A Court of Wings and Ruin (A Court of Thorns and Roses 3)

Vassa said in a lilting accent, “Are you Feyre Cursebreaker?”

“Yes,” I said, sensing Rhys listening wryly from the other room, where the rest were now beginning to quiet themselves. To wait for me.

Vassa’s full mouth tightened. “I am sorry—about your father. He was a great man.”

Nesta, striding out of the sitting room, halted at the words. Looked Vassa up and down.

Vassa returned the favor. “You are Nesta,” Vassa declared, and I wondered how my father had described her so that Vassa would know. “I am sorry for your loss, too.”

Nesta simply regarded her with that cool indifference.

“I heard you slew the King of Hybern,” Vassa said, those dark brows narrowing as she again surveyed Nesta, searching for any sign of a warrior beneath the blue dress she wore. Vassa only shrugged to herself when Nesta didn’t reply and said to me, “He was a better father to me than my own. I owe much to him, and will honor his memory as long as I live.”

The look Nesta was giving the queen was enough to wither the grass beyond the shattered front door. It didn’t get any better as Vassa said, “Can you break the curse on me, Feyre Archeron?”

“Is that why you agreed to come so quickly?”

A half smile. “Partly. Lucien suggested you had gifts. And other High Lords do as well.”

Like his father—his true one. Helion.

She went on before I could answer. “I do not have much time left—before I must return to the lake. To him.”

To the death-lord who held her leash. “Who is he?” I breathed.

Vassa only shook her head, waving a hand as her eyes darkened, and repeated, “Can you break my curse?”

“I—I don’t know how to break those kinds of spells,” I admitted. Her face fell. I added, “But … we can try.”

She considered. “With the healing of our armies, I won’t be able to leave for some time. Perhaps it will give me a … loophole, as Lucien called it, to remain longer.” Another shake of the head. “We shall discuss this later,” she declared. “Along with the threat my fellow queens pose.”

My heart stumbled a beat.

A cruel smile curved Vassa’s mouth. “They will try to intervene,” she said. “With any sort of peace talks. Hybern sent them back before this battle, but I have no doubt they were smart enough to encourage that. Not to waste their armies here.”

“But they will elsewhere?” Nesta demanded.

Vassa tossed her smooth sheet of hair over a shoulder. “We shall see. And you will think of ways to help me.”

I waited until she headed for the sitting room before I flicked my brows up at the order. Either she didn’t know or didn’t care that I was also a queen in my right.

Nesta smirked. “Good luck with that.”

I scowled, shoving down the worry already blooming in my gut, and said, “Where are you going? The meeting is starting.”

“Why should I be in there?”

“You’re the guest of honor. You killed the king.”

Shadows flickered in her face. “So what.”

I blinked. “You’re our emissary as well. You should be here for this.”

Nesta looked toward the stairs, and I noticed the object she clutched in her fist.

The small, wooden carving. I couldn’t make out what manner of animal it was, but I knew the wood. Knew the work.

One of the little carvings our father had crafted during those years he—he hadn’t done much of anything at all. I looked at her face before she could notice my attention.

Nesta said, “Do you think it will work—this meeting?”

With so many Fae ears in the room beyond, I didn’t dare give any answer but the truth. “I don’t know. But I’m willing to try.” I offered my hand to my sister. “I want you here for this. With me.”

Nesta considered that outstretched hand. For a moment, I thought she’d walk away.

But she slid her hand into mine, and together we walked into that room crammed with humans and Fae. Both parts of this world. All parts of this world.

High Fae from every court. Miryam and Drakon and their retinue. Humans from many territories.

All watching me and Nesta as we entered, as we strode to where Rhys and the others waited, facing the gathered room. I tried not to cringe at the shattered furniture that had been sorted through for any possible seats. At the ripped wallpaper, the half-dangling curtains. But it was better than nothing.

I supposed the same could be said of our world.

Silence settled. Rhys nudged me forward, a hand brushing the small of my back as I took a step past him. I lifted my chin, scanning the room. And I smiled at them, the humans and Fae assembled here—in peace.

My voice was clear and unwavering. “My name is Feyre Archeron. I was once human—and now I am Fae. I call both worlds my home. And I would like to discuss renegotiating the Treaty.”

CHAPTER

80

A world divided was not a world that could thrive.

That first meeting went on for hours, many of us short-tempered with exhaustion, but … channels were made. Stories were exchanged. Tales narrated of either side of the wall.

I told them my story.

All of it.

I told it to the strangers who did not know me, I told it to my friends, and I told it to Tamlin, hard-faced by the distant wall. I explained the years of poverty, the trials Under the Mountain, the love I had found and let go, the love that had healed and saved me. My voice did not quaver. My voice did not break. Nearly everything I had seen in the Ouroboros—I let them see it, too. Told them.

And when I was done, Miryam and Drakon stepped forward to tell their own story.

Another glimmer of proof—that humans and Fae could not only work together, live together, but become so much more. I listened to every word of it—and did not bother to brush away my tears at times. I only clutched Rhys’s hand, and did not let go.

There were several others with tales. Some that went counter to our own. Relations that had not gone so well. Crimes committed. Hurts that could not be forgiven.

But it was a start.

There was still much work to be done, trust to build, but the matter of crafting a new wall …

It remained to be seen whether we could agree on that. Many of us were against it. Many of the humans, rightfully so, were wary. There were still other Fae territories to contend with—those who had found Hybern’s promises appealing. Seductive.

The High Lords quarreled the most about the possibility of a new wall. And with every word of it, just as Helion said, that temporary allegiance frayed and snapped. Court lines were redrawn.

But at least they stayed until the end—until the early hours of the morning when we finally decided that the rest would be discussed on another day. At another place.

It would take time. Time, and healing, and trust.

And I wondered if the road ahead—the road to true peace—would perhaps be the hardest and longest one yet.

The others left, winnowing or flying or striding off into the darkness, already peeling back into their groups and courts and war-bands. I watched them go from the open doorway of the estate until they were only shadows against the night.

I’d seen Elain staring out the window earlier—watching Graysen leave with his men without so much as a look back at her. He had meant every word that day at his keep. Whether he noticed that Elain still wore his engagement ring, that Elain stared and stared at him as he walked off into the night … I didn’t know. Let Lucien deal with that—for now.

I sighed, leaning my head against the cracked stone door frame. The grand wooden door had been shattered completely, the splinters still scattered on the marble entry behind me.

I recognized his scent before I heard his easy steps approach.

“Where do you go now?” I asked without looking over my shoulder as Jurian paused beside me and stared into the darkness. Miryam and Drakon had left quickly, needing to tend

to their wounded—and to spirit away the Cauldron to one of their ships before the other High Lords had a moment to consider its whereabouts.

Jurian leaned against the opposite door frame. “Queen Vassa offered me a place within her court.” Indeed, Vassa still remained inside, chatting with Lucien animatedly. I supposed that if she only had until dawn before turning back into that firebird, she wanted to make every minute count. Lucien, surprisingly, was chuckling, his shoulders loose and his head angled while he listened.

“Are you going to accept?”

Jurian’s face was solemn—tired. “What sort of court can a cursed queen have? She’s bound to that death-lord—she has to go back to his lake on the continent at some point.” He shook his head. “Too bad the king was so spectacularly beheaded by your sister. I bet he could have found a way to break that curse of hers.”

“Too bad indeed,” I muttered.

Jurian grunted his amusement.

“Do you think we stand a chance?” I asked, motioning to the human figures still walking, far away, back toward the camp. “Of peace between all of us?”

Jurian was silent for a long moment. “Yes,” he said softly. “I do.”

And I didn’t know why, but it gave me comfort.

I was still mulling over Jurian’s words days later, when that war-camp was at last dismantled. When we said our final good-byes, and made promises—some more sincere than others—to see each other again.