2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

Every mile was an effort. But I kept my grip on his hand, terrified that if I let go, I’d
leave him somewhere I might never be able to find, and—
And then we were there, in that cave, and he grunted in agony as we slammed into the
wet, cold stone floor.
“Rhys,” I pleaded, stumbling in the dark—such impenetrable dark, and with those
creatures around us, I didn’t risk a fire—
But he was so cold, and still bleeding.
I willed my eyes to shift again, and my throat tightened at the damage. The lashings
across his back kept dribbling blood, but the wings … “I have to get these arrows out.”
He grunted again, hands braced on the floor. And the sight of him like that, unable to
even make a sly comment or half smile …
I went up to his wing. “This is going to hurt.” I clenched my jaw as I studied the way
they’d pierced the beautiful membrane. I’d have to snap the arrows in two and slide each
end out.
No—not snapping. I’d have to cut it—slowly, carefully, smoothly, to keep any shards
and rough bits from causing further damage. Who knew what an ash splinter might do if it
got stuck in there?
“Do it,” he panted, his voice hoarse.
There were seven arrows in total: three in this wing, four in the other. They’d removed
the ones from his legs, for whatever reason—the wounds already half-clotted.
Blood dripped on the floor.
I took the knife from where it was strapped to my thigh, studied the entry wound, and
gently gripped the shaft. He hissed. I paused.
“Do it,” Rhys repeated, his knuckles white as he fisted his hands on the ground.
I set the small bit of serrated edge against the arrow and began sawing as gently as I
could. The blood-soaked muscles of his back shifted and tensed, and his breathing turned
sharp, uneven. Too slow—I was going too slowly.
But any faster and it might hurt him more, might damage the sensitive wing.
“Did you know,” I said over the sound of my sawing, “that one summer, when I was
seventeen, Elain bought me some paint? We’d had just enough to spend on extra things,
and she bought me and Nesta presents. She didn’t have enough for a full set, but bought
me red and blue and yellow. I used them to the last drop, stretching them as much as I
could, and painted little decorations in our cottage.”
His breath heaved out of him, and I finally sawed through the shaft. I didn’t let him
know what I was doing before I yanked out the arrowhead in a smooth pull.
He swore, body locking up, and blood gushed out—then stopped.
I almost loosed a sigh of relief. I set to work on the next arrow.