2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

And when I yanked out that length of ash wood, when I felt my immortal body quail in
its presence, a low snarl slipped out of me.
I hadn’t been able to count how many arrows Rhys had taken. How many he’d shielded
me from, using his own body.
I shoved the arrow into my quiver, and continued on, circling the area until I spotted
another—down by the pine-needle carpet.
I thought frost might have gleamed in my wake as I winnowed in the direction the
arrow would have been shot, finding another, and another. I kept them all.
Until I discovered the place where the pine branches were broken and shattered. Finally
I smelled Rhys, and the trees around me glimmered with ice as I spied his blood splattered
on the branches, the ground.
And ash arrows all around the site.
As if an ambush had been waiting, and unleashed a hail of hundreds, too fast for him to
detect or avoid. Especially if he’d been distracted with me. Distracted all day.
I winnowed in bursts through the site, careful not to stay on the ground too long lest the
creatures roaming nearby scent me.
He’d fallen hard, the tracks told me. And they’d had to drag him away. Quickly.
They’d tried to hide the blood trail, but even without his mind speaking to me, I could
find that scent anywhere. I would find that scent anywhere.
They might have been good at concealing their tracks, but I was better.
I continued my hunt, an ash arrow now nocked into my bow as I read the signs.
Two dozen at least had taken him away, though more had been there for the initial
assault. The others had winnowed out, leaving limited numbers to haul him toward the
mountains—toward whoever might be waiting.
They were moving swiftly. Deeper and deeper into the woods, toward the slumbering
giants of the Illyrian Mountains. His blood had flowed all the way.
Alive, it told me. He was alive—though if the wounds weren’t clotting … The ash
arrows were doing their work.
I’d brought down one of Tamlin’s sentinels with a single well-placed ash arrow. I tried
not to think about what a barrage of them could do. His roar of pain echoed in my ears.
And through that merciless, unyielding rage, I decided that if Rhys was not alive, if he
was harmed beyond repair … I didn’t care who they were and why they had done it.
They were all dead.
Tracks veered from the main group—scouts probably sent to find a spot for the night. I
slowed my winnowing, carefully tracing their steps now. Two groups had split, as if trying
to hide where they’d gone. Rhys’s scent clung to both.