Filed to story: A Court of Mist and Fury Book by Sarah J Maas
I wondered if I should have tested out the bow and arrows I’d been given before asking him to leave. I hadn’t yet tried out the Illyrian bow-hadn’t shot anything in months, actually.
I stared at the candle. Nothing happened.
An hour passed.
I thought of everything that enraged me, sickened me; thought of Ianthe and her entitlement, her demands. Not even a wisp of smoke emerged.
When my eyes were on the verge of bleeding, I took a break to scrounge through the pack I’d brought. I found fresh bread, a magically warmed canister of stew, and a note from Rhysand that said:
I’m bored.
Any sparks yet?
Not surprisingly, a pen clattered in the bottom of the bag.
I grabbed the pen and scribbled my response atop the canister before watching the letter vanish right out of my palm:
No, you snoop. Don’t you have important things to do?
The letter flitted back a moment later.
I’m watching Cassian and Nesta get into it again over their tea. Something you subjected me to when you kicked me off training. I thought this was our day off.
I snorted and wrote back,
Poor baby High Lord. Life is so hard.
Paper vanished, then reappeared, his scribble now near the top of the paper, the only bit of clear space left.
Life is better when you’re around. And look at how lovely your handwriting is.
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.
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?”