A Court of Mist and Fury (A Court of Thorns and Roses 2)

“I forgot,” Amren said, still picking at her nails. “I was having too much fun watching Feyre evade Cassian’s tried-and-true techniques to get people to do what he wants.”

Cassian’s brows rose. “You’ve been here for an hour.”

“Oops,” Amren said.

Cassian threw up his hands. “Get off your ass and give me twenty lunges—”

A vicious, unearthly snarl cut him off.

But Rhys strolled out of the stairwell, and I couldn’t decide if I should be relieved or disappointed that Cassian versus Amren was put to a sudden stop.

He was in his fine clothes, not fighting leathers, his wings nowhere in sight. Rhys looked at them, at me, the daggers I’d left in the dirt, and then said, “Sorry to interrupt while things were getting interesting.”

“Fortunately for Cassian’s balls,” Amren said, nestling back in her chaise, “you arrived at the right time.”

Cassian snarled halfheartedly at her.

Rhys laughed, and said to none of us in particular, “Ready to go on a summer holiday?”

Mor said, “The Summer Court invited you?”

“Of course they did. Feyre, Amren, and I are going tomorrow.”

Only the three of us? Cassian seemed to have the same thought, his wings rustling as he crossed his arms and faced Rhys. “The Summer Court is full of hotheaded fools and arrogant pricks,” he warned. “I should join you.”

“You’d fit right in,” Amren crooned. “Too bad you still aren’t going.”

Cassian pointed a finger at her. “Watch it, Amren.”

She bared her teeth in a wicked smile. “Believe me, I’d prefer not to go, either.”

I clamped my lips shut to keep from smiling or grimacing, I didn’t know.

Rhys rubbed his temples. “Cassian, considering the fact that the last time you visited, it didn’t end well—”

“I wrecked one building—”

“And,” Rhys cut him off. “Considering the fact that they are utterly terrified of sweet Amren, she is the wiser choice.”

I didn’t know if there was anyone alive who wasn’t utterly terrified of her.

“It could easily be a trap,” Cassian pushed. “Who’s to say the delay in replying wasn’t because they’re contacting our enemies to ambush you?”

“That is also why Amren is coming,” Rhys said simply.

Amren was frowning—bored and annoyed.

Rhys said too casually, “There is also a great deal of treasure to be found in the Summer Court. If the Book is hidden, Amren, you might find other objects to your liking.”

“Shit,” Cassian said, throwing up his hands again. “Really, Rhys? It’s bad enough we’re stealing from them, but robbing them blind—”

“Rhysand does have a point,” Amren said. “Their High Lord is young and untested. I doubt he’s had much time to catalog his inherited hoard since he was appointed Under the Mountain. I doubt he’ll know anything is missing. Very well, Rhysand—I’m in.”

No better than a firedrake guarding its trove indeed. Mor gave me a secret, subtle look that conveyed the same thing, and I swallowed a chuckle.

Cassian started to object again, but Rhys said quietly, “I will need you—not Amren—in the human realm. The Summer Court has banned you for eternity, and though your presence would be a good distraction while Feyre does what she has to, it could lead to more trouble than it’s worth.”

I stiffened. What I had to do—meaning track down that Book of Breathings and steal it. Feyre Cursebreaker … and thief.

“Just cool your heels, Cassian,” Amren said, eyes a bit glazed—as she no doubt imagined the treasure she might steal from the Summer Court. “We’ll be fine without your swaggering and growling at everyone. Their High Lord owes Rhys a favor for saving his life Under the Mountain—and keeping his secrets.”

Cassian’s wings twitched, but Mor chimed in, “And the High Lord also probably wants to figure out where we stand in regard to any upcoming conflict.”

Cassian’s wings settled again. He jerked his chin at me. “Feyre, though. It’s one thing to have her here—even when everyone knows it. It’s another to bring her to a different court, and introduce her as a member of our own.”

The message it’d send to Tamlin. If my letter wasn’t enough.

But Rhys was done. He inclined his head to Amren and strolled for the open archway. Cassian lurched a step, but Mor lifted a hand. “Leave it,” she murmured. Cassian glared, but obeyed.

I took that as a chance to follow after Rhys, the warm darkness inside the House of Wind blinding me. My Fae eyes adjusted swiftly, but for the first few steps down the narrow hallway, I trailed after Rhys on memory alone.

“Any more traps I should know about before we go tomorrow?” I said to his back.

Rhys looked over a shoulder, pausing atop the stair landing. “Here I was, thinking your notes the other night indicated you’d forgiven me.”

I took in that half grin, the chest I might have suggested I’d lick and had avoided looking at for the past four days, and halted a healthy distance away. “One would think a High Lord would have more important things to do than pass notes back and forth at night.”

“I do have more important things to do,” he purred. “But I find myself unable to resist the temptation. The same way you can’t resist watching me whenever we’re out. So territorial.”

My mouth went a bit dry. But—flirting with him, fighting with him … It was easy. Fun.

Maybe I deserved both of those things.

So I closed the distance between us, smoothly stepped past him, and said, “You haven’t been able to keep away from me since Calanmai, it seems.”

Something rippled in his eyes that I couldn’t place, but he flicked my nose—hard enough that I hissed and batted his hand away.

“I can’t wait to see what that sharp tongue of yours can do at the Summer Court,” he said, gaze fixed on my mouth, and vanished into shadow.

CHAPTER

32

In the end, only Amren and I joined Rhys, Cassian having failed to sway his High Lord, Azriel still off overseeing his network of spies and investigating the human realm, and Mor tasked with guarding Velaris. Rhys would winnow us directly into Adriata, the castle-city of the Summer Court—and there we would stay, for however long it took me to detect and then steal the first half of the Book.

As Rhys’s newest pet, I would be granted tours of the city and the High Lord’s personal residence. If we were lucky, none of them would realize that Rhys’s lapdog was actually a bloodhound.

And it was a very, very good disguise.

Rhys and Amren stood in the town house foyer the next day, the rich morning sunlight streaming through the windows and pooling on the ornate carpet. Amren wore her usual shades of gray—her loose pants cut to just beneath her navel, the billowing top cropped to show the barest slice of skin along her midriff. Alluring as a calm sea under a cloudy sky.

Rhys was in head-to-toe black accented with silver thread—no wings. The cool, cultured male I’d first met. His favorite mask.

For my own, I’d selected a flowing lilac dress, its skirts floating on a phantom wind beneath the silver-and-pearl-crusted belt at my waist. Matching night-blooming silver flowers had been embroidered to climb from the hem to brush my thighs, and a few more twined down the folds at my shoulders. The perfect gown to combat the warmth of the Summer Court.

It swished and sighed as I descended the last two stairs into the foyer. Rhys surveyed me with a long, unreadable sweep from my silver-slippered feet to my half-up hair. Nuala had curled the strands that had been left down—soft, supple curls that brought out the gold in my hair.

Rhys simply said, “Good. Let’s go.”

My mouth popped open, but Amren explained with a broad, feline smile, “He’s pissy this morning.”

“Why?” I asked, watching Amren take Rhys’s hand, her delicate fingers dwarfed by his. He held out the other to me.

&nbs

p; “Because,” Rhys answered for her, “I stayed out late with Cassian and Azriel, and they took me for all I was worth in cards.”