldn’t, because the debtors came and shattered his leg in front of us. So
I went into the forest and taught myself to hunt. And I kept us all alive, if not near
starvation at times, for five years. Until … everything happened.”
They fell quiet again, Azriel’s gaze now considering. He hadn’t told his story. Did it
ever come up? Or did they never discuss those burns on his hands? And what did the
shadows whisper to him—did they speak in a language at all?
But Cassian said, “You taught yourself to hunt. What about to fight?” I shook my head.
Cassian braced his arms on the table. “Lucky for you, you’ve just found yourself a
teacher.”
I opened my mouth, protesting, but— Rhysand’s mother had given him an arsenal of
weapons to use if the other failed. What did I have in my own beyond a good shot with a
bow and brute stubbornness? And if I had this new power—these other powers …
I would not be weak again. I would not be dependent on anyone else. I would never
have to endure the touch of the Attor as it dragged me because I was too helpless to know
where and how to hit. Never again.
But what Ianthe and Tamlin had said … “You don’t think it sends a bad message if
people see me learning to fight—using weapons?”