2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

I had been tortured and tormented, but his horrors had gone to another level.
“No, milord,” Keir groveled. “I would never dare harm you.” Another distraction, this
conversation. I took that as my cue to stride to Cassian, who was snarling by a pillar at
anyone who came too close.
I felt the eyes of the court slide to me, felt them all sniff delicately at what was so
clearly written over my body. But as I passed Keir, even with the High Lord at my back,
he hissed almost too quietly to hear, “You’ll get what’s coming to you, whore.”
Night exploded into the room.
People cried out. And when the darkness cleared, Keir was on his knees.
Rhys still lounged on the throne. His face a mask of frozen rage.
The music stopped. Mor appeared at the edge of the crowd—her own features set in
smug satisfaction. Even as Azriel approached her side, standing too close to be casual.
“Apologize,” Rhys said. My heart thundered at the pure command, the utter wrath.
Keir’s neck muscles strained, and sweat broke out on his lip.
“I said,” Rhys intoned with such horrible calm, “apologize.”
The Steward groaned. And when another heartbeat passed—
Bone cracked. Keir screamed.
And I watched—I watched as his arm fractured into not two, not three, but four
different pieces, the skin going taut and loose in all the wrong spots—
Another crack. His elbow disintegrated. My stomach churned.
Keir began sobbing, the tears half from rage, judging by the hatred in his eyes as he
looked at me, then Rhys. But his lips formed the words, I’m sorry.
The bones of his other arm splintered, and it was an effort not to cringe.
Rhys smiled as Keir screamed again and said to the room, “Should I kill him for it?”
No one answered.
Rhys chuckled. He said to his Steward, “When you wake up, you’re not to see a healer.
If I hear that you do … ” Another crack—Keir’s pinkie finger went saggy. The male
shrieked. The heat that had boiled my blood turned to ice. “If I hear that you do, I’ll carve
you into pieces and bury them where no one can stand a chance of putting you together
again.”
Keir’s eyes widened in true terror now. Then, as if an invisible hand had struck the
consciousness from him, he collapsed to the floor.
Rhys said to no one in particular, “Dump him in his room.”
Two males who looked like they could be Mor’s cousins or brothers rushed forward,
gathering up the Steward. Mor watched them, sneering faintly—though her skin was pale.