2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

CHAPTER
45
The Illyrian war-camp deep in the northern mountains was freezing. Apparently, spring
was still little more than a whisper in the region.
Mor winnowed us all in, Rhysand and Cassian flanking us.
We had danced. All of us together. And I had never seen Rhys so happy, laughing with
Azriel, drinking with Mor, bickering with Cassian. I’d danced with each of them, and
when the night had shifted toward dawn and the music became soft and honeyed, I had let
Rhys take me in his arms and dance with me, slowly, until the other guests had left, until
Mor was asleep on a settee in the dining room, until the gold disc of the sun gilded Velaris.
He’d flown me back to the town house through the pink and purple and gray of the
dawn, both of us silent, and had kissed my brow once before walking down the hall to his
own room.
I didn’t lie to myself about why I waited for thirty minutes to see if my door would
open. Or to at least hear a knock. But nothing.
We were bleary-eyed but polite at the lunch table hours later, Mor and Cassian
unusually quiet, talking mostly to Amren and Azriel, who had come to bid us farewell.
Amren would continue working on the Book until we received the second half—if we
received it; the shadowsinger was heading out to gather information and manage his spies
stationed at the other courts and attempting to break into the human one. I managed to
speak to them, but most of my energy went into not looking at Rhysand, or thinking about
the feeling of his body pressed to mine as we’d danced for hours, that brush of his mouth
on my skin.
I’d barely been able to fall asleep because of it.
Traitor. Even if I’d left Tamlin, I was a traitor. I’d been gone for two months—just two.
In faerie terms, it was probably considered less than a day.
Tamlin had given me so much, done so many kind things for me and my family. And
here I was, wanting another male, even as I hated Tamlin for what he’d done, how he’d
failed me. Traitor.
The word continued echoing in my head as I stood at Mor’s side, Rhys and Cassian a
few steps ahead, and peered out at the wind-blown camp. Mor had barely given Azriel
more than a brief embrace before bidding him good-bye. And for all the world, the
spymaster looked like he didn’t care—until he gave me a swift, warning look. I was still
torn between amusement and outrage at the assumption I’d stick my nose into his
business. Indeed.