2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

chuckled. “You go unarmed into the mountains, magic banned, no Siphons, wings bound,
with no supplies or clothes beyond what you have on you. You, and every other Illyrian
male who wants to move from novice to true warrior. A few hundred head into the
mountains at the start of the week—not all come out at the end.”
The frost-kissed landscape rolled on forever, unyielding as the warriors who ruled over
it. “Do you—kill each other?”
“Most try to. For food and clothes, for vengeance, for glory between feuding clans.
Devlon allowed us to take the Rite—but also made sure Cassian, Azriel, and I were
dumped in different locations.”
“What happened?”
“We found each other. Killed our way across the mountains to get to each other. Turns
out, a good number of Illyrian males wanted to prove they were stronger, smarter than us.
Turns out they were wrong.”
I dared a look at his face. For a heartbeat, I could see it: blood-splattered, savage,
fighting and slaughtering to get to his friends, to protect and save them.
Rhys set us down in a clearing, the pine trees towering so high they seemed to caress
the underside of the heavy, gray clouds passing on the swift wind.
“So, you’re not using magic—but I am?” I said, taking a few steps from him.
“Our enemy is keyed in on my powers. You, however, remain invisible.” He waved his
hand. “Let’s see what all your practicing has amounted to.”
I didn’t feel like it. I just said, “When—when did you meet Tamlin?”
I knew what Rhysand’s father had done. I hadn’t let myself think too much about it.
About how he’d killed Tamlin’s father and brothers. And mother.
But now, after last night, after the Court of Nightmares … I had to know.
Rhys’s face was a mask of patience. “Show me something impressive, and I’ll tell you.
Magic—for answers.”
“I know what sort of game you’re playing—” I cut myself off at the hint of a smirk.
“Very well.”
I held out my hand before me, palm cupped, and willed silence into my veins, my mind.
Silence and calm and weight, like being underwater.
In my hand, a butterfly of water flapped and danced.
Rhys smiled a bit, but the amusement died as he said, “Tamlin was younger than me—
born when the War started. But after the War, when he’d matured, we got to know each
other at various court functions. He … ” Rhys clenched his jaw. “He seemed decent for a
High Lord’s son. Better than Beron’s brood at the Autumn Court. Tamlin’s brothers were
equally as bad, though. Worse. And they knew Tamlin would take the title one day. And to
a half-breed Illyrian who’d had to prove himself, defend his power, I saw what Tamlin