2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

wings. And maybe it was luck, but they never did. And Amarantha … She didn’t care that
I was there. I was yet another High Lord’s son, and Jurian had just slaughtered her sister.
All she cared about was getting to him—killing him. She had no idea that every second,
every breath, I plotted her death. I was willing to make it my last stand: to kill her at any
cost, even if it meant shredding my wings to break free. I’d watched the guards and
learned her schedule, so I knew where she’d be. I set a day, and a time. And I was ready—
I was so damned ready to make an end of it, and wait for Cassian and Azriel and Mor on
the other side. There was nothing but my rage, and my relief that my friends weren’t there.
But the day before I was to kill Amarantha, to make my final stand and meet my end, she
and Jurian faced each other on the battlefield.”
He paused, swallowing.
“I was chained in the mud, forced to watch as they battled. To watch as Jurian took my
killing blow. Only—she slaughtered him. I watched her rip out his eye, then rip off his
finger, and when he was prone, I watched her drag him back to the camp. Then I listened
to her slowly, over days and days, tear him apart. His screaming was endless. She was so
focused on torturing him that she didn’t detect my father’s arrival. In the panic, she killed
Jurian rather than see him liberated, and fled. So my father rescued me—and told his men,
told Azriel, to leave the ash spikes in my wings as punishment for getting caught. I was so
injured that the healers informed me if I tried to fight before my wings healed, I’d never
fly again. So I was forced to return home to recover—while the final battles were waged.
“They made the Treaty, and the wall was built. We’d long ago freed our slaves in the
Night Court. We didn’t trust the humans to keep our secrets, not when they bred so
quickly and frequently that my forefathers couldn’t hold all their minds at once. But our
world was changed nonetheless. We were all changed by the War. Cassian and Azriel
came back different; I came back different. We came here—to this cabin. I was still so
injured that they carried me here between them. We were here when the messages arrived
about the final terms of the Treaty.
“They stayed with me when I roared at the stars that Amarantha, for all she had done,
for every crime committed, would go unpunished. That the King of Hybern would go
unpunished. Too much killing had occurred on either side for everyone to be brought to
justice, they said. Even my father gave me an order to let it go—to build toward a future
of co-existence. But I never forgave what Amarantha had done to my warriors. And I
never forgot it, either. Tamlin’s father—he was her friend. And when my father
slaughtered him, I was so damn smug that perhaps she’d feel an inkling of what I’d felt
when she murdered my soldiers.”
My hands were shaking as I stirred the soup. I’d never known … never thought …
“When Amarantha returned to these shores centuries later, I still wanted to kill her. The
worst part was, she didn’t even know who I was. Didn’t even remember that I was the
High Lord’s son that she’d held captive. To her, I was merely the son of the man who had
killed her friend—I was just the High Lord of the Night Court. The other High Lords were
convinced she wanted peace and trade. Only Tamlin mistrusted her. I hated him, but he’d
known Amarantha personally—and if he didn’t trust her … I knew she hadn’t changed.