A Court of Mist and Fury

Chapter 27

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And Amren was worse. And older than five thousand years.

I waited for the fear to hit; waited for my body to shriek to find a way to get out of this dinner, but … nothing.

Maybe it’d be a mercy to be ended—

A broad hand gripped my face—gently enough not to hurt, but hard enough to make me look at him. “Don’t you

ever think that,” Rhysand hissed, his eyes livid. “Not for one damned moment.”

That bond between us went taut, and my lingering mental shields collapsed. And for a heartbeat, just as it had

happened Under the Mountain, I flashed from my body to his—from my eyes to his own.

I had not realized … how I looked …

My face was gaunt, my cheekbones sharp, my blue-gray eyes dull and smudged with purple beneath. The full lips

—my father’s mouth—were wan, and my collarbones jutted above the thick wool neckline of my sweater. I looked

as if … as if rage and grief and despair had eaten me alive, as if I was again starved. Not for food, but … but for

joy and life—

Then I was back in my body, seething at him. “Was that a trick?”

His voice was hoarse as he lowered his hand from my face. “No.” He angled his head to the side. “How did you

get through it? My shield.”

I didn’t know what he was talking about. I hadn’t done anything. Just … slipped. And I didn’t want to talk about it,

not here, not with him. I stormed into a walk, my legs—so damn thin, so useless—burning with every step up the

steep hill.

He gripped my elbow, again with that considerate gentleness, but strong enough to make me pause. “How many

other minds have you accidentally slipped into?”

Lucien—

“Lucien?” A short laugh. “What a miserable place to be.”

A low snarl rippled from me. “Do not go into my head.”

“Your shield is down.” I hauled it back up. “You might as well have been shouting his name at me.” Again, that

contemplative angling of his head. “Perhaps you having my power … ” He chewed on his bottom lip, then snorted.

“It’d make sense, of course, if the power came from me—if my own shield sometimes mistook you for me and let

you slip past. Fascinating.”

I debated spitting on his boots. “Take your power back. I don’t want it.”

A sly smile. “It doesn’t work that way. The power is bound to your life. The only way to get it back would be to kill

you. And since I like your company, I’ll pass on the offer.” We walked a few steps before he said, “You need to be

vigilant about keeping your mental wards up. Especially now that you’ve seen Velaris. If you ever go somewhere

else, beyond these lands, and someone slipped into your mind and saw this place …” A muscle quivered in his

jaw. “We’re called daemati—those of us who can walk into another person’s mind as if we were going from one

room to another. We’re rare, and the trait appears as the Mother wills it, but there are enough of us scattered

throughout the world that many—mostly those in positions of influence—extensively train against our skill set. If

you were to ever encounter a daemati without those shields up, Feyre, they’d take whatever they wanted. A more

powerful one could make you their unwitting slave, make you do whatever they wanted and you’d never know it.

My lands remain mystery enough to outsiders that some would find you, among other things, a highly valuable

source of information.”

Daemati—was I now one if I, too, could do such things? Yet another damned title for people to whisper as I

passed. “I take it that in a potential war with Hybern, the king’s armies wouldn’t even know to strike here?” I waved

a hand to the city around us. “So, what—your pampered people … those who can’t shield their minds—they get

your protection and don’t have to fight while the rest of us will bleed?”

I didn’t let him answer, and just increased my pace. A cheap shot, and childish, but … Inside, inside I had become

like that distant sea, relentlessly churning, tossed about by squalls that tore away any sense of where the surface

might be.

Rhys kept a step behind for the rest of the walk to the town house.

Some small part of me whispered that I could survive Amarantha; I could survive leaving Tamlin; I could survive

transitioning into this new, strange body … But that empty, cold hole in my chest … I wasn’t sure I could survive

that.

Even in the years I’d been one bad week away from starvation, that part of me had been full of color, of light.

Maybe becoming a faerie had broken it. Maybe Amarantha had broken it.

Or maybe I had broken it, when I shoved that dagger into the hearts of two innocent faeries and their blood had

warmed my hands.

“Absolutely not,” I said atop the town house’s small rooftop garden, my hands shoved deep into the pockets of my Content © NôvelDrama.Org.

overcoat to warm them against the bite in the night air. There was room enough for a few boxed shrubs and a

round iron table with two chairs—and me and Rhysand.

Around us, the city twinkled, the stars themselves seeming to hang lower, pulsing with ruby and amethyst and

pearl. Above, the full moon set the marble of the buildings and bridges glowing as if they were all lit from within.

Music played, strings and gentle drums, and on either side of the Sidra, golden lights bobbed over riverside

walkways dotted with cafés and shops, all open for the night, already packed.

Life—so full of life. I could nearly taste it crackling on my tongue.

Clothed in black accented with silver thread, Rhysand crossed his arms. And rustled his massive wings as I said,

“No.”

“The House of Wind is warded against people winnowing inside—exactly like this house. Even against High

Lords. Don’t ask me why, or who did it. But the option is either walk up the ten thousand steps, which I really do

not feel like doing, Feyre, or fly in.” Moonlight glazed the talon at the apex of each wing. He gave me a slow grin

that I hadn’t seen all afternoon. “I promise I won’t drop you.”

I frowned at the midnight-blue dress I’d selected—even with the long sleeves and heavy, luxurious fabric, the

plunging vee of the neckline did nothing against the cold. I’d debated wearing the sweater and thicker pants, but

had opted for finery over comfort. I already regretted it, even with the coat. But if his Inner Circle was anything like

Tamlin’s court … better to wear the more formal attire. I winced at the swath of night between the roof and the

mountain-residence. “The wind will rip the gown right off.”

His grin became feline.

“I’ll take the stairs,” I seethed, the anger welcome from the past few hours of numbness as I headed for the door

at the end of the roof.

Rhys snapped out a wing, blocking my path.

Smooth membrane—flecked with a hint of iridescence. I peeled back. “Nuala spent an hour on my hair.”

An exaggeration, but she had fussed whil

e I’d sat there in hollow silence, letting her tease the ends into soft curls and pin a section along the top of my

head with pretty gold barrettes. But maybe staying inside tonight, alone and quiet … maybe it’d be better than

facing these people. Than interacting.

Rhys’s wing curved around me, herding me closer to where I could nearly feel the heat of his powerful body. “I

promise I won’t let the wind destroy your hair.” He lifted a hand as if he might tug on one of those loose curls, then

lowered it.

“If I’m to decide whether I want to work against Hybern with you—with your Inner Circle, can’t we just … meet

here?”

“They’re all up there already. And besides, the House of Wind has enough space that I won’t feel like chucking

them all off the mountain.”

I swallowed. Sure enough, curving along the top of the center mountain behind us, floors of lights glinted, as if the

mountain had been crowned in gold. And between me and that crown of light was a long, long stretch of open air.

“You mean,” I said, because it might have been the only weapon in my arsenal, “that this town house is too small,

and their personalities are too big, and you’re worried I might lose it again.”

His wing pushed me closer, a whisper of warmth on my shoulder. “So what if I am?”

“I’m not some broken doll.” Even if this afternoon, that conversation we’d had, what I’d glimpsed through his eyes,

said otherwise. But I yielded another step.

“I know you’re not. But that doesn’t mean I’ll throw you to the wolves. If you meant what you said about wanting to

work with me to keep Hybern from these lands, keep the wall intact, I want you to meet my friends first. Decide on

your own if it’s something you can handle. And I want this meeting to be on my terms, not whenever they decide

to ambush this house again.”

“I didn’t know you even had friends.” Yes—anger, sharpness … It felt good. Better than feeling nothing.

A cold smile. “You didn’t ask.”

Rhysand was close enough now that he slid a hand around my waist, both of his wings encircling me. My spine

locked up. A cage—

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