2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

CHAPTER
31
“Don’t dance so much on your toes,” Cassian said to me four days later, as we spent the
unusually warm afternoon in the sparring ring. “Feet planted, daggers up. Eyes on mine. If
you were on a battlefield, you would have been dead with that maneuver.”
Amren snorted, picking at her nails while she lounged in a chaise. “She heard you the
first ten times you said it, Cassian.”
“Keep talking, Amren, and I’ll drag you into the ring and see how much practice you’ve
actually been doing.”
Amren just continued cleaning her nails—with a tiny bone, I realized. “Touch me,
Cassian, and I’ll remove your favorite part. Small as it might be.”
He let out a low chuckle. Standing between them in the sparring ring atop the House of
Wind, a dagger in each hand, sweat sliding down my body, I wondered if I should find a
way to slip out. Perhaps winnow—though I hadn’t been able to do it again since that
morning in the mortal realm, despite my quiet efforts in the privacy of my own bedroom.
Four days of this—training with him, working with Rhys afterward on trying to
summon flame or darkness. Unsurprisingly, I made more progress with the former.
Word had not yet arrived from the Summer Court. Or from the Spring Court, regarding
my letter. I hadn’t decided if that was a good thing. Azriel continued his attempt to
infiltrate the human queens’ courts, his network of spies now seeking a foothold to get
inside. That he hadn’t managed to do so yet had made him quieter than usual—colder.
Amren’s silver eyes flicked up from her nails. “Good. You can play with her.”
“Play with who?” said Mor, stepping from the stairwell shadows.
Cassian’s nostrils flared. “Where’d you go the other night?” he asked Mor without so
much as a nod of greeting. “I didn’t see you leave Rita’s.” Their usual dance hall for
drinking and revelry.
They’d dragged me out two nights ago—and I’d spent most of the time sitting in their
booth, nursing my wine, talking over the music with Azriel, who had arrived content to
brood, but reluctantly joined me in observing Rhys holding court at the bar. Females and
males watched Rhysand throughout the hall—and the shadowsinger and I made a game of
betting on who, exactly, would work up the nerve to invite the High Lord home.
Unsurprisingly, Az won every round. But at least he was smiling by the end of the night
—to Mor’s delight when she’d stumbled back to our table to chug another drink before
prancing onto the dance floor again.
Rhys didn’t accept any offers that came his way, no matter how beautiful they were, no