2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

you know,” she said, “that before they became so big and powerful, Tarquin and Varian
led Nostrus’s fleet?”
Varian, several feet away, stiffened, but did not turn.
I met Tarquin’s eye. “You didn’t mention you were a sailor.” It was an effort to sound
intrigued, like I had nothing at all bothering me.
Tarquin rubbed his neck. “I had planned to tell you during our tour.” He held out an
arm. “Shall we?”
Not one word—I had not uttered one word to Rhysand. And I wasn’t about to start as I
looped my arm through Tarquin’s, and said to none of them in particular, “See you later.”
Something brushed against my mental shield, a rumble of something dark—powerful.
Perhaps a warning to be careful.
Though it felt an awful lot like the dark, flickering emotion that had haunted me—so
much like it that I stepped a bit closer to Tarquin. And then I gave the High Lord of
Summer a pretty, mindless smile that I had not given to anyone in a long, long time.
That brush of emotion went silent on the other side of my shields.
Good.
Tarquin brought me to a hall of jewels and treasure so vast that I gawked for a good
minute. A minute that I used to scan the shelves for any twinkle of feeling—anything that
felt like the male at my side, like the power I’d summoned in the bathtub.
“And this is—this is just one of the troves?” The room had been carved deep beneath
the castle, behind a heavy lead door that had only opened when Tarquin placed his hand
on it. I didn’t dare get close enough to the lock to see if it might work under my touch
—his feigned signature.
A fox in the chicken coop. That’s what I was.
Tarquin loosed a chuckle. “My ancestors were greedy bastards.”
I shook my head, striding to the shelves built into the wall. Solid stone—no way to
break in, unless I tunneled through the mountain itself. Or if someone winnowed me.
Though there were likely wards similar to those on the town house and the House of
Wind.
Boxes overflowed with jewels and pearls and uncut gems, gold heaped in trunks so high
it spilled onto the cobblestone floor. Suits of ornate armor stood guard against one wall;
dresses woven of cobwebs and starlight leaned against another. There were swords and
daggers of every sort. But no books. Not one.
“Do you know the history behind each piece?”
“Some,” he said. “I haven’t had much time to learn about it all.”
Good—maybe he wouldn’t know about the Book, wouldn’t miss it.