A Court of Mist and Fury Page 12

  There were sentries outside of my bedroom the following afternoon—when I finally dragged myself from bed.

  According to them, Tamlin and Lucien were already holed up in his study. Without Tamlin’s courtiers poking around, the manor was again silent as I, without anything else to do, headed to walk the garden paths I’d followed so many times I was surprised the pale dirt wasn’t permanently etched with my footprints.

  Only my steps sounded in the shining halls as I passed guard after guard, armed to the teeth and trying their best not to gawk at me. Not one spoke to me. Even the servants had taken to keeping to their quarters unless absolutely necessary.

  Maybe I’d become too slothful; maybe my lazing about made me more prone to these outbursts. Anyone might have seen me yesterday.

  And though we’d never spoken of it … Ianthe knew. About the powers. How long had she been aware? The thought of Tamlin telling her …

  My silk slippers scuffed on the marble stairs, the chiffon trail of my green gown slithering behind me.

  Such silence. Too much silence.

  I needed to get out of this house. Needed to do something. If the villagers didn’t want my help, then fine. I could do other things. Whatever they were.

  I was about to turn down the hall that led to the study, determined to ask Tamlin if there was any task that I might perform, ready to beg him, when the study doors flung open and Tamlin and Lucien emerged, both heavily armed. No sign of Ianthe.

  “You’re going so soon?” I said, waiting for them to reach the foyer.

  Tamlin’s face was a grim mask as they approached. “There’s activity on the western sea border. I have to go.” The one closest to Hybern.

  “Can I come with you?” I’d never asked it outright, but—

  Tamlin paused. Lucien continued past, through the open front doors of the house, barely able to hide his wince. “I’m sorry,” Tamlin said, reaching for me. I stepped out of his grip. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “I know how to remain hidden. Just—take me with you.”

  “I won’t risk our enemies getting their hands on you.” What enemies? Tell me—tell me something.

  I stared over his shoulder, toward where Lucien lingered in the gravel beyond the house entrance. No horses. I supposed they weren’t necessary this time, when they were faster without them. But maybe I could keep up. Maybe I’d wait until they left and—

  “Don’t even think about it,” Tamlin warned.

  My attention snapped to his face.

  He growled, “Don’t even try to come after us.”

  “I can fight,” I tried again. A half-truth. A knack for survival wasn’t the same as trained skill. “Please.”

  I’d never hated a word more.

  He shook his head, crossing the foyer to the front doors.

  I followed him, blurting, “There will always be some threat. There will always be some conflict or enemy or something that keeps me in here.”

  He slowed to a stop just inside the towering oak doors, so lovingly restored after Amarantha’s cronies had trashed them. “You can barely sleep through the night,” he said carefully.

  I retorted, “Neither can you.”

  But he just plowed ahead, “You can barely handle being around other people—”

  “You promised.” My voice cracked. And I didn’t care that I was begging. “I need to get out of this house.”

  “Have Bron take you and Ianthe on a ride—”

  “I don’t want to go for a ride!” I splayed my arms. “I don’t want to go for a ride, or a picnic, or pick wildflowers. I want to do something. So take me with you.”

  That girl who had needed to be protected, who had craved stability and comfort … she had died Under the Mountain. I had died, and there had been no one to protect me from those horrors before my neck snapped. So I had done it myself. And I would not, could not, yield that part of me that had awoken and transformed Under the Mountain. Tamlin had gotten his powers back, had become whole again—become that protector and provider he wished to be.

  I was not the human girl who needed coddling and pampering, who wanted luxury and easiness. I didn’t know how to go back to craving those things. To being docile.

  Tamlin’s claws punched out. “Even if I risked it, your untrained abilities render your presence more of a liability than anything.”

  It was like being hit with stones—so hard I could feel myself cracking. But I lifted my chin and said, “I’m coming along whether you want me to or not.”

  “No, you aren’t.” He strode right through the door, his claws slashing the air at his sides, and was halfway down the steps before I reached the threshold.

  Where I slammed into an invisible wall.

  I staggered back, trying to reorder my mind around the impossibility of it. It was identical to the one I’d built that day in the study, and I searched inside the shards of my soul, my heart, for a tether to that shield, wondering if I’d blocked myself, but—there was no power emanating from me.

  I reached a hand to the open air of the doorway. And met solid resistance.

  “Tamlin,” I rasped.

  But he was already down the front drive, walking toward the looming iron gates. Lucien remained at the foot of the stairs, his face so, so pale.

  “Tamlin,” I said again, pushing against the wall.

  He didn’t turn.

  I slammed my hand into the invisible barrier. No movement—nothing but hardened air. And I had not learned about my own powers enough to try to push through, to shatter it … I had let him convince me not to learn those things for his sake—

  “Don’t bother trying,” Lucien said softly, as Tamlin cleared the gates and vanished—winnowed. “He shielded the entire house around you. Others can go in and out, but you can’t. Not until he lifts the shield.”

  He’d locked me in here.

  I hit the shield again. Again.

  Nothing.

  “Just—be patient, Feyre,” Lucien tried, wincing as he followed after Tamlin. “Please. I’ll see what I can do. I’ll try again.”

  I barely heard him over the roar in my ears. Didn’t wait to see him pass the gates and winnow, too.

  He’d locked me in. He’d sealed me inside this house.

  I hurtled for the nearest window in the foyer and shoved it open. A cool spring breeze rushed in—and I shoved my hand through it—only for my fingers to bounce off an invisible wall. Smooth, hard air pushed against my skin.

  Breathing became difficult.

  I was trapped.

  I was trapped inside this house. I might as well have been Under the Mountain; I might as well have been inside that cell again—

  I backed away, my steps too light, too fast, and slammed into the oak table in the center of the foyer. None of the nearby sentries came to investigate.

  He’d trapped me in here; he’d locked me up.

  I stopped seeing the marble floor, or the paintings on the walls, or the sweeping staircase looming behind me. I stopped hearing the chirping of the spring birds, or the sighing of the breeze through the curtains.

  And then crushing black pounded down and rose up from beneath, devouring and roaring and shredding.

  It was all I could do to keep from screaming, to keep from shattering into ten thousand pieces as I sank onto the marble floor, bowing over my knees, and wrapped my arms around myself.

  He’d trapped me; he’d trapped me; he’d trapped me—

  I had to get out, because I’d barely escaped from another prison once before, and this time, this time—

  Winnowing. I could vanish into nothing but air and appear somewhere else, somewhere open and free. I fumbled for my power, for anything, something that might show me the way to do it, the way out. Nothing. There was nothing and I had become nothing, and I couldn’t ever get out—

  Someone was shouting my name from far away.

  Alis—Alis.

  But I was ensconced in a cocoon of darkness and fire and ice and wind,
a cocoon that melted the ring off my finger until the golden ore dripped away into the void, the emerald tumbling after it. I wrapped that raging force around myself as if it could keep the walls from crushing me entirely, and maybe, maybe buy me the tiniest sip of air—

  I couldn’t get out; I couldn’t get out; I couldn’t get out—

  Slender, strong hands gripped me under the shoulders.

  I didn’t have the strength to fight them off.

  One of those hands moved to my knees, the other to my back, and then I was being lifted, held against what was unmistakably a female body.

  I couldn’t see her, didn’t want to see her.

  Amarantha.

  Come to take me away again; come to kill me at last.

  There were words being spoken around me. Two women.

  Neither of them … neither of them was Amarantha.

  “Please—please take care of her.” Alis.

  From right by my ear, the other replied, “Consider yourselves very, very lucky that your High Lord was not here when we arrived. Your guards will have one hell of a headache when they wake up, but they’re alive. Be grateful.” Mor.

  Mor held me—carried me.

  The darkness guttered long enough that I could draw breath, that I could see the garden door she walked toward. I opened my mouth, but she peered down at me and said, “Did you think his shield would keep us from you? Rhys shattered it with half a thought.”

  But I didn’t spy Rhys anywhere—not as the darkness swirled back in. I clung to her, trying to breathe, to think.

  “You’re free,” Mor said tightly. “You’re free.”

  Not safe. Not protected.

  Free.

  She carried me beyond the garden, into the fields, up a hill, down it, and into—into a cave—

  I must have started bucking and thrashing in her arms, because she said, “You’re out; you’re free,” again and again and again as true darkness swallowed us.

  Half a heartbeat later, she emerged into sunlight—bright, strawberry-and-grass-scented sunlight. I had a thought that this might be Summer, then—

  Then a low, vicious growl split the air before us, cleaving even my darkness.

  “I did everything by the book,” Mor said to the owner of that growl.

  I was passed from her arms to someone else’s, and I struggled to breathe, fought for any trickle of air down my lungs. Until Rhysand said, “Then we’re done here.”

  Wind tore at me, along with ancient darkness.

  But a sweeter, softer shade of night caressed me, stroking my nerves, my lungs, until I could at last get air inside, until it seduced me into sleep.

  CHAPTER

  13

  I woke to sunlight, and open space—nothing but clear sky and snowcapped mountains around me.

  And Rhysand lounging in an armchair across from the couch where I was sprawled, gazing at the mountains, his face uncharacteristically solemn.

  I swallowed, and his head whipped toward me.

  No kindness in his eyes. Nothing but unending, icy rage.

  But he blinked, and it was gone. Replaced by perhaps relief. Exhaustion.

  And the pale sunlight warming the moonstone floors … dawn. It was dawn. I didn’t want to think about how long I’d been unconscious.

  “What happened?” I said. My voice was hoarse. As if I’d been screaming.

  “You were screaming,” he said. I didn’t care if my mental shield was up or down or completely shattered. “You also managed to scare the shit out of every servant and sentry in Tamlin’s manor when you wrapped yourself in darkness and they couldn’t see you.”

  My stomach hollowed out. “Did I hurt any—”

  “No. Whatever you did, it was contained to you.”

  “You weren’t—”

  “By law and protocol,” he said, stretching out his long legs, “things would have become very complicated and very messy if I had been the one to walk into that house and take you. Smashing that shield was fine, but Mor had to go in on her own two feet, render the sentries unconscious through her own power, and carry you over the border to another court before I could bring you here. Or else Tamlin would have free rein to march his forces into my lands to reclaim you. And as I have no interest in an internal war, we had to do everything by the book.”

  That’s what Mor had said—that she did everything by the book.

  But— “When I go back …”

  “As your presence here isn’t part of our monthly requirement, you are under no obligation to go back.” He rubbed at his temple. “Unless you wish to.”

  The question settled in me like a stone sinking to the bottom of a pool. There was such quiet in me, such … nothingness.

  “He locked me in that house,” I managed to say.

  A shadow of mighty wings spread behind Rhys’s chair. But his face was calm as he said, “I know. I felt you. Even with your shields up—for once.”

  I made myself meet his stare. “I have nowhere else to go.”

  It was both a question and a plea.

  He waved a hand, the wings fading. “Stay here for however long you want. Stay here forever, if you feel like it.”

  “I—I need to go back at some point.”

  “Say the word, and it’s done.” He meant it, too. Even if I could tell from the ire in his eyes that he didn’t like it. He’d bring me back to the Spring Court the moment I asked.

  Bring me back to silence, and those sentries, and a life of doing nothing but dressing and dining and planning parties.

  He crossed his ankle over a knee. “I made you an offer when you first came here: help me, and food, shelter, clothing … All of it is yours.”

  I’d been a beggar in the past. The thought of doing it now …

  “Work for me,” Rhysand said. “I owe you, anyway. And we’ll figure out the rest day by day, if need be.”

  I looked toward the mountains, as if I could see all the way to the Spring Court in the south. Tamlin would be furious. He’d shred the manor apart.

  But he’d … he’d locked me up. Either he so deeply misunderstood me or he’d been so broken by what went on Under the Mountain, but … he’d locked me up.

  “I’m not going back.” The words rang in me like a death knell. “Not—not until I figure things out.” I shoved against the wall of anger and sorrow and outright despair as my thumb brushed over the vacant band of skin where that ring had once sat.

  One day at a time. Maybe—maybe Tamlin would come around. Heal himself, that jagged wound of festering fear. Maybe I’d sort myself out. I didn’t know.

  But I did know that if I stayed in that manor, if I was locked up one more time … It might finish the breaking that Amarantha had started.

  Rhysand summoned a mug of hot tea from nowhere and handed it to me. “Drink it.”

  I took the mug, letting its warmth soak into my stiff fingers. He watched me until I took a sip, and then went back to monitoring the mountains. I took another sip—peppermint and … licorice and another herb or spice.

  I wasn’t going back. Maybe I’d never even … gotten to come back. Not from Under the Mountain.

  When the mug was half-finished, I fished for something, anything, to say to keep the crushing silence at bay. “The darkness—is that … part of the power you gave me?”

  “One would assume so.”

  I drained the rest of the mug. “No wings?”

  “If you inherited some of Tamlin’s shape-shifting, perhaps you can make wings of your own.”

  A shiver went down my spine at the thought, at the claws I’d grown that day with Lucien. “And the other High Lords? Ice—that’s Winter. That shield I once made of hardened wind—who did that come from? What might the others have given me? Is—is winnowing tied to any one of you in particular?”

  He considered. “Wind? The Day Court, likely. And winnowing—it’s not confined to any court. It’s wholly dependent on your own reserve of power—and training.” I didn’t feel like mentioni
ng how spectacularly I’d failed to even move an inch. “And as for the gifts you got from everyone else … That’s for you to find out, I suppose.”

  “I should have known your goodwill would wear off after a minute.”

  Rhys let out a low chuckle and got to his feet, stretching his muscled arms over his head and rolling his neck. As if he’d been sitting there for a long, long while. For the entirety of the night. “Rest a day or two, Feyre,” he said. “Then take on the task of figuring out everything else. I have business in another part of my lands; I’ll be back by the end of the week.”

  Despite how long I’d slept, I was so tired—tired in my bones, in my crumpled heart. When I didn’t reply, Rhys strode off between the moonstone pillars.

  And I saw how I would spend the next few days: in solitude, with nothing to do and only my own, horrible thoughts for company. I began speaking before I could reconsider. “Take me with you.”

  Rhys halted as he pushed through two purple gossamer curtains. And slowly, he turned back. “You should rest.”

  “I’ve rested enough,” I said, setting down the empty mug and standing. My head spun slightly. When had I last eaten? “Wherever you’re going, whatever you’re doing—take me along. I’ll stay out of trouble. Just … Please.” I hated the last word; choked on it. It hadn’t done anything to sway Tamlin.

  For a long moment, Rhys said nothing. Then he prowled toward me, his long stride eating up the distance and his face set like stone. “If you come with me, there is no going back. You will not be allowed to speak of what you see to anyone outside of my court. Because if you do, people will die—my people will die. So if you come, you will have to lie about it forever; if you return to the Spring Court, you cannot tell anyone there what you see, and who you meet, and what you will witness. If you would rather not have that between you and—your friends, then stay here.”

  Stay here, stay locked up in the Spring Court … My chest was a gaping, open wound. I wondered if I’d bleed out from it—if a spirit could bleed out and die. Maybe that had already happened. “Take me with you,” I breathed. “I won’t tell anyone what I see. Even—them.” I couldn’t bear to say his name.

  Rhys studied me for a few heartbeats. And finally he gave me a half smile. “We leave in ten minutes. If you want to freshen up, go ahead.”