2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

move.
He gave them a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and said nothing more as he led us into
a vaulted room of white oak and green glass—overlooking the mouth of the bay and the
sea that stretched on forever.
I had never seen water so vibrant. Green and cobalt and midnight. And for a heartbeat, a
palette of paint flashed in my mind, along with the blue and yellow and white and black I
might need to paint it …
“This is my favorite view,” Tarquin said beside me, and I realized I’d gone to the wide
windows while the others had seated themselves around the mother-of-pearl table. A
handful of servants were heaping fruits, leafy greens, and steamed shellfish onto their
plates.
“You must be very proud,” I said, “to have such stunning lands.”
Tarquin’s eyes—so like the sea beyond us—slid to me. “How do they compare to the
ones you have seen?” Such a carefully crafted question.
I said dully, “Everything in Prythian is lovely, when compared to the mortal realm.”
“And is being immortal lovelier than being human?”
I could feel everyone’s attention on us, even as Rhys engaged Cresseida and Varian in
bland, edged discussion about the status of their fish markets. So I looked the High Lord
of Summer up and down, as he had examined me, brazenly and without a shred of
politeness, and then said, “You tell me.”
Tarquin’s eyes crinkled. “You are a pearl. Though I knew that the day you threw that
bone at Amarantha and splattered mud on her favorite dress.”
I shut out the memories, the blind terror of that first trial.
What did he make of that tug between us—did he realize it was his own power, or think
it was a bond of its own, some sort of strange allure?
And if I had to steal from him … perhaps that meant getting closer. “I do not remember
you being quite so handsome Under the Mountain. The sunlight and sea suit you.”
A lesser male might have preened. But Tarquin knew better—knew that I had been with
Tamlin, and was now with Rhys, and had now been brought here. Perhaps he thought me
no better than Ianthe. “How, exactly, do you fit within Rhysand’s court?”
A direct question, after such roundabout ones—to no doubt get me on uneven footing.
It almost worked—I nearly admitted, “I don’t know,” but Rhys said from the table, as if
he’d heard every word, “Feyre is a member of my Inner Circle. And is my Emissary to the
Mortal Lands.”
Cresseida, seated beside him, said, “Do you have much contact with the mortal realm?”
I took that as an invitation to sit—and get away from the too-heavy stare of Tarquin. A
seat had been left open for me at Amren’s side, across from Rhys.