2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

the Spring Court, and prepare for our own attack on Hybern.
But Tamlin had shut down his borders—sealed them so tightly that even flying overhead
at night was impossible. And any ears and eyes Azriel had once possessed in the court had
gone deaf and blind.
“The king could help you keep her—consider sparing you, if you worked with him …”
As the Attor spoke, I rummaged through its mind, each thought more vile and hideous
than the next. It didn’t even know I’d slipped inside, but—there: images of the army that
had been built, the twin to the one I’d fought against five centuries ago; of Hybern’s
shores full of ships, readying for an assault; of the king, lounging on his throne in his
crumbling castle. No sign of Jurian sulking about or the Cauldron. Not a whisper of the
Book being on their minds. Everything the Attor had confessed was true. And it had no
more value.
Az looked over his shoulder. The Attor had given him everything. Now it was just
babbling to buy time.
I pushed off the wall. “Break its legs, shred its wings, and dump it off the coast of
Hybern. See if it survives.” The Attor began thrashing, begging. I paused by the door and
said to it, “I remember every moment of it. Be grateful I’m letting you live. For now.”
I hadn’t let myself see the memories from Under the Mountain: of me, of the others … of
what it had done to that human girl I’d given Amarantha in Feyre’s place. I didn’t let
myself see what it had been like to beat Feyre—to torment and torture her.
I might have splattered him on the walls. And I needed him to send a message more
than I needed my own vengeance.
The Attor was already screaming beneath Truth-Teller’s honed edge when I left the cell.
Then it was done. I staggered back, spooling myself into my body.
Tamlin had closed his borders. “What situation with the Spring Court?”
“None. As of right now. But you know how far Tamlin can be driven to … protect what
he thinks is his.”
The image of paint sliding down the ruined study wall flashed in my mind.
“I should have sent Mor that day,” Rhys said with quiet menace.
I snapped up my mental shields. I didn’t want to talk about it. “Thank you for telling
me,” I said, and took my book and tea up to my room.
“Feyre,” he said. I didn’t stop. “I am sorry—about deceiving you earlier.”
And this, letting me into his mind … a peace offering. “I need to write a letter.”
The letter was quick, simple. But each word was a battle.
Not because of my former illiteracy. No, I could now read and write just fine.