A Court of Mist and Fury (35 page)

I could almost feel him waiting on the other side, in the sunny breakfast room, half paying attention to my eldest sister and the Illyrian warrior’s sparring. A faint smile curved my lips.
You’re a shameless flirt,
I wrote back.

The page vanished. I watched my open palm, waiting for it to return.

And I was so focused on it that I didn’t notice anyone was behind me until the hand covered my mouth and yanked me clean off my feet.

I thrashed, biting and clawing, shrieking as whoever it was hauled me up.

I tried to shove away, snow churning around us like dust on a road, but the arms that gripped me were immovable, like bands of iron and—

A rasping voice sounded in my ear, “Stop, or I snap your neck.”

I knew that voice. It prowled through my nightmares.

The Attor.

C
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R

26

The Attor had vanished in the moments after Amarantha died, suspected to have fled for the King of Hybern. And if it was here, in the mortal lands—

I went pliant in its arms, buying a wisp of time to scan for something, anything to use against it.

“Good,” it hissed in my ear. “Now tell me—”

Night exploded around us.

The Attor screamed—
screamed
—as that darkness swallowed us, and I was wrenched from its spindly, hard arms, its nails slicing into my leather. I collided face-first with packed, icy snow.

I rolled, flipping back, whirling to get my feet under me—

The light returned as I rose into a crouch, knife angled.

And there was Rhysand, binding the Attor to a snow-shrouded oak with nothing but twisting bands of night. Like the ones that had crushed Ianthe’s hand. Rhysand’s own hands were in his pockets, his face cold and beautiful as death. “I’d been wondering where you slithered off to.”

The Attor panted as it struggled against the bonds.

Rhysand merely sent two spears of night shooting into its wings.
The Attor shrieked as those spears met flesh—and sank deep into the bark behind it.

“Answer my questions, and you can crawl back to your master,” Rhys said, as if he were inquiring about the weather.

“Whore,” the Attor spat. Silvery blood leaked from its wings, hissing as it hit the snow.

Rhys smiled. “You forget that I rather enjoy these things.” He lifted a finger.

The Attor screamed, “
No!
” Rhys’s finger paused. “I was sent,” it panted, “to get her.”

“Why?” Rhys asked with that casual, terrifying calm.

“That was my order. I am not to question. The king wants her.”

My blood went as cold as the woods around us.

“Why?” Rhys said again. The Attor began screaming—this time beneath the force of a power I could not see. I flinched.

“
Don’t know, don’t know, don’t know
.” I believed it.

“Where is the king currently?”

“Hybern.”

“Army?”

“Coming soon.”

“How large?”

“Endless. We have allies in every territory, all waiting.”

Rhys cocked his head as if contemplating what to ask next. But he straightened, and Azriel slammed into the snow, sending it flying like water from a puddle. He’d flown in so silently, I hadn’t even heard the beat of his wings. Cassian must have stayed at the house to defend my sisters.

There was no kindness on Azriel’s face as the snow settled—the immovable mask of the High Lord’s shadowsinger.

The Attor began trembling, and I almost felt bad for it as Azriel stalked for him. Almost—but didn’t. Not when these woods were so close to the chateau. To my sisters.

Rhys came to my side as Azriel reached the Attor. “The next time
you try to take her,” Rhys said to the Attor, “I kill first; ask questions later.”

Azriel caught his eye. Rhys nodded. The Siphons atop his scarred hands flickered like rippling blue fire as he reached for the Attor. Before the Attor could scream, it and the spymaster vanished.

I didn’t want to think about where they’d go, what Azriel would do. I hadn’t even known Azriel possessed the ability to winnow, or whatever power he’d channeled through his Siphons. He’d let Rhys winnow us both in the other day—unless the power was too draining to be used so lightly.

“Will he kill him?” I said, my puffs of breath uneven.

“No.” I shivered at the raw power glazing his taut body. “We’ll use him to send a message to Hybern that if they want to hunt the members of my court, they’ll have to do better than that.”

I started—at the claim he’d made of me, and at the words. “You knew—you knew he was hunting me?”

“I was curious who wanted to snatch you the first moment you were alone.”

I didn’t know where to start. So Tamlin was right—about my safety. To some degree. It didn’t excuse anything. “So you never planned to stay with me while I trained. You used me as
bait
—”

“Yes, and I’d do it again. You were safe the entire time.”

“
You should have told me!
”

“Maybe next time.”

“
There will be no next time!
” I slammed a hand into his chest, and he staggered back a step from the strength of the blow. I blinked. I’d forgotten—forgotten that strength in my panic. Just like with the Weaver. I’d forgotten how strong I was.

“Yes, you did,” Rhysand snarled, reading the surprise on my face, that icy calm shattering. “You forgot that strength, and that you can burn and become darkness, and grow claws. You
forgot
.
You stopped fighting
.”

He didn’t just mean the Attor. Or the Weaver.

And the rage rose up in me in such a mighty wave that I had no thought in my head but wrath: at myself, what I’d been forced to do, what had been done to me, to him.

“So what if I did?” I hissed, and shoved him again. “So
what
if I did?”

I went to shove him again, but Rhys winnowed away a few feet.

I stormed for him, snow crunching underfoot. “It’s not easy.” The rage ran me over, obliterated me. I lifted my arms to slam my palms into his chest—

And he vanished again.

He appeared behind me, so close that his breath tickled my ear as he said, “You have no idea how
not
easy it is.”

I whirled, grappling for him. He vanished before I could strike him, pound him.

Rhys appeared across the clearing, chuckling. “Try harder.”

I couldn’t fold myself into darkness and pockets. And if I could—if I could turn myself into smoke, into air and night and stars, I’d use it to appear right in front of him and smack that smile off his face.

I moved, even if it was futile, even as he rippled into darkness, and I hated him for it—for the wings and ability to move like mist on the wind. He appeared a step away, and I pounced, hands out—
talons
out—

And slammed into a tree.

He laughed as I bounced back, teeth singing, talons barking as they shredded through wood. But I was already lunging as he vanished, lunging like I could disappear into the folds of the world as well, track him across eternity—

And so I did.

Time slowed and curled, and I could see the darkness of him turn to smoke and veer, as if it were running for another spot in the clearing. I hurtled for that spot, even as I felt my own lightness, folding my very
self into wind and shadow and dust, the looseness of it radiating out of me, all while I aimed for where he was headed—

Rhysand appeared, a solid figure in my world of smoke and stars.

And his eyes were wide, his mouth split in a grin of wicked delight, as I winnowed in front of him and tackled him into the snow.

C
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27

I panted, sprawled on top of Rhys in the snow while he laughed hoarsely. “
Don’t
,” I snarled into his face, “
ever
,” I pushed his rock-hard shoulders, talons curving at my fingertips, “
use me as bait again
.”

He stopped laughing.

I pushed harder, those nails digging in through his leather. “You said I could be a weapon—teach me to become one.
Don’t
use me like a pawn. And if being one is part of my
work
for you, then I’m done.
Done
.”

Despite the snow, his body was warm beneath me, and I wasn’t sure I’d realized just how much bigger he was until our bodies were flush—too close. Much, much too close.

Rhys cocked his head, loosening a chunk of snow clinging to his hair. “Fair enough.”

I shoved off him, snow crunching as I backed away. My talons were gone.

He hoisted himself up onto his elbows. “Do it again. Show me how you did it.”

“No.” The candle he’d brought now lay in pieces, half-buried
under the snow. “I want to go back to the chateau.” I was cold, and tired, and he’d …

His face turned grave. “I’m sorry.”

I wondered how often he said those two words. I didn’t care.

I waited while he uncoiled to his feet, brushing the snow off him, and held out a hand.

It wasn’t just an offer.

You forgot,
he’d said. I had.

“Why does the King of Hybern want me? Because he knows I can nullify the Cauldron’s power with the Book?”

Darkness flickered, the only sign of the temper Rhysand had once again leashed. “That’s what I’m going to find out.”

You stopped fighting
.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, hand still outstretched. “Let’s eat breakfast, then go home.”

“Velaris isn’t my home.”

I could have sworn hurt flashed in his eyes before he spirited us back to my family’s house.

C
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28

My sisters ate breakfast with Rhys and me, Azriel gone to wherever he’d taken the Attor. Cassian had flown off to join him the moment we returned. He’d given Nesta a mocking bow, and she’d given him a vulgar gesture I hadn’t realized she knew how to make.

Cassian had merely laughed, his eyes snaking over Nesta’s ice-blue gown with a predatory intent that, given her hiss of rage, he knew would set her spitting. Then he was gone, leaving my sister on the broad doorstep, her brown-gold hair ruffled by the chill wind stirred by his mighty wings.

We brought my sisters to the village to mail our letter, Rhys glamouring us so we were invisible while they went into the little shop to post them. After we returned home, our good-byes were quick. I knew Rhys wanted to return to Velaris—if only to learn what the Attor was up to.

I’d said as much to Rhys while he flew us through the wall, into the warmth of Prythian, then winnowed us to Velaris.

Morning mist still twined through the city and the mountains around it. The chill also remained—but not nearly as unforgiving as the cold of
the mortal world. Rhys left me in the foyer, huffing hot air into my frozen palms, without so much as a good-bye.

Hungry again, I found Nuala and Cerridwen, and I gobbled down cheese-and-chive scones while thinking through what I’d seen, what I’d done.

Not an hour later, Rhys found me in the living room, my feet propped on the couch before the fire, a book in my lap, a cup of rose tea steaming on the low table before me. I stood as he entered, scanning him for any sign of injury. Something tight in my chest eased when I found nothing amiss.

“It’s done,” he said, dragging a hand through his blue-black hair. “We learned what we needed to.” I braced myself to be shut out, to be told it’d be taken care of, but Rhys added, “It’s up to you, Feyre, to decide how much of our methods you want to know about. What you can handle. What we did to the Attor wasn’t pretty.”

“I want to know everything,” I said. “Take me there.”

“The Attor isn’t in Velaris. He was in the Hewn City, in the Court of Nightmares—where it took Azriel less than an hour to break him.” I waited for more, and as if deciding I wasn’t about to crumple, Rhys stalked closer, until less than a foot of the ornate red carpet lay between us. His boots, usually impeccably polished … that was silver blood speckled on them. Only when I met his gaze did he say, “I’ll show you.”

I knew what he meant, and steadied myself, blocking out the murmuring fire and the boots and the lingering cold around my heart.

Immediately, I was in that antechamber of his mind—a pocket of memory he’d carved for me.

Darkness flowed through me, soft and seductive, echoing up from an abyss of power so great it had no end and no beginning.

“
Tell me how you tracked her,” Azriel said in the quiet voice that had broken countless enemies.

I—Rhys—leaned against the far wall of the holding cell, arms crossed. Azriel crouched before where the Attor was chained to a chair in the center of
the room. A few levels above, the Court of Nightmares reveled on, unaware their High Lord had come.

I’d have to pay them a visit soon. Remind them who held their leash.

Soon. But not today. Not when Feyre had winnowed.

And she was still pissed as hell at me.

Rightly so, if I was being honest. But Azriel had learned that a small enemy force had infiltrated the North two days ago, and my suspicions were confirmed. Either to get at Tamlin or at me, they wanted her. Maybe for their own experimenting.

The Attor let out a low laugh. “I received word from the king that’s where you were. I don’t know how he knew. I got the order, flew to the wall as fast as I could.”

Azriel’s knife was out, balanced on a knee. Truth-Teller—the name stamped in silver Illyrian runes on the scabbard. He’d already learned that the Attor and a few others had been stationed on the outskirts of the Illyrian territory. I was half tempted to dump the Attor in one of the war-camps and see what the Illyrians did to it.

The Attor’s eyes shifted toward me, glowing with a hatred I’d become well accustomed to. “Good luck trying to keep her, High Lord.”

Azriel said, “Why?”

People often made the mistake of assuming Cassian was the wilder one; the one who couldn’t be tamed. But Cassian was all hot temper—temper that could be used to forge and weld. There was an icy rage in Azriel I had never been able to thaw. In the centuries I’d known him, he’d said little about his life, those years in his father’s keep, locked in darkness. Perhaps the shadowsinger gift had come to him then, perhaps he’d taught himself the language of shadow and wind and stone. His half-brothers hadn’t been forthcoming, either. I knew because I’d met them, asked them, and had shattered their legs when they’d spat on Azriel instead.