Chapter 28


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    The wings swept back.


    But he tightened his arm. Bracing me for takeoff. Mother save me. “You say the word tonight, and


    wee back here, no questions asked. And if you can’t stomach working with me, with them, then


    no questions asked on that, either. We can find some other way for you to live here, be fulfilled,


    regardless of what I need. It’s your choice, Feyre.”


    I debated pushing him on it—on insisting I stay. But stay for what? To sleep? To avoid a meeting I


    should most certainly have before deciding what I wanted to do with myself? And to fly …


    I studied the wings, the arm around my waist. “Please don’t drop me. And please don’t—”


    We shot into the sky, fast as a shooting star.


    Before my yelp finished echoing, the city had yawned wide beneath us. Rhys’s hand slid under my


    knees while the other wrapped around my back and ribs, and we pped up, up, up into the star-


    freckled night, into the liquid dark and singing wind.


    The city lights dropped away until Vris was a rippling velvet nket littered with jewels, until the


    music no longer reached even our pointed ears. The air was chill, but no wind other than a gentle


    breeze brushed my face—even as we soared with magnificent precision for the House of Wind.


    Rhys’s body was hard and warm against mine, a solid force of nature crafted and honed for this.


    Even the smell of him reminded me of the wind—rain and salt and something citrus-y I couldn’t


    name.


    We swerved into an updraft, rising so fast it was instinct to clutch his ck tunic as my stomach


    clenched. I scowled at the softugh that tickled my ear. “I expected more screaming from you. I


    must not be trying hard enough.”


    “Do not,” I hissed, focusing on the approaching tiara of lights in the eternal wall of the mountain.


    With the sky wheeling overhead and the lights shooting past below, up and down became mirrors—


    until we were sailing through a sea of stars. Something tight in my chest eased a fraction of its grip.


    “When I was a boy,” Rhys said in my ear, “I’d sneak out of the House of Wind by leaping out my


    window—and I’d fly and fly all night, just making loops around the city, the river, the sea. Sometimes


    I still do.”


    “Your parents must have been thrilled.”


    “My father never knew—and my mother …” A pause. “She was Illyrian. Some nights, when she


    caught me right as I leaped out the window, she’d scold me … and then jump out herself to fly with


    me until dawn.”


    “She sounds lovely,” I admitted.


    “She was,” he said. And those two words told me enough about his past that I didn’t pry.


    A maneuver had us rising higher, until we were in direct line with a broad balcony, gilded by the light


    of goldennterns. At the far end, built into the red mountain itself, two ss doors were already


    open, revealing arge, but surprisingly casual dining room carved from the stone, and ented


    with rich wood. Each chair fashioned, I noted, to aodate wings.


    Rhys’snding was as smooth as his takeoff, though he kept an arm beneath my shoulders as my


    knees buckled at the adjustment. I shook off his touch, and faced the city behind us.


    I’d spent so much time squatting in trees that heights had lost their primal terror long ago. But the


    sprawl of the city … worse, the vast expanse of dark beyond—the sea … Maybe I remained a


    human fool to feel that way, but I had not realized the size of the world. The size of Prythian, if a city


    thisrge could remain hidden from Amarantha, from the other courts.


    Rhysand was silent beside me. Yet after a moment, he said, “Out with it.”


    I lifted a brow.


    N?velDrama.Org holds ? this.


    “You say what’s on your mind—one thing. And I’ll say one, too.”


    I shook my head and turned back to the city.


    But Rhys said, “I’m thinking that I spent fifty years locked Under the Mountain, and I’d sometimes let


    myself dream of this ce, but I never expected to see it again. I’m thinking that I wish I had been


    the one who ughtered her. I’m thinking that if wares, it might be a long while yet before I get


    to have a night like this.”


    He slid his eyes to me, expectant.


    I didn’t bother asking again how he’d kept this ce from her, not when he was likely to refuse to


    answer. So I said, “Do you think war will be here that soon?”


    “This was a no-questions-asked invitation. I told you … three things. Tell me one.”


    I stared toward the open world, the city and the restless sea and the dry winter night.


    Maybe it was some shred of courage, or recklessness, or I was so high above everything that no


    one save Rhys and the wind could hear, but I said, “I’m thinking that I must have been a fool in love


    to allow myself to be shown so little of the Spring Court. I’m thinking there’s a great deal of that


    territory I was never allowed to see or hear about and maybe I would have lived in ignorance


    forever like some pet. I’m thinking … ” The words became choked. I shook my head as if I could


    clear the remaining ones away. But I still spoke them. “I’m thinking that I was a lonely, hopeless


    person, and I might have fallen in love with the first thing that showed me a hint of kindness and


    safety. And I’m thinking maybe he knew that—maybe not actively, but maybe he wanted to be that


    person for someone. And maybe that worked for who I was before. Maybe it doesn’t work for who—


    what I am now.”


    There.


    The words, hateful and selfish and ungrateful. For all Tamlin had done—


    The thought of his name nged through me. Only yesterday afternoon, I had been there. No—no,


    I wouldn’t think about it. Not yet.


    Rhysand said, “That was five. Looks like I owe you two thoughts.” He nced behind us. “Later.”


    Because the two winged males from earlier were standing in the doorway.


    Grinning.


    CHAPTER


    16


    Rhys sauntered toward the two males standing by the dining room doors, giving me the option to


    stay or join.


    One word, he’d promised, and we could go.


    Both of them were tall, their wings tucked in tight to powerful, muscled bodies covered in ted,


    dark leather that reminded me of the worn scales of some serpentine beast. Identical long swords


    were each strapped down the column of their spines—the des beautiful in their simplicity.


    Perhaps I needn’t have bothered with the fine clothes after all.


    The slightlyrger of the two, his face masked in shadow, chuckled and said, “Come on, Feyre. We


    don’t bite. Unless you ask us to.”


    Surprise sparked through me, setting my feet moving.


    Rhys slid his hands into his pockets. “Thest I heard, Cassian, no one has ever taken you up on


    that offer.”


    The second one snorted, the faces of both males atst illuminated as they turned toward the


    golden light of the dining room, and I honestly wondered why no one hadn’t: if Rhysand’s mother


    had also been Illyrian, then its people were blessed with unnatural good looks.


    Like their High Lord, the males—warriors—were dark-haired, tan-skinned. But unlike Rhys, their


    eyes were hazel and fixed on me as I atst stepped close—to the waiting House of Wind behind


    them.


    That was where any simrities between the three of them halted.


    Cassian surveyed Rhys from head to foot, his shoulder-length ck hair shifting with the


    movement. “So fancy tonight, brother. And you made poor Feyre dress up, too.” He winked at me.


    There was something rough-hewn about his features—like he’d been made of wind and earth and


    me and all these civilized trappings were little more than an inconvenience.


    But the second male, the more ssically beautiful of the two … Even the light shied from the


    elegant nes of his face. With good reason. Beautiful, but near-unreadable. He’d be the one to


    look out for—the knife in the dark. Indeed, an obsidian-hilted hunting knife was sheathed at his


    thigh, its dark scabbard embossed with a line of silver runes I’d never seen before.


    Rhys said, “This is Azriel—my spymaster.” Not surprising. Some buried instinct had me checking


    that my mental shields were intact. J


    ust in case.


    “Wee,” was all Azriel said, his voice low, almost t, as he extended a brutally scarred hand to


    me. The shape of it was normal—but the skin … It looked like it had been swirled and smudged and


    rippled. Burns. They must have been horrific if even their immortal blood had not been able to heal


    them.


    The leather tes of his light armor flowed over most of it, held by a loop around his middle finger.


    Not to conceal, I realized as his hand breached the chill night air between us. No, it was to hold in


    ce therge, depthless cobalt stone that graced the back of the gauntlet. A matching oney


    atop his left hand; and twin red stones adorned Cassian’s gauntlets, their color like the slumbering


    heart of a me.


    I took Azriel’s hand, and his rough fingers squeezed mine. His skin was as cold as his face.


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