2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

If he was willing to try, too.
If he didn’t walk away when I voiced what I wanted: him.
Not the High Lord, not the most powerful male in Prythian’s history.
Just … him. The person who had sent music into that cell; who had picked up that knife
in Amarantha’s throne room to fight for me when no one else dared, and who had kept
fighting for me every day since, refusing to let me crumble and disappear into nothing.
So I waited for him in the chilled, moonlit garden.
But he didn’t come.
Rhys wasn’t at breakfast. Or lunch. He wasn’t in the town house at all.
I’d even written him a note on the last piece of paper we’d used.
I want to talk to you.
I’d waited thirty minutes for the paper to vanish.
But it’d stayed in my palm—until I threw it in the fire.
I was pissed enough that I stalked into the streets, barely remarking that the day was
balmy, sunny, that the very air now seemed laced with citrus and wildflowers and new
grass. Now that we had the orb, he’d no doubt be in touch with the queens. Who would no
doubt waste our time, just to remind us they were important; that they, too, had power.
Part of me wished Rhys could crush their bones the way he’d done with Keir’s the night
before.
I headed for Amren’s apartment across the river, needing the walk to clear my head.
Winter had indeed yielded to spring. By the time I was halfway there, my overcoat was
slung over my arm, and my body was slick with sweat beneath my heavy cream sweater.
I found Amren the same way I’d seen her the last time: hunched over the Book, papers
strewn around her. I set the blood on the counter.
She said without looking up, “Ah. The reason why Rhys bit my head off this morning.”
I leaned against the counter, frowning. “Where’s he gone off to?”
“To hunt whoever attacked you yesterday.”
If they had ash arrows in their arsenal … I tried to soothe the worry that bit deep. “Do
you think it was the Summer Court?” The blood ruby still sat on the floor, still used as a
paperweight against the river breeze blowing in from the open windows. Varian’s necklace
was now beside her bed. As if she fell asleep looking at it.
“Maybe,” Amren said, dragging a finger along a line of text. She must be truly absorbed
to not even bother with the blood. I debated leaving her to it. But she went on,
“Regardless, it seems that our enemies have a track on Rhys’s magic. Which means
they’re able to find him when he winnows anywhere or if he uses his powers.” She at last