2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

“The Cauldron? And two peoples?” The golden one toyed with a ruby ring on her
finger. “Our people do not invoke a Cauldron; our people do not have magic. The way I
see it, there is your people—and ours. You are little better than those Children of the
Blessed.” She lifted a groomed brow. “What does happen to them when they cross the
wall?” She angled her head at Rhys, at Cassian and Azriel. “Are they prey? Or are they
used and discarded, and left to grow old and infirm while you remain young forever? Such
a pity … so unfair that you, Cursebreaker, received what all those fools no doubt begged
for. Immortality, eternal youth … What would Lord Rhysand have done if you had aged
while he did not?”
Rhys said evenly, “Is there a point to your questions, other than to hear yourself talk?”
A low chuckle, and she turned to the ancient queen, her yellow dress rustling with the
movement. The old woman simply extended a wrinkled hand to the box in Mor’s slender
fingers. “Is that the proof we asked for?”
Don’t do it, my heart began bleating. Don’t show them.
Before Mor could so much as nod, I said, “Is my love for the High Lord not proof
enough of our good intentions? Does my sisters’ presence here not speak to you? There is
an iron engagement ring upon my sister’s finger—and yet she stands with us.”
Elain seemed to be fighting the urge to tuck her hand behind the skirts of her pale pink
and blue dress, but stayed tall while the queens surveyed her.
“I would say that it is proof of her idiocy,” the golden one sneered, “to be engaged to a
Fae-hating man … and to risk the match by associating with you.”
“Do not,” Nesta hissed with quiet venom, “judge what you know nothing about.”
The golden one folded her hands in her lap. “The viper speaks again.” She raised her
brows at me. “Surely the wise move would have been to have her sit this meeting out.”
“She offers up her house and risks her social standing for us to have these meetings,” I
said. “She has the right to hear what is spoken in them. To stand as a representative of the
people of these lands. They both do.”
The crone interrupted the younger before she could reply, and again waved that
wrinkled hand at Mor. “Show us, then. Prove us wrong.”
Rhys gave Mor a subtle nod. No—no, it wasn’t right. Not to show them, not to reveal
the treasure that was Velaris, that was my home …
War is sacrifice, Rhys said into my mind, through the small sliver I now kept open for
him. If we do not gamble Velaris, we risk losing Prythian—and more.
Mor opened the lid of the black box.
The silver orb inside glimmered like a star under glass. “This is the Veritas,” Mor said
in a voice that was young and old. “The gift of my first ancestor to our bloodline. Only a
few times in the history of Prythian have we used it—have we unleashed its truth upon the
world.”