2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

Those violet eyes had gone cold. Rhys extended a hand toward me. “Let’s go.”
Tamlin was in Rhysand’s face in an instant, and I flinched. “Get out.” He pointed
toward the staircase. “She’ll come to you when she’s ready.”
Rhysand just brushed an invisible fleck of dust off Tamlin’s sleeve. Part of me admired
the sheer nerve it must have taken. Had Tamlin’s teeth been inches from my throat, I
would have bleated in panic.
Rhys cut a glance at me. “No, you wouldn’t have. As far as your memory serves me, the
last time Tamlin’s teeth were near your throat, you slapped him across the face.” I snapped
up my forgotten shields, scowling.
“Shut your mouth,” Tamlin said, stepping further between us. “And get out.”
The High Lord conceded a step toward the stairs and slid his hands into his pockets.
“You really should have your wards inspected. Cauldron knows what other sort of riffraff
might stroll in here as easily as I did.” Again, Rhys assessed me, his gaze hard. “Put some
clothes on.”
I bared my teeth at him as I stepped back into my room. Tamlin followed after me,
slamming the door hard enough that the chandeliers shuddered, sending shards of light
shivering over the walls.
I dropped the blanket and strode for the armoire across the room, the mattress groaning
behind me as Tamlin sank onto the bed. “How did he get in here?” I asked, throwing open
the doors and rifling through the clothes until I found the turquoise Night Court attire I’d
asked Alis to keep. I knew she’d wanted to burn them, but I told her I’d wind up coming
home with another set anyway.
“I don’t know,” Tamlin said. I slipped on my pants, twisting to find him running a hand
through his hair. I felt the lie beneath his words. “He just—it’s just part of whatever game
he’s playing.”
I tugged the short shirt over my head. “If war is coming, maybe we’d be better served
trying to mend things.” We hadn’t spoken of that subject since my first day back. I dug
through the bottom of the armoire for the matching silk shoes, and turned to him as I slid
them on.
“I’ll start mending things the day he releases you from your bargain.”
“Maybe he’s keeping the bargain so that you’ll attempt to listen to him.” I strode to
where he sat on the bed, my pants a bit looser around the waist than last month.
“Feyre,” he said, reaching for me, but I stepped out of range. “Why do you need to
know these things? Is it not enough for you to recover in peace? You earned that for
yourself. You earned it. I relaxed the number of sentries here; I’ve been trying … trying to
be better about it. So leave the rest of it—” He took a steadying breath. “This isn’t the time
for this conversation.”
It was never the time for this conversation, or that conversation. But I didn’t say it. I
didn’t have the energy to say it, and all the words dried up and blew away. So I memorized