ACOTAR (Rhysand's POV)

Chapter 8

She met me with those large scrutinizing eyes, my own lingering on her lips. How did we get this close? Our hushed breaths mingled with one another's in a swirling, tangling mess. I wanted to reach out and dust a finger along her cheek - just one small touch. It was then I realized her hands were on my own, and she looked up at me - she was going to say something. My heart thumped at the intensity of the moment. Her lips parted as she returned my gaze, eyes never breaking. Her silken hair blew over her beautiful, ethereal face and I waited. She drew her breath, and spit at my feet.

***

It was the same dream that past two nights. Better than the nightmares, of course, but not any less frustrating. I kept my light pace through the foyer as I headed back to my room. In the hall, word of Feyre's next trial was on everyone's tongue. Someone had seen, what they thought was a clue to what it might be - some other kind of beast she'd have to flay. If they put this much effort into something worthwhile, we'd might not be under this mountain in the first place. My throat was tight with curses I wanted to fling at them. 

The scent was faint, but still lingered in the hall outside my door. What was she doing up here?  I paused to listen, but only heard a faint scuffling inside, and her exasperated sighs. Multiple thoughts entered my mind - some eliciting gut-wrenching fear and others ... more pleasant. It made no sense why she would be out of the cells at all, much less my room. I shoved the thoughts down, down to wherever they sprung from. I sucked in a breath and entered. 

Feyre knelt at the hearth, picking something from the ground. Her grunts and sighs continued to pour from her, some forming into obscenities. I slowly closed the door, a delicate smile forming, then the latch clicked into place. In her much too slow human pace, Feyre spun around to face me, attempting to conceal her weapon behind her back. It was hard not to laugh. "As wonderful as it is to see you, Feyre, darling, do I want to know why you're digging through my fireplace?" Was she insane? Losing it already, in the cells?

Her eyes darted back and forth, analyzing her escape routes. "They said I had to clean out lentils from the ashes, or you'd rip off my skin." 

"Did they now?" My skin burned, in embarrassment or - there were surely other things I'd like to rip from her...

"Do I have you to thank for this idea?" Feyre stood with her chin up, but still had a waver to her voice. 

"Oh, no. No one's learned of our little bargain yet," I was ashamed I hadn't thought to give her chores upstairs. She'd be in the warmth at the very least. "And you've managed to keep quiet. Shame riding you a bit hard?" Her distaste of our deal still stung a bit. 

She didn't respond but held her gaze in mine. "Is this clean enough for you? Feyre gestured to the fireplace where seed-like pellets were strewn.

"Why were there lentils in my fireplace to begin with?" A genuine question. The whole scene didn't make sense. 

"One of your mistresses household chores, I suppose." Her words were laced with disdain I easily felt. 

"Hm, apparently she or her cronies think I'll find some sport with you." 

"Or it's a test for you." Feyre spat back. "You said you bet on me during my first task. She didn't seem pleased about it."

And she wasn't wrong. I could see the doubt, creeping behind Amarantha's eyes when she spoke.  It was possible this was a test. It was possible that meeting Feyre at all, was a test. I shoved that thought down too, before it spiraled out of control. "And what could Amarantha possibly have to test me about?"

"You lied to her. About Clare. You knew very well what I looked like." 

I shifted forward to ease the lead now in my gut. "Amarantha plays her games, and I play mine." I willed it to sound convincing. "It gets rather boring down here, day after day."