2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

I’d written to Rhys, How do I tell Cassian and Azriel I don’t need them here to protect
me? Company is fine, but I don’t need sentries.
He’d written back, You don’t tell them. You set boundaries if they cross a line, but you
are their friend—and my mate. They will protect you on instinct. If you kick their asses out
of the house, they’ll just sit on the roof.
I scribbled, You Illyrian males are insufferable.
Rhys had just said, Good thing we make up for it with impressive wingspans.
Even with him across the territory, my blood had heated, my toes curling. I’d barely
been able to hold the pen long enough to write, I’m missing that impressive wingspan in
my bed. Inside me.
He’d replied, Of course you are.
I’d hissed, jotting down, Prick.
I’d almost felt his laughter down the bond—our mating bond. Rhys wrote back, When I
return, we’re going to that shop across the Sidra and you’re going to try on all those lacy
little underthings for me.
I fell asleep thinking about it, wishing my hand was his, praying he’d finish at the Court
of Nightmares and return to me soon. Spring was bursting all across the hills and peaks
around Velaris. I wanted to sail over the yellow and purple blooms with him.
The next afternoon, Rhys was still gone, Amren was still buried in the book, Azriel off
on a patrol of the city and nearby shoreline, and Cassian and I were—of all things—just
finishing up an early afternoon performance of some ancient, revered Fae symphony. The
amphi-theater was on the other side of the Sidra, and though he’d offered to fly me, I’d
wanted to walk. Even if my muscles were barking in protest after his brutal lesson that
morning.
The music had been lovely—strange, but lovely, written at a time, Cassian had told me,
when humans had not even walked the earth. He found the music puzzling, off-kilter, but
… I’d been entranced.
Walking back across one of the main bridges spanning the river, we remained in
companionable silence. We’d dropped off more blood for Amren—who said thank you
and get the hell out—and were now headed toward the Palace of Thread and Jewels,
where I wanted to buy both of my sisters presents for helping us. Cassian had promised to
send them down with the next scout dispatched to retrieve the latest report. I wondered if
he’d send anything to Nesta while he was at it.
I paused at the center of the marble bridge, Cassian halting beside me as I peered down
at the blue-green water idling past. I could feel the threads of the current far below, the
strains of salt and fresh water twining together, the swaying weeds coating the musselflecked
floor, the tickling of small, skittering creatures over rock and mud. Could Tarquin
sense such things? Did he sleep in his island-palace on the sea and swim through the
dreams of fishes?