You are being provided with a book chapter by chapter. I will request you to read the book for me after each chapter. After reading the chapter, 1. shorten the chapter to no less than 300 words and no more than 400 words. 2. Do not change the name, address, or any important nouns in the chapter. 3. Do not translate the original language. 4. Keep the same style as the original chapter, keep it consistent throughout the chapter. Your reply must comply with all four requirements, or it’s invalid.
I will provide the chapter now.
CHAPTER
33
We were given a suite of connecting rooms, all centered on a large, lavish
lounge that was open to the sea and city below. My bedroom was appointed
in seafoam and softest blue with pops of gold—like the gilded clamshell
atop my pale wood dresser. I had just set it down when the white door
behind me clicked open and Rhys slid in.
He leaned against the door once he shut it, the top of his black tunic
unbuttoned to reveal the upper whorls of the tattoo spanning his chest.
“The problem, I’ve realized, will be that I like Tarquin,” he said by way
of greeting. “I even like Cresseida. Varian, I could live without, but I bet a
few weeks with Cassian and Azriel, and he’d be thick as thieves with them
and I’d have to learn to like him. Or he’d be wrapped around Amren’s
finger, and I’d have to leave him alone entirely or risk her wrath.”
“And?” I took up a spot against the dresser, where clothes that I had not
packed but were clearly of Night Court origin had been already waiting for
me.
The space of the room—the large bed, the windows, the sunlight—filled
the silence between us.
“And,” Rhys said, “I want you to find a way to do what you have to do
without making enemies of them.”
“So you’re telling me don’t get caught.”
A nod. Then, “Do you like that Tarquin can’t stop looking at you? I can’t
tell if it’s because he wants you, or because he knows you have his power
and wants to see how much.”
“Can’t it be both?”
“Of course. But having a High Lord lusting after you is a dangerous
game.”
“First you taunt me with Cassian, now Tarquin? Can’t you find other
ways to annoy me?”
Rhys prowled closer, and I steadied myself for his scent, his warmth, the
impact of his power. He braced a hand on either side of me, gripping the
dresser. I refused to shrink away. “You have one task here, Feyre. One task
that no one can know about. So do anything you have to in order to
accomplish it. But get that book. And do not get caught.”
I wasn’t some simpering fool. I knew the risks. And that tone, that look
he always gave me … “Anything?” His brows rose. I breathed, “If I fucked
him for it, what would you do?”
His pupils flared, and his gaze dropped to my mouth. The wood dresser
groaned beneath his hands. “You say such atrocious things.” I waited, my
heart an uneven beat. He at last met my eyes again. “You are always free to
do what you want, with whomever you want. So if you want to ride him, go
ahead.”
“Maybe I will.” Though a part of me wanted to retort, Liar.
“Fine.” His breath caressed my mouth.
“Fine,” I said, aware of every inch between us, the distance smaller and
smaller, the challenge heightening with each second neither of us moved.
“Do not,” he said softly, his eyes like stars, “jeopardize this mission.”
“I know the cost.” The sheer power of him enveloped me, shaking me
awake.
The salt and the sea and the breeze tugged on me, sang to me.
And as if Rhys heard them, too, he inclined his head toward the unlit
candle on the dresser. “Light it.”
I debated arguing, but looked at the candle, summoning fire, summoning
that hot anger he managed to rile—
The candle was knocked off the dresser by a violent splash of water, as if
someone had chucked a bucketful.
I gaped at the water drenching the dresser, its dripping on the marble
floor the only sound.
Rhys, hands still braced on either side of me, laughed quietly. “Can’t you
ever follow orders?”
But whatever it was—being here, close to Tarquin and his power … I
could feel that water answering me. Feel it coating the floor, feel the sea
churning and idling in the bay, taste the salt on the breeze. I held Rhys’s
gaze.
No one was my master—but I might be master of everything, if I wished.
If I dared.
Like a strange rain, the water rose from the floor as I willed it to become
like those stars Rhys had summoned in his blanket of darkness. I willed the
droplets to separate until they hung around us, catching the light and
sparkling like crystals on a chandelier.
Rhys broke my stare to study them. “I suggest,” he murmured, “you not
show Tarquin that little trick in the bedroom.”
I sent each and every one of those droplets shooting for the High Lord’s
face.
Too fast, too swiftly for him to shield. Some of them sprayed me as they
ricocheted off him.
Both of us now soaking, Rhys gaped a bit—then smiled. “Good work,”
he said, at last pushing off the dresser. He didn’t bother to wipe away the
water gleaming on his skin. “Keep practicing.”
But I said, “Will he go to war? Over me?”
He knew who I meant. The hot temper that had been on Rhys’s face
moments before turned to lethal calm. “I don’t know.”
“I—I would go back. If it came to that, Rhysand. I’d go back, rather than
make you fight.”
He slid a still-wet hand into his pocket. “Would you want to go back?
Would going to war on your behalf make you love him again? Would that
be a grand gesture to win you?”
I swallowed hard. “I’m tired of death. I wouldn’t want to see anyone else
die—least of all for me.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“No. I wouldn’t want to go back. But I would. Pain and killing wouldn’t
win me.”
Rhys stared at me for a moment longer, his face unreadable, before he
strode to the door. He stopped with his fingers on the sea urchin–shaped
handle. “He locked you up because he knew—the bastard knew what a
treasure you are. That you are worth more than land or gold or jewels. He
knew, and wanted to keep you all to himself.”
The words hit me, even as they soothed some jagged piece in my soul.
“He did—does love me, Rhysand.”
“The issue isn’t whether he loved you, it’s how much. Too much. Love
can be a poison.”
And then he was gone.
The bay was calm enough—perhaps willed to flatness by its lord and
master—that the pleasure barge hardly rocked throughout the hours we
dined and drank aboard it.
Crafted of richest wood and gold, the enormous boat was amply sized for
the hundred or so High Fae trying their best not to observe every movement
Rhys, Amren, and I made.
The main deck was full of low tables and couches for eating and
relaxing, and on the upper level, beneath a canopy of tiles set with mother-
of-pearl, our long table had been set. Tarquin was summer incarnate in
turquoise and gold, bits of emerald shining at his buttons and fingers. A
crown of sapphire and white gold fashioned like cresting waves sat atop his
seafoam-colored hair—so exquisite that I often caught myself staring at it.
As I was now, when he turned to where I sat on his right and noticed my
stare.
“You’d think with our skilled jewelers, they could make a crown a bit
more comfortable. This one digs in horribly.”
A pleasant enough attempt at conversation, when I’d stayed quiet
throughout the first hour, instead watching the island-city, the water, the
mainland—casting a net of awareness, of blind power, toward it, to see if
anything answered. If the Book slumbered somewhere out there.
Nothing had answered my silent call. So I figured it was as good a time
as any as I said, “How did you keep it out of her hands?”
Saying Amarantha’s name here, amongst such happy, celebrating people,
felt like inviting in a rain cloud.
Seated at his left, deep in conversation with Cresseida, Rhys didn’t so
much as look over at me. Indeed, he’d barely spoken to me earlier, not even
noting my clothes.
Unusual, given that even I had been pleased with how I looked, and had
again selected it for myself: my hair unbound and swept off my face with a
headband of braided rose gold, my sleeveless, dusk-pink chiffon gown—
tight in the chest and waist—the near-twin to the purple one I’d worn that
morning. Feminine, soft, pretty. I hadn’t felt like those things in a long, long
while. Hadn’t wanted to.
But here, being those things wouldn’t earn me a ticket to a life of party
planning. Here, I could be soft and lovely at sunset, and awaken in the
morning to slide into Illyrian fighting leathers.
Tarquin said, “We managed to smuggle out most of our treasure when the
territory fell. Nostrus—my predecessor—was my cousin. I served as prince
of another city. So I got the order to hide the trove in the dead of night, fast
as we could.”
Amarantha had killed Nostrus when he’d rebelled—and executed his
entire family for spite. Tarquin must have been one of the few surviving
members, if the power had passed to him.
“I didn’t know the Summer Court valued treasure so much,” I said.
Tarquin huffed a laugh. “The earliest High Lords did. We do now out of
tradition, mostly.”
I said carefully, casually, “So is it gold and jewels you value, then?”
“Among other things.”
I sipped my wine to buy time to think of a way to ask without raising
suspicions. But maybe being direct about it would be better. “Are outsiders
allowed to see the collection? My father was a merchant—I spent most of
my childhood in his office, helping him with his goods. It would be
interesting to compare mortal riches to those made by Fae hands.”
Rhys kept talking to Cresseida, not even a hint of approval or amusement
going through our bond.
Tarquin cocked his head, the jewels in his crown glinting. “Of course.
Tomorrow—after lunch, perhaps?”
He wasn’t stupid, and he might have been aware of the game, but … the
offer was genuine. I smiled a bit, nodding. I looked toward the crowd
milling about on the deck below, the lantern-lit water beyond, even as I felt
Tarquin’s gaze linger.
He said, “What was it like? The mortal world?”
I picked at the strawberry salad on my plate. “I only saw a very small
slice of it. My father was called the Prince of Merchants—but I was too
young to be taken on his voyages to other parts of the mortal world. When I
was eleven, he lost our fortune on a shipment to Bharat. We spent the next
eight years in poverty, in a backwater village near the wall. So I can’t speak
for the entirety of the mortal world when I say that what I saw there was …
hard. Brutal. Here, class lines are far more blurred, it seems. There, it’s
defined by money. Either you have it and you don’t share it, or you are left
to starve and fight for your survival. My father … He regained his wealth
once I went to Prythian.” My heart tightened, then dropped into my
stomach. “And the very people who had been content to let us starve were
once again our friends. I would rather face every creature in Prythian than
the monsters on the other side of the wall. Without magic, without power,
money has become the only thing that matters.”
Tarquin’s lips were pursed, but his eyes were considering. “Would you
spare them if war came?”
Such a dangerous, loaded question. I wouldn’t tell him what we were
doing over the wall—not until Rhys had indicated we should.
“My sisters dwell with my father on his estate. For them, I would fight.
But for those sycophants and peacocks … I would not mind to see their
order disrupted.” Like the hate-mongering family of Elain’s betrothed.
Tarquin said very quietly, “There are some in Prythian who would think
the same of the courts.”
“What—get rid of the High Lords?”
“Perhaps. But mostly eliminate the inherent privileges of High Fae over
the lesser faeries. Even the terms imply a level of unfairness. Maybe it is
more like the human realm than you realize, not as blurred as it might seem.
In some courts, the lowest of High Fae servants has more rights than the
wealthiest of lesser faeries.”
I became aware that we were not the only people on the barge, at this
table. And that we were surrounded by High Fae with animal-keen hearing.
“Do you agree with them? That it should change?”
“I am a young High Lord,” he said. “Barely eighty years old.” So he’d
been thirty when Amarantha took over. “Perhaps others might call me
inexperienced or foolish, but I have seen those cruelties firsthand, and
known many good lesser faeries who suffered for merely being born on the
wrong side of power. Even within my own residences, the confines of
tradition pressure me to enforce the rules of my predecessors: the lesser
faeries are neither to be seen nor heard as they work. I would like to one
day see a Prythian in which they have a voice, both in my home and in the
world beyond it.”
I scanned him for any deceit, manipulation. I found none.
Steal from him—I would steal from him. But what if I asked instead?
Would he give it to me, or would the traditions of his ancestors run too
deep?
“Tell me what that look means,” Tarquin said, bracing his muscled arms
on the gold tablecloth.
I said baldly, “I’m thinking it would be very easy to love you. And easier
to call you my friend.”
He smiled at me—broad and without restraint. “I would not object to
either.”
Easy—very easy to fall in love with a kind, considerate male.
But I glanced over at Cresseida, who was now almost in Rhysand’s lap.
And Rhysand was smiling like a cat, one finger tracing circles on the back
of her hand while she bit her lip and beamed. I faced Tarquin, my brows
high in silent question.
He made a face and shook his head.
I hoped they went to her room.
Because if I had to listen to Rhys bed her … I didn’t let myself finish the
thought.
Tarquin mused, “It has been many years since I saw her look like that.”
My cheeks heated—shame. Shame for what? Wanting to throttle her for
no good reason? Rhysand teased and taunted me—he never … seduced me,
with those long, intent stares, the half smiles that were pure Illyrian
arrogance.
I supposed I’d been granted that gift once—and had used it up and fought
for it and broken it. And I supposed that Rhysand, for all he had sacrificed
and done … He deserved it as much as Cresseida.
Even if … even if for a moment, I wanted it.
I wanted to feel like that again.
And … I was lonely.
I had been lonely, I realized, for a very, very long time.
Rhys leaned in to hear something Cresseida was saying, her lips brushing
his ear, her hand now entwining with his.
And it wasn’t sorrow, or despair, or terror that hit me, but …
unhappiness. Such bleak, sharp unhappiness that I got to my feet.
Rhys’s eyes shifted toward me, at last remembering I existed, and there
was nothing on his face—no hint that he felt any of what I did through our
bond. I didn’t care if I had no shield, if my thoughts were wide open and he
read them like a book. He didn’t seem to care, either. He went back to
chuckling at whatever Cresseida was telling him, sliding closer.
Tarquin had risen to his feet, scanning me and Rhys.
I was unhappy—not just broken. But unhappy.
An emotion, I realized. It was an emotion, rather than the unending
emptiness or survival-driven terror.
“I need some fresh air,” I said, even though we were in the open. But
with the golden lights, the people up and down the table … I needed to find
a spot on this barge where I could be alone, just for a moment, mission or
no.
“Would you like me to join you?”
I looked at the High Lord of Summer. I hadn’t lied. It would be easy to
fall in love with a male like him. But I wasn’t entirely sure that even with
the hardships he’d encountered Under the Mountain, Tarquin could
understand the darkness that might always be in me. Not only from
Amarantha, but from years spent being hungry, and desperate.
That I might always be a little bit vicious or restless. That I might crave
peace, but never a cage of comfort.
“I’m fine, thank you,” I said, and headed for the sweeping staircase that
led down onto the stern of the ship—brightly lit, but quieter than the main
areas at the prow. Rhys didn’t so much as look in my direction as I walked
away. Good riddance.
I was halfway down the wood steps when I spotted Amren and Varian—
both leaning against adjacent pillars, both drinking wine, both ignoring each
other. Even as they spoke to no one else.
Perhaps that was another reason why she’d come: to distract Tarquin’s
watchdog.
I reached the main deck, found a spot by the wooden railing that was a
bit more shadowed than the rest, and leaned against it. Magic propelled the
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