A Court of Mist and Fury

  There was a flare of light, and a scrape, and then Lucien was stalking toward Elain, freed of his restraints. Tamlin remained leashed on the ground, a gag of white, iridescent magic in his mouth now. But his eyes were on Lucien as—

  As Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain. She cringed away from the coat, from him—

  The guards hauled Nesta toward the Cauldron.

  There were different kinds of torture, I realized.

  There was the torture that I had endured, that Rhys had endured.

  And then there was this.

  The torture that Rhys had worked so hard those fifty years to avoid; the nightmares that haunted him. To be unable to move, to fight … while our loved ones were broken. My eyes met with those of my mate. Agony rippled in that violet stare—rage and guilt and utter agony. The mirror to my own.

  Nesta fought every step of the way.

  She did not make it easy for them. She clawed and kicked and bucked.

  And it was not enough.

  And we were not enough to save her.

  I watched as she was hoisted up. Elain remained shuddering on the ground, Lucien’s coat draped around her. She did not look at the Cauldron behind her, not as Nesta’s thrashing feet slammed into the water.

  Cassian stirred again, his shredded wings twitching and spraying blood, his muscles quivering. At Nesta’s shouts, her raging, his eyes fluttered open, glazed and unseeing, an answer to some call in his blood, a promise he’d made her. But pain knocked him under again.

  Nesta was shoved into the water up to her shoulders. She bucked even as the water sprayed. She clawed and screamed her rage, her defiance.

  “Put her under,” the king hissed.

  The guards, straining, shoved her slender shoulders. Her brown-gold head.

  And as they pushed her head down, she thrashed one last time, freeing her long, pale arm.

  Teeth bared, Nesta pointed one finger at the King of Hybern.

  One finger, a curse and a damning.

  A promise.

  And as Nesta’s head was forced under the water, as that hand was violently shoved down, the King of Hybern had the good sense to look somewhat unnerved.

  Dark water lapped for a moment. The surface went flat.

  I vomited on the floor.

  The guards at last let Rhysand kneel beside me in the growing pool of Cassian’s blood—let him tuck me into him as the Cauldron again tilted.

  Water poured forth, Lucien hoisting Elain in his arms and out of the way. The bonds on Tamlin vanished, along with the gag. He was instantly on his feet, snarling at the king. Even the fist on my mind lightened to a mere caress. As if he knew he’d won.

  I didn’t care. Not as Nesta was sprawled upon the stones.

  I knew that she was different.

  From however Elain had been Made … Nesta was different.

  Even before she took her first breath, I felt it.

  As if the Cauldron in making her … had been forced to give more than it wanted. As if Nesta had fought even after she went under, and had decided that if she was to be dragged into hell, she was taking that Cauldron with her.

  As if that finger she’d pointed was now a death-promise to the King of Hybern.

  Nesta took a breath. And when I beheld my sister, with her somehow magnified beauty, her ears … When Nesta looked to me …

  Rage. Power. Cunning.

  Then it was gone, horror and shock crumpling her face, but she didn’t pause, didn’t halt. She was free—she was loose.

  She was on her feet, tripping over her slightly longer, leaner limbs, ripping the gag from her mouth—

  Nesta slammed into Lucien, grabbing Elain from his arms, and screamed at him as he fell back, “Get off her!”

  Elain’s feet slipped against the floor, but Nesta gripped her upright, running her hands over Elain’s face, her shoulders, her hair— “Elain, Elain, Elain,” she sobbed.

  Cassian again stirred—trying to rise, to answer Nesta’s voice as she held my sister and cried her name again and again.

  But Elain was staring over Nesta’s shoulder.

  At Lucien—whose face she had finally taken in.

  Dark brown eyes met one eye of russet and one of metal.

  Nesta was still weeping, still raging, still inspecting Elain—

  Lucien’s hands slackened at his sides.

  His voice broke as he whispered to Elain, “You’re my mate.”

  CHAPTER

  66

  I didn’t let Lucien’s declaration sink in.

  Nesta, however, whirled on him. “She is no such thing,” she said, and shoved him again.

  Lucien didn’t move an inch. His face was pale as death as he stared at Elain. My sister said nothing, the iron ring glinting dully on her finger.

  The King of Hybern murmured, “Interesting. So very interesting.” He turned to the queens. “See? I showed you not once, but twice that it is safe. Who should like to be Made first? Perhaps you’ll get a handsome Fae lord as your mate, too.”

  The youngest queen stepped forward, her eyes indeed darting between all the Fae men assembled. As if they were hers for the picking.

  The king chuckled. “Very well, then.”

  Hate flooded me, so violent I had no control over it, no song in my heart but its war-cry. I was going to kill them. I was going to kill all of them—

  “If you’re so willing to hand out bargains,” Rhys suddenly said, rising to his feet and tugging me with him, “perhaps I’ll make one with you.”

  “Oh?”

  Rhys shrugged.

  No. No more bargains—no more sacrifices. No more giving himself away piece by piece.

  No more.

  And if the king refused, if there was nothing to do but watch my friends die …

  I could not accept it. I could not endure it—not that.

  And for Rhys, for the family I’d found … They had not needed me—not really. Only to nullify the Cauldron.

  I had failed them. Just as I had failed my sisters, whose lives I’d now shattered …

  I thought of that ring waiting for me at home. I thought of the ring on Elain’s finger, from a man who would now likely hunt her down and kill her. If Lucien let her leave at all.

  I thought of all the things I wanted to paint—and never would.

  But for them—for my family both of blood and my own choosing, for my mate … The idea that hit me did not seem so frightening.

  And so I was not afraid.

  I dropped to my knees in a spasm, gripping my head as I gnashed my teeth and sobbed, sobbed and panted, pulling at my hair—

  The fist of that spell didn’t have time to seize me again as I exploded past it.

  Rhys reached for me, but I unleashed my power, a flash of that white, pure light, all that could escape with the damper from the king’s spell. A flash of the light that was only for Rhys, only because of Rhys. I hoped he understood.

  It erupted through the room, the gathered force hissing and dropping back.

  Even Rhys had frozen—the king and queens openmouthed. My sisters and Lucien had whirled, too.

  But there, deep within Day’s light … I gleaned it. A purifying, clear power. Cursebreaker—spellbreaker. The light wiped through every physical trapping, showing me the snarls of spells and glamours, showing me the way through … I burned brighter, looking, looking—

  Buried inside the bone-walls of the castle, the wards were woven strong.

  I sent that blinding light flaring once more—a distraction and sleight of hand as I severed the wards at their ancient arteries.

  Now I only had to play my part.

  The light faded, and I was curled on the floor, head in my hands.

  Silence. Silence as they all gawked at me.

  Even Jurian had stopped gloating from where he now leaned against the wall.

  But my eyes were only on Tamlin as I lowered my hands, gulping down air, and blinked. I looked at the host and the blood and the Ni
ght Court, and then finally back at him as I breathed, “Tamlin?”

  He didn’t move an inch. Beyond him, the king gaped at me. Whether he knew I’d ripped his wards wide open, whether he knew it was intentional, was not my concern—not yet.

  I blinked again, as if clearing my head. “Tamlin?” I peered at my hands, the blood, and when I beheld Rhys, when I saw my grim-faced friends, and my drenched, immortal sisters—

  There was nothing but shock and confusion on Rhys’s face as I scrambled back from him.

  Away from them. Toward Tamlin. “Tamlin,” I managed to say again. Lucien’s eye widened as he stepped between me and Elain. I whirled on the King of Hybern. “Where—” I again faced Rhysand. “What did you do to me,” I breathed, low and guttural. Backing toward Tamlin. “What did you do? ”

  Get them out. Get my sisters out.

  Play—please play along. Please—

  There was no sound, no shield, no glimmer of feeling in our bond. The king’s power had blocked it out too thoroughly. There was nothing I could do against it, Cursebreaker or no.

  But Rhys slid his hands into his pockets as he purred, “How did you get free?”

  “What?” Jurian seethed, pushing off the wall and storming toward us.

  But I turned toward Tamlin and ignored the features and smell and clothes that were all wrong. He watched me warily. “Don’t let him take me again, don’t let him—don’t—” I couldn’t keep the sobs from shuddering out, not as the full force of what I was doing hit me.

  “Feyre,” Tamlin said softly. And I knew I had won.

  I sobbed harder.

  Get my sisters out, I begged Rhys through the silent bond. I ripped the wards open for you—all of you. Get them out.

  “Don’t let him take me,” I sobbed again. “I don’t want to go back.”

  And when I looked at Mor, at the tears streaming down her face as she helped Cassian get upright, I knew she realized what I meant. But the tears vanished—became sorrow for Cassian as she turned a hateful, horrified face to Rhysand and spat, “What did you do to that girl?”

  Rhys cocked his head. “How did you do it, Feyre?” There was so much blood on him. One last game—this was one last game we were to play together.

  I shook my head. The queens had fallen back, their guards forming a wall between us.

  Tamlin watched me carefully. So did Lucien.

  So I turned to the king. He was smiling. Like he knew.

  But I said, “Break the bond.”

  Rhysand went still as death.

  I stormed to the king, knees barking as I dropped to the floor before his throne. “Break the bond. The bargain, the—the mating bond. He—he made me do it, made me swear it—”

  “No,” Rhysand said.

  I ignored him, even as my heart broke, even as I knew that he hadn’t meant to say it— “Do it,” I begged the king, even as I silently prayed he wouldn’t notice his ruined wards, the door I’d left wide open. “I know you can. Just—free me. Free me from it.”

  “No,” Rhysand said.

  But Tamlin was staring between us. And I looked at him, the High Lord I had once loved, and I breathed, “No more. No more death—no more killing.” I sobbed through my clenched teeth. Made myself look at my sisters. “No more. Take me home and let them go. Tell him it’s part of the bargain and let them go. But no more—please.”

  Cassian slowly, every movement pained, stirred enough to look over a shredded wing at me. And in his pain-glazed eyes, I saw it—the understanding.

  The Court of Dreams. I had belonged to a court of dreams. And dreamers.

  And for their dreams … for what they had worked for, sacrificed for … I could do it.

  Get my sisters out, I said to Rhys one last time, sending it into that stone wall between us.

  I looked to Tamlin. “No more.” Those green eyes met mine—and the sorrow and tenderness in them was the most hideous thing I’d ever seen. “Take me home.”

  Tamlin said flatly to the king, “Let them go, break her bond, and let’s be done with it. Her sisters come with us. You’ve already crossed too many lines.”

  Jurian began objecting, but the king said, “Very well.”

  “No,” was all Rhys said again.

  Tamlin snarled at him, “I don’t give a shit if she’s your mate. I don’t give a shit if you think you’re entitled to her. She is mine—and one day, I am going to repay every bit of pain she felt, every bit of suffering and despair. One day, perhaps when she decides she wants to end you, I’ll be happy to oblige her.”

  Walk away—just go. Take my sisters with you.

  Rhys was only staring at me. “Don’t.”

  But I backed away—until I hit Tamlin’s chest, until his hands, warm and heavy, landed on my shoulders. “Do it,” he said to the king.

  “No,” Rhys said again, his voice breaking.

  But the king pointed at me. And I screamed.

  Tamlin gripped my arms as I screamed and screamed at the pain that tore through my chest, my left arm.

  Rhysand was on the ground, roaring, and I thought he might have said my name, might have bellowed it as I thrashed and sobbed. I was being shredded, I was dying, I was dying—

  No. No, I didn’t want it, I didn’t want to—

  A crack sounded in my ears.

  And the world cleaved in two as the bond snapped.

  CHAPTER

  67

  I fainted.

  When I opened my eyes, mere seconds had passed. Mor was now hauling away Rhys, who was panting on the floor, eyes wild, fingers clenching and unclenching—

  Tamlin yanked off the glove on my left hand.

  Pure, bare skin greeted him. No tattoo.

  I was sobbing and sobbing, and his arms came around me. Every inch of them felt wrong. I nearly gagged on his scent.

  Mor let go of Rhysand’s jacket collar, and he crawled—crawled back toward Azriel and Cassian, their blood splashing on his hands, on his neck, as he hauled himself through it. His rasping breaths sliced into me, my soul—

  The king merely waved a hand at him. “You are free to go, Rhysand. Your friend’s poison is gone. The wings on the other, I’m afraid, are a bit of a mess.”

  Don’t fight it—don’t say anything, I begged him as Rhys reached his brothers. Take my sisters. The wards are down.

  Silence.

  So I looked—just once—at Rhysand, and Cassian, and Mor, and Azriel.

  They were already looking at me. Faces bloody and cold and enraged. But beneath them … I knew it was love beneath them. They understood the tears that rolled down my face as I silently said good-bye.

  Then Mor, swift as an adder, winnowed to Lucien. To my sisters. To show Rhys, I realized, what I’d done, the hole I’d blasted for them to escape—

  She slammed Lucien away with a palm to the chest, and his roar shook the halls as Mor grabbed my sisters by the arm and vanished.

  Lucien’s bellow was still sounding as Rhys lunged, gripping Azriel and Cassian, and did not even turn toward me as they winnowed out.

  The king shot to his feet, spewing his wrath at his guards, at Jurian, for not grabbing my sisters. Demanding to know what had happened to the castle wards—

  I barely heard him. There was only silence in my head. Such silence where there had once been dark laughter and wicked amusement. A wind-blasted wasteland.

  Lucien was shaking his head, panting, and whirled to us. “Get her back,” he snarled at Tamlin over the ranting of the king. A mate—a mate already going wild to defend what was his.

  Tamlin ignored him. So I did, too. I could barely stand, but I faced the king as he slumped into his throne, gripping the arms so tightly the whites of his knuckles showed. “Thank you,” I breathed, a hand on my chest—the skin so pale, so white. “Thank you.”

  He merely said to the gathered queens, now a healthy distance away, “Begin.”

  The queens looked at each other, then their wide-eyed guards, and snaked toward the Cauldr
on, their smiles growing. Wolves circling prey. One of them sniped at another for pushing her—the king murmured something to them all that I didn’t bother to hear.

  Jurian stalked over to Lucien amid the rising squabble, laughing under his breath. “Do you know what Illyrian bastards do to pretty females? You won’t have a mate left—at least not one that’s useful to you in any way.”

  Lucien’s answering growl was nothing short of feral.

  I spat at Jurian’s feet. “You can go to hell, you hideous prick.”

  Tamlin’s hands tightened on my shoulders. Lucien spun toward me, and that metal eye whirred and narrowed. Centuries of cultivated reason clicked into place.

  I was not panicking at my sisters being taken.

  I said quietly, “We will get her back.”

  But Lucien was watching me warily. Too warily.

  I said to Tamlin, “Take me home.”

  But the king cut in over the bickering of the queens, “Where is it.”

  I preferred the amused, arrogant voice to the flat, brutal one that sliced through the hall.

  “You—you were to wield the Book of Breathings,” the king said. “I could feel it in here, with …”

  The entire castle shuddered as he realized I had not been holding it in my jacket.

  I just said to him, “Your mistake.”

  His nostrils flared. Even the sea far below seemed to recoil in terror at the wrath that whitened his ruddy face. But he blinked and it was gone. He said tightly to Tamlin, “When the Book is retrieved, I expect your presence here.”

  Power, smelling of lilac and cedar and the first bits of green, swirled around me. Readying us to winnow away—through the wards they had no inkling I’d smashed apart.

  So I said to the king, and Jurian, and the queens assembled, already at the lip of the Cauldron and hissing over who would go in first, “I will light your pyres myself for what you did to my sisters.”

  Then we were gone.

  CHAPTER

  68

  Rhysand

  I slammed into the floor of the town house, and Amren was instantly there, hands on Cassian’s wings, swearing at the damage. Then at the hole in Azriel’s chest.