But I kept those thoughts clear from my face. Kept anything but quiet relief from it as I leaned into Tamlin, sighing. “It feels—feels as if some of it was a dream, or a nightmare. But … But I remembered you. And when I saw you there today, I started clawing at it, fighting, because I knew it might be my only chance, and—”
“How did you break free of his control,” Lucien said flatly from behind us.
Tamlin gave him a warning growl.
I’d forgotten he was there. My sister’s mate. The Mother, I decided, did have a sense of humor. “I wanted it—I don’t know how. I just wanted to break free of him, so I did.”
We stared each other down, but Tamlin brushed a thumb over my shoulder. “Are—are you hurt?”
I tried not to bristle. I knew what he meant. That he thought Rhysand would do anything like that to anyone— “I—I don’t know,” I stammered. “I don’t … I don’t remember those things.”
Lucien’s metal eye narrowed, as if he could sense the lie.
But I looked up at Tamlin, and brushed my hand over his mouth. My bare, empty skin. “You’re real,” I said. “You freed me.”
It was an effort not to turn my hands into claws and rip out his eyes. Traitor—liar. Murderer.
“You freed yourself,” Tamlin breathed. He gestured to the house. “Rest—and then we’ll talk. I … need to find Ianthe. And make some things very, very clear.”
“I—I want to be a part of it this time,” I said, halting when he tried to herd me back into that beautiful prison. “No more … No more shutting me out. No more guards. Please. I have so much to tell you about them—bit and pieces, but … I can help. We can get my sisters back. Let me help.”
Help lead you in the wrong direction. Help bring you and your court to your knees, and take down Jurian and those conniving, traitorous queens. And then tear Ianthe into tiny, tiny pieces and bury them in a pit no one can find.
Tamlin scanned my face, and finally nodded. “We’ll start over. Do things differently. When you were gone, I realized … I’d been wrong. So wrong, Feyre. And I’m sorry.”
Too late. Too damned late. But I rested my head on his arm as he slipped it around me and led me toward the house. “It doesn’t matter. I’m home now.”
“Forever,” he promised.
“Forever,” I parroted, glancing behind—to where Lucien stood in the gravel drive.
His gaze on me. Face hard. As if he’d seen through every lie.
As if he knew of the second tattoo beneath my glove, and the glamour I now kept on it.
As if he knew that they had let a fox into a chicken coop—and he could do nothing.
Not unless he never wanted to see his mate—Elain—again.
I gave Lucien a sweet, sleepy smile. So our game began.
We hit the sweeping marble stairs to the front doors of the manor.
And so Tamlin unwittingly led the High Lady of the Night Court into the heart of his territory.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTs
Thank you to the following people who make my life blessed beyond all measure:
To my husband, Josh: You got me through this year. (Through many years before it, but this one in particular.) I don’t have the words to describe how much I love you, and how grateful I am for all that you do. For the countless meals you cooked so I didn’t have to stop writing; for the hundreds of dishes you washed afterward so I could run back into my office and keep working; for the hours of dog-walking, especially those early mornings, just so I could get some sleep … This book is now a real book because of you. Thank you for carrying me when I was too weary, for wiping away my tears when my heart was heavy, and for coming with me on so many adventures around the world.
To Annie, who can’t read this, but who deserves credit, anyway: Every second with you is a gift. Thank you for making a fairly solitary job not the slightest bit lonely—and for the laughter and joy and love you’ve brought into my life. Love you, baby pup.
To Susan Dennard, my Threadsister and anam cara: Pretty sure I’m a broken record at this point, but thank you for being a friend worth waiting for, and for the fun, truly epic times we’ve had together. To Alex Bracken, Erin Bowman, Lauren Billings, Christina Hobbs, Victoria Aveyard, Jennifer L. Armentrout, Gena Showalter, and Claire Legrand: I’m so lucky to call you guys my friends. I adore you all.
To my agent, Tamar Rydzinski: What would I do without you? You’ve been my rock, my guiding star, and my fairy godmother from the very beginning. Seven books later, I still don’t have the words to express my gratitude. To my editor, Cat Onder: Working with you on these books has been a highlight of my career. Thank you for your wisdom, your kindness, and your editorial brilliance.
To my phenomenal teams at Bloomsbury worldwide and CAA—Cindy Loh, Cristina Gilbert, Jon Cassir, Kathleen Farrar, Nigel Newton, Rebecca McNally, Natalie Hamilton, Sonia Palmisano, Emma Hopkin, Ian Lamb, Emma Bradshaw, Lizzy Mason, Courtney Griffin, Erica Barmash, Emily Ritter, Grace Whooley, Eshani Agrawal, Nick Thomas, Alice Grigg, Elise Burns, Jenny Collins, Linette Kim, Beth Eller, Diane Aronson, Emily Klopfer, Melissa Kavonic, Donna Mark, John Candell, Nicholas Church, Adiba Oemar, Hermione Lawton, Kelly de Groot, and the entire foreign rights team—it’s an honor to know and work with you. Thank you for making my dreams come true. To Cassie Homer: Thank you for everything. You are an absolute delight.
To my family (especially my parents): I love you to the moon and back.
To Louisse Ang, Nicola Wilksinson, Elena Yip, Sasha Alsberg, Vilma Gonzalez, Damaris Cardinali, Alexa Santiago, Rachel Domingo, Jamie Miller, Alice Fanchiang, and the Maas Thirteen: your generosity, friendship, and support mean the world to me.
And, lastly, to my readers: You guys are the greatest. The actual greatest. None of this would have been possible without you. Thank you from the very bottom of my heart for all that you do for me and my books.
HEARTS HAVE BEEN HEALED.
POWER GAMES HAVE BEGUN.
WAR IS UPON THEM.
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