2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

With the small lights floating ahead, I tried not to look too long at the gray walls.
Especially when they were so rough-hewn that the jagged bits could have been a nose, or a
craggy brow, or a set of sneering lips.
The dry ground was clear of anything but pebbles. And there was silence. Utter silence
as we rounded a bend, and the last of the light from the misty world faded into inky black.
I focused on my breathing. I couldn’t be trapped here; I couldn’t be locked in this
horrible, dead place.
The path plunged deep into the belly of the mountain, and I clutched Rhys’s fingers to
keep from losing my footing. He still had his sword gripped in his other hand.
“Do all the High Lords have access?” My words were so soft they were devoured by the
dark. Even that thrumming power in my veins had vanished, burrowing somewhere in my
bones.
“No. The Prison is law unto itself; the island may be even an eighth court. But it falls
under my jurisdiction, and my blood is keyed to the gates.”
“Could you free the inmates?”
“No. Once the sentence is given and a prisoner passes those gates … They belong to the
Prison. It will never let them out. I take sentencing people here very, very seriously.”
“Have you ever—”
“Yes. And now is not the time to speak of it.” He squeezed my hand in emphasis.
We wound down through the gloom.
There were no doors. No lights.
No sounds. Not even a trickle of water.
But I could feel them.
I could feel them sleeping, pacing, running hands and claws over the other side of the
walls.
They were ancient, and cruel in a way I had never known, not even with Amarantha.
They were infinite, and patient, and had learned the language of darkness, of stone.
“How long,” I breathed. “How long was she in here?” I didn’t dare say her name.
“Azriel looked once. Into archives in our oldest temples and libraries. All he found was
a vague mention that she went in before Prythian was split into the courts—and emerged
once they had been established. Her imprisonment predates our written word. I don’t
know how long she was in here—a few millennia seems like a fair guess.”
Horror roiled in my gut. “You never asked?”
“Why bother? She’ll tell me when it’s necessary.”
“Where did she come from?” The brooch he’d given her—such a small gift, for a
monster who had once dwelled here.