2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

looked up. “You lot are leaving Velaris in two days. Rhys wants you stationed at one of
the Illyrian war-camps—where you’ll fly down to the human lands once the queens send
word.”
“Why not today?”
Amren said, “Because Starfall is tomorrow night—the first we’ve had together in fifty
years. Rhys is expected to be here, amongst his people.”
“What’s Starfall?”
Amren’s eyes twinkled. “Outside of these borders, the rest of the world celebrates
tomorrow as Nynsar—the Day of Seeds and Flowers.” I almost flinched at that. I hadn’t
realized just how much time had passed since I’d come here. “But Starfall,” Amren said,
“only at the Night Court can you witness it—only within this territory is Starfall
celebrated in lieu of the Nynsar revelry. The rest, and the why of it, you’ll find out. It’s
better left as a surprise.”
Well, that explained why people had seemed to already be preparing for a celebration of
sorts: High Fae and faeries hustling home with arms full of vibrant wildflower bouquets
and streamers and food. The streets were being swept and washed, storefronts patched up
with quick, skilled hands.
I asked, “Will we come back here once we leave?”
She returned to the Book. “Not for a while.”
Something in my chest started sinking. To an immortal, a while must be … a long, long
time.
I took that as an invitation to leave, and headed for the door in the back of the loft. But
Amren said, “When Rhys came back, after Amarantha, he was a ghost. He pretended he
wasn’t, but he was. You made him come alive again.”
Words stalled, and I didn’t want to think about it, not when whatever good I’d done—
whatever good we’d done for each other—might have been wiped away by what I’d said
to him.
So I said, “He is lucky to have all of you.”
“No,” she said softly—more gently than I’d ever heard. “We are lucky to have him,
Feyre.” I turned from the door. “I have known many High Lords,” Amren continued,
studying her paper. “Cruel ones, cunning ones, weak ones, powerful ones. But never one
that dreamed. Not as he does.”
“Dreams of what?” I breathed.
“Of peace. Of freedom. Of a world united, a world thriving. Of something better—for
all of us.”
“He thinks he’ll be remembered as the villain in the story.”
She snorted.