2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

“You,” I hissed.
But he raised a finger to his lips and winnowed to me—grabbing my waist with one
hand and cupping the back of my neck with his other as he spirited us away—
To Velaris. To just above the House of Wind.
We free-fell, and I didn’t have breath to scream as his wings appeared, spreading wide,
and he curved us into a steady glide … right through the open windows of what had to be
a war room. Cassian was there—in the middle of arguing with Amren about something.
Both froze as we landed on the red floor.
There was a mirror on the wall behind them, and I glimpsed myself long enough to
know why they were gaping.
My face was scratched and bloody, and I was covered in dirt and grease—boiled fat—
and mortar dust, the hair stuck to me, and I smelled—
“You smell like barbecue,” Amren said, cringing a bit.
Cassian loosened the hand he’d wrapped around the fighting knife at his thigh.
I was still panting, still trying to gobble down breath. The hair clinging to me scratched
and tickled, and—
“You kill her?” Cassian said.
“No,” Rhys answered for me, loosely folding his wings. “But given how much the
Weaver was screaming, I’m dying to know what Feyre darling did.”
Grease—I had the grease and hair of people on me—
I vomited all over the floor.
Cassian swore, but Amren waved a hand and it was instantly gone—along with the
mess on me. But I could feel the ghost of it there, the remnants of people, the mortar of
those bricks …
“She … detected me somehow,” I managed to say, slumping against the large black
table and wiping my mouth against the shoulder of my leathers. “And locked the doors
and windows. So I had to climb out through the chimney. I got stuck,” I added as
Cassian’s brows rose, “and when she tried to climb up, I threw a brick at her face.”
Silence.
Amren looked to Rhysand. “And where were you?”
“Waiting, far enough away that she couldn’t detect me.”
I snarled at him, “I could have used some help.”
“You survived,” he said. “And found a way to help yourself.” From the hard glimmer in
his eye, I knew he was aware of the panic that had almost gotten me killed, either through
mental shields I’d forgotten to raise or whatever anomaly in our bond. He’d been aware of
it—and let me endure it.