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A Court of Mist and Fury

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Sarah J. Maas
Sarah J. Maas

Sarah J. Maas is an American author known for her fantasy novels. Her works are celebrated for their rich imagination, complex characters, and gripping plots. Born on March 5, 1986, Maas has developed a passion for writing from a young age and has become a successful author in her own right. more

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“Rhys looked at the menagerie of water-animals I'd crafted and said, 'What else?' Perhaps it was the cold, perhaps it was his story, but hoarfrost cracked in my veins, and the wild song of a winter wind howled in my heart. I felt it then- how easy it would be to jump between them, join them together, my powers. Each one of my animals halted mid-air... and froze into perfectly carved bits of ice. One by one, they dropped to the earth. And shattered. They were one. They had come from the same, dark origin, the same eternal wall of power. Once, long ago- before language was invented and the world was new.”

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Book:A Court of Mist and Fury
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“She didn't understand that. "How can anyone be afraid of love?" "How can they not?" His face was completely aghast. "When you love someone... truly love them, friend or lover, you lay your heart open to them. You give them a part of yourself that you give to no one else, and you let them inside a part of you that only they can hurt—you literally hand them the razor with a map of where to cut deepest and most painfully on your heart and soul. And when they do strike, it's crippling—like having your heart carved out. It leaves you naked and exposed, wondering what you did to make them want to hurt you so badly when all you did was love them. What is so wrong with you that no one can keep faith with you? That no one can love you? To have it happen once is bad enough... but to have it repeated? Who in their right mind would not be terrified of that?”

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“Everyone around him had some use, some mighty skill. And yet there I was... nothing more than a strange hybrid. More trouble than I was worth. 'You're not,' he said. 'Don't read my thoughts.' 'I can't help what you sometimes shout down the bond. And besides, everything is usually written on your face, if you know where to look. Which made your performance today so much more impressive.”

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“And as for this one...' I tried not to flinch away from meeting his stare. 'She's mine,' he said quietly, but viciously enough that Devlon and his warriors nearby heard. 'And if any of you lay a hand on her, you lose that hand. And then you lose your head.' I tried not to shiver, as Cassian and Mor showed no reaction at all. 'And once Feyre is done killing you,' Rhys smirked, 'then I'll grind your bones to dust.”

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“I- I'm sorry,' I breathed, my voice hoarse. 'What do you possibly have to be sorry for?' 'I didn't know. I didn't know that he'd done that-' And Rhys thought I'd been comparing him- comparing him against Tamlin, as if I held him to be some paragon... ... The people he'd loved most- gone. Slaughtered in cold blood. Slaughtered by Tamlin.”

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“His red hair was tied back, and there wasn't a hint of finery on him, just armoured leather, swords, knives... His metal eye roamed over me, his golden skin pale. 'We've been hunting you for over two months,' he breathed, now scanning the woods, the stream, the sky. Rhys. Cauldron save me. Rhys was too far back, and- 'How did you find me?' My steady, cold voice wasn't one I recognised. But- hunting for me. As if I were indeed prey. If Tamlin was here... My blood went icier than the freezing rain now sluicing down my face, into my clothes. 'Someone tipped us off you'd been out here, but it was luck that we caught your scent on the wind, and-' Lucien took a step toward me. I stepped back. Only three feet between me and the stream. Lucien's eye widened slightly. 'We need to get out of here. Tamlin's been- he hasn't been himself. I'll take you right to-' 'No,' I breathed. The word rasped through the rain, the stream, the pine forest. The four sentinels glanced between each other, then to the arrow I kept aimed. Lucien took me in again. And I could see what he was gleaming: the Illyrian fighting leathers. The colour and fullness that had returned to my face, my body. And the silent steel of my eyes. 'Feyre,' he said,' holding out a hand. 'Let's go home.' I didn't move. 'That stopped being my home the day you let him lock me up inside of it.' Lucien's mouth tightened. 'It was a mistake. We all made mistakes. He's sorry- more sorry than you realise. So am I.' He stepped toward me, and I backed up another few inches.”

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Book:A Court of Mist and Fury
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“Feyre,' Lucien pleaded, and dared another step, his hand outraised. My arrow angled toward him, my bowstring groaning. I'd never realised that while Lucien had been trained as a warrior, Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and Rhys were warriors. Cassian could wipe Lucien off the face of the earth in a single blow. 'Put the arrow down,' Lucien murmured, like he was soothing a wild animal. Behind him, the four sentinels closed in. Herding me. The High Lord's pet and possession. 'Don't,' I breathed. 'Touch. Me.' 'You don't understand the mess we're in, Feyre. We- I need you home. Now.' I didn't want to hear it. Peering at the stream below, I calculated my odds. The look cost me. Lucien lunged, hand out. One touch, that was all it'd take- I was no the High Lord's pet any longer. And maybe the world should learn that I did indeed have fangs. Lucien's finger grazed the sleeve of my leather jacket. And I became smoke and ash and night. The world stilled and bent, and there was Lucien, lunging so slowly for what was now blank space as I stepped around him, as I hurtled for the trees behind the sentinels. I stopped, and time resumed its natural flow. Lucien staggered, catching himself before he went over the cliff- and whirled, eye wide to discover me now standing behind his sentinels. Bron and Hart flinched and backed away. From me. And from Rhysand at my side. Lucien froze. I made my face a mirror of ice; the unfeeling twin to the cruel amusement on Rhysand's features as he picked at a fleck of lint on his dark tunic. Dark, elegant clothes- no wings, no fighting leathers. The unruffled, fine clothes... Another weapon. To hide just how skilled and powerful he was; to hide where he came from and what he loved. A weapon worth the cost of the magic he'd used to hide it- even if it put us at risk of being tracked.”

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Book:A Court of Mist and Fury
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