2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

“That’s enough,” Mor interrupted.
She got to her feet.
And Mor looked each and every one of those queens in the eye as she said, “I am the
Morrigan. You know me. What I am. You know that my gift is truth. So you will hear my
words now, and know them as truth—as your ancestors once did.”
Not a word.
Mor gestured behind her—to me. “Do you think it is any simple coincidence that a
human has been made immortal again, at the very moment when our old enemy
resurfaces? I fought side by side with Miryam in the War, fought beside her as Jurian’s
ambition and bloodlust drove him mad, and drove them apart. Drove him to torture
Clythia to death, then battle Amarantha until his own.” She took a sharp breath, and I
could have sworn Azriel inched closer at the sound. But Mor blazed on, “I marched back
into the Black Land with Miryam to free the slaves left in that burning sand, the slavery
she had herself escaped. The slaves Miryam had promised to return to free. I marched with
her—my friend. Along with Prince Drakon’s legion. Miryam was my friend, as Feyre is
now. And your ancestors, those queens who signed that Treaty … They were my friends,
too. And when I look at you … ” She bared her teeth. “I see nothing of those women in
you. When I look at you, I know that your ancestors would be ashamed.
“You laugh at the idea of peace? That we can have it between our peoples?” Mor’s
voice cracked, and again Azriel subtly shifted nearer to her, though his face revealed
nothing. “There is an island in a forgotten, stormy part of the sea. A vast, lush island,
shielded from time and spying eyes. And on that island, Miryam and Drakon still live.
With their children. With both of their peoples. Fae and human and those in between. Side
by side. For five hundred years, they have prospered on that island, letting the world
believe them dead—”
“Mor,” Rhys said—a quiet reprimand.
A secret, I realized, that perhaps had remained hidden for five centuries.
A secret that had fueled the dreams of Rhysand, of his court.
A land where two dreamers had found peace between their peoples.
Where there was no wall. No iron wards. No ash arrows.
The golden queen and ancient queen looked to each other again.
The ancient one’s eyes were bright as she declared, “Give us proof. If you are not the
High Lord that rumor claims, give us one shred of proof that you are as you say—a male
of peace.”
There was one way. Only one way to show them, prove it to them.
Velaris.
My very bones cried out at the thought of revealing that gem to these … spiders.