2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

Rhys rose in a fluid motion. The queens did the same. His voice was like a moonless
night as he said, “You desire proof?” I held my breath, praying … praying he wouldn’t tell
them. He shrugged, the silver thread in his jacket catching the sunlight. “I shall get it for
you. Await my word, and return when we summon you.”
“We are summoned by no one, human or faerie,” the golden queen simpered.
Perhaps that was why they’d taken so long to reply. To play some power game.
“Then come at your leisure,” Rhys said, with enough of a bite that the queens’ guards
stepped forward. Cassian only grinned at them—and the wisest among them instantly
paled.
Rhys barely inclined his head as he added, “Perhaps then you’ll comprehend how vital
the Book is to both our efforts.”
“We will consider it once we have your proof.” The ancient one nearly spat the word.
Some part of me reminded myself that she was old, and royal, and smacking that sneer off
her face would not be in our best interests. “That book has been ours to protect for five
hundred years. We will not hand it over without due consideration.”
The guards flanked them—as if the words had been some predetermined signal. The
golden queen smirked at me, and said, “Good luck.”
Then they were gone. The sitting room was suddenly too big, too quiet.
And it was Elain—Elain—who sighed and murmured, “I hope they all burn in hell.”