2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

I might have dealt with it all if it weren’t for the puffy capped sleeves, so big I could
almost see them glinting from the periphery of my vision. My hair had been curled, half
up, half down, entwined with pearls and jewels and the Cauldron knew what, and it had
taken all my self-control to keep from cringing at the mirror before descending the
sweeping stairs into the main hall. My dress hissed and swished with each step.
Beyond the shut patio doors where I paused, the garden had been bedecked in ribbons
and lanterns in shades of cream, blush, and sky blue. Three hundred chairs were
assembled in the largest courtyard, each seat occupied by Tamlin’s court. I’d make my
way down the main aisle, enduring their stares, before I reached the dais at the other end
—where Tamlin would be waiting.
Then Ianthe would sanction and bless our union right before sundown, as a
representative of all twelve High Priestesses. She’d hinted that they’d pushed to be present
—but through whatever cunning, she’d managed to keep the other eleven away. Either to
claim the attention for herself, or to spare me from being hounded by the pack of them. I
couldn’t tell. Perhaps both.
My mouth went paper-dry as Alis fluffed out the sparkling train of my gown in the
shadow of the garden doors. Silk and gossamer rustled and sighed, and I gripped the pale
bouquet in my gloved hands, nearly snapping the stems.
Elbow-length silk gloves—to hide the markings. Ianthe had delivered them herself this
morning in a velvet-lined box.
“Don’t be nervous,” Alis clucked, her tree-bark skin rich and flushed in the honey-gold
evening light.
“I’m not,” I rasped.
“You’re fidgeting like my youngest nephew during a haircut.” She finished fussing over
my dress, shooing away some servants who’d come to spy on me before the ceremony. I
pretended I didn’t see them, or the glittering, sunset-gilded crowd seated in the courtyard
ahead, and toyed with some invisible fleck of dust on my skirts.
“You look beautiful,” Alis said quietly. I was fairly certain her thoughts on the dress
were the same as my own, but I believed her.
“Thank you.”
“And you sound like you’re going to your funeral.”
I plastered a grin on my face. Alis rolled her eyes. But she nudged me toward the doors
as they opened on some immortal wind, lilting music streaming in. “It’ll be over faster
than you can blink,” she promised, and gently pushed me into the last of the sunlight.
Three hundred people rose to their feet and pivoted toward me.
Not since my last trial had so many gathered to watch me, judge me. All in finery so
similar to what they’d worn Under the Mountain. Their faces blurred, melded.
Alis coughed from the shadows of the house, and I remembered to start walking, to look