I thrashed, biting and clawing, shrieking as whoever it was hauled me up.
I tried to shove away, snow churning around us like dust on a road, but the arms that gripped me were immovable, like bands of iron and—
A rasping voice sounded in my ear, “Stop, or I snap your neck.”
I knew that voice. It prowled through my nightmares.
The Attor.
CHAPTER
26
The Attor had vanished in the moments after Amarantha died, suspected to have fled for the King of Hybern. And if it was here, in the mortal lands—
I went pliant in its arms, buying a wisp of time to scan for something, anything to use against it.
“Good,” it hissed in my ear. “Now tell me—”
Night exploded around us.
The Attor screamed—screamed—as that darkness swallowed us, and I was wrenched from its spindly, hard arms, its nails slicing into my leather. I collided face-first with packed, icy snow.
I rolled, flipping back, whirling to get my feet under me—
The light returned as I rose into a crouch, knife angled.
And there was Rhysand, binding the Attor to a snow-shrouded oak with nothing but twisting bands of night. Like the ones that had crushed Ianthe’s hand. Rhysand’s own hands were in his pockets, his face cold and beautiful as death. “I’d been wondering where you slithered off to.”
The Attor panted as it struggled against the bonds.
Rhysand merely sent two spears of night shooting into its wings. The Attor shrieked as those spears met flesh—and sank deep into the bark behind it.
“Answer my questions, and you can crawl back to your master,” Rhys said, as if he were inquiring about the weather.
“Whore,” the Attor spat. Silvery blood leaked from its wings, hissing as it hit the snow.
Rhys smiled. “You forget that I rather enjoy these things.” He lifted a finger.
The Attor screamed, “No!” Rhys’s finger paused. “I was sent,” it panted, “to get her.”
“Why?” Rhys asked with that casual, terrifying calm.
“That was my order. I am not to question. The king wants her.”
My blood went as cold as the woods around us.
“Why?” Rhys said again. The Attor began screaming—this time beneath the force of a power I could not see. I flinched.
“Don’t know, don’t know, don’t know.” I believed it.
“Where is the king currently?”
“Hybern.”
“Army?”
“Coming soon.”
“How large?”
“Endless. We have allies in every territory, all waiting.”
Rhys cocked his head as if contemplating what to ask next. But he straightened, and Azriel slammed into the snow, sending it flying like water from a puddle. He’d flown in so silently, I hadn’t even heard the beat of his wings. Cassian must have stayed at the house to defend my sisters.
There was no kindness on Azriel’s face as the snow settled—the immovable mask of the High Lord’s shadowsinger.
The Attor began trembling, and I almost felt bad for it as Azriel stalked for him. Almost—but didn’t. Not when these woods were so close to the chateau. To my sisters.
Rhys came to my side as Azriel reached the Attor. “The next time you try to take her,” Rhys said to the Attor, “I kill first; ask questions later.”
Azriel caught his eye. Rhys nodded. The Siphons atop his scarred hands flickered like rippling blue fire as he reached for the Attor. Before the Attor could scream, it and the spymaster vanished.
I didn’t want to think about where they’d go, what Azriel would do. I hadn’t even known Azriel possessed the ability to winnow, or whatever power he’d channeled through his Siphons. He’d let Rhys winnow us both in the other day—unless the power was too draining to be used so lightly.
“Will he kill him?” I said, my puffs of breath uneven.
“No.” I shivered at the raw power glazing his taut body. “We’ll use him to send a message to Hybern that if they want to hunt the members of my court, they’ll have to do better than that.”
I started—at the claim he’d made of me, and at the words. “You knew—you knew he was hunting me?”
“I was curious who wanted to snatch you the first moment you were alone.”
I didn’t know where to start. So Tamlin was right—about my safety. To some degree. It didn’t excuse anything. “So you never planned to stay with me while I trained. You used me as bait—”
“Yes, and I’d do it again. You were safe the entire time.”
“You should have told me! ”
“Maybe next time.”
“There will be no next time! ” I slammed a hand into his chest, and he staggered back a step from the strength of the blow. I blinked. I’d forgotten—forgotten that strength in my panic. Just like with the Weaver. I’d forgotten how strong I was.
“Yes, you did,” Rhysand snarled, reading the surprise on my face, that icy calm shattering. “You forgot that strength, and that you can burn and become darkness, and grow claws. You forgot. You stopped fighting.”
He didn’t just mean the Attor. Or the Weaver.
And the rage rose up in me in such a mighty wave that I had no thought in my head but wrath: at myself, what I’d been forced to do, what had been done to me, to him.
“So what if I did?” I hissed, and shoved him again. “So what if I did?”
I went to shove him again, but Rhys winnowed away a few feet.
I stormed for him, snow crunching underfoot. “It’s not easy.” The rage ran me over, obliterated me. I lifted my arms to slam my palms into his chest—