2_-_court_of_mist_and_fury_a_-_sarah_j._maas

“How does that … vanishing work?” I said softly. I’d seen only a few High Fae do it—
and no one had ever explained.
Rhys didn’t look at me, but he said, “Winnowing? Think of it as … two different points
on a piece of cloth. One point is your current place in the world. The other one across the
cloth is where you want to go. Winnowing … it’s like folding that cloth so the two spots
align. The magic does the folding—and all we do is take a step to get from one place to
another. Sometimes it’s a long step, and you can feel the dark fabric of the world as you
pass through it. A shorter step, let’s say from one end of the room to the other, would
barely register. It’s a rare gift, and a helpful one. Though only the stronger Fae can do it.
The more powerful you are, the farther you can jump between places in one go.”
I knew the explanation was as much for my benefit as it was to distract himself. But I
found myself saying, “I’m sorry about the temple—and the priestesses.”
The wrath still glimmered in those eyes as he at last turned to me. “Plenty more people
are going to die soon enough, anyway.”
Maybe that was why he’d allowed me to get close, to overhear this conversation. To
remind me of what might very well happen with Hybern.
“What are … ,” I tried. “What are Illyrian war-bands?”
“Arrogant bastards, that’s what,” he muttered.
I crossed my arms, waiting.
Rhys stretched his wings, the sunlight setting the leathery texture glowing with subtle
color. “They’re a warrior-race within my lands. And general pains in my ass.”
“Some of them supported Amarantha?”
Darkness danced in the hall as that distant storm grew close enough to smother the sun.
“Some. But me and mine have enjoyed ourselves hunting them down these past few
months. And ending them.”
Slowly was the word he didn’t need to add.
“That’s why you stayed away—you were busy with that?”
“I was busy with many things.”
Not an answer. But it seemed he was done talking to me, and whoever Cassian and
Azriel were, meeting with them was far more important.
So Rhys didn’t as much as say good-bye before he simply walked off the edge of the
veranda—into thin air.
My heart stopped dead, but before I could cry out, he swept past, swift as the wicked
wind between the peaks. A few booming wing beats had him vanishing into the storm
clouds.
“Good-bye to you, too,” I grumbled, giving him a vulgar gesture, and started my work
for the day, with only the storm raging beyond the house’s shield for company.