2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

every detail you can recall.”
“I didn’t realize I was a spy.”
Lucien shifted in his seat, but Tamlin said, “As much as I hate your bargain, you’ve
been granted access into the Night Court. Outsiders rarely get to go in—and if they do,
they rarely come out in one piece. And if they can function, their memories are usually …
scrambled. Whatever Rhysand is hiding in there, he doesn’t want us knowing about it.”
A chill slithered down my spine. “Why do you want to know? What are you going to
do?”
“Knowing my enemy’s plans, his lifestyle, is vital. As for what we’re going to do …
That’s neither here nor there.” His green eyes pinned me. “Start with the layout of the
court. Is it true it’s under a mountain?”
“This feels an awful lot like an interrogation.”
Lucien sucked in a breath, but remained silent.
Tamlin spread his hands on the desk. “We need to know these things, Feyre. Or—or can
you not remember?” Claws glinted at his knuckles.
“I can remember everything,” I said. “He didn’t damage my mind.” And before he
could question me further, I began to speak of all that I had seen.
Because I trust you, Rhysand had said. And maybe—maybe he had scrambled my
mind, even with the lessons in shielding, because describing the layout of his home, his
court, the mountains around them, felt like bathing in oil and mud. He was my enemy, he
was holding me to a bargain I’d made from pure desperation—
I kept talking, describing that tower room. Tamlin grilled me on the figures on the
maps, making me turn over every word Rhysand had uttered, until I mentioned what had
weighed on me the most this past week: the powers Rhys believed I now possessed … and
Hybern’s plans. I told him about that conversation with Mor—about that temple being
sacked (Cesere, Tamlin explained, was a northern outpost in the Night Court, and one of
the few known towns), and Rhysand mentioning two people named Cassian and Azriel.
Both of their faces had tightened at that, but they didn’t mention if they knew them, or of
them. So I told him about whatever the Illyrians were—and how Rhys had hunted down
and killed the traitors amongst them. When I finished, Tamlin was silent, Lucien
practically buzzing with whatever repressed words he was dying to spew.
“Do you think I might have those abilities?” I said, willing myself to hold his gaze.
“It’s possible,” Tamlin said with equal quiet. “And if it’s true … ”
Lucien said at last, “It’s a power other High Lords might kill for.” It was an effort not to
fidget while his metal eye whirred, as if detecting whatever power ran through my blood.
“My father, for one, would not be pleased to learn a drop of his power is missing—or that
Tamlin’s bride now has it. He’d do anything to make sure you don’t possess it—including
kill you. There are other High Lords who would agree.”