2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

She lifted the orb from its velvet nest. It was no larger than a ripe apple, and fit within
her cupped palms as if her entire body, her entire being, had been molded for it.
“Truth is deadly. Truth is freedom. Truth can break and mend and bind. The Veritas
holds in it the truth of the world. I am the Morrigan,” she said, her eyes not wholly of this
earth. The hair on my arms rose. “You know I speak truth.”
She set the Veritas onto the carpet between us. Both queens leaned in.
But it was Rhys who said, “You desire proof of our goodness, our intentions, so that
you may trust the Book in our hands?” The Veritas began pulsing, a web of light spreading
with each throb. “There is a place within my lands. A city of peace. And art. And
prosperity. As I doubt you or your guards will dare pass through the wall, then I will show
it to you—show you the truth of these words, show you this place within the orb itself.”
Mor stretched out a hand, and a pale cloud swirled from the orb, merging with its light
as it drifted past our ankles.
The queens flinched, the guards edging forward with hands on their weapons. But the
clouds continued roiling as the truth of it, of Velaris, leaked from the orb, from whatever it
dragged up from Mor, from Rhys. From the truth of the world.
And in the gray gloom, a picture appeared.
It was Velaris, as seen from above—as seen by Rhys, flying in. A speck in the coast, but
as he dropped down, the city and the river became clearer, vibrant.
Then the image banked and swerved, as if Rhys had flown through his city just this
morning. It shot past boats and piers, past the homes and streets and theaters. Past the
Rainbow of Velaris, so colorful and lovely in the new spring sun. People, happy and
thoughtful, kind and welcoming, waved to him. Moment after moment, images of the
Palaces, of the restaurants, of the House of Wind. All of it—all of that secret, wondrous
city. My home.
And I could have sworn that there was love in that image. I could not explain how the
Veritas conveyed it, but the colors … I understood the colors, and the light, what they
conveyed, what the orb somehow picked up from whatever link it had to Rhys’s
memories.
The illusion faded, color and light and cloud sucked back into the orb.
“That is Velaris,” Rhys said. “For five thousand years, we have kept it a secret from
outsiders. And now you know. That is what I protect with the rumors, the whispers, the
fear. Why I fought for your people in the War—only to begin my own supposed reign of
terror once I ascended my throne, and ensured everyone heard the legends about it. But if
the cost of protecting my city and people is the contempt of the world, then so be it.”
The two queens were gaping at the carpet as if they could still see the city there. Mor
cleared her throat. The golden one, as if Mor had barked, started and dropped an ornate
lace handkerchief on the ground. She leaned to pick it up, cheeks a bit red.
But the crone raised her eyes to us. “Your trust is … appreciated.”