2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

She paused, her face going uncharacteristically pale. “Fine. It’s always a delight to see
my parents. As you might guess.”
“Is your father healing?” I added the cobalt of Azriel’s Siphons to the orange and mixed
until a rich brown appeared.
A small, grim smile. “Slowly. I might have snapped some more bones when I visited.
My mother has since banished me from their private quarters. Such a shame.”
Some feral part of me beamed in savage delight at that. “A pity indeed,” I said. I added
a bit of frost white to lighten the brown, checked it against the gaze she slid to me, and
grabbed a stool to stand on as I began painting the threshold. “Rhys really makes you do
this often? Endure visiting them?”
Mor leaned against the counter. “Rhys gave me permission the day he became High
Lord to kill them all whenever I pleased. I attend these meetings, go to the Court of
Nightmares, to … remind them of that sometimes. And to keep communication between
our two courts flowing, however strained it might be. If I were to march in there tomorrow
and slaughter my parents, he wouldn’t blink. Perhaps be inconvenienced by it, but … he
would be pleased.”
I focused on the speck of caramel brown I painted beside Amren’s eyes. “I’m sorry—
for all that you endured.”
“Thank you,” she said, coming over to watch me. “Visiting them always leaves me
raw.”
“Cassian seemed concerned.” Another prying question.
She shrugged. “Cassian, I think, would also savor the opportunity to shred that entire
court to pieces. Starting with my parents. Maybe I’ll let him do it one year as a present.
Him and Azriel both. It’d make a perfect solstice gift.”
I asked perhaps a bit too casually. “You told me about the time with Cassian, but did
you and Azriel ever … ?”
A sharp laugh. “No. Azriel? After that time with Cassian, I swore off any of Rhys’s
friends. Azriel’s got no shortage of lovers, though, don’t worry. He’s better at keeping
them secret than we are, but … he has them.”
“So if he were ever interested would you … ?”
“The issue, actually, wouldn’t be me. It’d be him. I could peel off my clothes right in
front of him and he wouldn’t move an inch. He might have defied and proved those
Illyrian pricks wrong at every turn, but it won’t matter if Rhys makes him Prince of
Velaris—he’ll see himself as a bastard-born nobody, and not good enough for anyone.
Especially me.”
“But … are you interested?”
“Why are you asking such things?” Her voice became tight, sharp. More wary than I’d
ever heard.