Previously, Rhysand and Feyre (the High Lords of the Night Court) struck a deal with Keir (the regent of the parts of the Night Court that Rhysand thinks are totes icky and uncivilized) to use Keir’s army (??????) in exchange for allowing the riff raff to come visit their beautiful suburbs sometimes, but Rhysand’s got this great plan to have everyone in the suburbs treat them like shit whenever they come to visit. I don’t want to be that American with an overgeneralized take on foreign politics, but I think this is basically how Brexit happened.
Everyone is mad at Rhysand for striking this deal. Also, Amren now knows that Feyre’s plotting to strike an alliance with the Bone Carver in the upcoming war. She doesn’t get mad about it, but reminds them that if she and the Bone Carver were ever freed from their mortal-ish bodies, they become unfathomable and timeless beings of death who would murder friend and foe alike because they don’t experience emotions. So now I have at least one thing to look forward to in this series.
A Court of Wings and Ruin: Chapter 28
The next day, a few of the High Lords have responded to their request for a meeting about who’s on what side in the upcoming war. The High Lords of the Day, Dawn, and Winter Courts (whom we’ve never met, but apparently one of them is rather flirtatious, which is utterly useless for setting him apart from the other characters in this book) have all agreed to the meeting, but none of the other seasonal courts have responded. Possibly because Feyre has directly been involved in either nearly murdering, stealing from, or plotting a populist uprising against members of the government of each one of them? Who can say.
“We don’t have much time until the meeting. What if they refuse to reply at all?” […]
Mor picked up another slice of melon. “Then we’ll have to decide if Rhys and I will go drag them by their necks to this meeting, or if we’ll have it without them.”
“I’d suggest the second option.” Mor furrowed her brows. “The first,” I clarified, “doesn’t sound conducive to actually forming an alliance.”
Watching the characters in this book figure out good and bad diplomacy is a bit like watching your friend’s new puppy try to figure out whether it should or shouldn’t piss on the rug.
Mor’s had some time to cool off and take a measured stance on Rhysand’s decision to ally with Eris (her ex-fiance that left her for dead after she fucked Cassian to get out of their arranged marriage).
“I understand why Rhys did it. The position we were in. Eris is … You know what he is like.”
Do we though?
“And if he was indeed threatening to sell information about your gifts to his father … Mother above, I would have made the same bargain with Eris to keep Beron from hunting you. […] It’s just … My father knew—the second he heard of this place, he probably knew what it meant to me. There would have been no other asking price for my father’s help in this war. None. Rhys knew that as well. Tried to bring Eris into it to sweeten the deal for my father—to possibly avoid this outcome with Velaris altogether. […] I will never be happy about any of these terms, but … My father wins, Eris wins, all the males like them win if I let it get to me. If I let it impact my joy, my life. My relationships with all of you.”
Wow, a moment of maturity from a character in this book! After that entire chapter of “but what if someone who has different social and political views wants to shop at my organic grocery store???” So this means we probably have some tone deafness coming in three… two…
She sighed at the ceiling. “I hate war.” […] “Not just for the death and awfulness,” Mor went on
wow good save
Later, the gang follows up on Lucien’s idea (that apparently no one else had) to get professional medical help for Elain. The best healer in the Night Court (who undid Cassian/Azriel losing his wings at the end of the last book – honestly, I don’t remember who it was and it was undone immediately so it’s not like it really matters) takes a look at Elain, but finds nothing.
“Her body is fine—too thin and in need of more food and fresh air, but nothing amiss. And as for her mind … I cannot enter it.”
I blinked. “She has a shield?”
“She is Cauldron-Made,” the healer said, again looking over Nesta. “You are not like the rest of us. I cannot pierce the places it left its mark most deeply.” The mind. The soul. She shot me a warning glance. “And I would not try if I were you, Lady.”
I chose to believe that this is the minor characters slowly getting tired of Feyre “helping”. This is the only reading that makes sense to me.
The healer suggests that Elain’s issue is most likely some pretty serious PTSD, and also de-stigmatizes mental health disorders!
“I have seen the victims of trauma before. Her symptoms match well with many of those invisible wounds. But … she was also Made by something I do not understand. Is there something wrong with her?” Madja chewed over the words. “I do not like that word—wrong. Different, perhaps. Changed.”
But then somehow immediately pivots to “you should get her a boyfriend” as her professional medical opinion, because ACOTAR.
The ancient healer jerked her chin toward Lucien. “See what he can do. If anyone can sense if something is amiss, it’s a mate.”
Seriously, this is real.
“How.”
Holy shit, I agree with Feyre. I am in hell.
The healer explains that Lucien might be able to help out because “The mating bond […] is a bridge between souls.” Hope you enjoyed today’s chapter, I’m going to go vomit forever.
If you enjoyed today’s post, please consider buying the BBGT writers a cup of coffee? That’d be swell of you!
Like, I know that I’d be violently murdered by some other character if I punched one of the characters in this book hard in the face, but the satisfaction alone would be enough to send me to a happy grave
character: I have PTSD
this book: your mate is everything you need. Welcome
character: …………